#I did these timed prompt poems a couple years ago and we had a lot of fun with it!

[gothhabiba]

for every donation above $5 to Mohammed & Samar's campaign I will write a poem with any English-language word you give me. leave your word of choice in the donation notes, or DM me with a screenshot + your word of choice!

Venmo: gothhabiba | Paypal: paypal.me/Najia | Cashapp: $NajiaK (with note "🍓" or "strawberry")

[beanswrites]

Happy birthday, Nadia!!

Hello everyone!!

I know that I haven't been here for quite some time (been on a vacation, sorry), but here I am to make it up to you with a Nadia birthday fic (ft. a poem I wrote for a girl years ago, a little bit adjusted to fit the story)!! Happy birthday to our favorite countess, we wish you all the best!! (I know I'm like 10 day late, sorry)

I've been hard-working recently so I pre-wrote two more fanfics, and they'll be posted on Wednesday and on Friday! Hope you all like them!!

Requests are open! Check out my rules for requesting before sending me your ideas, or pick a prompt from my prompts list! ♡︎

Also available on AO3!

masterlist | rules for requesting | prompts list

Word count: 1630 words

Trope: General fluff, birthday, angst if you really squint

Pairing: Nadia Satrinava x gn! MC

AU: none

Warnings: none

Picture from Pinterest!

The long-awaited day approached quickly. Usually, every year around this time the whole Vesuvia would be in a hurry, fiddling with stuff and finding the perfect place for everything. Everyone was excited and ecstatic about their countess' birthday. 

But this year.. was a bit of a change. Even though it was just around the corner, people did nothing! Not even prepare her favorite flowers to decorate the streets, which usually took weeks! What was happening in her land? Why was everyone acting so strange?

Of course, it didn't bother Nadia. She didn't care about those kinds of things. Her ex-husband was the one who, if this situation happened to him, would go ballistic and lose his head. But Nadia? No, she was far more humble. The only thing she cared about was that her subjects treat her with respect and fairness, just as she did them. They didn't need to celebrate her birthday like a national holiday, they didn't need to celebrate her at all (if they didn't want to). They didn't even need to love her. All she asked was for dignity and respect.

It certainly helped that Nadia was one of the most loved countesses in all of history. People adored her for freeing them off their ex-count and her ex-husband Lucio, whom they weren't so fond of. Plus, she was always kind to them, and always had the best intentions for her people. Naturally, the shift in their behavior towards her on her special day was a bit of a surprise.

Nadia wouldn't even notice it if it was only her subjects who seemed to not care anymore. What's got her head in a twist just two days before her birthday is the fact that her friends, too, didn't seem to care.

Every year before this one, Portia would always get into her bedroom a week before her birthday and wake her up with breakfast in bed and a cheerful: "Happy birth week, My Lady!" And each year the countess would remind her red-head friend that there isn't something such as a "birth week", with a laugh. However, Nadia wasn't awakened like that on the first of July. 

Asra and Muriel would gift her together every year. Some potions and trinkets, anything Asra has found on his adventures around the world, neatly packaged with some fruits or plants Muriel found in the forest. However, when she joked about it with them a couple of sunrises before her big day, they pretended to not know what she was talking about.

And MC? Well, Nadia was excited for this birthday much more than for any before just because it was the first time she would spend her birthday with them. How exciting is that?!

Truly saying, the purple-haired woman wouldn't even care if everyone else forgot or didn't care, as long as she could spend the entire day with her partner. There wasn't a better gift for Nadia than spending a full, uninterrupted day with the one she truly loved, her dear MC. Perhaps they could go to the library and browse for a bit, or take a stroll around the town! Then, a picnic lunch, followed by a walk in the royal gardens, and then to finish the day with a slice of strawberry cake, lots of kisses, and endless cuddling. What a perfect birthday!

Those thoughts kept the smile on Nadia's face even after she realized her other friends forgot. Just the night before her birthday, feeling excited about spending the next day with MC, she headed to kiss them goodnight.

"Goodnight, sweetheart.. I'll see you in the morning, okay? And don't worry, I arranged everything already, we will have so much fun tomorrow!"

MC frowned their eyebrows, looking at their girlfriend confused. 

"Uhh... What kind of plans do we have for tomorrow, Nadi? I have some work to do with Asra, so is it possible we move those to another day? Please?"

The countess' heart sank in her chest. Crushed but dying to not show it, she swallowed the lump in her throat replying: "Y-yes, of course. I see that you're very busy lately, especially with the magician... Um, of course, dear. Another time"

Her partner smiled, leaving a quick peck on her cheek.

"Thank you for understanding. Good night, Nadi, love you!"

"Good night.."

The purple-haired woman just couldn't believe it. Yes, she could understand that the others would forget. They all lead pretty busy lives, and sometimes there wasn't any time for her. That's okay, of course. But, out of everyone, MC? She had never expected that MC would ever forget her birthday. 

Soon, the sun came up and the countess of Vesuvia was officially one year older. However, it didn't feel like it. MC didn't come to greet her, wish her a happy birthday, and kiss her until they both lost their breath. Portia didn't come to prepare Nadia's birthday outfit. It was another regular day, and no one cared.

After getting dressed, she strolled around the big halls of the palace. Strangely, no one else was around. She couldn't find any maids, housekeepers, or chefs. Where was everyone? Trying not to put too much thought into it, she decided to spend her birthday in the library. Surrounded by her favorite books and stories, some of which she brought from her home in Prakra. 

She knew that room like the back of her hand - it was her favorite room in the palace, after all. She could easily tell you where every single book was since she read and loved them all. For example, her favorite book of all time, the poetry book she got from her mother, was always on the farthest bookcase in the library next to her favorite loveseat. 

Re-reading the pages, Nadia felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks. In all of those pretty poems, every verse spoke about love and being loved. Right now, Nadia didn't feel loved. She felt forgotten and not cared about, especially by her friends. 

Suddenly, she noticed a page in the book that wasn't there before. 

'But that's absurd, a page can't just make itself!' 

She thought, wondering if she just didn't notice it before. However, there was no denying it - the ink was fresh, newly dried, and the poem written on it was completely new. Nadia recognized that writing. She could always pick apart the way MC looped their o's and l's from any other text in the world.

Walking out of the library with the book in her hands, trying to find MC and ask them about the poem, she decided to read it. 

"Like a beautiful lavender,

Like the stars in the night

As the warm sands in Prakra

Which under the sun shine so bright

Full of kindness, full of grace,

My beautiful happy place, 

Only she.

Her smile could make peace in this cruel world,

And her eyes could bring to their knees any man or girl

There's power and courage in the way she speaks,

and knowledge in anything she seeks,

Warmer than a thousand suns but perceived as cold,

Only she.

And I hate to break her already frail heart

And make her think I won't blindly follow her in the dark

To lie directly to her gorgeous face,

When I know it's better to keep my mouth shut.

Because only she could think that I forgot,

While knowing I love her as the sun loves the moon.

Only she would feel not cared for,

When she knows something surprising is coming to her soon.

Only she would swallow her words that she loves me too,

So, my dear Nadia,

Happy birthday to you!"

As she read the last line, she opened the doors of the grand ballroom, to check if MC was there. As soon as she walked in, what seemed like a thousand voices excitedly yelled: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!". Everyone was there. All her subjects, all the palace staff, all her friends, and most importantly, MC.

"Oh my! What- I mean.. MC? Darling, what is all this?" She asked dumbfoundedly.

MC approached her with the biggest smile on their face. 

"Your surprise birthday party, of course! I know that you don't enjoy those big festivals they threw you every year, so I just thought that maybe you'd like a birthday party! Portia made you the cake, and Julian, Asra, and Muriel made the decorations! I organized the things, that's why I was working with Asra so much!"

Nadia looked around, speechless.

"You.." She choked out, new tears of joy spilling from her red eyes, "You remembered my birthday?"

MC put a hand on her cheek, pressing a soft, warm kiss to her lips. 

"Of course I did! How could I forget such an important date?! Don't tell me that you thought we forgot?" 

They asked with a smirk, pulling her into the crowd to get the party started. They drank, ate, danced, and Nadia doesn't remember having that much fun in years. It was the best celebration of her birthday she ever experienced.

Once the party died down and the subjects went home, MC and Nadia returned to Nadia's bed chambers.

"Oh, Nadi, I just remembered. Did you find the poem? That was a part of your gift, I hope you liked it if you did read it! I left it in the library, in your favorite book, I can go get it for you if you haven't and-"

MC was cut off by the powerful, passionate kiss Nadia gave them. Once she pulled away, leaving them breathless, she whispered:

"That was the best present and the loveliest thing anyone wrote me ever. Darling, thank you so much"

MC smiled, hugging her.

"I'm glad you liked it, Nadi... Happy birthday, Nadia... I love you..."

[retvenkos]

within these lines | t.l.

Little Women - Theodore “Laurie” Laurence x Reader, fluff requested by @mywinterbucky​ - sorry for the wait!

tw: none

word count: 1.6k

prompt: “you still have that?”

A/N: sorry timothee chalamet fans, but the gif is of christian bale’s laurie because sometimes you gotta switch it up, y’know? after all, variety is the spice of life.

Summary: The world had come in between Laurie and (Y/n) five years ago, but neither time nor distance could keep them apart for long.

There’s something elusively romantic about the teenage years. Despite any tragedy that reaches the hearts of the young, there is something infinite in youth that takes such melancholy and spins it into something beautiful beyond recognition.

It was in their teenage years that (Y/n) was torn from Laurie’s embrace - two friends on the cusp of being something more. A “perhaps” that ended in ellipses, each dot like the thousands of miles that separated them. All through their childhood, they had been together, and up until the moment (Y/n) was whisked away to England, they had constantly been at each other’s side. To have known someone so fully and to lose them so completely was a tragedy that often left the soul barren. But they were teenagers at the time, standing at the precipice of adulthood, and their minds preserved a beauty that existed in their youth - something unique and not likely to happen again; gold-spun.

When (Y/n) was plucked out of Laurie’s pocket and ripped from his heart, there wasn’t much else to do than wander. Laurie passed the days on his own and when he wasn’t lost amongst the memories of his youth, he was writing letters to (Y/n) when he ought to have been studying and fashioning poetry when he should have been sleeping. There is something elusively romantic about writing to someone you don’t have the address for - something that lies in the yearning of one’s being and the void that is left behind.

As the years wore on, Laurie grew out of those rose-colored teenage years, but his heart still beat to the rhythm of a sonnet. Across the ocean, (Y/n) was much the same. Although less of a poet, (Y/n) was a dreamer, and when they closed their eyes, they were there in the gardens of their youth, with a boy they had once thought of loving at their side.

It was a muddy, April day when Laurie felt a particular kind of ache settle in his heart. (Y/n) had told him, once, when they were hiding in the study of his grandfather’s house rather than practicing the piano, that muddy, grey mornings were their favorite. He had laughed at them back then, even after (Y/n) insisted that grey mornings had a comforting sort of calm about them - something that made sense to Laurie, despite it all. (Y/n) had insisted on the beauty of drab mornings, and when he told them that loving dull skies was like loving the taste of over-boiled tea, (Y/n) told him that they loved that, too. “After all,” they had said, “that’s how you make it when your grandfather is away, and there’s no one here but us.”

“But it’s not any good.”

“To me it is.” At their statement, Laurie made a face, and (Y/n) laughed like a spring breeze. “As is anything that is made with love.”

Laurie’s cheeks bloomed with a soft red at the mention of something so sacred as love, and he hid his flustered feelings by fiddling with the papers on the study desk. On a few pages, Laurie saw his own messy scrawl, and on a couple of others, he saw (Y/n)’s curled handwriting.

“Why don’t you make a list, then?” Laurie searched for a blank piece of parchment and set one down in front of (Y/n), giving them a quill and inkpot. “Make a list of everything you can think of that’s made with love.”

“Why?” And the curiosity in (Y/n)’s voice was gentle.

“So that I may make a list of my own, and we can learn to love the list of the other.”

(Y/n) smiled.

That had been many years ago, but Laurie could still remember the soft, subdued smile that (Y/n) had given him that day - an expression of contented awe. He had associated that look with muddy, April days a long time ago, and there was something particularly melancholic about a memory so beautiful and so full of love.

And a long time after, Laurie was still in the study, now in his early twenties. Sitting in a newly upholstered seat, he pulled out of a small tin box a stack of old papers filled with curled handwriting. At the bottom of the stack lay the list from so long ago, well-loved and well revised, with additions like “poorly done sketches from the neighbor children,” and “broken seashells from the beach,” written in minuscule letters.

Laurie was reading number twenty-six (“the singing of birds on Sunday mornings”) when a voice spoke from the stillness.

“You still have that?”

Transcending time and distance, Laurie would have known that voice anywhere.

“(Y/n)?”

Laurie's old friend, leaning against the door of the study, giggled from delight, and not a moment later, Laurie had them wrapped in a hug, his years of loneliness only tightening his grip - warm, enveloping, and ferocious, like he would do anything to never lose them again.

“Laurie, you’re going to crush me!”

“Wasn’t that on your list, though?” Laurie pulled away, holding (Y/n) at arm's length, looking into eyes he hadn’t seen in years - bright and strong; beautiful beyond belief. “Number thirty-one: ‘hugs you think will crack your spine.’”

(Y/n) hummed fondly. “And if I remember correctly, your number thirty-one was hiding in the closet during parties, whispering stories by candlelight.”

“You remember?”

“Of course, I do,” (Y/n) said earnestly, their brow creasing slightly, as though they were surprised at his question. “I have it right… here.” (Y/n) reached into the inside pocket of their coat, pulling out an old and fading envelope. They gingerly pulled out a piece of old parchment, reading the first sentence on the page. "Number one: 'the too-small gloves that you made me.' You really should have written my name - had anyone else  found the list, they would have been terribly confused."

“You still have it.”

(Y/n) smiled, and the expression was there - that contented sort of awe that never failed to make Laurie feel seen and, perhaps most of all, loved. For a moment, the two just stood there, within arm's length, holding onto each other and marveling at all the other had become. There was something elusively romantic about the moment; something heavenly that had been captured in every poem Laurie had ever written and every dream (Y/n) had ever fathomed.

“I missed you, Laurie.” And those four whispered words held a fragile sort of intimacy that could be shattered with a voice much louder than a sigh.

“And I missed you more than you could ever know.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched.

Laurie stepped away suddenly as though a spell broke. He turned his back to (Y/n), his cheeks already starting to flare, and scanning the study for another chair - something for (Y/n) to sit in, close to him, at last.

“Ah, here.” Laurie pulled a chair closer to the study desk. “You can sit there and tell me all about your adventures in England. Would you like any tea?”

He turned to face (Y/n) once again, and they had a mischievous smile on their face. “Over-boiled, I’m guessing?”

Laurie chuckled, looking downward to hide the embarrassment that crept up onto his cheeks. “I think you’ll find I’m much improved. I’ve had five years of practice since you were last here.”

“Five years,” (Y/n) mused, walking over to their seat and sitting gently. “It’s funny, it feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve been in Massachusetts, but it’s only been five years.”

“Five years is a long time,” Laurie supplied. “A lot can change.”

“But a lot can stay the same. Or, at least I hope.”

The two friends looked at each other. For a moment, it felt like the world slowed around them, and they were nothing more than the teenagers they had been five years prior when they were writing silly lists of things that were made with love.

“Well,” (Y/n) started, “I suppose I have stories I could tell, but I want to know about you."

"Well, I want to know about you!"

(Y/n) scoffed and shook their head, an expression that was beautiful, akin to the breaking of a new day.

"Well, this town has been like it's always been." Laurie relented, relaxing in his chair. “The March sisters have been less willing to spend time with me lately, since my mood has gone sour. but you’ll be glad to know that I have plans for getting back in their good graces, soon.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, putting their elbows on the desk and steepling their fingers, as though whatever they were talking about was of great importance. On instinct, Laurie leaned in as well, two conspirators in an empty house. "Well, now we're getting somewhere, Mr. Laurence."

Laurie stifled a chuckle, (Y/n) clearly struggling to do the same. "Indeed we are, (Y/n) (L/n)."

They both broke, and laughter filled the room, the sound echoing through the floorboards, unearthing the past where they had done just the same when they were years younger, but much the same.

Laurie sighed. "How is it that after five years of being apart, nothing has changed?"

"Well, I know you, Teddy, nothing can change that." (Y/n) smiled, gentle but full. Laurie felt a tugging on his heart - something almost painful if it weren't for the care in (Y/n)'s eyes, wrapping him in the most comforting sincerity - a gravity more divine than existing. "Even when we were far from each other, I had your list and my memories; you were the most full thing I ever had."

"I didn't know if you'd remember."

"I always remembered you."

Laurie breathed.

“Well,” (Y/n) began, something in their voice a little unsure, endearing Laurie already, “Now that we know we both remembered and kept the list of the other, I have to ask: did you learn to love my list?”

“I did.”

(Y/n) seemed pleased. “Even muddy, April mornings?”

Laurie chuckled, the feeling warm and pleasant in his chest - like a thunderstorm in June. “They were the first I learned to cherish.”

They smiled at each other once more.

-- taglist: @locke-writes, @brokenandheadoverheels​, @coffee--writes, @swanimagines, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

[btsxmalereaders]

'Cause I Like You

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x male reader.

Prompt: "H-how long have you been standing there?" / "Long enough."

Word Count: 1,5k

Fluff | Requested

Masterlist

Don't forget to vote on whosfan and stream!

"Well, it's not like I haven't dated before." Changbin says as he plops down in the sofa, without taking his eyes off his phone screen. "So it doesn't feel any different."

"Now you have to be extra careful if you don't want it to be public, though." Chan intervenes. "Or at least you have the freedom to announce it whenever you and your partner decide."

As they keep talking about dating and how some other rules of the company, Jeongin seems to be more interested on the conversation he's having with you over the phone.

He chuckles from time to time, typing as soon as he receives a message from you. Your conversations for now consisted on sending each other memes and funny videos you found, and Jeongin always found that refreshing when he needed a break from his schedule. He also appreciated how you always are there from him, listening to whatever he needed to let out and to advising him when he was troubling. You were best friends for many reasons, but the fact that Jeongin would always find comfort and understanding in you, was priceless.

"Uh, Earth calling Innie, can you hear us?"

"Jeongin!" Chan finally makes him take his eyes off his phone by raising his voice a little. "How much are you doing on the phone? Ever since you came in you're smiling and texting."

"The dating ban just finished a couple of days ago and you've already found a partner? You really don't waste your time, do you?" Changbin laughs, making the younger blush.

"Shut up, I'm just texting Y/N."

"That's the only thing you've been doing lately, you finally gathered up the courage to confess to him your feelings?" Changbin casually comments, making Chris laugh as well.

"What? I don't- I-"

"Please," He cuts off. "We weren't born yesterday. It's quite obvious at this point and denying it is really useless."

Jeongin looks at Chan, wanting him to defend him and say that Changbin is wrong, but he simply shrugs. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're the worst." He simply states and continues typing, this time with trembling hands and reddened cheeks as he tries to hide the growing smile on his face.

So what if he has a crush on you, anyways? Jeongin never thought of confessing before as you two have a great friendship that you deeply cared about and has been really meaningful since you were kids; plus, as oblivious as it sounds, he hasn't noted any interest from you, so he is at least thankful he can have you as a friend.

"It'd be no surprise to see people confessing to you sometime soon, you know?" Chan says and pats his shoulder, now changing the tone of his voice to sound a bit more sweet. "Our Innie has always been so cute."

"You're embarrassing him." Changbin chuckles.

"I know, it's my duty as his hyung." He jokes and stands up. "Don't be shy around us about this stuff. You don't have to hide how you feel."

Before Jeongin can say anything about it, Chan exits the room with a smile and a small and careful movement to ruffle his hair.

Y/N - 04:48 p.m.

let's meet up later? :)

He nervously types his answer and sends it, trying to ignore how Changbin is repeating how cute he looks blushed just to tease him.

He may do something about his feelings, but not until he knew for sure you felt the same way.

To his own surprise, the words addressed to him a few hours ago by his leader came true. As he was leaving the building to meet you, a girl of his age whom he knew quite well and with whom he had started a good friendship walked towards him shyly, her cheeks so red and her hands trembling behind her back as she was holding a small box with chocolates.

Jeongin smiles and greets her as usual, not knowing her intentions and just listening carefully to her stumbling as she tries to calm down and properly confess her feelings for him.

In that precise moment, you walk to the building, not expecting to find that scene as soon as you step in. Your hands grip tighter the small bouquet of sunflowers you just bought and turn on your heels immediately, making your way back to whatever place you find empty to take a deep breath and maybe vent out. Of course, not being aware that Jeongin saw you from the corner of his eye and with the intentions to find you as soon as he could.

Jeongin was moved, for sure. But he didn’t feel that way about her. He tried to be as careful and considered with her feelings, but had to tell her that, even though he was flattered, he couldn’t reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t say it out loud, but for a moment he wished it was you saying those words instead of her.

She understood it right away, and with a shy smile, apologies from him and a hug, she walked away. Jeongin rushed to the exit and almost ran in the direction where you walked too, making quick stops at the front of restaurants and shops, hoping he'd find you there.

His heart is beating fast, and he spends a few more minutes walking and running from side to side, earning stares from the people around him but he doesn't seem to give up on finding you.

He walks to a nearby park and just as he is about to pick up his phone and call you, he sees you sitting on one of the park benches, and gets closer from behind you when he realizes you are talking out loud.

It's easy for him to tell you were feeling down; the way your voice sounds already gives away that you were trying not to cry.

"...'i really like you'? And then what? What was I expecting? Of course he only sees me as a friend." You groan, covering your face with your hands out of frustration. "Now I have to pretend that him dating another person doesn't hurt me... If I were only a few seconds early... Would it have changed a thing?"

"If it makes you feel better, you weren't late." He simply says, walking around the bench to stand right in front of you.

The expression on your face was a poem as soon as you realized he was there; had he heard you complaining? Why was he even there, in the first place?

"Jeongin," You hesitated, feeling embarrassed. "H-how long have you been standing there?"

He sweetly smiles at you, "Long enough."

"Oh, uhm-"

"Can you say it again, please?" He pleads, and you immediately know what he's talking about.

Your whole feelings for him could be better explained in a lot of words, but right now all you need to say is simple. "Jeongin, I really like you."

Jeongin's smile becomes bigger, and you swear your heartbeats could be heard by him now. He extends his hand for you to take it, so you do, standing up and being closer to him. His hands carefully travel from your wrists to your shoulders, and he takes another small step so that you can feel his fresh breath against the skin of your lips, longing for a sweet kiss. "Y/N, I really like you too."

Finally, you hear those words you've been dreaming with for a while. You put your hands on his waist and get a few millimeters closer, feeling like you're on cloud 9 while being on his arms.

You're barely a few centimeters apart but Jeongin still asks: "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," You nod. "Please."

Now with your eyes closed, he makes that last movement it was needed to make for your lips to finally meet. It's sweet; the velvety and tickling feeling making you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Jeongin is careful, subtly sliding his hands to the back of your neck and his lips slightly parting in an attempt to deepen the kiss. You quickly keep up with him, still slow and gentle.

You both pull apart as the seconds pass, recovering from the dizziness in your heads as you two experienced something you've been yearning, so intimate and significant. Your smiles adorn your flushed faces and the tips of your noses brush against each other.

Jeongin moves his hands to embrace you and leave more kisses on your cheeks, losing all sorrow and just letting the happiness act for him.

"Oh." He murmurs and you separate from him. "You got those for me?"

You turn on your feet to look at the abandoned sunflowers on the bench and you chuckle, picking them up and extending them out for him. "I did. You like them?"

Jeongin takes them with another shy smile, "I love them. Thank you."

"You used to say that if someone were to ask you out someday, you'd want them to give you sunflowers, so... I had to."

"That was years ago, how did you even remember that?"

"I set that as a reminder for the time I gathered up the courage to ask you out," You simply say and take his free hand. "So now I am taking you out. Shall we?"

Jeongin giggles and leaves a quick kiss on your lips. "Yes, let's do that."

[hercleverboy]

razljubit

spencer reid x fem! reader

summary ↠ reader and spencer come to terms with the fact that they’ve fallen out of love. 

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ arguing, slight hints to sex, falling out of love, a lot of crying

word count ↠ 3.8k

↠ so this is my submission for @railmereid ‘s writing challenge using the prompt “Do you think we could pretend?”. as soon as I saw the prompt I got the idea for this and figured i’d participate! thanks for reading! 

“Never feel guilty for starting again.” — Rupi Kaur

Razljubit is the Russian word for the sentimental feeling you have for somone you once loved, but no longer do.

It’s a funny thing, Love. It’s been written about in countless poems, sung about in millions of songs. They tell you about how people can cheat and lie and hurt the people they were supposed to love in the most heart-breaking ways. 

But they never sing or write about the most painful scenario. 

When two people fall out of love with one another, there isn’t always a reason.

That can sometimes make it worse, the fact that it’s no one’s fault.

Because wouldn’t it just be so much easier if there was someone to blame? Someone to scream and cry and lash out at? Wouldn’t it be easier if one of them had cheated, or spewed words of venom in an argument that they could never take back? 

That’s what made it so difficult. There was no blame, no fault. Just a love now lost. 

For the last four years, Spencer and Y/N had spent near enough every waking moment together. Being with one another was all they knew and it’s all they wanted to know for the rest of their lives. 

There were countless museum trips and blushing giggles exchanged over the tops of coffee cups. With every early morning and every late night, they knew that this had to be forever. This had to be it for them. 

When Y/N met Spencer’s mother, it was one of the happiest days of his life. Diana had been having a good day, so Spencer had called up his girlfriend and asked if she’d wanted to finally meet his mother. Of course, she’d been ecstatic that he wanted to share this part of his life with her, as they’d only been dating for six months or so. Immediately, Diana fell in love with her. They spent the entire day talking, with Diana happily showing off pictures from Spencer’s youth from her scrapbook. Once it was time to go, his mother had pulled Y/N into a hug, telling her how thankful she was that she had taken good care of her son. Y/N moved to stand by the door to give Spencer the space to bid his mother goodbye. When Diana pulled her son into her arms, she whispered into his ear the words he’d never forget. “She’s the one, Spencer. Don’t you ever let her go.”

It was only a few weeks after that that Y/N finally met Spencer’s team. They’d quickly figured out that he had a girlfriend, though he’d expressed how he wanted to wait until he was ready to introduce her, and the team didn’t push him. Though, when they met her, they fell in love with her too. Y/N was just that kind of person, magnetic, passionate. To be near her was to love her. The first time they met Y/N, they’d gone to their usual bar for drinks after work, and Spencer had decided that he was ready to introduce his beloved to the team. Sometime later, Y/N excused herself to the toilet. Spencer had turned nervously toward his team, waiting for their impressions. Morgan spoke first, “Pretty Ricky, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were wrapped around her finger.” Emily had chimed in with, “Yeah, Reid. You better marry that girl before someone else does.” Garcia had been the last to speak, already four fruity cocktails in. She’d grasped Spencer by his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “Okay so Y/N is my new best friend now. You better not break her heart, you hear me?” She’d slurred, to which Spencer had chuckled. “I won’t, Garcia. Not to her. Never her.”

They would dance together in the early hours of the morning, when sleep was so close yet so far out of their reach. The sound of Elvis Presley’s ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You’ would quietly play from the record player in the living room, the pair swaying together to the soft beat. They didn’t exchange much conversation, simply just basking in one another’s warmth, enjoying the feel of being in each other’s arms. Spencer would hold her tightly to his chest, rest his head on top of hers. It was simply bliss. 

After spending hours between the sheets, they’d stay up together, his arms around her and her head resting on his chest as she absentmindedly drew shapes across his skin. They’d giggle over silly things, talk about their future; marriage, buying a house that would become their forever home, raising a family together. “I like talking about this. With you.” He’d whisper, looking up at the ceiling. “You do? Why?” She’d question. “Because it grounds me. Reminds me that with all the horrific things I see on a daily basis, there’s still good in this world. There’s still purity in the form of children, happiness and kindness and love —” He’d paused, reaching down to grab one of her hands in his. “It reminds me that this — this is the life I’m fighting for. The chance to come home to you, our kids, and know that everything I do is making the world just that little bit safer for the people I love.” He’d smiled. “If I can do that,” He’d grinned, “then it will have been a pretty good life.” 

Their relationship was great, brilliant even, for the most part. Though, some nights were worse than others. “You’re never here!” She’d exclaim, pain in her voice. He’d scoff, crossing his arms as he got defensive like he usually did. “You knew that would be the case when we got together four years ago! Why is it suddenly a problem now?” “Because how are we supposed to build a life together, have a family, if you’re always halfway across the country? Too busy to even call me and tell me you’re still alive!” She’d spit, venom in her words that burned his skin like acid. “Oh, I’m sorry that the serial killer we were hunting down couldn’t spare five minutes for me to give you a call. Perhaps I should ask them next time!” 

Eventually, after the dust had settled and with the weight of the words exchanged between them, they’d apologise. “I’m sorry. I know I’m gone a lot and I know it’s tough on you, I should’ve been more considerate.” “No, no. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. I love you.” “I love you too.”

No matter how vicious their fights could be sometimes, they always came from a place of worry. After all, the arguments weren’t the reason they fell out of love. 

And for a long time, this life fulfilled them both. 

Until the day came that it didn’t. 

They’d been together for so many years that all they knew was one another. Y/N was Spencer’s first proper relationship. She’d taught him how to love, how it felt to be loved in return. For four years they knew nothing but waking up together, falling asleep together. They spent so long on late night phone calls when Spencer was away on a case, spent countless mornings in bed just relaying ‘I love you’s over and over. They were both young, in love with the idea of love. 

They spent so long being in love that it took them some time to recognise when they’d fallen out of it. 

Once they both hit that realisation, however, the relationship didn’t end. Not yet anyway. They both danced around the topic, refusing to accept what they knew to be true. Their mornings were no longer full of loving kisses and gentle touches. Instead, a simple forced smile and awkward laugh with a small “have a good day” as Spencer headed off to work. He’d come home, and they’d eat together in silence. Then she’d go and busy herself with cleaning up while Spencer resumed reading or researching. When bedtime came, he’d lean over and plant a single kiss on her forehead before shuffling further onto his side of the mattress and turning away from her, and she would do the same.

When he was away for cases, he texted sometimes so she at least knew he was still alive. However, gone were the nights spent on the phone, him in his hotel room whispering in a hushed tone how badly he missed her. No more early morning texts that exclaimed his excitement at coming home.

And after months of dancing around the ashes of a love that once burned so bright, it finally came to a head. They could no longer deny the inevitable. 

They’d simply fallen out of love.

Each of them berated themselves for allowing this to continue on for so long. really, they were both just afraid of what life would be like without one another. It would be like starting back at square one. They’d had their whole lives mapped out ahead of them, and they just simply didn’t know what the future held for them, if not each other. 

This was the girl Spencer had been so sure he’d marry. Now she was going to become a complete stranger. 

That was something else that worried them both. Would they be friends after this? Even if things hadn’t worked out for them, would it hurt to see one of them find someone else? Start a life with someone that in a different universe, could’ve been them? Would the reminder of the future they could’ve had together if things had been different painfully jab at them each time they saw one another?

One evening, they stood together in the small kitchen after dinner. They were silent, (conversation didn’t flow like it used to before) and Y/N busied herself with washing the plates. The only interaction the pair had was when Y/N’s fingers would brush Spencer’s as she passed him the plates so he could dry them and place them in the cabinets. Both of their hearts sank at the lack of a spark as their fingertips touched. They felt nothing. 

The only thing to break the silence was the sound of the tap running, and when Y/N had washed the final plate and passed it to Spencer, she turned off the running stream and let the silence that had suffocated the couple for months resume. 

She stood for a moment, as did he. For the first time in months, neither one left the room. With a deep breath, she turned around to face him, her hands reaching behind her to hold the counter in a grip she was sure she would need to survive this painful conversation. 

***

The day that Spencer realised was two months ago. 

He and the team had been away on a case, and they’d been gone for an entire week. He had called Y/N once, just to confirm he was on a case and didn’t know when he would be back. No further communication happened between the couple. Oh, how desperately Spencer missed the texts she’d send every day he was away, the phone calls whenever he wasn’t too busy. 

Once the case wrapped up, he realised how he didn’t feel the usual excitement as he boarded the jet to come home. He didn’t text her to tell her he was coming home. He felt guilty. He used to be so animated on the jet home, knowing he was going back to her. It even got to the point where he’d annoy the rest of the team with his constant rambles about how thrilled he was to be going home, how much he’d missed his girl. 

When had that feeling gone away? 

Would it ever come back? 

When they landed back at the BAU, instead of heading straight back home like he used to, like he should’ve, he went and sat as his desk for a full two hours, contemplating everything in his head before finally heading home. On his way out of the bullpen, he ignored the looks of concern he got from Hotch and Rossi. The team knew something was seriously wrong, but no one wanted to be the first to overstep and ask what was going on. Stepping through the doors of the apartment, he registered how it no longer felt like coming home. Despite being in the apartment that the pair had bought together, the home he lived in with the woman he was supposed to be madly in love with, he’d never felt further from home before. 

In fact, he felt nothing. 

It frightened him. 

Of course, at first he denied it. The idea that he was falling out of love with her was ridiculous, right? Perhaps this was just another bump in the road of their relationship, one that they’d overcome and come out the other end stronger than ever before. It truly seemed ridiculous. Not even three months earlier, Spencer had been looking at engagement rings, agonising over which one would be perfect for her. 

But now? That all seemed so far away. Floating just out of his reach. 

He glanced over to the other side of the bed one night, where she laid next to him. 

His eyes raked over her frame, sleeping soundly with her back facing him. His heart broke as the realisation hit him like a train. 

He didn’t love her anymore. 

The day that Y/N realised was two months ago. 

Spencer had gotten the call that there was an urgent case and was scrambling around the apartment to grab his things before he was late. Y/N stood in the kitchen staring at a blank space whilst she held her mug of tea in her hands. Spencer popped his head into the kitchen, gaining her attention. She grinned over at him as he walked toward her. He quickly placed a kiss on her lips, murmuring a small ‘Love you’ before turning and leaving. 

When she heard the apartment door close behind him, she sighed as she set her mug back down on the countertop. She missed the sparks that used to fly between them every time they kissed, how the touch of his lips used to set her body on fire. Butterflies would soar in her stomach, his touch alone making her weak in the knees. Dread filled her as she noticed how kissing him goodbye had begun to feel more like a chore than a declaration of her love. 

She stopped being bothered when he didn’t call her for days while he was away. She used to get pretty upset over it, always paranoid that something bad had happened whenever he didn’t call or text. She wasn’t fazed at how he was coming home hours after she knew the jet had already landed (courtesy of updates from one miss Penelope Garcia.) 

Of course, she still cared for him and worried about him, but she didn’t feel that ache in her chest that she used to, the one that could only be soothed by his presence, his arms around her so that she could feel home. 

She only began to register what had really happened when the only way she could justify not breaking up with him at that moment was by replaying old memories in her head. 

She would fall asleep reliving memories of the first time they met, how beautifully awkward their first date had been, the day he’d asked her to be his— as if the same man wasn’t sleeping centimetres away from her. She was in love with their memories, in love with how happy she’d been for four years, how she thought she’d feel that way forever. She grasped a hold of the warmth that filled her as she remembered the first time he’d kissed her, wanting to cling to that feeling forever. 

But now, she only felt cold. 

In fact, she felt nothing. 

It frightened her. 

She glanced over at him one night as they were sat together on the couch. He was sat at the opposite end, his nose deep in his copy of War and Peace. 

She knew it then, in that moment, as she watched him push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

She didn’t love him anymore. 

***

She gripped the kitchen counter tightly, finally looking up to meet his eyes for the first time in weeks. 

Though, something unexpected happened. (After all, they’d never been the most conventional couple.)

He smiled at her, and she effortlessly gave once back. They were the most genuine smiles they’d worn in what felt like a long time. They continued looking at one another, until Spencer broke into a little chuckle. She began to laugh along with him, both of them snickering at the absurdity of the situation they’d created together. It was one of those situations where if they didn’t laugh, they’d likely cry. 

Their laughter eventually died down; the silence they’d grown accustom to filling the room again. 

Spencer was the first to speak, sighing before clearing his throat. “It’s uh— It’s over, isn’t it?” 

Y/N just nodded sadly. “I’m sorry.” 

She meant it, too. She was sorry for a lot of things. She was sorry for falling out of love with a man who would’ve once given her the world had she have asked for it, sorry for letting them cling to something that had burned out long ago. 

“No, don’t be sorry.” Spencer assured her. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine either. It just— happened.”

Spencer looked at her with an unimaginable sadness in his eyes, also laced with the slightest bit of guilt. He opened his arms, inviting her into a hug. 

She gladly accepted, putting her arms around his waist, and resting her head on his shoulder. His arms came around her, enveloping her in a warmth that she hadn’t felt in so long. 

The feeling made her begin to sob, and Spencer did too, the understanding of what was happening finally hitting them full force. Together they stood in their kitchen, crying on one another’s shoulders. Together, they let go of all the despair they’d been holding onto for so long. 

When they finally pulled back, Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead, a loving gesture he’d always done to show her how much he cared. 

She gave a weak smile up at him, wiping her cheeks. “I think I’ll always love you, Spencer.”

His voice quivered as he spoke, struggling not to let it get caught in his throat. “I think I’ll always love you too.”

Whilst they were no longer in love, they still loved and cared for one another deeply.

She took a deep breath before moving back a few paces. “Okay then. I’ll um, I’ll grab some of my things and stay with a friend for tonight. Then I can drop by tomorrow and grab the rest of my things.” 

He nodded, feeling an odd mix of relief and grief fill him. Relief, because they finally had let one another go after holding onto something that had faded long ago. And grief, because although the blossoming flowers of their love had withered over the years, they were still a successful couple. They were so very in love once that nothing else had mattered. He grieved for the future they could have had, the children of theirs he would’ve been delighted to raise with her by his side.

But it simply wasn’t meant to be.

Within twenty minutes, Y/N was stood by the door with a suitcase full of her stuff. She looked up at him, an awkwardness settling over them. What were they supposed to say? Was there anything that could be said? 

“I, um, I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.” Spencer whispered out, his voice wavering. It was funny, he thought, that he knew so many words in so many languages and yet he couldn’t find one that encompassed everything he wanted to say. “I mean, I’m not sure I remember what my life was like without you in it.”

“I know.” Y/N whispered back, managing still to give him a smile despite everything. “Me either. But we’ll be okay.” She slowly reached up, her arms coming around him and pulling him into a tight hug. 

He hugged her back, gripping fistfuls of the back of her jumper as though that would be enough to hold them together, to glue back the pieces of a relationship that had long broken apart. 

“Thank you, Spence. For everything you gave me over the last four years. I was so incredibly happy with you.” 

He let out a breath as they pulled apart, a sob escaping his lips no matter how hard he’d tried to hold it back. “I was with you too.”

She nodded with a smile, bending down to grab her suitcase, and reaching for the doorknob. Though she didn’t make it far, as Spencer had reached out his own hand, grasping her arm gently. 

“Wait—“ He started. She frowned, turning to face him again. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” He mumbled, his eyes searching hers. When he caught on to the confusion she held in hers, he elaborated. “Just— just for tonight? Could we pretend that you still love me, and I still love you?” 

She shook her head with a sad smile. “We can’t keep holding on to this, Spence. It’ll do much more harm than good if I stay.” 

He nodded, because he knew that she was right, though his grip on her arm only tightened. “Please. Just stay for tonight. I’ve slept in the same bed with you nearly every night for the last four years. Please, just one last time?” His voice was thick with emotion, begging and pleading. 

How could she refuse him? 

She hesitantly nodded, allowing him to grip her hand and take her towards the bedroom they’d called theirs for so long. They climbed in, her head resting on his chest as his arms wove around her. 

Because even if they weren’t in love anymore, he was still losing her. Even if they weren’t in love anymore, she was still his best friend.

Spencer worried for how they would navigate a friendship after so many years of being more. Though, he pushed the thoughts from his head, and instead focused on the moment. They could worry about everything else in the morning. But for now, he was going to hold the woman he used to love for what he knew would be the last time.

This was not them just falling out of love, it was them letting one another go. It was moving on to better and greater things that awaited them.

As he drifted off into slumber, he reminded himself that you do not walk back through a closed door. You open a new one and continue on your way.

*

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @katexrichardson @jemimah-b99 @devilsarchive

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

[ugh-againwiththenames]

So Many Fanfics So Little Time

This is just my list, I have seen so many (but if you want to use it it’s all yours too!).  I’m not a writer.  But I am a hell of a reader. Voracious one might argue. I just wanted to track my progress through the weeds of the absolutely never ending supply of Destiel and Cockles fanfic. 

Read on if you want to see what I’ve read, and what I’ve thought. I am but one person with opinions - some of them may be unpopular - some of them you might agree with, but if you find something you haven’t read here, I encourage you to do so. 

Honestly, this is just so I can track what I have read already, and when my friends ask, I can reference something easily. I have found some different fics on all kinds of ‘best of’ lists all over the interwebs. And I love recs - so rec away friends. 

As someone who reads a solid 40 novels a year typically, I don’t come by the “I read a lot” innocently. I do actually read a LOT.  When not reading fanfic (a new obsession, all things being fair), I usually read a lot of Fantasy/high fantasy, romance/erotica, and or YA (yeah, that was a bit of a ride no?).  So from this one might digress that I like fluffy, cute stories, complicated and supernatural/paranormal type stories, and I sure do not shy away from violence or smut (or maybe violence with smut? *smirk*). 

I have read all of these in the last 2-3 months (I will continue to add as I go). I had never read a fanfic until 2-3 months ago.  A lot of these wonderful people are on here, and I mean you no offence by not directly tagging you - I’m still learning how to actually properly use this site. Links to AO3 are included (and I love you all). 

These aren’t necessarily in any real order - I did read T&S first, followed by 91W, and 4LW...after that it’s just a shit show of Long or Short, Destiel or Cockles - smorgasbord. Some of these are the most popular Fics out there, and others I’ve never seen recc’d anywhere (just sort of accidentally happened upon them).  So let’s get to it, shall we? 

Twist and Shout - ok look. I understand the stigma associated with this one, but it was the FIRST one I read. It was the ball that shot me down the hill, and I haven’t stopped since. So. I loved it. I CRIED like a baby. SOBBED. It was not the quality of the writing but the way the story was developed and delivered. I have Never Cried Like This Reading a Story IN MY LIFE. It’s a rite of passage. Read It and have an opinion - it doesn’t need to be mine.  

Author(s): gabriel, standbyme   https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876/chapters/955188

Ninety-One Whiskey - aka 91W, it is mentioned so much, and is SO worth the read.  I continued my dive into the war fics (not typically my bag really and here I was reading 2 in a row).  There are a couple of followup stories as well to this series (and yes, I’ve read them all).  Although I’ll say that the original is my favourite. I often got lost in a bit of the War/Tactical descriptions, but would recommend it to anyone anyway. Ugh...the “stolen moments”...they were at the same time tragic and the most amazing things ever.  You feel me? no? go read it. 

Author:  komodobits   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362190/chapters/5214500

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - aka 4LW.  OMG just, OMG. I loved this story. I loved it so much. I think I read it in a day.  Devoured it. It’s so HOT. Just read it. If you haven’t you’re missing out.  LEMME AT IT. I loved “knowing the secret”, and had some major anxiety about that realization dawning (I had to take a breath, and be like, no, no, this is gonna be a mess, but it’s gonna be SO GOOD - I was not disappointed).  There’s more than one work here too - read them all. PLEASE. 

Author: bendingsignpost  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) - This was the first Sobs one I read, but it sent me on a spree.  this is the Memory Loss one.  I have one piece of advice here - read everything by Sobsicles. You can thank me later...just go to her page, and fucking sort to supernatural (or not, read it all!) I’d list them but I’d fucking seriously be here all day.  Also, her tags make me laugh so hard.

Author:  sobsicles https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Orpheus - I love this one too, Tattooed!Cas, my LOVE. paired with Mechanic!Dean, my HEART, #help.  Read this one in one evening as well. (I was on a roll).  It’s a one night stand that turns into more (much like my last relationship)....hmm...maybe this is why I was pulled in - although to be fair that is the last similarity to my shitty love life! I do not remember how I stumbled onto this one (tattooed Cas may have been the draw...tbh). Read the warnings though, there is some triggering stuff in this one - but if you can handle it, it’s definitely worth the read. 

Author: sysrae       https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364347/chapters/5220227

Have Love, Will Travel - Can you say no to Stripper!Dean? Cause I sure as hell cannot. Typical sort of character development here with Dean having trust issues, and Cas being painfully awkward...(but in like a super cute way?).  Would Recommend. 

Author: squeemonster   https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses - Change of pace here...It’s got a nice twist.  I didn’t actually clue into how it was going to end until very near the end (maybe I was being oblivious), when the realization came over me and I was...man. I was DONE IN.  I hope that doesn’t spoil (I need some kind of way of remembering them). Voiceless!Cas Hunter!Dean

Author: Askance (doomcountry)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Adagio - This is super short, and super cute. Honestly, I would read the whole thing just for the last line. It’ll take you less than an hour if I remember correctly. Go, I’ll wait. I squeeed. did you? 

Author: noangelsinthegarrison   https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397248/chapters/2928145

Any Little Heartache - super easy read (not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’ll fly through it’ way).  It’s mid-length, not graphic, but really fun hospital AU. HeartSurgeon!Dean / Nurse!Cas - enemies to lovers anyone? Fuck you to Fuck me? yeah. YUM. 

Author: followthattardis https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143376/chapters/11838311

Ad Astra - This is another short(ish) one, just one chapter.  And by that I mean that this is written like a very long poem. Cas as a star who has visited Dean many times over the years of his life, that culminates in 4x01 barn scene. It’s ‘awe’ sad. ‘puppy dog eyes’ sad. The writing format took me a bit to understand what was happening - it’s my lack of poetry knowledge, not the writing.  

Author: nhixxie https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Ad Astra Per Aspera - This is a cute story.  ESL writer, no judgement.  I found this while looking for the one above, and thought the premise looked cute - and it was. Misunderstanding leading to Dean realizing he’s actually Bi.  Miscommunication leading to realization.  

Author: Riverchester https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354336/chapters/28101816

Psalm 40:2 - Time travel post-canon Cas and Pre-series Dean.  If you’re wondering how that works, strap in for this ride, it’s well worth it. 

Author: unicornpoe https://archiveofourown.org/works/30786425/chapters/75992444

Addicted to You - Warlock!Dean/Incubus!Cas - accidental ‘mating’ (I actually really don’t like that word, but there’s sort of no avoiding it in this situation). Cute story.  When you drunk dial a succubus and get an incubus instead...Whatever will we do? 

Author: Ltleflrt https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346/chapters/9959288 

A Glimpse Beyond - End Fix-it. Not yet complete, 10 chapters so far...I want MORE! Reliving memories Dean/Cas & Sam/Eileen.   

Author: NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731689/chapters/67875925

Cas-ti-el - Please I want more...It’s like the story just started. Please write more of this story!! 1 chapter, it’s a trope prompt challenge, but I want it to be a full on story of its own. Imprinted names of their soul mates, Dean doesn’t understand his (because it’s in a different language)...I’m frustrated by wanting this story to keep going. 

Author:  Valinde (Valyria)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941591

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light - another short one. Not going to lie, this one took a little getting used to, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it too much for the sole purpose that the premise gave me the willies.  Cas has to vessel jump - ends up in Sam...I got through it, it had a good ending, but yeah, sorry. This just wasn’t for me. 

Author:  obstinatrix  https://archiveofourown.org/works/260289

Peanut Butter Pumpkin Wedding Cake - Waiter!Dean / Writer!Cas - This is so effing cute, just misunderstanding after misunderstanding bumbling around like the couple of dorks that they are. It’s only one chapter. 100% would recommend. 

Author:  Sparseparsley https://archiveofourown.org/works/223962

Destiel, Actually - This is another super cute story, 5 chapters. Gabriel playing a singular role in putting Dean and Cas in awkward positions to push them together.  I fucking DIED at “oh, I am the sub” - needs context, but I guarantee you that you’ll laugh out loud...

Author:  Bexism  https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934/chapters/658398

The Smell Before the Rain - This was my first A/B/O - a big apology to all those who are into mpreg and whatnot, this was my lesson that I am not. this was not for me. Also - I’m a firm Cas (Alpha/Dom) believer, and i’m good with switch Cas, but it’s hard for me to take him being the full Omega here, when paired with the rest I just couldn’t do it. I finished it, but, not my thing. I know now. 

Author: jscribbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230/chapters/53406127

Crazy Diamonds - This is another short one, only 3 chapters - it’s a body swap for Dean, 4x02 him and 2018 him swap places (assumption that 2018 him is “with” Cas).  It’s a super cute little story. 

Author:  pantheon_of_discord https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151642/chapters/37738631

The Breath of All Things - Wheelchair!Dean / Volunteer!Cas.  This is a lovely story, typical Dean self-hatred etc. Triggering for those with suicide warnings. It had me in tears at the end. There’s a really spectacular quote near the end that I found so romantic I screen grabbed it. 

Author:  KismetJeska https://archiveofourown.org/works/994750/chapters/1967519

Kind of a Forever Deal - SummerCamp!AU This is just a really cute and fluffy summer camp AU.  Which is so different from 91W (That’s right, check the author)! I was a little disappointed with the ending, but otherwise really enjoyed this all the way through and was loving all the discovery and young characterizations of all the characters. 

Author: komodobits https://archiveofourown.org/works/999291/chapters/1978478

Everytown, USA - Best way I can break this one down? Wanderer!Dean (listless and without a place in the world, he ends up in a small town...), Twin!Cas (that leads to some fun things). There are a number of points where you’re gonna yell at Dean for doing stupid shit (that are very much in character for him to do), you think, well, yes, obviously you’re going to do that you silly fucking boy [affectionate]; but whyyy? (but we know). 

Author: aileenrose https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797559/chapters/3854836

Chalk and Chainmail - HighSchool!AU, Cas is an artist, Dean LARP’s - it’s cute and angsty. 

Author:  lemonsorbae https://archiveofourown.org/works/804704/chapters/1517551

A Little Patience - Ok. you want smut? This is your story. You want Kink? This is your story.  I actually did not finish this. It got a little carried away in my opinion. It was VERY panty kink oriented (which, while essentially canon isn’t really my kink) so, if you want that Panty Kink on full display? Go forth and enjoy! it  is thirty something chapters, I got to the mid-twenties I Think. 

Author: riseofthefallenone https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058/chapters/3739232

Control - I REALLY ENJOYED THIS. Which is saying a lot for someone who has already admitted that a Subby Cas isn’t really my HC - so to so thoroughly enjoy a Sub!Cas story? (maybe it’s the tattooes...*wink*). It’s an AU where Cas is the head of a company - Dean is a callboy I guess, for lack of a better term. Just read it.

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31156601/chapters/76993217

More (I copy pasted the next lot from my google doc, I’ll flush them out later - no i wont...)

Teach Me (short) - movie night in the bunker, things get a little carried away   Author:  Chiyume  https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327

You Light the Spark (in my bonfire heart) (short) - when cas doesn't realize that dean is unaware of his feelings, super short, super cute                      Author: noangelsinthegarrison https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193910 

Communication Breakdown (short/cockles) - dean ends up in Jensen's head while he films the confession scene, no sexual content Author: jujubiest   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Look What You Made Me Do (short/cockles) -      -  Vegas Con 2020 / jensen comes out with a song     - cute short - no sexual content Author:  green_blue_heller https://archiveofourown.org/works/30251592 Full House (short/cockles) - reimagined version of the rented house story - putting it in order (so to speak). funny / cute / fluffy not explicit   Author: n_nami  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30855827

Cyber Sex (short/cockles) - anastiel https://archiveofourown.org/works/31467086      - shameless post GISH Fest zoom call porn      - Short (very short)

It's Complicated (cockles) - gail_morgan https://archiveofourown.org/works/31434938/chapters/77747519       The GISHtake (short/cockles) - MellyCrazyCoconut https://archiveofourown.org/works/31508099     - cute short post GISH zoom     - oops "babe, really?"  

(10.02.2021 updated) Since last update: New reads - Fuck i’m gonna be here all day - there’s not gonna be as much gonna be NO detail in these breakdowns...sorry! This has now just become a “what i’ve read list” as opposed to a Rec list...

Love, All Alike (Pt. 1 Love, All Alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599/chapters/10370646                             - Though The Stars Walk Backward (pt 2 Love, All alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves

And this, your living kiss - opal_bullets   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927/chapters/42744872

Come On, Let's Strike a Match (Domination and Submission: a love story pt 1) - anyrei & queerwerewolf ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722478/chapters/62458810    - Playing With Fire (D&S: a love story pt 2)    - We Kiss and the Flames Get Higher (D&S: a love story pt 3)     - Sparking That Old Flame (D&S: a love story pt 4) 

Cinderwings - bendingsignpost Cinderella!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847041/chapters/29336421

Linden - fleeceframe Swan!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33126730/chapters/82236118

No Netflix, No Chill (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764966

Can't Drink You Away (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785792 

Jensen Totally (Does Not!) Snore (short RPF) - Dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30315717

Dean Ships It (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349434

All about control - wingless   https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151930/chapters/20791243

Aesthetics in Autoerotica (pt 1 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885544                                                             - The Ties that Bind (pt 2 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant

Let's take a drive - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32581027/chapters/80819581 

Enchanted ink - castielslostwings TattooArtist!Dean TattooArtist!Castiel AU ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043622/chapters/55109530

The bones beneath our skin - darknessbound   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633754/chapters/59515804

The Plot (RPF) - Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795588/chapters/6274970

The Gentle Force with which you Take Me (RPF) - Phoenix_Ascended   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32110120/chapters/79549183

According to all known laws of Life (Pt. 1 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207901                                                          - and he's back (with a mind of his own) (pt. 2 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles

Six hundred sundays (and many more) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31158776

Aching in the Absence of you - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832977/chapters/78811378

gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable) (Short) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32203291

memories bring back memories (bring back you) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Dream Come True (short) - bendingsignpost   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071159

tall grass - aeli_kindara   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127040/chapters/30030726

asunder (Short) - rageprufrock https://archiveofourown.org/works/62115

Apheresis - bendingsignpost BloodDonor!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32674783/chapters/81056680

we always were but never knew it - frightfullyrude   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32698324/chapters/81119503

In this Louisiana Bar (Short) - fleeceframe   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31764487

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Alternate Universes - n_nami   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32687929/chapters/81092785

my heart a compass - lagaudiere https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629951

Unsound Inverses - sp8ce (not complete)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836881/chapters/73413300

The Jensen Mistake (RPFish) - fellshish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950169

tell me about the dream (Pt. 1 Kids are coming home) - playedwright   https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984813/chapters/68544450

It's handy to know (FIMMF Themed ;)) - RosaMarloes   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31761322

So Says The Sword - komodobits AngelTrueform!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597892/chapters/28695592

Communication Breakdown (RPFish)- darkshrimpemotions (jujubiest)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Carry You Home - Casloveshisfreckles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637/chapters/65862916

In the Shadow of your Wings - Enochian Things (Salr323)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531294/chapters/17121655

When Harry Met Sally (RPF) (Pt. 1 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622347/chapters/17351845    - Eight Dildos (RPF) (Pt. 2 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood    - Attention, Please (RPF) (Pt. 3 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood             - Boat Trip (RPF) (Pt. 4 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood

A Winter's Tale - NorthernSparrow   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654327/chapters/5930561

A Close Shave - NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090167

r/supernatural - renrub (short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626783

sam reads destiel fics - rebshome (short - funny!)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721624

Angel Cookies - noxsoulmate Chirstmas!AU **  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729640/chapters/26427765

Under The Midnight Sun - NorthernSparrow Arctic!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690645/chapters/39143677

Bron-Yr-Aur - mrbluesky (Short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225335

The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet - saltyfeathers   https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258594/chapters/45800209

The Meaning On My Skin - saltnhalo   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005378/chapters/42538133

Red Right Hand (Pt. 1 Murder Ballads)  - Duckyboos   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306110/chapters/9760008    - Are you the One that I've been waiting for? (pt. 2 Murder Ballads) - Duckyboos   

Riptides - sharkfish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230426/chapters/30263556

Damn Fine Ride - Cimorene105 (pt 1 - rodeo) Cowboy!AU** (I’m a horse girl, sue me...)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342340    - My Face Just Does This, Sometimes - Cimorene105 (pt. 2 rodeo)    - The Kinkiest Thing I've Ever Done- Cimorene105 (pt 3 rodeo)    - All Signs Point to Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 4 rodeo)    - Monster Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 5 rodeo)    - My Man, The Siren - Cimorene105 (pt. 6 rodeo)    - A Pain in My Ass - Cimorene105 (pt. 7 rodeo)

Astrolabe (terra incognita pt 1) - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812/chapters/7326794    - Drollery (terra incognita pt 2) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent    - Rubrication (terra incognita pt 3) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent

Go Down With This Ship - PorcupineGirl   https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642/chapters/18370474

Fire and Ice - Castielslostwings (Firefighter/Paramedic AU!) **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286295/chapters/55768486

The Structural Similarities of Hunters and Onions - Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound (Short)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33383101

Castiel Novak's Office, This is Dean - emmbrancsxx0   https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411336/chapters/53545840

Out of the Deep (out of the deep pt. 1) - riseofthefallenone - MERMAID AU! **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx - pantheon_of_discord   https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909440/chapters/24256989

I'll Be Good - LittleAngelCassie   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118334/chapters/9282234

Kenosis - CastielsCarma (Short - part of Destiel ABC collection)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720

[snowywrites]

Natsuki x comedic!reader

summary: this was a request from someone on quotev, reader is gender neutral!

word count: 3k

You set your bag down next to your usual chair in the Literature Club room before taking a seat in one of the desk chairs. Stretching your arms up high over your head, you suppress a yawn; being stuck in school for an extra hour or so wasn't all that bad, considering you got to see your friends whom you didn't really share any classes with.

"Ugh. You're never the first one here."

A familiar irritated voice catches your attention, and you turn around in your chair to grin at the one and only Natsuki. Your expression brightens even more when you notice what she's carrying.

"Aww! Are those for us?" You coo, rising quickly from your chair to hurry over to the short pink-haired girl standing by the entrance to the room, examining the tray of muffins in her hands.

Immediately Natsuki recoils away from you, reminding you so much of a stray cat who never received enough love in their life. The thought makes you snort to yourself as she even straight up hisses, "Wh- these aren't for- I mean- they're for the club! But they aren't for, like, you and me!"

You listen to her fierce but confusing denial politely, your smile softening but never completely disappearing. She could get so riled up sometimes over the tiniest things.

Natsuki's blush is apparent, and you're highly tempted to make some sort of joking comment comparing her to something, when she suddenly backs up too far and collides with the doorframe of the classroom behind her. She squeaks, the tray suddenly seeming very shaky in her hands as she struggles to regain her balance to keep herself from toppling to the floor.

Not missing a beat, you reach out to catch the tray just as it slips from her hands, only narrowly managing to avoid watching the muffins spill all over the place.

Feeling pretty proud of yourself for that nice save, you hold the tray up triumphantly with one hand, showing off just a little bit as you smirk at Natsuki. "Well, what do you think? Have I earned the right to have at least one of these most-delightfully-baked-goods?"

She's fumbling for a response, ego most definitely wounded.

You lower the tray again, adding teasingly, "Alas, if you can't spare even one little muffin, I suppose we could work out some kind of arrangement?" You pause and hum, tapping your chin thoughtfully with one finger from your free hand, pretending to think for a moment. "How's about, say, three years of your devoted friendship? That about equals the rescued lives of- onetwothreefourfiveand... six muffins, wouldn't you agree?" You say, making a small show out of counting them.

Natsuki glares at you with scorching magenta eyes, stuttering over her words so much ('don't compare her to Yuri even as a joke, she will kill us right here and now, Y/N.') that you start to worry if maybe you've gone too far in teasing her today- not everyone appreciates your jokes, but you usually got the impression that Natsuki actually kind of liked them... even if she acted like she didn't. Normally, you could literally see her trying her best to fight back a giggle, but this time she seemed more sensitive for whatever reason.

"Ah, Natsuki-"

Whatever half-assed attempt at an awkward apology you were about to come up with was interrupted, of course, by your ever-excitable mutual friend Sayori launching herself into the classroom with all the unrestrained joy of an elementary schooler, exclaiming, "Y/N! You're never here this early- and you brought snacks??"

Sayori leans too close into your personal space to inspect the muffins before deciding, "Wait, no- these look too good to be yours, I bet Natsuki-" She glances over her shoulder to see the baker in question and exclaims, "So you did make them! Hey, thanks!"

Natsuki, still attempting to recover from her previous flustered state, huffs, refusing to look at either of you two. "Y-Yeah, it's no big deal..."

Sayori is already reaching over to snag one of the muffins; you have no doubt in mind that she was the reason Natsuki made six treats instead of five.

You try to catch Natsuki's eye so you could feign some good ol' exaggerated exasperation with the way Sayori ate like such a child, and how tactless she could be, but the short girl was doing her absolute best to continue ignoring your entire presence.

Yikes, maybe you actually had seriously offended her... or maybe it was just something else entirely that had upset her so much...?

Before you had the chance to really think too much about what could be bothering Natsuki, the other members of the Literature Club arrived for the usual after school meeting, first Yuri and then shortly after Monika, both apologizing for being tardy even though they weren't that late at all.

"Oh, Natsuki brought snacks?" Inquires Monika as she notices the muffin tray you had set down on a desk a couple of minutes ago. "Let's all have them before we do any reading or discussions today."

Sayori beams at the club president's words, having already polished off her first muffin and now eager for yet another. You didn't blame her, Natsuki was a great baker, but sheesh, with the way Sayori had inhaled it, you wondered if she even tasted it at all.

You try yet again to send Natsuki a warm smile in the hopes of cheering her up somehow, but she was still steadfastly pretending you didn't exist, apparently, and so your efforts were futile.

Resigned to your fate, you help Monika push some of the desks together to form a makeshift table that everyone settled down at, each club member taking a muffin for themselves and starting to dig in.

"No complaints, Sayori?" You hum after the first bite when you realize what the flavor of these particular muffins is.

Your energetic friend is probably eating too quickly to really notice, as you originally suspected, and she simply blinks at you, confused.

"What do you mean 'complaints'?" Natsuki pipes up sharply, though her voice is wavering which makes you think she actually cares quite a lot about what others- maybe even you in particular- think of her baking prowess.

You shake your head defensively, chuckling a little. "Don't shoot, don't shoot! It's just, they're blueberry. Sayori can be such a kid sometimes, so I-"

"Do you not like them?" Natsuki snaps, making you wish, not for the first time, that you could finish a sentence around these girls.

"Ah- nono, I do! It's really good! I just was- uhm-" You struggle to find the right words to defend yourself under her heated glare. Why was Natsuki taking everything you said so personally today?

"Y/N was only joking," Monika, bless her soul, steps in calmly with the patience of a saint to try and smooth out the situation before it was given the chance to escalate any further. "You know how they can be."

Wow, okay, ouch.

You dramatically place a hand over your heart. "Why, Monika! You wound me." And honestly, there was a teensy bit of truth buried and hidden underneath your dumb joke. Just because you liked to cover up any feelings of discontentment in an effort to find the tiniest semblance of humor in just about any scene of life didn't mean you went around purposely hurting the feelings of those around you. Or... did you? Shoot, now you weren't sure anymore.

Sayori laughs out loud at your over the top display, and you notice even Yuri is trying to hide a smile behind her muffin, her violet eyes almost unnerving with the way they follow your every movement.

But you aren't really paying attention to any of them at the moment, so much so that you don't even process Monika's reply. Your focus is purely on Natsuki.

She's not glaring directly at you anymore, but down at her hands which are clasped together in her lap.

You clear your throat; being serious wasn't your thing, but you still wanted to give it a try- for her. Softly, in the hopes of not letting the rest of the girl's overhear your words, you begin, "Natsuki, I..."

"It is strange, though." Yet again you are interrupted! If it had been Sayori, you would have been openly frustrated with her, but this time it's Yuri's shy self who has at last decided to share something of her thoughts with the group.

A beat of silence. “What’s strange?” Monika prompts when Yuri doesn’t continue her train of thought.

The violet-haired girl jolts a little, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “Ah- just that- uhm- I was just thinking… Natsuki usually bakes cupcakes for us instead of muffins,” she explains timidly.

Huh. Weird observation, but Yuri kinda had a point.

Natsuki stiffens, sending a scowl in Yuri’s direction. “You don’t have to psychoanalyze literally everything, y’know. Life isn’t always like one of your dumb novels where you have to make up deeper meanings for when one doesn’t exist.”

You exchange a swift glance with Monika- lately, you and the club president had sort of been tag teaming helping each other lately to diffuse conflict within the Literature Club. Most often, the offenders were the same as the ones now: Natsuki and Yuri. Monika’s method of smoothing over issues was calmly and kindly, whereas you tended to take a more comedic route where angry grumbles could dissolve into grudging laughter.

Since it was technically your turn to step in and try to solve some conflict before either girl burst into tears, you interject with the first set-up for a joke that pops into your head.

“Heh, careful, Natsuki. I think you might give Yuri a new idea for one of her poems.” You face the taller girl as you continue, “Here, I’ll help you with the topic- ‘muffins- are they just ugly cupcakes?’ Yeah, just throw in some fancy language and stuff and-“

You can tell by everyone’s expressions that you’ve made a misstep somewhere here in your delivery, but then Yuri reaches up with one hand as she tries to mask her smile, and you’re intensely relieved you didn’t hurt her feelings.

Somehow, though, it seemed someone else was hurt.

Natsuki stood up abruptly from her chair, the sound of it’s metal legs grating on the floor causing you to wince. “Can you be serious for once?”

She doesn’t wait for your response, just turns on her heel to grab her cute pink backpack and then stalk out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Sheesh, what did I say….?” You sigh heavily, combing a hand through your hair. You were so frustrated with both yourself and Natsuki.

Sayori gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, already standing up to go check on Natsuki, but Monika’s timelessly intelligent emerald gaze was fixed on you with a thoughtfulness that seemed beyond her years, and it did not move away from you when she spoke to Sayori. “No, let’s have Y/N go and talk things out with her.”

You cringe. “Won’t that just make things worse?” You worry, shaking your head. “I mean, call me crazy, but I don’t think I’ll be getting an award for being her favorite person anytime soon, Monika…”

A faint smile crosses Monika’s face. “Mm, I think you’d be surprised. Just go and talk with her, and please hurry before you miss her. I’d hate to lose a club member, especially one as talented as Natsuki.”

You stand up, a bit alarmed by the assumption your club president was making here. What, just because of one little spat it was presumed Natsuki would quit the Literature Club altogether? That would never happen!

….Would it?

You weren’t keen on taking your chances of finding out, so you hastily made your exit from the classroom, looking around the school halls and seeing just a flash of pink disappear around the corner to your right.

You hurry after Natsuki, glancing around uncertainly- you were pretty sure you weren’t allowed to roam the halls like this after classes were over, even if you were in a club. Plus, it seemed like Natsuki wasn’t actually leaving the school building at all, she was heading for the roof.

You don’t call her name for fear of being reprimanded by some annoying teacher or other staff, so you kept quiet as you trailed after your friend up some flights of stairs; if she was aware of your presence, she said nothing- you were mostly sure that she would’ve snapped at you to go away if she had noticed you.

At last you make it to the door that went out to the roof of the school building, which had just closed behind Natsuki. Tentatively, you push it open as quietly as possible and take a small peek outside to survey the situation.

Natsuki is sitting on a small bench with her back still to you, her attention apparently fixed on the horizon.

“Wow, they have benches up here?” You ask, finally making your presence known as you step out onto the roof and allow the door to drift shut behind you.

Natsuki starts, glancing back over her shoulder to see you, and her eyes narrow when you offer her a hesitant smile. “If you’re here to apologize, you can just leave.” Her voice is sharp, but you can sense that she sounds almost, defeated in a way.

You shrug, wandering over to sit down next to her, looking towards the sky. “Good thing I wasn’t planning on apologizing, then.”

She huffs, purposely scooting away from you so that she was right on the edge of the bench. “Look, what makes you think I want your company?”

“I dunno. Maybe I just wanted to explain what I meant for my own sake. My reputation and all that?”

She purses her lips together. “Go ahead then,” she mutters wearily.

“I never mean to offend you or anybody else with my jokes. I just kinda, joke around a lot, it’s not something I ever even think about doing, it just happens.” You pause, sighing dramatically as if the weight of the world has been taken off of your shoulders. “Boy, it’s been so long since I’ve held onto that secret. “So… now it’s your turn.”

At last the pink-haired girl looks at you, mildly confused. “My turn to do what?”

“Share a secret,” you clarify playfully.

Natsuki immediately shakes her head, a brilliant blush painting her cheeks. “Wh- never!”

You laugh. “Okay, alright, point taken. How about this then: how was your day?”

Natsuki calms down somewhat, apparently actually considering your question. You realize she seems… sad, somehow. “It was… whatever.”

“Did you bake the muffins this morning or-?” You ask idly.

“No, last night.” She pauses, glancing away again to stare at the sky, and you got the sense she was somewhere else in her memories, not fully present with you on this school roof now. “I was… going to decorate them this morning, but then I just. Had to leave.”

“Ah, so you’re one of those tardy students, aren’t you?” You tease as gently as possible.

She exhales in a long, frustrated breath. “For your information, I got to school a few hours early actually.”

You have very few puzzle pieces of this mystery to try and fit together, and you wish she’d stop being so- mysterious about this whole thing. You hadn’t noticed before today, but you knew very little about Natsuki, aside from the facts that she liked manga (probably anime too), baking, writing, the color pink, cute things… you didn’t know anything at all about her home life. You’re tempted to ask just why she was so early, why she couldn’t decorate the muffins, but just as you’re trying to work up the courage and the right words, she saves you the trouble.

“My father…” She trails off, sounding uncharacteristically insecure for once, and her eyes seem too-bright, as if shining with unshed tears. She’s being very vulnerable with you right now, and you’re intensely worried you’re going to mess it up with her somehow, so you keep quiet and wait for her to continue. “He…”

Her voice catches in her throat, not allowing her to continue.

Instantly you lean closer to rest your hand on her hand, causing her to flinch in shock at the unexpected touch.

She gives you a look like she wants to be angry, but at the same time, she’s not pulling away from you.

You really, really don’t want to see her cry. Not Natsuki, the strong-willed, determined, fierce Natsuki. You’re unsure how to comfort people, so you go with what you know best.

In a perfectly serious tone and a straight-faced expression, you say, “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

For a second, you’re about 80% sure she’s going to slap you right in the face.

But instead, something miraculous happens.

Natsuki giggles, and as she does so, tears streak down her cheeks.

“Oh God- I didn’t mean to-!”

“No, no!” She cuts you off, tugging her hand away from yours and swiping at her face to try and wipe the moisture from her eyes, a smile still tugging at her lips. “You’re- you’re fine- I mean! Not you, I meant that, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine…” She pauses, and you think this is the first time Natsuki has ever gazed at you with such softness.

Have you really made her feel better? You’re pretty proud of yourself for that one. You would like to tell her that she can talk to you about anything anytime, or that maybe she can hang out at your house whenever she can’t stand being at hers, but she speaks before you can.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Your jokes are terrible.”

You tilt your head to the side in confusion. Despite the insult, you can definitely hear the smile in her voice.

[cakejots]

this is us trying, Chapter 8 - The Unravel

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts. TW for mention of death threats.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

24. Rewrite the stars

With how he reacted to those online comments about Marinette a few days prior, Adrien legitimately thought he was going to throw another fit again. But as always, Marinette’s closeness managed to distract him from the negative and made the ‘task’ bearable.

“Go to hell? I’m sorry but who are you to tell me what to do?” She dismissed the comment. “You think I’m just gonna listen to you? People who send these kinds of messages clearly need help.”

He snorted. “Don’t let it get to you, Buguinette.”

“Ah no no,” she shook her head. “It’s just… I can’t understand why they have the need to send this kind of stuff to other people.”

Marinette moved on to other comments within the hashtag page and saw quite a handful of positive comments. She would even go as far as to say that people are generally supportive of their relationship.

There was just a very loud and obnoxious minority that stood out everywhere. It was no wonder Adrien got that infuriated, she wasn’t feeling the best either when she read what people had written about him.

“Chaton?” She stopped scrolling, taking a break before her anger got the better of her. “You’ve gotten quiet. Something on your mind?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She put down her phone and moved to sit beside him, combing her fingers through his hair. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

Adrien leaned against her palm and closed his eyes. “I feel better already.”

She chuckled when he started purring. “Do you wanna stop for a while? Your hair’s so smooth and I honestly think I can do this for the rest of the day.”

“Ahh, that is so very tempting, my lady,” he opened his eyes and pouted. “But at last, this can’t be put off any longer.”

She continued massaging his scalp. “Hmm?”

“The management wants me to make a public apology and… and break up with you to save the company’s image.”

Marinette went rigid with her ministrations.

He quickly wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “Obviously I’m not going to do that. You wound me if you think I’ll do that, Marinette,” he joked.

“Ahh no.” She hugged and leaned against him. “It’s not you. I— I’m just appalled that they’d demand you to take such a drastic move.”

He shrugged. “The company’s image suffered a huge blow when the Agreste Scandal happened. It has only been around six months since then, and now they have to deal with another.”

She nodded and tightened her grip on him. “So what will you do, Adrien?”

He smoothed her arm and nosed her hair. “To hell with them.”

“But—”

“I finally found you, I’m not going to let you go,” he grinned.

A rosy pink hue settled itself on Marinette’s cheeks. Even when she’s already his, Adrien never stops to let her know how special she is to him. She pulled back to hold his gaze while her thumb brushed against his cheek.

“What if they dismiss you?”

Fire lit in his eyes. “I’m going to do what makes me happy, what makes us happy. I’m not going to apologise for my love for you.”

Warm and fuzzy feelings filled her chest as he settled on what he planned to do. Adrien has come so far, and Marinette was more than happy to allow him the agency he desperately needed.

“You’ll rewrite the stars, huh?”

“I’ll rewrite the stars.”

Marinette pulled him close—

“Then I’ll be here supporting you every step of the way.”

—and gave him a long and earnest kiss on the lips.

25. De-transformation

Adrien was hiding half his body behind the door that leads to Marinette’s room. She had her full attention on the task on hand that she didn’t realise he was at the entrance watching her from afar, much like how a kitten observes their human. Adrien really admired how focused Marinette can be sometimes. But right now, he wished that she wasn’t that fixated on whatever she’s doing.

Despite his resoluteness on what to do with the scandal earlier on, Adrien was feeling stressed about it now. They had agreed that he would release a statement to address the scandal tomorrow, and it’d just be a couple of sentences from him, along with a photo of them in his mansion, to really sell to the public that they aren’t fooling around and that she has been staying with him for a while now.

The kiss they had shared earlier did tons to calm his nerves. He could never get enough of the thrill whenever they kissed, it was just that addictive to him. Her alluring lips, curious and exploring hands, the tiny sounds she made, and how she felt within his arms were the only things that mattered.

But that was a few hours ago, right after he came to a decision on what to do. They parted ways afterwards for Adrien to draft his statement, and it looked really good at first. But the more he read and thought about it, the more he felt like they’d face more backlash if he were to put that statement out. His anxiety was returning and he needed to take a breather.

Which was why he was standing at Marinette’s door right now. He really wanted another kissing session with Marinette, but he doesn’t want to push his boundaries either. He figured a rooftop run would help him to loosen up and take his mind off of the drafted statement for now. But he didn’t want to do it alone either.

Adrien stared at Marinette’s back. He felt really bad for disturbing her. He really did. But…

“Marinette?” He called out softly.

She lifted her head to look back at her door, only to see Adrien concealing half his body behind her door. She frowned and briskly walked towards him. “Adrien! What’s wrong?”

He came out of his hiding and averted his gaze “C-Can we go for a rooftop run for a while?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed.”

She petted and stroked his hair. “Of course! Let’s go!”

Adrien gave her a radiant smile.

.

The rooftop run, sadly, wasn’t as helpful as he had fancied. All he had to do was run… on rooftops which he had been running on for the last 6 years. He could even do it with his eyes closed. His mind was not preoccupied with anything else and his thoughts kept going back to the scandal.

Chat dash towards the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“De-transformation.”

He walked towards the edge of the platform and stared at the city underneath his feet. At least he was still able to admire the view. He sat down, hugged his knees and closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze…

Only to be pulled back by a pair of arms around his waist.

“Adrien! What were you thinking?” Ladybug shook his shoulders when he faced her.

“No, no! I wasn’t doing anything!” He waved his hands. “I was just trying to distract myself.”

Ladybug frowned. “Then why de-transfrom? You can enjoy the view as Chat Noir, can’t you?”

He avoided her eyes. “I-I wanted to feel the breeze.”

She pursed her lips. “You said you wanted a distraction? Something to occupy your mind?”

Adrien nodded.

Ladybug stood and brought him to his feet, smiling. “How about a game or two of Mecha Strike with the gamer pro herself?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I assure you that you’ll be needing that mind of yours to defeat me,” she declared triumphantly.

“You won tournaments?”

“Duh. Now come on! Transform and let’s go!”

“Buguinette,” he called out as he transformed. “I’ll have you know I didn’t only spend my time at home studying.”

Ladybug threw her yo-yo and a smirk at him. “Then may the best player reign once and for all!” And she jumped off the edge.

Chat followed suit, anticipating the game battles they have for the night.

26. Reveal

They had no idea how it happened. No, they were lying if they said that. They knew how it happened. They just didn’t expect it to unfold the way it did.

The mecha strike matches they had after they arrived back at Marinette’s home did tons to ease Adrien’s nerves. His mind was full of battle strategies to take her down, but she always managed to outsmart him. She wasn’t Ladybug for nothing. She truly is the Reigning Queen of Mecha Strike.

After they had established their respective status in the world of Mecha Strike, Marinette hoped to put Adrien’s mind at peace entirely. He has his way with words and has written beautiful love poems for her. There’s no way the statement he wrote was horrible.

And so she asked to see it; and he gave it to her, because Adrien fully believes in her word for this. He knows that Marinette would never lie about how she felt about the things he pens down.

She gave her smile of approval, and even commented on how sweet it was. She was confident that it’d sway the hearts of haters in the right direction.

And those were very comforting words. Not only has he accomplished proclaiming his love for her to the world, but he also might possibly increase the appeal of their relationship.

Later, they went to bed, peacefully.

When the time came to finally reveal their relationship to the world, they discreetly made their way back to the Agreste mansion, transformed of course.

Marinette suggested taking their picture in his kitchen to really sell the domestic lifestyle to the public, and Adrien agreed. But as they were deciding on the perfect picture to post along with the statement, Adrien started panicking again.

And so did Marinette. (She didn’t have a lot to work with in his mansion.)

Then, she suddenly recalled that being surrounded by soft things could help, that was how she calmed down when she was younger after all. She felt better just by enveloping herself in her blanket and soft toys.

So she pulled him into his room and pushed him onto his bed, remembering how soft it was, and slowly ran her hand through his mane to coax him into lying down. But all Adrien did was close his eyes.

Her other hand landed on his shoulder to push, but didn’t manage to make him budge at all as she was pulled into his lap, coming face to face with him.

Marinette was startled by his actions and stopped her ministrations. But he began rubbing his head against her palm, and she continued. She also started caressing under his chin with her fingers.

He opened his eyes lazily to gaze at her; so did she.

And Adrien gently held her face to bring their lips together, after he saw in her eyes what was most likely in his as well.

Marinette didn’t hesitate this time, fluttering her eyes close and wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer, to bring herself closer to him. She released a tiny whimper when Adrien’s hand suddenly landed on the small of her back, drawing her in to close the non-existent gap between them.

There was just something different about this kiss. Adrien’s heartbeat wasn't thundering as hard as he thought it would be, and a wave of calmness washed over him as they continued moving their lips against the other. His thumb stroked her cheek, to invite her to continue for as long as she liked.

Marinette’s hand shifted towards his hair and grabbed, pushing herself further into his face, and Adrien groaned before grinning against her lips. Marinette soon followed suit before she pulled back, but couldn’t go far as she was literally caged within his embrace.

“What’s so funny?” She opened her eyes and beamed.

Adrien moved in to kiss her nose. “Nothing. Just, thank you,” and he smooched her forehead.

“Trust me, this helped me as much as it helped you,” and she pressed her lips to his cheek.

Marinette caressed his other cheek. “Ready to post that statement and shut the haters up once and for all?”

A glint shone in Adrien’s eyes. “Oh, definitely.”

They moved to sit comfortably on his bed and Adrien copied his statement from his notes, the photo already chosen and sitting on the post, waiting to be sent out.

“You know, this feels very much like a blog post. I’ve never written this much on this account before.”

“SHIT!”

Adrien jumped and looked at her full-blown eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

She swiftly placed her hand on his. “Chaton, before you post that, I need to let you know that it was my best friend who informed me about what happened to you last week.” She scratched her head. “That’s how I was able to get to you, even though it took quite a while.”

Adrien was visibly confused. “O...kay?”

“And she actually asked for an update on the situation.”

He finally caught on. “Oh! Tell her then! Give her the update she deserves.” He chuckled. “Thank you so much, Marinette’s best friend!”

Her kitty’s so cute when he’s elated. “She… um, s-she wants to know about how we met and stuff.” Marinette glimpsed at him. “How do you want to deal with that?”

“Well, that’d be hard, wouldn't it?”

“Well, we can't use anything related to fashion right?” She said, matter-of-factly. “Since she knows that I wanted to intern at Gabriel and the chance went poof with the final battle…”

“Why not tell her the truth?”

“What?!”

He shrugged. “I mean, the threat is gone. I don't see why not?”

She smiled. “Adrien, honey, my best friend is Alya.”

“Uhh, she... has a nice name?” He tilted his head.

“She’s Alya Cesaire!” She shook his shoulders. “She’s the lady blogger! She’ll flip if she learns that I'm Ladybug!”

“Oh.”

“So there’s no way.”

“What an interesting turn of events,” he simpered. “How about telling her that I don't want people prying into my life?”

“That’s not fair to her,” she pouted.

“Then how about the bakery?” He threw in another excuse.

“Huh?”

“You work in the bakery sometimes, right?” He clarified.

She furrowed her brows. “But I've never seen you at the bakery.”

“Neither did she,” he pointed out, “so maybe we can use that?”

Her face lit with comprehension. “Oh my gosh, Adrien! You’re a genius!”

“We can go with the typical ‘well, we met one day at the bakery, and the rest was history’ kinda sharing.” Adrien gesticulated a rainbow curve with his hands.

Marinette giggled. “I’ll call her now.”

“You two are so sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Alya’s voice echoed through Marinette’s phone.

“Thank you!” Adrien replied, the post still sitting on the edit page.

“So how are you guys gonna deal with the scandal?”

“Adrien will be releasing a statement to address it,” Marinette replied this time.

“Ooo, a reveal huh? When are guys doing it?”

“Now, ehe,” and Marinette gave the okay signal for Adrien to release the statement.

“Marinette!” Alya screamed. “What the hell!”

[mirrorforevers]

silently • graham coxon/reader

this is a direct result of this prompt right here

don’t b sorry love, we’re all horny here. this prompt immediately took me out of my writer’s block so yeah gsdjsdhgsdj it was a blessing! tysm for sending it n i rly rly hope u enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it aaaaa i literally couldn’t stop. this one has a special place in my heart now.

also please tell me whatchu think abt this one on my askbox! unbeta’ed bc i love danger

word count: 2.809

warnings: smut. shameless, fast paced fluffy smut.

You couldn't understand why the hell he was so nervous. On the way to your parents' home he asked more questions than a 4-year-old on their way to a park - what are they like, what do they like to do, do they know Blur? Do you think they will find my shoe ridiculous? I'm sure they'll think I’m a weirdo. What did you tell them about me? Even the many kisses you gave him were not enough to calm him down, leaving you to assure him that even if your parents didn't like him - which would be impossible, Graham was never better and more pleasant to live with - you would continue to like him. Very much.

Couldn't live without him, actually.

When you arrive at the door, your mother greets you with a wide, surprised smile - it didn't even seem like she had been begging to meet Graham for months and meticulously planned every minute of the time you would spend together. Her friendly posture seemed to make him more comfortable, the fact that your father was traveling also ended up making him more relaxed. “Dads are always frightening,” he’d say. He agreed to spend the rest of the night there after having an extremely pleasant dinner.

While he does the dishes, you and your mother clean the table when you decide to stop by the kitchen to talk to your boyfriend.

"It wasn't that difficult, was it?" You ask, a daring tone in your voice.

He smiles sheepishly. "Everything went significantly better than I thought it would, honestly."

“You did well. Not that she is hard to please, but you are really sweet.” You kiss him on the cheek. (It's so cute how he still blushes at these things after months of dating.)

"Thank you, love."

"I mean it. I think you deserve a gift for being like this.”

He looks at you, starting to pay even greater attention to the direction of the conversation. “And what do you have in mind?”

You whisper in his ear in the most seemingly innocuous tone you can feign. “I, for one, think you should fuck me senseless in the room upstairs.” He smiles, gaze a little lost in his surroundings as it usually goes whenever he’s pleasantly disconcerted by your dirty talk. Your hands travel his body subtly under his shirt. He hisses: “Can’t wait.” His voice is weak. You love to tease him like that.

You give him a little peck where his mouth and cheek meet – and then you motion to leave after a wink. “See you in a few minutes.”

“Babies, sorry to interrupt,” your mom arrives at the door, instantly killing off the whole mood you’ve created. “I forgot to tell you, but some other people from our family will be here in a few minutes. We’re not done yet!”

Graham’s really confused. You shrug and give him some context – “My family just loves gatherings in general. And they’re excited that I have a boyfriend now, apparently.” To which your mom points: “Exactly! They want to meet you too, Coxon!”

You can feel the anxiety building in him again already. He’s so uncomfortable it hurts, and you know his head is spinning. He doesn’t want to let you down, and after your mom leaves, you go back to calming him down again. “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. If you­’re too overwhelmed we--”

“No, no. I signed up for this. I’ll be okay. I’ll have a drink or two…”

You completely discard this possibility. No associating alcohol to social abilities anymore after everything he went through because of it. “No. We’ll find other ways to calm you down.” After some seconds of a silent yet intense brainstorm, you have an idea. But you won’t tell him. “Ok, I know what to do to take your mind off the pressure. Just wait and see, and no beers, alright?”

“Alright… I guess.”

After giving him yet another peck while he finishes cleaning the plates, you quickly run upstairs to change from the tight jeans and band shirt you’re wearing to a very light and flimsy sundress. And that’s all the clothing you choose. It fits you well, and leaves not much to the imagination. You know it’s a family gathering, but it’s also summer, so no severe dress codes were being enforced in any significant way.

He reads your mind the moment he sees you in the dress, shaking his head in pleased disbelief at the sight. He mouths a small “you didn’t” while a stupidly joyful smile slowly shines over the tight expression of worry he once had. To which you mouth back: “I did.” You then go back to playfully teasing each other a bit while you take care of the sudden assembly’s preparations.

Your family members arrive and, as expected, they’re really thrilled to meet your guy. Graham answers so many questions, and ends up sharing so much of how he feels about you with them, and bit by bit, the warmth and wholesome aura of your closest relatives makes him feel truly welcomed. He feels like he knows you even better now, now that he knows where your energy and vitality come from. He could see bits of your personality in every single one of them – of course you are still the splendid whole, but still. It made sense.

Also, you noticed he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. He was hungry and you’re glad your plan worked. It was easier to forget about how hard sociability is when his mind was somewhere else.

After a while, though, you could sense him getting fidgetier. Even though he was considerably and visibly more relaxed than he was a few hours ago, that amount of social interaction, specially while sober, still drained a lot of his energy. You take his hands, announcing you two were getting something else to eat. You go to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights, and though the house is empty you two could still hear the enthusiastic discussion your family is having outside, slightly drowned by the distance and the walls separating you now.

“You did so great, baby.” You smile, giving him a victory kiss while he envelops you in a tight hug. He’s proud of himself too, and he deserves to feel like that. “They love you already.”

“They’re just like you, in a way. I’m glad everything went well,” he sounds relieved, still tired, but relieved. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that proposal you made me earlier, though.”

“I know,” You plant a chaste kiss on his jaw. “I felt your eyes on me.”

This second kiss he gives you feels different. It’s longer. Famished. Purposeful. His hands are friskier now, traveling hastily throughout your body, and you alternate between giving in and becoming progressively more alert of your surroundings. You can have an idea of where this is heading. The swirling of his tongue around yours makes you dizzy, and the feeling somewhat akin to an electric shock – but milder, and definitely more carnal – that flows through your body when he bites your lower lip and brings your hips closer to his brings you back to reality. “We have to be careful,” you whisper, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air.

“I promise I’ll be. You look delicious in this dress, I… don’t know where to start.” He cups your cheeks while drawing imaginary lines across your lips with the tip of his thumbs.

“Think fast. Never took you for a quickie guy.” You chuckle.

“I like to take my time, yes, but some things can’t wait.”

And with that, with the dexterity and carefulness of a cat, he sinks to his knees in front of you, lifting up your dress with one hand and one of your legs with the other, your leg now resting on one of his large shoulders. He takes hold of your hips, angling you toward him. You hiss in anticipation, and you can feel your core burning in expectation too. Your hands now firmly grab the counter behind you for support while you turn behind you with attentive eyes to see if no one’s coming. You’re safe, for now. The thrill of getting caught is one that will never get old.

His eyes seek yours for reassurance. You, without a word, give it to him. You both look lovely bathed in moonlight. He teases you first, kissing and sucking at the skin on your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your center until after a couple minutes of that sweet agony his lips graze across that aching part of you.

He flicks his tongue delicately through your folds, playing with your wetness. The way his hands caress your lifted thigh so delicately while his tongue inscribes poems to your clit is something that makes your stomach flutter, you simply can’t ignore those tiny adorable actions that make loving him so addictive and rewarding. Keeping yourself silent and struggling to remain somewhat composed to anyone who might see you from outside is a painfully arousing contradiction to the sensations you’re feeling. He’s doing his best to fuck you up, gradually setting a rhythmic pace to his movements with the intent to release the spring now starting to coil tightly low in your abdomen.

“Jesus, Gra—f-fuck. Fuck.” You whisper, breathlessly, while simultaneously suppressing a moan when he delves his tongue even deeper in your core, your fingers instinctively curling and closing a fist on his hair, making him groan. You buck your hips against his lips and you can feel sweat beading on the backs of your knees, heart threatening to jump out of your mouth by how fast it’s racing.

You suddenly freeze when you hear a voice from outside approaching the kitchen and you lightly tap his shoulder. Graham stops on command, but he won’t get up until he’s absolutely certain he should. He sprinkles your thigh with small kisses again, eyes droopy with the high from giving you the pleasure he knows he’s giving you while he admires you. The person heading for the kitchen takes a turn to the opposite side and you sigh in relief. “False alarm. Go on, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You notice he’s panting, and you can only guess how hard he is, judging by the tone of his voice. The time you spent frozen wasn’t enough to completely burn out the fire he’d already created within you, but he’s determined to give you an orgasm before anyone can interrupt you again – now he had two fingers moving, stroking, curling inside of you in delightful ways while his tongue began to work your clit in tight little circles. You could feel him moaning against your sex, he really liked this. And fuck, he was good at it. He slips one more finger into you, his ring finger, making your pleasure soon explode into a trembling climax. You couldn’t stop the little sound you made and he kisses your thigh in reply while still lazily fucking you with his fingers. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers.

One of your hands move to your mouth in order to cover the sound you really want to make. Graham, once again, looks really proud of himself.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and cleans them with his tongue before he lifts up again as inconspicuously as possible. You try to look like nothing happened, and you’re both glad that, apparently, no one’s giving a single fuck to whatever’s going on where you are. Given the realization, you look at each other and giggle. He then pulls you in a hug, voice husky when he teases, and confesses, “You can’t imagine how bad I want to fuck you right here. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“We’ll have to take this to the bedroom, love.” You reply, still recovering from your orgasm. You can’t risk more than you’ve already risked. He looks slightly…

Disappointed.

You smile. “You thrill-seeking bastard. You enjoyed this way too much, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t you?” He questions back, tickling your sides, a wide, satisfied smile on his face. God, you loved him so much. He pulls you back to him again, and you turn to the other side so he can grind against you from behind. He’s rock hard. “We have some thick curtains here, after all.” You say, mischievously, before you close the curtains as carefully as possible. He lifts up your dress once again, this time high enough so he can fill his hands with your breasts, and he, agonizingly slowly, teases your nipples with his fingertips while he keeps grinding against you. This, alone, gets you motivated enough for another round. “God, Coxon, you’re going to be the death of me.” Your voice’s painfully needy, just like every other part of you.

You spread your legs a little wider to give him better access to you. Feeling cool air against your bare ass, you bite your lip and screw your eyes shut when his hand squeezes your butt. “Dripping wet for me. You’re glistening.” He quietly notes, giving your butt a little kiss - you then look over your shoulder to watch him get his jeans open. His hard cock bounces against your ass as he pushes his boxers down. You wiggle to get him inside you while he tortuously slowly runs the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy. When it bumps against your sensitive clit, you can’t stop the mewl of his name.

After a few more hard breaths, he was inside you. You’re hungry for him too, and the sound of your body clashing against his is something unbelievable. You begin in a faster pace than the one you’re used to – and that’s not a problem. At all. Speed is of essence, but you’re also starving for each other. It feels like no contact is ever 100% enough.

Your hands keep firmly gripping the balcony and when he lowers his chest against your back you can’t hold back the involuntary gasp that leaves your throat and echoes through the empty house. One of his large hands holds your hips in place while he fucks you mercilessly, the other one covers your mouth hastily – his shaky voice betrays how badly this is affecting him too. “Shhh, love. You don't want anyone seeing you in that state. So fucking tight around me.”

He was sinking more deeply into you with each thrust now, and trying to keep your eyes open while his now awaken dominant side is doing that to you, exactly the way you want him to, is torture. You feel like you’re going to pass out from the all the sensorial and contextual stimulation. “You want me to come inside you, baby?” To which you keenly reply with a nod, not bothering to uncover your mouth. This was perfect.

He edged his hips back so he reaches your most sensitive spot and his grip on your mouth constricts when he notices how loud you want to be. “Feels like a dream inside you but keep. Quiet.” His voice lowers to a breathy whisper against your throat and the hands that were holding your hips in place now snaked to the front of your body to help you get off. And like that, you do, coming a second time, this orgasm even more intense than the last. The way your walls twitch around his dick is enough to push him over the edge too, and you feel him spilling inside you. You milk him of every drop, and after you both ride off your high, you feel a tender kiss that lasts for a while in your scalp, a silent “thank you” while he slips out of you.

You put your dress back on place, trying to compose yourself before you can look another human in the eye again. You have a positively overwhelmed, just-woke-up-from-an-incredible-dream look on your face. “You better not get me addicted to this kind of risky shit.”

He laughs while he also does his best to look like not one hair or piece of clothing ever went out of place. “Sorry, Y/N, I think I already did.”

[wolftraps]

For the reverb inspiration thing honestly I'd kinda like more Ethan stuff? Mostly because it'd be fun to see someone adjusting to the future institute and that sort of flavor of outsider POV intrigues me. Plus I also just... Love Naomi a lot...

As happens with literally everything I write, this ended up longer than intended. So here’s Ethan’s first week at the Blackwood Institute. Poor guy. His boss is a creepy moron. Warning for a brief mention of self-harm and eye trauma right at the start here, but pretty much everything is canon-typical. This is also on AO3.

--

Being an Assistant Archivist at the Blackwood Institute is… well, it’s nerve-wracking honestly. There’s no formal training, and this seems to be largely because there’s been only one other person to have held the position in… ever, as far as Ethan can tell. And that had been over fifteen years ago and lasted a grand total of nine months before Chloe Halloway, age 29, had a “crisis of faith” and tendered her resignation by pouring bleach directly into her eyes.

“If you’re going to reconsider your position here,” Jon said matter-of-factly, after telling Ethan this, “I highly suggest you do so prior to signing a permanent contract.”

Which was really unnecessarily creepy, sure, but creepy is sort of why Ethan is here in the first place, so not that surprising. The least Miss Halloway could have done, in his opinion, was leave some kind of manual or something behind. A guide. Notes. Ethan would probably be willing to kill a man for a “To-Do list” at this point.

Technically Ethan has his own office, but the room is dusty and cluttered and doesn’t actually have a desk or chair yet, so he set up in the main Archive area, where there are three ancient desks, three slightly less ancient desk chairs, a small table, and inexplicably, a wardrobe and a worn armchair. Finding the least uncomfortable configuration of furniture made him feel a bit like Goldilocks, despite the desks and corresponding chairs being virtually identical. He figured that was what had been meant by “make yourself comfortable.” Jon didn’t say any different.

Between orientation (signing papers, sitting through general training, another tour, getting his picture taken with an actual polaroid camera, etc) and “settling in,” it hadn’t mattered the first day that Jon didn’t give him any direction. And when Ethan got in on the second day, Jon had already been in the middle of taking a statement, so Ethan had busied himself going through the desk he’d taken. And then another desk. And then the other desk.

At the end of that task, he had various office supplies, a good dozen unfiled statements, five tape recorders, sixteen unlabeled tapes, five labeled tapes that didn’t match any of the unfiled statements, a small notebook with a few unfinished poems, a bag of what might have once been gummy worms, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, two very faded polaroids of a younger Jon and Martin with a woman identified on the back as Sasha, and a large, large stack of poorly drawn and seemingly conflicting maps. Also a lingering feeling that he would never be able to fully get the cobwebs off his arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it.

Well, except for the gummy worms and vodka, which he promptly disposed of.

Most of the rest ended up on top of one of the unused desks. And by the time that was done, it was nearly time to leave. As far as Ethan could tell, Jon hadn’t come out of his office once. Though, apparently the statement-giver had left at some point without Ethan noticing, so he couldn’t actually be sure. He does have a tendency to block everything else out when he’s focused on a task.

When he came in on the third day, the desk he’d placed everything on was clear and Jon wasn’t in his office. In absence of anything else to do, Ethan started looking through the database. From reading (and supposing any of what he heard on The Observer Chronicles was accurate), he thought he understood a couple of the categories. Others seemed a bit too… arbitrary. Most entries appeared to have corresponding files regarding any follow-up done, but very few had actual digital copies of the statements themselves. And only the discredited statements had audio files.

Jon didn’t return until well after lunch time, and when he did he seemed almost surprised to see Ethan there.

“You should take an early day,” Jon told him, before Ethan managed to formulate any of his questions. “Daisy’s brought me a statement. Probably best it doesn’t see you in case we decide to let it go.”

And then he went into his office. Ethan had no idea who Daisy was or how a statement was supposed to see him— or what it would do to him if it did— but it didn’t look like he was going to get any answers now, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it. So he was left with nothing but to do as Jon suggested.

—

“You’re home early,” Naomi says when he walks in to find his mum sitting on the couch.

“So are you,” Ethan replies, and he didn’t even do all that much today, but he feels exhausted none-the-less.

“I had an appointment,” she reminds him. Right. He knew that. He’d just… forgotten. But he knows she hadn’t really expected him to remember. “Nothing to report. So? What has you home already?”

“Jon told me to go home. Someone named Daisy brought him a statement, and he thought it was better I wasn’t there. Why? I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s early yet, and they deal with some pretty dangerous things there,” she reasons. “The Jon I knew tried to look out for people. Can’t say I’m not glad if it’s still the same.”

“Sure, but…” Ethan stands there, fiddling with the strap of his bag, staring at the coffee table as he tries to find the words. Naomi waits, but he’s not sure what to say.

“Why don’t you go put your bag down,” she says eventually. “Think it over a bit, then come sit with me. I’ll get you some tea and wake up Beaker.”

True to her word, when Ethan gets back in more comfortable clothes, there’s a cup of tea waiting on the table, just barely steaming, and a squirming, growling ball of orange fluff in his mum’s lap. The moment he sits and Naomi lets go, the cat is in his lap, squeaking her indignation. Her brush is already set on the couch beside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and his mum just nods.

“So?” she prompts.

Ethan sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ethan, you’ve only been there three days. Not even three days. Everyone feels lost when they start a new job. It happened literally every time you started a new year in school, if you’ll recall.” He keeps brushing Beaker, but he can see his mum smiling in his peripheral vision and he rolls his eyes.

“No, yeah, I know that. I mean I literally have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s been no training. No instructions. I don’t- I cleaned out desks and I looked through the database and I read some old statements, and I keep waiting for Jon to say something. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain anything.” Beaker squeaks again, nipping at his arm as he absently tugs a bit too hard at a knot of fur. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Naomi says, huffing slightly the same way she does every time the tube runs late, even though she expects it. “That’s far, far more common than you’d think.”

“That makes no sense, though! How are people supposed to do their jobs if no one explains how to do the job?”

“Well… I think a lot of people try to pretend and copy the people around them. It’s usually better to just ask, though. People can get so used to doing something that they honestly forget that other people don’t know how, and Jon’s been doing this for a very long time. What did he say when you asked?”

On the table, Ethan’s tea is going cold. If he leans over to get it, though, Beaker will probably yell at him and run away, and brushing her really is helping him relax. But his mouth feels so dry, and it might be worth it.

“Ethan,” his mum says in that tone. That one she always got right before Caleb tried to lie to her. “You did ask Jon, right?”

There’s another knot in Beaker’s fur, but he takes more care with this one and she just keeps purring. He rocks. His mouth is still so dry.

Naomi sighs, setting her own cup down and passing Ethan his, handle out. It’d be alright today, he thinks, if their hands touched when he took it from her, but she’s always careful anyway. He takes a sip. The tea is good, as always, though he can’t help thinking of his interview with Martin. There’d been a cup waiting for him in Martin’s office. His favorite kind, perfectly made. He’d meant to ask Martin how he knew, but then he just… hadn’t.

“You didn’t. Ethan, you… Okay. Okay. Why not?” his mum asks.

“I don’t know! He’s always… in his office and- and busy or— I don’t know. He makes me a little… nervous or something.”

“Intimidated.”

“Maybe?”

“I can understand that,” she says. “The first time I technically met Jon, I was terrified of him. The first… many times. Even after I actually met him and got to talk to him, I kept having to remind myself that he didn’t want to hurt me. If he’s still like I remember him, and I’m willing to bet he is, then I don’t think leaving you to figure things out yourself or not talking to you is intentional. He’s really a very… very awkward man.” She’s staring at the wall, but doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and after a moment she laughs a little. “Promise me you’ll at least try to talk to him Monday?”

Ethan promises, of course.

—

Jon doesn’t even seem to understand the words at first, when Ethan asks him what an assistant here does. For a few seconds, there’s no expression, and then Jon’s brow furrows and he looks down at the papers on his desk like he might read the answer there.

“I— Hmm,” he says. “F-file? Organize? I— What did they— I never actually was one, so… It occurs to me that I am very lucky I chose to include Sasha after all. You might ask her? Or- or Martin. They actually did the assisting once upon a time, so…” Jon shrugs, or Ethan thinks he does. There’s a cat draped across his shoulders, so they don’t actually move much. And then Ethan stands there, and Jon sits, and neither of them say anything, and if Ethan’s mum is right, it’s because neither of them is quite sure what to say.

Ethan leaves.

Martin was nice during his interview. Encouraging and friendly and patient when it took some time for Ethan to decide what to say. It was a far, far easier interview than he’d feared. And Martin had said Ethan could come to him if he had any questions. Despite that, Martin makes Ethan even more nervous than Jon. It’s always worse disappointing friendly people.

So instead, Ethan makes his way to the Library, because that’s where Sasha works, if he’s remembering right. Once he’s there, though, he has no idea where to look, and it occurs to him that there may be more than one Sasha. The one he’d seen when he interviewed was young; maybe a couple years older than him. But the one in the pictures he found in the Archives would surely be Jon’s age at least. There’s no one who looks like either of them that he can see.

“Excuse me,” he says to someone who is probably a librarian, since he’s sitting at a desk with a plaque that says the date and ‘You’d have been out of here days ago if you’d just asked for help.’ The man doesn’t look up from his book. “I’m looking for Sasha?”

“Upstairs,” the guy says. The library is only one floor, though. It’s the first time he’s been in it, but Ethan made note of all Mara’s warnings.

“I’d like to speak to Sasha,” he says, firmer. The guy doesn’t look up and doesn’t look up and doesn’t… and then something changes and he stiffens and slowly looks up at Ethan, and he seems almost… nervous.

The man coughs. “O-oh. You’re- you’re from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Ethan agrees. “I need to talk to Sasha?”

“Right. Sure. Um, I’ll get— uh, Kelly- Kelly will help you.” The man nods toward something over Ethan’s shoulder. When he turns there’s someone already there, a bit too close, and Ethan didn’t know teeth could be that white.

“Hi!” They smile and smile. “I’m Michael. You can call me Kelly. I’m here to help. This way please!” Literally turning on their heel, they walk away with a gait more like a bounce than a walk, and Ethan follows. Right up until they hop onto the first step.

“I—” he says. Even before they turn their head, he can somehow see their smile. Human necks almost definitely aren’t supposed to turn that far. He almost forgets what he meant to say.

“Yes?”

“I— I was told the library is only one storey.”

They smile and smile. “That’s right.”

“But… the stairs?” he asks.

“What stairs?” Their head tilts, like a curious dog, still looking over their shoulder. And human necks definitely aren’t supposed to turn like that.

Ethan looks down at the stair Kelly is perched on, and they look down as well. There is no acknowledgement of the stairs.

“Come on!” They smile. “Best to take the first step at a bit of a jump!”

And they keep going up the stairs, so Ethan takes a breath and hops onto the first step.

Except it isn’t a step. It’s… a rug maybe? It doesn’t stop looking like stairs, but the whole thing is level, and he nearly trips more than a couple times expecting his foot to hit the floor before it does. When they reach the end, he looks back. Back and down. Down at the library, one storey below.

At the end of a short hallway, there is a yellow door; one that Ethan is sure he’s seen before, except somewhere else. Kelly bounces up to it and knocks, and looks back at him and smiles and smiles, and then the door creaks open.

The person who emerges is definitely the young woman he saw when he came for his interview, but she’s also almost definitely the woman in the photograph from decades ago.

“Hi, Sasha!” Kelly smiles. “This one wants to talk to you!”

“Oh? Oh!” Sasha also smiles, and there’s a ringing in Ethan’s ear when she talks, but it seems like a fairly normal smile. At least, comparatively. “You’re the new Archival Assistant!”

“Uh, A- Assistant Archivist, actually.” It probably doesn’t matter. People are always telling him things like this don’t matter, and he shouldn’t bother correcting them. For some reason, though, it really feels like this does.

Sasha, at least, looks a bit surprised. “Really? Huh. That’s fascinating.”

Ethan is at least 75% sure she isn’t being sarcastic. “Is it?”

The hallway couldn’t have been more than five meters, but her laugh echoes down it. “It is! Thank you, Kelly. I’ll be sure Ethan makes his way back alright.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Kelly doesn’t move. They keep looking at Sasha and they smile and smile and smile until eventually Sasha rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Please,” she says. “I couldn’t lose one of Jon’s if I wanted to. He’ll be back in the Archives as soon as we’re done talking.”

Kelly smiles. “Okay!” they say cheerily, as if there’d never been any tension at all. “Nice to meet you, Ethan!” and then they’re gone.

“They’re a good kid,” Sasha says. “Well, then. Please, step into my office.” She closes the yellow door behind her and opens a different one beside it, that Ethan is also sure hadn’t been there a moment before. It’s a normal enough door, though. Looks a lot like Jon’s, actually. Sasha waves him through, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan would be sure he was back in the Archives.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s the same couch that’s currently sitting in Jon’s office and the same armchair he’d moved into his own “office” the other day; though both look in significantly better shape here.

“Have a seat,” Sasha says, dropping onto the couch— or draping herself across it rather— and eliciting a grumbling meow from an almost opalescent white cat that flicks its tail when she goes to pet it and jumps into Ethan’s lap the moment he settles into the chair. At first touch its fur feels like marble, but then he pets it and it feels like plush. He can’t hear the purr, but the rumble makes his fingers tingle.

“So, Ethan. What can I help you with?” Sasha asks.

“Well. My job… I hope.”

She sits up and sounds delighted when she says, “Oh, did you find a statement about me already? You’ve only been here a couple weeks, haven’t you?”

“Four… days?” It’s not a question. Ethan knows this is his fourth day. Knows. Yet for some reason he starts second guessing himself. It has only been four days… right? Yes. Yes, four days.

After the “stairs,” he doesn’t bother asking why there would be statements about her.

Sasha thinks for a moment and then waves his comment away. “Close enough. Time is fake. So… which one is it?”

“I didn’t— find a statement. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Jon told me to ask you because you’ve actually done the job before.”

If she keeps laughing like that, he’s going to end up with a headache. The ringing is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wish I could think you were joking, but I know you’re not. I love Jon. He’s such a disaster. You know he knows basically everything?” Ethan does not know that. A lot, definitely. More than anyone logically should or could, sure. But everything?

“That… sounds improbable.” Buried in the cat’s equally improbable fur, Ethan’s fingers start going numb.

“He does. He knows almost everything and then always forgets that he knows anything. It’s hilarious,” Sasha says with a grin. “Alright. We used to do a lot of research, but that was back when we were cleaning up Gertrude’s mess and all the work the actual Research department did somehow got lost on its way down the stairs. The real ones. And Jon only knew most things rather than basically everything…”

She tells him she did research and reorganized possibly the worst archiving system in the world. She tells him she took statement-givers’ information and caught flies to feed the spiders in the corners. She tells him she killed worms and mapped underground tunnels and scanned in old letters and typed up written statements and managed “monster relations” and blew up mannequins and recorded false statements and hacked government networks and provided alibis and stole old books from museums and sang to the recorders so they wouldn’t start eating people’s fingers and updated the database and appeased disgruntled “youtubers” and collected obituaries and plotted her boss’s death.

Ethan is sure some of these things aren’t true, but he just walked up a flight of not-stairs, so he honestly couldn’t begin to guess which. He’s also not sure how many of them are relevant.

“Mostly, though,” Sasha concludes, “you take care of Jon.”

He does try to ask about the categories, and a couple of the titles she gives them make some kind of sense, but she also says category 06 is “me”, 09 is poker, 10 is geese, and 15 is millennials, so he decides to take those with a grain of salt as well.

When they finally leave her office, the door opens into the front lobby.

“There we are! Back safe and sane, just like I promised. I know I said I’d get you back to the Archives, but I’m not actually allowed to open doors down there anymore. And it’s only… Oops.” The lobby is quiet and the windows are dark. It’s definitely well into evening, though Ethan suspects midnight has come and gone. His watch starts buzzing with missed messages. “Well, I’m sure it’s at least the same day or Jon would’ve yelled at me by now. I could give you a shortcut home?”

The yellow door is back, and beyond it is a long hallway.

“I think I’d better take the long way,” he says.

Sasha nods. “That’s fair.”

—

If Ethan could actually figure out how to message HR, he would just message them. Even if it took them a day to get back to him, he’d still be better off than he has been so far. Unfortunately, he can’t find any sort of contact information for them at all. So the morning of his fifth day, he goes to the front desk and meets Priya No-Last-Name-As-Is-Tradition, who handles “reception, admin, and whatever Martin needs.”

He doesn’t ask, but she informs him Martin will be in a meeting all morning anyway. That’s fine. She’s more than happy to walk him up to HR and introduce him to a woman named Hope.

Hope startles when she sees them, and her fingers freeze on her keyboard, but there is definitely some kind of movement in her lap, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Then she smiles and turns to face them and Ethan does not comment on the fact that he can see two long, black limbs trying to shove some sort of yarn project into the drawer of a filing cabinet behind her. Priya nods at a job well done and leaves him there.

“How can I help you?” Hope asks. There’s something not quite right about her smile, but Ethan doesn’t comment on that either.

Instead, he says, “Do you have any sort of job description or scope of duties for the Assistant Archivist position?”

Hope blinks.

“The what?” she asks.

“The Assistant Archivist position.”

She blinks again. Her smile is gone, and he’s honestly glad for it. “Assistant… Archivist.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I would hope so? I was just hired as one, so…”

She blinks again, then shakes her head. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I just… Honestly, I was sort of under the impression no one could work down there but the Archivist.”

Given that apparently only one other person has in longer than Ethan’s been alive, he doesn’t exactly blame her. Still, he’s pretty sure it’s her job to know these things, and he’d really like an answer.

“I understand,” he says, “but I do work down there. So…”

“Right. Yes. Assistant Archivist, you said? Just a moment.” She turns back to her display, taps a few keys, and then starts scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All the while singing “Assistant Archivist Archivist Assistant Assist Assist the Archivist” under her breath.

Three minutes later, Ethan is still waiting.

“Are you… sure that’s your position title?” she asks finally, and Ethan turns around and heads back to the Archives.

—

While he hopes he never has to do most of the things Sasha listed as her duties, there are a couple Ethan thinks he can probably manage. He has no idea what, if anything, might need to be done with the statements that already have case numbers, but there’s a shelf of boxes near the Archive entrance labeled “Me Next!” that Jon had said were unprocessed. Maybe he won’t be able to fit them all into the proper categories, but there have to be some that are obviously false, and it seems as good a way as any to get more familiar with the database.

Halfway through the day, he switches to listening to some of the old audio files to figure out the format. It doesn’t seem too complicated. Probably he can record a couple test statements, get a feel for it.

Twenty minutes later, he gives up searching and asks Jon where to find their recording software. Jon frowns and tells him he’s better off finding a free one online, so Ethan reaches out to IT instead.

Ten minutes after that, he gets a message from Cass Walters telling him to check his apps again and that he’ll “know it when [he] see[s] it.” So he does.

Halfway through the list there’s an icon with a stylized cassette tape. It’s labeled “IM TELLING YOU IT FUCKING WORKS JON”, and Ethan figures that’s probably it. Thankfully it’s fairly intuitive, and it might end up being a total waste of his time, but by the end of the day he has three halfway decent recordings and feels like he accomplished something, at least.

-

On his sixth day, one week after starting, Ethan comes in just in time to hear someone say, “Are you kidding me?!” really quite loudly in Jon’s office.

It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation he wants to disturb, so he goes to his desk and gets set up as quietly as he can and meets the cat’s judging stare head-on while eavesdropping. She blinks and rubs up against his leg, and he can’t help but think it was some kind of test. Apparently he passed.

“You know everything, Jon,” the same person says, and Ethan is at least 80% sure it’s Martin.

“Not ev—”

“Everything,” Martin repeats. “How can you possibly not know what your own assistant is supposed to be doing?”

“I can’t know things that don’t exist, Martin. Chloe always wanted to figure everything out herself and made things up as she went along. It may as well be a new position. So, I don’t know.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“… Yes, Martin.”

“Love,” Martin says.

Jon sighs. “Yes, Martin. I realize—”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Yes, Martin. I get it.”

“He’s an Assistant Archivist! Tell him what you need assistance archiving!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon says. If either of them say anything in the few minutes after that, though, it’s too quiet for Ethan to hear.

“Alright,” Martin says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement despite the silence. “I love you.”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says, the same tired way he’d said it before, though there’s a slight laugh at the end now. “I know.”

Martin is smiling when he comes out of Jon’s office. Instead of leaving the Archives, he walks up to Ethan’s desk and sets a mug of barely steaming tea down upon it.

“It should be just right now,” Martin says, like he’d known exactly when Ethan was going to arrive— despite him being half an hour early— and purposely made the tea so it would have cooled to the perfect temperature the moment he walked in. It is, of course, made perfectly as well. “I should have warned you a bit more about Jon. He’s a bit of a moron sometimes, but he means well. The next time you ask a question and he says he doesn’t know or tries to send you to someone else, just ask again, a bit slower. Usually the critical thinking capabilities will catch on then. Come see me whenever you’re free on Friday. I’d like to hear how you’re doing, once you actually get into the work.” And then he’s gone before Ethan can say a word.

In the doorway of his office, Jon clears his throat.

“I’ve been— reliably informed that I owe you an apology,” he says, and Ethan really would rather he didn’t. Apologies are almost always terrible, no matter which side you’re on. They’re awkward and often pointless. It’s not like he’s hurt or anything. Jon feeling bad isn’t going to do anything but make Ethan uncomfortable. “I sho—”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Can we just skip to you training me?”

“… Yes. Yes, we can,” Jon says, possibly as relieved as Ethan to move on. He looks less tense, at least. “We usually wait until the end of probation to explain the fears, but that won’t exactly work here, so we’ll get to that in a moment. You’ve already started recording, so I suppose the first thing to know is that true statements won’t record digitally. The audio always ends up corrupted. I don’t think I’ll have you start recording any real statements quite yet, but once you do, you’ll have to use the— the tape…” He trails off, staring down at the small stack of statements Ethan recorded yesterday.

When Jon shows no sign of continuing, Ethan tentatively prompts, “The— tape recorders?”

“You’ve already started recording,” Jon says again.

“Yes?”

He pulls out the statement at the bottom of the stack and holds it out to Ethan, shaking it slightly. “You recorded this statement.”

“Yes? It was the last one I did before I went home last night.”

“Play it for me.” So Ethan does. Three minutes in, staring at the paper in his hand, Jon tells him to stop. “That’s not… Set up a new recording. I’m going to start reading this, and after two minutes, I want you to take this from me and stop the recording.” So Ethan does that too.

It had felt a bit… odd, when Ethan read the statement yesterday. Like the air got thicker, almost. But he’d also been very tired, and while a lot of things are weird at the Institute, that doesn’t mean everything is. It’s different when Jon starts reading. Not so much the air getting thicker as pressing down on them, and Ethan feels very uncomfortably like someone is making direct eye contact with him. It’s creepy. He almost misses the two minute mark.

The second he pulls the paper from Jon’s hands, the feeling lifts. Somehow, he isn’t surprised that playback of Jon’s reading comes out with a terrible screech and a whole lot of broken, garbled nonsense.

Jon looks between Ethan, the paper, and the display again and again.

“Jon?” Ethan asks.

“That’s not fair,” Jon replies. Then, with a sigh, “I guess I have more work for you than I thought.”

[sarahwroteathing]

Just One Kiss (15)

Word Count: 2578

Summary: Bucky returns home

Warnings: A touch of language and a whoooooole lot of love

A/N: IT’S TIME! Thank you so much to those who have stuck with me and left sweet comments on every chapter. I couldn’t have kept this going without you. 

Catch up here!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sounds of joy and relief echoed all around you, families reunited, crying and hugging and cheering as the sun sank towards the horizon. You doubted there was any lipstick left on your bottom lip the way you kept anxiously biting at it, straining up on tiptoes to peer through the crowd. 

“Should we check with Mrs. Barnes and Rebecca again?” you asked, settling back down on your heels with a disappointed frown.

“If we keep going over there it will defeat the whole purpose of splitting up,” Betty said gently. “If they had found him, they would have brought him over here already. Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to meet him?”

You gave a frustrated huff, pulling the note you had received a week ago out of your purse. An unfamiliar but well-dressed man had delivered it to your apartment, placing it in your hands with a “our mutual friend sends his regards.” It was a date and time, now two hours past. A ship had been scheduled to arrive then, as confirmed by one of Betty’s friends who worked at the docks. World-weary soldiers in their dress greens had flooded the docks, and given the lack of press and fanfair you would guess that no one was aware of who else had traveled home on that ship. 

“It doesn’t say,” you admitted, flipping the page over as if hoping new text had materialized since you’d last checked five minutes ago. ��But he had to know I’d come here. I could hardly just sit around at home and wait for him to show up, now could I?” 

Betty started to laugh at your grumpy expression but cut off abruptly and grabbed your shoulders. 

“I spy a star spangled man with a plan! Look!” 

Betty steered you in the right direction, and the two of you took off weaving through the crowd as quickly as you were able without the use of aggressive elbows. You were halfway to him when Steve noticed you, moving in your direction with a soft smile. He had an easier go of it, people stepping respectfully out of his way until he reached you. 

“Steve! I’m so glad you’re home,” you said, throwing your arms around him. 

“I’m -”

“Move over! There’s room for both of us now!” Betty complained, coming up behind you. 

You shuffled to the side accordingly, and Steve laughed as he hugged you both. 

“You’re okay? You’re happy?” you asked as you pulled back, holding onto his shoulders and surveying his face with a worried expression.

“I’m happy,” he promised. 

You gave a pleased nod, but your smile faded when you noted the very clear absence of the man you most wanted to see.

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked nervously, but when Steve opened his mouth the answer, he was promptly cut off by a chorus of other voices.

“Well hello to you too.”

“No hero’s welcome for us.”

“Of course not. Have you seen yourself?”

“Fuck off, Morita.”

“Please, there are ladies present.”

Assembled in a loose semicircle around you were none other than the Howling Commandos, looking characteristically grumpy but nearly unrecognizable in dress uniforms. 

“Well, aren’t you a double ration of man,” Betty commented mildly, her eyes fixed on Dugan. 

“Betty!” you choked on a laugh, pinching her side as the men snickered and Dugan shot a wink at you.

You cleared your throat pointedly as you recovered your poise, offering your hand to each man in turn.

“Forgive my lapse in manners. It’s very nice to meet you all in person. Mr. Falsworth, Monsieur Dernier, I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you in person,” you said, offering a hand to each in turn. “We appreciated your letters. They were beautifully written.”

The comment elicited another round of laughter and nudges while Gabe Jones rolled his eyes.

“That would be my work, thank you. Be glad you never saw the unedited versions.”

The comment sparked a litany of protests from all but Dugan, who shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. 

“They haven’t quite wrung every drop of good publicity out of us yet,” Steve said explained quietly, shaking his head at the others’ antics. “We’re expected in D.C. in a couple of weeks.”

“Well they’ll certainly have their hands full with this group,” Betty commented mildly. “Though it looks like you’re one short.”

You reached out to squeeze Betty’s hand in gratitude.

“He went looking for his family. But he said to tell you he’s going to meet you after. Someplace special.”

“Where?”

“He said you’d know,” Steve answered with an apologetic shrug. 

You felt a little flutter in your chest and turned to Betty.

“A special place. Do you think…?”

“Has to be. Go!”

You gave a giddy smile and turned to run, but Steve caught your arm.

“Wait! Just… Go slow, okay? He was really nervous when he left. Asked us to stall. Give him some time.” 

“Why is he nervous?”

“It’s been a long time, Y/N. And he knows how important this is. He just wants to get it right.”

On impulse, you pulled Steve into another hug. 

“You’re a very good friend, you know. To both of us.”

“Go get him, Mrs. Barnes,” he said with a wink when he pulled away, and the Howling Commandos lived up to their name as you worked your way towards the street.

It took every ounce of self control you possessed to keep a slow and steady pace, forcing your steps to fall in line with deep, even breaths. You tried to keep yourself distracted, counting cracks in the pavement, fixing your lipstick, reciting a poem Bucky wrote to you from memory. The closer you drew to the park, the less helpful these little distractions became until you were stepping under the shade of the trees and the sound of the street faded behind you.

He was standing almost perfectly still when you reached the gazebo, his back turned to you, eyes fixed on the post where he had carved your initials that spring day now years past. His fingers drumming restlessly on the railing was the only visible indication of his nerves. 

“Bucky?”  

Your voice was barely a whisper, but that’s all it took. Bucky turned on his heel, you froze on the steps, and for a moment everything stopped. 

Then one breath.

Two.

A shaky inhale.

A breathless, nervous laugh, and you both rushed forward, colliding at a speed which knocked what little breath you had left out of your lungs, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. Bucky’s arms closed around you, squeezing you to his chest as your arms went around his shoulders. Unsteady breaths stirred your hair, and you buried your smile against his neck as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“What’s all this for? I thought you didn’t miss me,” he whispered after a few moments. 

You huffed and pulled away from him, reaching back to pull his hands free when he only clutched your waist tighter for your efforts. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, keeping ahold of your hands, refusing to give up that last point of contact. 

The softness in his eyes did nothing to ease your nerves, and you drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to kiss you, James Buchanan.”

“Oh! Well… Whatever you say, doll.” He was doing his best to contain a smile and failing spectacularly.

You tugged him toward you breathlessly, anxiously, the remaining space between you closing fast yet somehow not quite fast enough. The very first press of his soft lips on yours felt like liberation. Your heart fluttered frantically in your chest, any reservations and lingering nerves melting away.

Your kiss shot through Bucky like a livewire, his hands moving to grip your waist reflexively. And when he thought he felt your mouth begin to curve up at the action, he pressed closer, desperate to taste that beautiful smile the way he had always wanted. You couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped you at single-minded tender energy he was pouring into this moment, giving a little start in his arms as his hold tightened and your feet left the ground.

It was your turn to grip him harder, your hands curling into fists on his chest, bunching the fabric of his jacket in a way that was sure to wrinkle and just as sure to escape both of your notice. One of Bucky’s hands slid up from your waist, taking the opportunity to press you more completely against his chest as it went, before venturing into your hair.

 You could feel him actively undoing all the work you’d put into your appearance that morning, disheveling every curl, loosening every pin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by it. Instead, it sparked a matching mischief in you, and you released his collar in favor of seeking playful revenge, snatching up that jaunty hat in one hand and doing your very best to ruffle and tug his carefully combed hair with the other. 

Bucky broke into a laugh, trying to hold it at bay but ultimately failing as you joined in with euphoric giggles of your own. You collapsed into each other, your head falling forward to rest on his shoulder as he nuzzled against your neck, the both of you thoroughly caught up in a wave of breathless, blissful laughter. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your skin, prompting a bright smile and a giddy sigh.

“I love you too, James Buchanan. With all of my heart.”

“Yeah?” 

“I swear it on all the letters under the floorboard.”

Bucky lifted his head, fixing you with the sweetest smile, but you couldn’t appreciate it for more than a few seconds before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, grinning wider at the sweet sound.

“You h-have lipstick all over your m-m-mouth,” you struggled out as you laughed, digging into your jacket pocket for your handkerchief. 

Bucky swatted at your hand when you reached up to wipe away the bright stain, signature smirk firmly in place.

“Hey, no! Leave it! How else will I know this wasn’t just another daydream, huh?”

“Stop - Let me - Bucky, quit!” 

He evaded your attempts for a few moments, alternating between pushing and capturing your hands when you tried to reach for him before surrendering, holding you close against his chest as a consolation prize as you wiped away the vibrant smudges. Though he was quite content with the arrangement, he put on a pout, winning him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

“That one you can keep,” you said, appraising the lip print with satisfaction.

“What about this one?” Bucky asked, squeezing you tightly.

“This one?” you laughed. “A very affectionate nickname. I’m honored.”

“I can do better,” he said with a nervous smile, squeezing you again for just a moment before pulling away to kneel in front of you.

“Bucky,” you whispered faintly. “What are you doing?”

“I know it may seem a little silly since we’ve only just had our first kiss, but…”

“Oh my god.” 

“I have loved you for... most of life. And I know it hasn’t been that long for you, and maybe you’re not ready for this yet, and that’s alright. You know by now I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes for you.”

Your eyes were burning, tears fighting their way to the surface as you tried to control your breathing.

“But I just… it’s all I could think about. Every second I was over there, and every time I looked at your picture or read your letters… And as soon as I got off the boat I saw this kid, and he was folding up this  gum wrapper, and… Well, I… I paid him fifty cents for it,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head at himself as he reached into his pocket for it, a delicate little ring made of carefully folded foil. 

“Fifty cents?” you choked out with a tearful laugh.

“I probably could have gotten it for free, but I panicked, and it seemed like the most important thing in the world at the moment. Remember when we were kids and I used to make these all the time?”

“You used to try,” you said breathlessly.

“I was practicing,” he shrugged. “And it seems a little ridiculous now. I know I can buy you something nicer, and I promise I will, but… I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”

“Bucky, are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to -”

“Of course I’m sure,” he answered with a warm smile. “You’re my forever. You always have been.”

When you dropped down into Bucky’s arms, he rose to meet you halfway, lifting you straight off the ground and clutching you tightly. You held him with a grip even stronger, your happiness flooding out in a wave of tearful giggles. Bucky gave you a couple of spins for good measure before setting you carefully on your feet, releasing you with one hand to reform the makeshift ring which had been crushed in his palm. He held it up for your inspection, watching you carefully, his nervous expression blooming into a brilliant smile when you slipped it onto your left ring finger.

Without a single word, he crushed you against his chest, burying his face in your neck as if he hadn’t the slightest intention of moving again. 

“You haven’t heard my answer yet, you know,” you teased, coaxing his head up so you could look into those gorgeous eyes you’d missed so much. You held his chin carefully, your thumb resting over the dimple that seemed placed for precisely that purpose. The corner of your mouth curled up against your will when Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, arching an eyebrow in challenge. 

“If you say ‘I’m not marrying you, James Buchanan,’ I swear….”

“You swear you’ll what?” you laughed, and he let out a pained sigh.

“I’ll keep asking. Every day until you say yes,” he admitted. 

“You haven’t even properly asked me today yet. Maybe try that first.”

He gave a slow nod, leaning forward until his forehead rested against yours.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke. 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

And once again you were lost in a flurry of swirling skirts and breathless laughter, Bucky dropping feather-light kisses everywhere he could reach until you were thoroughly flustered.

“You’ll still have to walk me home, you know,” you added once he’d grown a little calmer.

“Oh, no! However shall I manage,” he said groaned, taking your hand and pulling you towards the park path.

“Well, I have to benefit from this marriage somehow. It’s the least you could do.”

“You’re right. I plan to make you perfectly miserable, so your sacrifice is appreciated,” Bucky said, drawing you closer to his side, and brushing a kiss to your temple as you rolled your eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So, we won’t get married until next week. I’ll be less ridiculous then.”

“Next week?” you cried, shoving at his shoulder in disbelief until he stumbled a few steps to the side with a laugh.

“Fine, fine. Tomorrow.”

“Bucky!” 

With his laughter echoing through the evening air, your heart felt  lighter, happier than you could ever remember it feeling. He was home. He was safe. He was yours. And that was all you were ever going to need.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

How do we feel? Sound off - who’s still alive?? Come scream with me!

Again, thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. Your comments kept me going, they really did.

Bonus Drabble questions will remain open, both for events before, during, and after the series if you want to know anything about their married life. And if anyone’s interested, there may be an epilogue forthcoming. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @wiintershero @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415 @notimetoblog @cherrynat  @multifandomgirl-us @teenybucks @angryteapot @nomadicpixel @raven-ur-mum @notimetoblog @vintagepigeon @withahintofpestoaioli @kindaace @sadanddeadsoul @thinkwritexpress-official @promarvelfangirl @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @majesticavenger @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[demisexualnathanvuornos]

RULES: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your up to 10 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

Got tagged by a couple of people/saw a mutual do it

Multitudes of (A)bsence / Monimuotoiset puutteet

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717583/chapters/59745241

This is my one and only original work. It's a short poem with an English and Finnish versions, about being aroace, demigender and atheist.

I was inspired to write it when I was reading Jenna Clare's poetry book, she's ace and Finnish American, so I decided to get her book because I am also two of those things. It's a beautiful book but at one point it talked of god in a way that it really hit, all the things I'm lacking.

I Never Really Let You Go

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260108

Just before Xmas, me and Grey-Haven (not on tumblr anymore) where talking about Lucas Bryant I guess and I lamented how impossible being able to watch Playing House (2006) has been. She, being in the UK, was able to purchase it on youtube and we watched it through some microsoft thing.

It was super funny and Lucas was absolutely perfect. So perfect that I wanted to write fic even after only one watch. I've since ordered both the book the movie was based on and a region free dvd from Australia, both of which I am still waiting for but should get them quite soon.

Also, this fic was more popular than I expected, I have lots of fics that struggle to reach 10 hits and this one has almost 40. Tagging the female lead maybe helped? Idk

Drabbles on Touch

I managed to write 9 chapters for Drabbles on Touch which I think is pretty good :

31. Dance (3x12 Reunion) (2020-03-30)

32. Fur (2020-08-14)

33. 1x8 PDA with Jess 1 (at the station) (2020-09-06)

34. 1x8 Almost sex with Jess (2020-11-02)

35. 1x8 PDA with Jess 2 (goodbye) (2020-09-07)

36. 1x8 Audrey's Cheek kiss (2020-09-12)

37. He Should Have Known (1x9) (2020-09-26)

38. Hands (1x9/1x10) (2020-11-01)

39. Accidental Touches (1x12 Resurfacing) (2020-10-04)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000235/chapters/24503604

It's Only Touch (All He Has Left)

I wrote an extra chapter for this that actually touches on a lot of the ideas I had about the fic but didn't end up including when I first wrote this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596324/chapters/58917880

What a Waste of a Good Boner (4x7 AU)

Some fun little Nathan/Audrey smut fic I thought should exist.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738766?view_full_work=true

Next up are a couple of fun multi-chapter fics I'm delighted that I managed to write and finish within 2020:

East Haven Seadogs vs West Haven Cutters

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750812/chapters/57042253

4 chapters of various stories about this silly little small town little league baseball rivalry. First Nathan pov in 2x4, then Audrey learns to appreciate baseball through Lexie and then James Wuornos' first game with his little sister in attendance and finally, I hit the 2020 pandemic, includes Nathan's childhood memories, including James Garrick and Duke.

Heir to the Herald

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099819/chapters/52743043

I started 2020 by properly reading The Colorado Kid. I was really taken with Stephanie McCann and rereading the pilot script inspired me to write a combination of all 3. Post canon, someone needs to run the Herald and Stephanie is perfect for the job.

Christmas Party in July

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899377/chapters/68318356

I know there were some prompts about this in July bcus Haven's 10 year anniversary but I wasn't inspired to read or write about this then. Because I don't even like this episode much. But rewatching it on its anniversary, I did find myself inspired to write about the aftermath of the party. Heavy still-one-sided Nathan/Audrey.

And then I thought about that calm bit in s5a and how that was probably in July. And the Paige is not as different from Audrey as one might think. It was fun to write these as almost advent thingies.

----

Moving on from fic, I absolutely loved Lucas' Country at Heart movie and especially the song, A Life in a Love, that he performs. I couldn't help but notice how well some lyrics with Haven, so I did graphic for all the lyrics. It's in many parts and I still think I might do Jennifer/Duke graphic for the last chorus, but that's not happening too soon. But I'm very happy with these and that I managed to do the Audrey pov before the year ended.

https://demisexualnathanvuornos.tumblr.com/tagged/a-life-in-a-love

Ever since it was established that Nathan was a Pet Shop Boy fan, I wanted to do a graphic about it. I even researched ages ago that in 1983/4 West End Girls would be the most likely song he had heard from them and it mentions 'Finland station', so it was perfect. But I then never really started to properly work on it and then I almost forgot it. Until I made those ALiaL graphic and I managed to finish these ones two. Needed to do it in two parts because it works better that way.

https://demisexualnathanvuornos.tumblr.com/tagged/pet-shop-boys

All in all, 2020 wasn't too bad a year for me, creatively. I could give special shoutouts to my Duke Sterling fic (now with a wip sequal), and fics for Lucas' two earlier Xmas movies, Merry In-Laws and A Very Merry Daughter of the Bride. Links available upon request or I might add them myself later.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

starker => “You will never do something more embarrassing than that love poem you wrote when we were 13 and read out in front of the whole school.”

Take Me Home 

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: ~4.5k Notes: Nonnie, this immediately brought me back to my high school friends and all the memories they like to bring up at the worst possible time. I hope you enjoy what I did with it.  Warnings: A brief section of NSFW stuff (though not explicit), mentions of homophobia Summary: 

Peter ran from home after turning 18 with a very willing Tony Stark right there with him. They manage to create a beautiful home in Manhattan in the 10 years since they left. Find out what happens when Peter gets the invitation for their 10-year reunion! 

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

For 10 perfect years, Peter didn’t have to think about his hometown. In each of those glorious years, Peter enjoyed the hustle and bustle of Manhattan with the gorgeous man he snuck away with all that time ago. He turned his back on the aunt and uncle that took him in, all of his friends, and the prejudices that came with being different in a town that did not accept anything other than in-line and on the “right” path.

Tony, the beautiful human that he was, rolled with the punches and followed Peter when he decided to leave it all behind. They waited until they both were 18, packed all of the things they could realistically bring with them and left Alabama for New York without looking back. Luckily, Tony’s father left him with a big inheritance and the brains to do big things. It made going to a brand-new place easier on them both – Peter didn’t have to worry about dealing with a grumpy Tony that didn’t feel like he was adequately providing and they both got to explore all of the academic and business pursuits they could possibly dream of.

And they absolutely did. Peter spent 5 years at TISCH getting an undergraduate and graduate degree in Computer Animation and Design – the program allowed him to intern at a video game company his last year in school and walk into a job a couple of days after graduation.

Tony went to NYU and double majored in both Mechanical Engineering and Entrepreneurship. After graduation, he put some time into opening a technology business that would later incorporate Peter’s design skills into the foundation. He pursued a master’s in Management of Technology to further his programing skills a couple of years later.

Throughout their schooling, Peter and Tony lived in a 2-bedroom apartment with an open living room and a balcony that overlooked Central Park. In terms of being young and in-love, they didn’t struggle to be happy together – each person got to do what they wanted and live in a place that didn’t give a damn if Peter wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders or pressed a kiss to his now mustache covered lips.

It shouldn’t have worked – stealing away in the middle of the night like thieves; but it did. 8 years after getting to the city, Tony got down on one knee in the middle of the house they spent a ridiculous amount of time picking out and making just right. There wasn’t anything in it yet, but the prospect of filling it up with future memories was too good not to be doing it as husbands.

Their wedding was small and took place in the courthouse with a couple of their closest friends standing by as witnesses to the small union between them. Aside from a quaint dinner, they didn’t spend much time getting too hyped about it. They’d been living together and in love for years, the ring just put a bit more permanence into their situation. Peter took the Stark last name and enjoyed getting to drop Parker the second he could make it happen.

To put it lightly, Peter hadn’t been happier. He got to work with his husband on a daily basis and do something that challenged his mind and interested him more and more as the projects grew and changed. After a couple of years of fiddling with a few things around the house, Peter finally felt good about the space they called their own, and finally – he convinced Tony to get a dog. The business was doing well, and they were on the verge of adding a bit more personnel to the crew – which meant a little more time spent outside of the office. That also meant more than enough opportunity to add a 3rd member to the Stark household.

Things were going so smoothly that it almost didn’t register to him, the invitation he got in his childhood email that he couldn’t bear to part with. It struck him to check it – something in the back of his mind told him to log in with the familiar keystrokes he typed so many times throughout his life. The fact that 10 years passed since they graduated high school momentarily made him feel a little old – he was approaching 30.

Shaking his head, Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers trembling as he typed out a message to Tony. Their offices were just across the building, he could have easily walked there and crashed into a chair – but that took too much time and effort. The need to know whether his husband got the shocking little blast from the past drove him to hit send.

Peter Stark: Holy – did you get the invitation to the 10-year reunion? Peter Stark: I should have gotten rid of that email address like you told me to.

He flipped the phone over and tried to focus on logging out and getting the invitation away from his curious eyes – the more he looked at it, the more interested he became. They were really splurging with a 2-day stay at one of the nicest hotels in their sleepy little town. He could still distinctly remember prom and the elegant plan he and Tony made to sneak away and not be caught together. A soft smile slipped across his face, the thought of some of their time spent wrapped up in each other as young kids always made his heart flutter.

Tony Stark: No, unlike you, I don’t obsessively check old email addresses. Tony Stark: Did you talk yourself into going, yet?

Peter couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from his lips. The singular fact that his husband knew him so well was both a blessing and a curse. Deep down, he figured something would ignite the need/want to go back there. A 10-year class reunion never would have been his first guess, but it was as good of an excuse as any.

Peter Stark: Not yet, but it’s probably going to happen. Peter Stark: What do you think the best way to dramatically make an entrance is? Hold hands? Or just bump shoulders as we walk in?

Tony Stark: I know. It’s okay – I don’t mind. Tony Stark: I think the fact that we’re there at all will be enough, but if you’re really shooting to drop a few jaws, I could dip you back and stick my tongue down your throat. That will really drive the point home.

Peter Stark: You never did. Peter Stark: Maybe you should just dump me over the table and take me right there in front of everyone. Peter Stark: You’re an ass. Peter Stark: But I love you.

The back and forth of their text exchange carried Peter all the way through lunch where he walked into Tony’s office and sat down on the edge of his desk. “I guess we’re going to Alabama,” Peter muttered, his arms crossing. For whatever reason, going back and proving himself seemed important – even if it meant doing the one thing he never wanted to do to begin with – come out to the narrow-minded people he grew up with.

Tony stepped in front of him, his arms wrapping around his hips without hesitation. ‘It’ll be okay,” Tony whispered as he leaned in to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Could be fun, too.”

Grimacing, Peter tilted his head until their lips were pressing together. He distracted himself with the luscious slide of his lips against Tony’s, the wet exchange a much better thing to focus on, anyway.

----

In the month leading up to the reunion, Peter went back and forth between going and not going at least once a day. After the first week of it, Tony stopped playing along and went about making plans like the reasonable adult that he was. They had an early morning flight in the day the reunion started and that same flight on the way home. It seemed safe to get out as quickly as they could if things went sour. In the furthest parts of his deepest bits, Peter hoped it wouldn’t be as torturous as he remembered it being during the early part of his life.

Looking back at it now, Peter figured a lot of the negative feelings he harbored towards his hometown came from the fact that he never felt comfortable in his own skin there. He knew at an early age that being open about the fact that boys did it for him wasn’t really an option – not if he wanted to make it through the social hornet’s nest that was high school. Peter didn’t want to suffer and when Tony came into the picture, it became even more important to keep living under the radar.

The thought of not only going back to the place that caused him so many sleepless nights but arriving with a previous male classmate made a brick of anxiety sit in the pit of his belly – the internal conflict he was fighting just as embarrassing as it was frustrating. Since getting to New York, Peter hadn’t felt an ounce of shame for the way he lived his life – he didn’t want to put that stain on his good thing with Tony now.

Peter spent the entire day before their trip packing his bag and fretting over all of the things that could go wrong. In an obvious attempt to escape the boiling over anxiety, Tony checked into work for a couple of hours to give Peter a bit of time to collect himself before they headed out. It seemed to help, too – by the time Tony got back, Peter felt a lot better about the entire thing. If push came to shove, they didn’t have to go. Though, he knew he probably wouldn’t forgive himself if, in a moment of weakness, he let himself cop out.

In true Tony Stark fashion, his husband made sure it didn’t come to that. After getting out of the shower, Tony ordered them food and let Peter eat most of the noodles, because they were his favorite. When all of the food was gone, Tony turned on a mindless movie and went about taking Peter’s clothes off one by one, his sneaky fingers and skillful mouth pulling all of his worries out a nip and kiss at a time.

Sleep after getting fucked out of his mind was never short of wonderful – Peter didn’t wake up once in a fit of anxiousness like he took to doing the two nights before. Tony kept the arm he wrapped around Peter’s hip there until the first snooze went off, then they started getting ready for the day. Peter knew that Tony wouldn’t function right until after a shower and coffee, so he forced himself out of bed and tugged his husband right along with him.

After 2 shots of espresso for the both of them, Peter and Tony collected their bags and got an Uber to take them to the airport. For Peter, it felt like a long time since the last time he flew in an airplane – Tony did most of the company traveling. Peter liked it better that way.

The check-in process was easy in the morning, they were through the security line with more than an hour to space. Since there were only a few gates open, Peter pulled Tony along until they found a Dunkin’ Donuts open near their stopping point to snag another cup of coffee for the wait.

Sitting down at their gate, Tony laid his head on Peter’s shoulder, the man occasional lifting his arm to bring the coffee cup to his lips. It felt like a nice calm before the storm of whatever awaited them back home. The last shred of nervousness told him to run while he still could – yet, the heavy weight of Tony on his arm kept him in his seat and later buckled into the airplane, 31,000 feet in the air.

Peter spent most of the flight running his hand through Tony’s hair, who, after 3 big hits of caffeine, still managed to fall asleep. It amazed him, how calm Tony could be at a time like this. He figured that even the locals had to get bubbly guts at the thought of seeing people who hadn’t been in their town or even lives for more than a decade. Things like that really put time in perspective.

Touchdown into the Atlanta airport had Peter shaking Tony awake – his husband’s sleepy brown eyes now a lot clearer after a couple extra hours of sleep. Just in case, Tony slipped his purple tinted glasses over his eyes as they headed off the plane. Renting a car took a few minutes and before Peter was ready, he was in the passenger seat a couple hours away from stumbling back into the snake pit that they called home.

In exchange for Tony sleeping on the plane, Peter kicked back and spent the 2-hour drive in a fitful sleep. Every time they slowed down, even a little, his eyes blinked open – like maybe the world was coming to an end, or something. About 10 minutes out, Peter woke up for good and fixed the seat back of the rental, his eyes widening in realization that nothing looked any different.

“How has 10 years past without a single thing changing?” Peter mumbled, his arms crossing in a gesture that screamed self-defense. It was this place – it brought it out of him.

Tony chuckled and reached a hand between them to grab one of Peter’s so he could lace their fingers together. “It’s a small town, Pete. We’ll be some of the only people who didn’t leave,” Tony said softly, the truth in his words sinking into the space between them. Their hands stayed tangled together until Tony needed his back to park.

His stomach tightened up when they got out of the car and started to wheel their bags towards the hotel’s entrance. In all of his time in New York, Peter got spoiled by architecture that made the brain question whether it was truly seeing what was in front of it. His memories made this place look like the Taj Mahal, when really – it was just a small hotel masking itself as something fancier. Satisfied that he felt more in control of his nervousness, Peter walked up to the front desk confidently.

Even after being married for the past couple of years, Peter never got tired of calling himself a Stark. Telling the person behind the counter the reservation name made him feel even more powerful – what was the use of approaching the situation like he was scared; Tony made him strong, the least he could do was act like it.

Despite that increase in conviction, Peter was happy that they didn’t run into anyone on their way up to their room – the soft outpouring of breath when the door shut behind him pulled a laugh from Tony, his husband already moving to wrap strong arms around him.

“You’ve got the cutest little furrow between your eyebrows. I can sense the frustration, Petey. It’s going to be okay,” Tony whispered, his lips caressing the shell of Peter’s ear. “If it sucks, we can come back and crash – it’s no big deal.”

Though the reassurance felt good to have, Peter shook his head, his own arms moving to wrap around Tony’s shoulders. Pressing their lips together, Peter calmed himself with Tony’s touch, his husband using their closeness to his advantage to run his palm over the bare skin of Peter’s back. “I’m nervous. Just don’t leave me alone all night and I think it’ll be just fine.”

Letting his nose travel over Peter’s cheek and then down his neck, Tony did a good job distracting him, the scratch of his facial hair pulling a moan from his chest. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere by myself,” Tony panted out against his neck, his breath sending a tickle down Peter’s spine.

“Want me to distract you for a little while?” Tony asked, his head pulling back to catch Peter’s eye. There was mischief and the first hints of arousal in the syrupy cognac of his eyes. Tony’s flush did him in – the spread of it across sharp cheek bones heart stopping.

Peter nodded his head eagerly, a huge smile spreading across his cheeks when Tony wasted no time dropping down to his knees. His fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of Peter’s jeans, the tips of his fingers diving into the front of tight boxer-briefs without any preamble.

After a quick shift, Tony pressed his face in the same space his hand was a moment ago, a long exhale heard from above. Eager fingers moved to the waistband of tight jeans before sinking under them and pushing until the fabric pooled at his ankles. Moving back just enough to help Peter step out of his converse, Tony tugged off Peter’s jeans and underwear – the man inhaling deeply at the nakedness on display.

“You’re gorgeous, Peter – it blows my mind every time I get some evidence dangled under my nose,” Tony babbled, his hands running up Peter’s thighs as he spoke. They settled on Peter’s hips, fingertips digging into the skin and gripping tightly. Peter knew that meant not to thrust – Tony wanted free reign to play without being disturbed.

Soft lips trailed kisses across the line of Peter’s hip, starting at one prominent bone and ending at the other. Tony poked his tongue out and let it trail that same path back then down the well-kept nest of curls that led to Peter’s quickly hardening erection. His adventure stopped when the tip of his tongue ended just under the head. Lips wrapped around him then, the shock of it pulling a shriek from Peter before he could control it.

Looking up, Tony pulled off and smirked at him. “Make all the noise you want,” he encouraged, his mouth returning to its task almost instantly. Tony slid his lips down until his nose was bumping against Peter’s stomach, the tip of an achy cock just barely grazing the back of his throat.

The swallow around him could be felt all over Peter’s skin, his eyes slamming shut to fight back against the sensation. The prickly stimulus was recognizable – Peter wasn’t a stranger to the pleasure that Tony could give to him. It didn’t usually come on so quickly, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Like usual, Tony worked his magic, his husband dragging an orgasm out of him that made his knees buckle. If it weren’t for Tony’s hands on his hips, they both would’ve toppled to the floor. Peter gripped Tony’s shirt and brought him up to eye level. His hungry lips chased the taste of himself from Tony’s mouth, the slide of their tongues together enough to boil the heat in the pit of his stomach once again.

Peter attempted to reach between them to return the favor, but Tony was having none of it. “I’ll get mine later. That was for you,” Tony stated, his hand reaching between them to grip Peter’s and bring it up to his mouth. The soft kiss he planted on the back of it almost had his knees buckling under him, too. Tony had such an ability to be so fucking smooth.

Another kiss to the lips had Tony pulling back, a grin on his face. “I would like to take another shower before this shit starts, though – there’s something about airplane smell I’m just not a fan of.”

----

Looking in the mirror one last time before walking out the door, Peter felt pretty good about what he had on. His gray slacks sat nicely on his hips and hugged down his thigh and calf, ending just above his ankle. The black shoes went with the belt that he and Tony were both wearing. The blue short sleeve button down Peter had on juxtaposed Tony’s gray suit and blue shirt combo pretty perfectly – if the matching wedding rings and tangled hands didn’t do the trick, maybe the coordinating outfits would.

Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him back against his chest – his lips finding Peter’s neck. “You look great. We look great, even,” Tony said, his eyes meeting Peter’s in the mirror. “Let’s go shock the hell out of a bunch of people.” His nose nuzzled against the hair at the back of Peter’s head, then his warmth was gone.

It took a couple more deep breaths to truly feel ready to walk out the door. His fingers were wrapped tightly around Tony’s when they stepped out, the grip he kept probably more than a little uncomfortable – but, Tony persisted, anyway. He kept Peter tightly by his side the entire elevator ride down and stepped in front of him when they got to the small table that Liz Allan was sitting in front of. Her eyes bugged for a second before she got her shit together and flashed the two of them a smile.

“Peter Parker – as I live and breathe,” Liz uttered, her eyes meeting his for a second, then flitting over to Tony. “And Tony Stark. Together. There was a little pool to see if either of you guys would come. No one ever expected your appearance to be together.” Her hands were quick to hand out the pre-made name tags, the words coming out of her mouth without thought.

Peter collected his and smirked at the last name on his badge. Noticing a Sharpie on the table, he grabbed it and crossed Parker out, replacing it quickly with Stark. The gasp that left Liz’s mouth when he slapped it on his shirt with a smile made the entire trip worth it – even if it all went to shit from there.

The squeeze of Tony’s hand when they walked into the banquet hall had Peter looking up, a gleam in his eye. “You just blew her mind,” Tony whispered, his mouth dipping dangerously close to Peter’s ear. “Proud of you.” A ghost of a kiss glanced his ear, Tony’s sneakiness never ending.

Before they could get any further into the room, Peter was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Turning, his mouth widened into a soft smile on instinct, the sight of MJ not looking much different than when they were kids one of the best things to happen yet.

“Holy shit. It is you. How the hell are you?” MJ questioned, her hand staying exactly where it settled to start. She looked down at his hand and then up at the person connected to it, a smirk taking over her face. “Hey, Tony.”

A snort left his lips when Tony lifted a hand with a swift wave. He didn’t say anything else, but that’d always been the way those two were. In the rare times when Tony could get Peter to hang out with him around other people, Peter figured his husband put up with his friends just to get to be a part of that particular piece of his life.

Turning his attention back to MJ, Peter answered her question. “I’m really good. It’s weird to be here, but it’s nice to see you. More than nice,” His free hand reached up to cup her elbow, his fingers squeezing gently. “How are you? Are you still in town, or off changing the world somewhere else?”

A weird look flashed across her face then, her eyes hardening ever so slightly. “I totally forgot that you just left out of nowhere. I’m in the Boston area. I do financial planning for JP Morgan. It’s lucrative and lots of fun.” 

Taking a step back, MJ crossed her hands over her chest, her eyes trailing over him. “Please tell me you’re doing something with tech – or computers. Something cool that explains why you ditched and never said a word.”

The words stung, but each one was deserved. Peter felt Tony move a little closer to him, the man doing his best to be empathetic as quietly as he could. “I didn’t ditch. I left, MJ. I wanted to be with Tony and not have to feel embarrassed for it. It was the best thing to happen to me, I promise. I’m sorry. For hurting you.”

He wasn’t sure that was what she was looking for. In all of the years they were friends, he hadn’t been able to read her – that sure as hell wasn’t starting now. Instead of anger, however, he saw a genuine smile pull her lips up and to the corner of her eye; the slightest crinkle there new. “You will never do something more embarrassing than that love poem you wrote when we were 13 and read out in front of the whole school. Now that I know who it was for – that statement is even more true.”

Tony’s scoff had all three of them laughing – his husband’s sassiness never ceasing to be entertaining. “You said it wasn’t me you were talking about,” Tony said, his words pulling even more laughter from them.

Without worrying about the rest of the people around them, Peter wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders, the other’s arm sliding around his hips in return. “If I told you how long I had a crush on you, your head would be so big. There has to be a little moderation, Tony.”

And just like that, it felt like being back in high school – except this time, he didn’t have that debilitating fear that consumed him on a constant basis. How could he – Tony kept him close and took the hard questions when Peter didn’t want to or couldn’t deal. It wasn’t the nicest reception by everyone, but that wasn’t ever expected, anyway.

Tumbling into bed that night, Peter settled with his head against Tony’s chest, his hand settling across his firm stomach. “Thanks for coming back with me,” Peter mumbled, his lips pressing into the soft skin closest to him. “And for gently making sure it happened. I don’t know what I was so afraid of.”

At that, Tony’s wrapped him up, pulling him closer as he did. Peter felt lips against the hair on his head – the gust of breath from Tony’s nose rattling the strands. “The unknown, probably. It’s hard to want to venture out when you’ve been burned before. I’m happy we’re here – it was good to see you finally conquer this – the place and the people.” Tony finished his words with another press of his lips against Peter’s head.

“It’s good to do it,” Peter admitted, settling a little more firmly against Tony’s chest.

It wasn’t their home anymore and never would be, but maybe he didn’t have to leave all of the pieces behind, after all.

[cuttingthe-painter]

Vampire Boyfriend - Percy

My friend and I both both the same book of writing prompts and have started a challenge where we each write a story based off the same prompt. This is the first one I’ve done during this challenge, I hope you all like it! I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors, I finished this at 1am and am very tired.

Prompt: a: He read me a poem. b: And you let him live?

Also do vampires count as a monster boyfriend? I’m gonna be self-serving and just say they do! 

male monster x female reader

“He read me a poem,” you announced, busting through the apartment door. Avery looked up from her laptop, grinning at you like a madman.

“And you let him live?” You leveled her with a glare and dropped your bag, a solid thud filling the space between you two. 

“It was cute,” you huffed, yanking off your mittens and scarf before unzipping your coat. 

“You hate poetry,” Avery laughed. She closed her laptop and sat up, patting the seat next to her.  You take your boots off before walking over to the couch and falling into her side. You let out a sigh as you sank into her warmth. “Tell me about this cute poetry, then.”

“So, Percy was walking me home from class, right?”  

“Right,” Avery acknowledged, nodding her head to urge me on.

“Well, he was telling me about one of his classes where they discuss poetry. He was going on and on until I finally told him ‘I hate poetry.’ And you know what he said to me?”

“What’d he say?” Avery asked, motioning for you to grab the chips off the coffee table for her. You leaned forward and grabbed the Doritos, handing them to her before you continued. 

“He said ‘you just haven’t read the right poems’ and laughed!” you exclaimed. You grabbed a chip from the bag, popped it in your mouth, and went on. “So Percy pulled a book out of his bag and opened to a bookmarked page, as if he had been saving the poem just to read to me. Honestly, Ry? It gave me butterflies.”

“I don’t know if it was that you liked the poem, or that you liked the idea of Percy reading you a love poem,” Avery teased, waggling her perfectly sculpted brows at you. You smacked at her playfully and sat up to your phone out of you pocket. You typed the name of the poem into google and pulled it up.

“Let me read it to you,” you offered, waiting for the link to load.

“Only if you make your voice all low and dreamy like Percy’s,” Avery snorted, using the chip bag to block your next swipe at her.  You roll your eyes before clearing your throat and beginning to read.

“Outside the sky is light with stars;

There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.

And, alas! for the little almond flowers,

The wind is shaking the almond tree.

How little I thought, a year ago,

In the horrible cottage upon the Lee

That he and I should be sitting so

And sipping a cup of chamomile tea

Light as feathers the witches fly,

The horn of the moon is plain to see;

By a firefly under a jonquil flower

A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.

We might be fifty, we might be five,

So snug, so compact, so wise are we!

Under the kitchen-table leg

My knee is pressing against his knee.

Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,

The tap is dripping peacefully;

The saucepan shadows on the wall

Are black and round and plain to see.”

You finish reading the poem and look up at Avery to gauge her reaction. She’s staring at you, a sparkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. She lifts another chip to her mouth and chews thoughtfully, slower than she would normally chew. Silence sat between you both, feeling thicker with every passing second. Finally, she swallowed her chip and laughed.

“He read you a love poem!” she cheered, kicking her feet in glee and falling to her side on the couch. “What year is it! What did you say?”

“I said thank you? And told him it was a nice poem.” She stilled, slowly turning towards you. Suddenly, she kicked out, striking you in the leg. “Hey! What the hell?” 

“You dummy! He read you a love poem and you said thank you? You might as well had said ‘Thanks but the feelings are not mutual!’” She mocked in a mediocre attempt at what you could only guess was your voice. “You’ve better not have blown it. Text him right now, ask him on a date.”

“I’m not going to do that, Avery! It’s fine.” She launched towards you, attempting to snatch the phone from your hands. You shot of the couch, cradling your phone to your chest as you ran to your room. “I’ll see him in two days!”

That night, you dreamt you sat on the porch of a cottage. The moon sat amongst the splatter of stars in the night sky, casting its glow onto you. Next to you sat Percy, dressed in a loose-fitting, white crew neck tucked into high waisted denim jeans. His normally dark, messy curls were tamed, gelled into a side swept wave. He sat with his right hand resting on your left, his fingers fidgeting with a ring on your finger. The stars reflected in his eyes as he turned to look at you. He opened his mouth to speak, but all you could hear was the roar of the sea in the distance. 

The next day, you weren’t able to focus on any of your work. After hours of staring at your books and computer screen, you gave up any semblance of productivity. The weather that evening was significantly warmer than the evening prior. Perfect, I can get out of the house without freezing my ass off, you thought. You got dressed, checked yourself out in the mirror to check that you looked somewhat presentable, and went to leave the apartment. You could hear snores from Avery’s room as you walked down the hallway. She must be taking what she calls her “evening nap”, meaning she’ll be passed out until tomorrow morning. You grabbed your wallet, keys, and jacket and made your way down the block. 

The night was warm, but accompanied by a chill in the breeze. The streets were fairly empty; cars buzzed by while you moseyed along. You weren’t sure where you wanted to go, but when the warm smell of coffee enveloped you, you made up your mind. The aroma of the coffee and pastries filled your senses when you pushed passed the door. The cafe was fairly empty, only a couple of tables were occupied and there was no line. You walked up to the counter and ordered yourself a chamomile tea, hoping it would help calm your anxious mind. 

When you sit with your order, you chuckle, noting the irony of Percy reading you a poem titled after your favorite drink. Time is lost when you drink your tea and read. You had forgotten where you even were until you hear a familiar voice to your right. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” a smooth, low voice asks. You look up, smiling when you met Percy’s bright hazel eyes. He pulled the chair out when you shook your head, sitting after he set his drink down. His chestnut curls fell into his eyes as he sat; he ran his fingers through them, moving them out of his face, before rubbing his pale hand over the shaved side. A lazy smile stretched across his face when he caught you staring. You looked down at your tea, attempting to hide the blush warming your cheeks. 

“I don’t normally see you here. What brings you tonight?” Percy asked, lifting his cup to his full lips and taking a sip. You tracked the motion, acutely aware of the way it made your stomach flip. 

“I was just feeling anxious around the house,” you explain, dropping our eyes and focusing on your hands on the steaming cup in front of you. “My mind has just been racing all day. I thought a walk would help, and then I saw the cafe and thought a tea would help.” There was an understanding look in Percy’s eye, he smiled reassuringly at you and knocked his knee against yours to offer some sort of comfort.

Under the kitchen-table leg, My knee is pressing against his knee.You furrowed your brow when the poem’s lines rang through your head, accompanied by a sense of déjà vu. Percy noticed the change in your demeanor and leaned forward, his hand reaching across the table to hold yours. His hand was unnaturally cold against your warmth.

“I could join you on a walk if you’d like,” he offered gently, his thumb absently rubbing circles into your skin. You nod, standing and pulling your jacket on. “Did you want another tea before we went?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.” Percy quickly stood and moved to the counter. You walked to the trash, listening to him order as you threw your cups away. Did he order you a chamomile? You assumed he would have just ordered you a typical black tea or something; you had never told him you prefered chamomile. Maybe he had noticed the scent of your tea while you both had been sitting. 

Percy met you at the door, two drinks in hand. You took yours and breathed in the warm aroma, confirming that he did indeed order you a chamomile. You were about to ask how he knew when he opened the door and guided you out with a hand on your lower back. That was a new thing he had started doing; touching in general was something knew between you both. You fell into stride alongside him and settled into a comfortable silence. You were the first to talk, your voice soft amongst the sounds of the streets. 

“Do you go there a lot?” you asked, tilting your head back in the direction of the cafe. “M’yeah,” he replied, swallowing a mouthful of his drink. “An old family friend owns the place, Rosie. I try to visit her every evening; it’s definitely easier Tuesdays and Thursdays since its on the way home from your place.”

“Did you grow up here? Is that why your family knows her?” you probed, excited to learn more about Percy’s youth.

“I guess you could say that,” he laughed, “I’ve lived a lot of places, but something always brings me back here.” His fingers brushed against your hand as you both walked, driving the butterflies in your stomach mad. You extended your pinky towards his, chasing the feeling. When your pinkies locked, he adjusted his hand and wove your fingers together. 

“What brings you back?” His thumb began running those lazy circles over your skin again, as if it were an answer. You looked up to him, admiring the contours of his face as you waited for a response. His teeth tugged at his bottom lip while he thought; you focused on the motion, thinking about what his lips might feel like against yours. What his teeth might feel like on your skin. Heat rose to your cheeks at the thoughts and your heart fluttered in your chest. Beside you, Percy let out a shaky breath, gently squeezed your hand and pulled you to a stop . 

“Can I show you one of my favorite places?” he asked, an emotion that you couldn’t place dancing in his eyes.

“Sure,” you answered, “I’d love that.” Percy guided you both through the town, only letting go your hand to let you text Avery your plans. Conversation always flowed naturally between you both, as if you had been friends for years, and this time was no different. You wanted nothing more than to curl up and listen to him talk to hours.

Vibrations pulsing in your pocket brought you out of your daze. You let go of Percy’s hand to shuffle your drink into it as your pulled your phone out. A message from Avery flashed on your screen; you typed in your passcode to read the message.

Did he shake your almond tree yet?  A winky face and some questionable emojis accompanied the text. A snort tore from you when you read the poor innuendo. 

“What’s so funny?” Percy asked, stepping into your space to look at the screen. You locked the screen and turned to face him, not realizing just how close he was.

“Uh, n-nothing,” you stammered nervously, breath hitching in your throat. His eyes flickered to your mouth when you spoke and you watched as his tongue darted out to run along his lower lip. You bit your own as you looked from his mouth back up to his eyes. 

“Ah, well we should continue then, we’re almost there,” he murmured huskily. You let out a noise, hoping it was one of agreement, and started walking with him. When you finally saw where he was taking you, you couldn’t breathe. You had been here before. At least, in your dreams you had been here. An old cottage sat in the distance, overlooking the sea. A misty breeze welcomed you the closer you got, sending chills through you. You walked closer to Percy, searching for a warmth he didn’t have. 

Once you were at the cottage, Percy pulled you to sit on the porch with him. Images of your dream flashed through your mind, Percy sitting, his hand atop yours, as you both looked up into the night sky. 

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” you confessed, turning to meet his eyes. His hand moved to rest on yours, urging you to continue. “I don’t know why, Percy, but everything about you just seems so familiar.”

“That’s a good thing, I hope,” he said hopefully. You nodded and turned your face upwards, basking in the glow of the bright moon. 

“The best thing.” “A toast then!” Percy exclaims, a clap sounding his joy. You laughed, watching him pick up his now cold drink. You followed suit, picking up your tea. He turned to face, drink raised. “To familiarity!” “To familiarity!” you repeated, raising your cup to tap his. He pulled his cup back, not letting yours touch his. 

“And to you, my bumble-bee.” His cup tapped yours, but you didn’t feel it. All your senses clouded, your head spun. Hands steadied you, but you barely felt them. Visions flooded your mind, visions of you and Percy. Percy, in his waistcoat, walking you through a garden filled with roses. Percy, in a pale suit and straw boater hat, walking with you through the bustling city. Percy, with his white crew neck tee and high waisted jeans, having tea with you on the beach. Percy, in his fitted peacoat, drinking tea with you on the porch at your cottage by the sea.

Your cottage by the sea. The cottage Percy surprised you with after your wedding, knowing how much you loved walking along the shores at night. The cottage where you now sat, remembering every life you’ve lived with Percy. Every life where you had forgotten he existed, only for him to find you and help you remember.

“My bumble-bee,” he murmured again, moving his hand to cup your face. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his earthy scent and kissing his palm. His thumb ran along your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t felt fall. “You remember?”

You did. You remembered every time you met him. Every time you loved him. Every time he asked you to join him, to take the bite and live with him forever. Every time you said no, too afraid to lose your humanity. 

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into him. When he smiled, you noticed his fangs were out. You reached up and ran your fingers along them, careful to not let them prick your finger. Percy playfully bit at them before kissing them gently. 

“Something always bring me back,” he cooed, pulling your face closer to him. “Come here.” His lips brush yours and the world fell away. All you knew was the feel of Percy holding you, his scent flooding your senses. His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you so much, my sweet,” he breathed, “Every new life is more difficult than the last. I was starting to think you wouldn’t remember this time.” The sadness in his voice made your chest ache. You didn’t want Percy to have to feel that sadness, not because of you.

“Maybe this time, I stay.” Percy stilled, letting a moment pass before sitting back and holding your gaze. You couldn’t read the emotions flashing through his eyes. You sucked in a slow breath before continuing, “I think this time I’m ready for you to change me. I don’t want to forget you again.” Percy pulled you to his lap, cradling you against his chest. He pressed a kiss into your hair and rested there, breathing in your scent. 

“Oh, my bumble-bee, I’ve waited for hundreds of years to hear those words.” He kissed you again, slow and soft, conveying the emotions his words couldn’t. He pulled away, panting slightly. “But there’s still time; you don’t have to make that decision yet.”

“I love you,” you whisper, nuzzling your head into his neck. He was right, there was still time to decide, but you’ve already made up your mind. He wouldn’t have to ask you again because this time, you wouldn’t be leaving him.

[atreegrowsinnorthnywrites]

Prompt:  Your main character is approached by their long-estranged parent who wants to reconnect. How do they react? Story: 

When I was little, my mama convinced me I came only from her.

“It’s why we look so much alike,” She would say with a pinch of my freckled cheeks and a tug on one of my unruly curls. I would look into her light brown eyes that mirrored my own and believe her.

My nana, who shared the same curly hair and freckly face, would shake her head and scold my mama behind closed doors of our yellow house, but neither of them would correct what I knew to be true: I was my mother’s daughter, and hers alone.

It was not until Sunday school in the third grade when mean, white-haired Ms. Martha ominously told the class Jesus was not Joseph’s son, but Mary’s alone! My hand shot up to announce that I was the same, Ms. Mary nearly had a heart attack, and the two women who raised me were forced to set the story straight.

“His name was Jack. I don’t know anything else, and don’t ask me either.” My mama was unable to look me in the eye as she shoved a photograph into my hands. A younger version of my mama and a man in a cowboy hat and a long sleeve button up stood with their arms around each other next to a cactus. His face was hidden by the hat, and all I could see was he was tall and tan. Nana told me later they met in West Texas during mama’s “wild phase” and she came back home with me in her belly, and that was that.

The photograph was pinned to the cork board in my bedroom beside magazine cut outs of the cast from Harry Potter and printed song lyrics I had doodled hearts around. Over time, shirtless cut outs of Ryan Gosling and Zac Efron replaced the actors from Harry Potter, and angsty poems about love replaced the song lyrics, and by my senior year of high school, a college acceptance letter to UT covered it all.

But the photograph remained.

The photograph was there when I came home from college every summer. It was there when we celebrated my first job and Nana’s long overdue retirement. It was there when I left the lake early Memorial Day Weekend brokenhearted because the man I thought was proposing, announced he was in love with someone else. And it was there, at twenty-five years old, when my mama called me during a happy hour with friends, and I had to step outside the restaurant to better hear her trembling voice that whispered to me, “Jack wants to meet you, baby.”

As I look up at the yellow, two-story house with a white wrap around porch that could use a new coat of paint, I know the photograph will be there.  

Except this time, for the first time, so will he.

I open the creaky screen door with my stomach in my throat. My nana greets me with a cinnamon sugar cookie (my favorite) and a hug. I am barely able to return her embrace because across the beige carpeted living room, he sits on the couch.

My mama leaps up from her chair at the sight of me, fidgety and anxious. I can guarantee she has been picking her fingernails to the quick. She offers me a tentative smile, but I am too fixated on him. Jack stands up slowly, a cowboy hat in hand. He does not appear nervous like my mama. He is calm, like me.

His hair is peppery, his eyes blue, and his skin like leather.

We look nothing alike, and I have a strange urge to laugh at this stranger across the room from me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” I reply.

“We’ll let you two get on,” My mama offers quietly, squeezing my shoulder as she walks by to join nana in the kitchen.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now,” Jack says. I want to ask what he means by a while, but instead I say nothing at all. “Your mama says you got a fancy job in the city.”

I nod. My mama tells everyone that.

“Listen, I…I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“It’s okay,” I say, reassuring myself more than him.

“I wanted to reach out a lot sooner than when you were all grown up,” He says, his voice cracking a bit at the end.

“It’s okay,” I repeat.

“You see, I drank a lot when I met your mama,” He attempts to explain. “If I’m honest, I drank a lot up until a couple years back. But I’m sober now.”

“That’s good,” I say, and I want to be genuine, but it comes off flat.

He shrugs. “I just thought it was the right thing to do. To meet you.”

A silence follows and questions gnaw at me. The kitchen is silent, and I know mama and nana have their ears pressed up to the door.

“You live in West Texas?” I ask and he nods eagerly. “What do you do?”

“I work the oil fields.”

Of course.

“Did you know about me? When she was pregnant?”

Another nod. Of course. Though I am surprised by how much this fact does not bother me.

“I don’t look like you,” I say. Jack looks dumbfounded, and I can feel him studying me. From my head of unruly brown curls pulled half back right down to my dainty feet.

“No, you don’t.” He admits. “You look your mama.”

Tears fill my eyes. We exchange a few more niceties. I do not invite him to stay for dinner and he does not ask to join. He shakes my hand when we say goodbye and I notice, like me, he does not bite or pick his nails.

“Thank you,” I say at the door, smiling. “For coming.”

He tips his hat at me, hops in his pick-up, and leaves.

“How was that?” Nana asks as her arms wrap around me from behind, holding me close.

“Like meeting a stranger,” I reply. My mama sits on the stairs, watching us with a sad look on her face, but not saying a word.

When I go to bed in my childhood bedroom that night, the photograph is still there. 

-----------------------------

The photograph is there, one year later, when I get a call in my new office with a door. Pouring over spreadsheets, I am tempted to press ignore, but mama’s contact photo in my cellphone smiles up at me and the guilt of being her only daughter wins.

“Hey mama, can I call you-“

“Come home,” Mama interrupt, with the emotion in her voice I have heard only once before. “It’s nana.”

The photograph is there on the corkboard of my room as I lay on the bed holding nana’s apron smelling of cinnamon and sugar tight to my face. Hot tears roll down my cheeks and when I see the picture across the room, I feel compelled to rip it down; to tear that stupid photograph in two.

“Goodness did she love you,” Mama says interrupting my rage and I look to the door where she leans against the frame with her own grief pooling in her eyes.  

“Yeah?” I say, searching for reassurance even though I already know.

“She saw my belly when I got out of the car all those years ago,” Mama continues, lost in a memory. “And she didn’t ask a single question. She just looked me in the eye and said, ‘well alright, let’s raise this baby up.’”

My vision goes blurry with tears and I can barely see the photograph now.

“You know how I used to tell you that you only come from me?” She asks, and my heart lurches.

“Well, I lied.”

“Mama-” The man I met once is the last thing I want to talk about now.

“You come from me and from her,” She whispers.

I choke back a sob and mama sits down next to me. We sit there, side by side, until the sun rises again. 

 ---------------------------------------------------------

The photograph is not there anymore.

It sits in the bottom drawer of an old oak writing desk in a new home. When my curly haired daughters ask me who my daddy was, I pull it out for them. They laugh with blue eyes like their daddy’s and tell me I don’t look like mine. I smile, nod, and tuck it back away.

On the corkboard I hang in my eldest daughter’s room I pin a photograph of three women in front of a yellow house: my nana, my mama, and me.

The women who raised me. The only ones I come from. 

[kingspoetrysoc]

Interview with Konstantinos Pappis

Konstantinos Pappis is a poet and King’s alumnus who studied Strategic Entrepreneurship and Innovation for his Master’s. He shares his blackout poems on Tumblr @blackout-diary​ and on Instagram @blackout_diary, and is the Music Editor at Our Culture. The King’s Poet’s Karen Ng talks to Konstantinos about his poetic experiences, process, and inspirations.

What is your earliest memory of poetry?

Like many people, my earliest memories of poetry are associated with school, where I felt pretty alienated by the way we approached poetry. It felt cold and analytical and I struggled to connect with it on a personal level – or perhaps there was less of a need to at that age. Although there were some Greek poets we studied in school whose work I remember liking, including C.P. Cavafy, Kostas Karyotakis, and Odysseas Elitis, it wasn't until later during my adolescence when I started discovering poetry outside of an academic context that I was able to appreciate it more. Things really started to change when I was introduced to English and American poets; for some reason, something about it not being in my native language made it easier to engage with and relate to. And then eventually I was able to approach different kinds of poetry from both an intellectual and an emotional standpoint.

How did you first realise you wanted to write poetry? What do you enjoy the most about writing?

In a word, Tumblr (RIP). But honestly, finding a community of people who used poetry as a form of expression more than anything else inspired me to do the same. I realised it wasn’t this inaccessible, overly sophisticated thing that you had to be especially clever or well-read to really get. Again, if you weren’t doing it to get a good grade, it was considered a bit weird to engage with poetry in any way, so seeing it outside of that context was pretty eye-opening.

It was also something that came with realising I had a passion for the arts in general. Music had always been my primary outlet, but poetry took over when I felt I needed the words to have more space on their own – to jump out on the page and release all the teenage angst I was going through, because listening to Creep every day somehow wasn’t enough. None of that poetry was any good, of course, but it was vital. And when I felt like this really personal thing was something I could share and exchange with friends, writing also became an important part of embracing vulnerability and forming close connections, too. I came to enjoy it more as a medium than an art form, in a way – at first, at least. 

In terms of what I enjoy about it now… Well, it’s hard to articulate, but if we’re talking about writing poetry specifically, I guess the appeal hasn’t changed all that much. It’s been a while since I’ve felt inspired to write a poem, but in the past it’s always been when I felt like I need to channel something that I couldn’t through any other form. Some might view the poetic form as being kind of limiting, but I feel like it’s quite the opposite – it’s almost freeing in the endless possibilities that it presents.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is “Moon” by @makingthingswrite on Instagram.

You’ve written a lot of amazing blackout poems! What about this form  appeals the most to you?

Blackout poetry appeals to me for almost entirely different reasons. I treat it more like a mental exercise that can be both calming and stimulating; something that operates on a more subconscious level. I like that I don’t have to be particularly inspired to do it, not even by the text that I’m using. I like that it doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, that I don’t have to stress over the final result too much. I like that it can then inspire me to make something else. I like the visual aspect of it, the act of repurposing something and giving it new meaning not just by altering the text but also its surroundings. Of course, people can make blackout poetry in a much more intentional way, but what sets it apart for me is that it’s a creative outlet that can be simple and almost passive yet gratifying at the same time.

How do you select a text for your blackout poems – where do you look? What do you look for?

It really varies: sometimes I’ll take photos from a book – I used to do blackout on old books nobody would ever open, but I switched to doing everything digitally –  and sometimes I’ll search for poems or articles randomly online. Reviews often work quite well. There does have to be something about the text that sticks out to me for me to use it as a source, but I tend not to overthink it.

I love that – inspiration is everywhere in our daily lives, even when we aren’t looking for it! Can you tell us a little about your writing process? Is it more emotion-led or methodical?

For blackout it’s entirely intuitive. For poetry in general I would say it’s almost always emotion-led, but the editing part can be more methodical. Normally, a lot of it happens late at night when I can’t sleep, and if I can’t sleep long enough for me to write things down and it doesn’t strike me as absolutely terrible in the morning, then it might turn into a poem.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Sam Sodomsky’s review of duendita’s song “Open Eyes”. Your poem pebble (an ode) was one of the first poems to be published in our magazine. It isn’t a blackout poem, but could you tell us a little about it too – do you remember what it was like writing it?

See above re: late-night thoughts and the utter absurdity of the human condition! 

How has your experience of sharing your poetry to Instagram been? Are there any tips you could share with our readers? 

I haven’t done it in a year, partly due to a lack of inspiration and partly because I’ve tried to distance myself from Instagram and other social media platforms as much as I can – though maybe I’ll go back to Tumblr? But my experiences with the Instagram writing community have been nothing but great – I participated in Escapril back in April of last year, a yearly event founded by Savannah Brown, that encourages users to write and share a poem a day based on a prompt. It was a really great and fun challenge that helped me write and read more and connect with other poets. I would say participating in these kinds of communities is probably the best way to utilise the platform.

Thank you for that advice! On a similar note, which poets and poems inspire you the most? These could include childhood inspirations… Have your influences changed over the years? 

I would not be the person I am nor would I have any interest in poetry if it weren’t for Sylvia Plath. I can’t even pinpoint exactly when I first encountered her work, but I identified with it to an almost unhealthy degree as a teenager, as I’m sure many people have. I still get that feeling whenever I revisit her poetry or read more about her life and art. Also, a lot of spoken word videos from people like Sarah Kay really resonated with me at a young age. 

More recently, the closest I’ve gotten to that feeling of being deeply excited and inspired by poetry was when I discovered Savannah Brown’s work a couple of years ago. Her spoken word videos and poetry films really moved me, and her second poetry collection – which came out last year – is absolutely incredible (I wrote about it here). Lately I’ve also been listening to a lot of musicians whose work intersects with poetry, including Cassandra Jenkins and Anika Pyle, whose most recent albums reckon with grief and loss in a really powerful way.

Above: a blackout poem by Konstantinos. The source text is Christopher Gilbert’s poem “Fire Gotten Brighter”. Are there any styles besides blackout which you particularly love, or themes? Are there any topics you gravitate towards? 

I’ve always gravitated towards confessional poetry, both in terms of what I tend to write and what I like to read. Something most of the writers I’ve mentioned have in common is that they use intimate language to evoke a deep yearning for connection, in the face of existential dread and the unfathomable vastness of the cosmos. That usually does the trick!

Have any experiences at King’s Poetry Society or King’s in general – events, classes, readings, people you’ve met, or London itself – been particularly memorable, or inspired you? Can you tell us a little about them?

Absolutely. Just being in London, not even necessarily the experiences I had there, made me want to write more poetry than I had in a long time. There’s a Savannah Brown video essay on YouTube where she talks about passing a billion people on the street – obviously in the before times – and being like, “Who are all of you people? Could I care for you? How many of you idiots could I love?” That’s basically the gist of what had been stirring in me for a long time and that I still think about to this day. And then being a part of King’s Poetry Society was an opportunity for me to try and channel that, and engage in an actual physical writing community in a way I never had before. I literally read a poem inspired by that video during one of our poetry reading events – that will certainly stay with me.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “doors on the underground”. He read this poem at one of the 2019-20 King’s Poetry Society critique sessions.

How important do you think writing communities are, in fostering “better” writing? In your experience, is writing helped by discussion? 

I think they’re incredibly important, not just in fostering “better” writing but also fostering a space for vulnerability. Poetry can be an intensely private form of writing, but so much can be gained from discussing it, especially if one is looking to not only hone their craft but also learn from and connect with others. Us writers can be especially introverted people (hi!), and may be discouraged by the long stretches of silence that can pervade a poetry meeting, but there’s power in hearing the words you or someone else has written out loud. Even a single comment can completely change a way you think about a poem.

What do you think the value of reading poetry is? Can a poem profoundly change someone’s life? Conversely, can someone read a poem and be unaffected – and if this happens, has a poet “failed”? 

I think Marianne Moore sums it up pretty well in her poem Poetry, where she talks about finding in it “a place for the genuine.” As for the second question, poetry can definitely change someone’s life – not to be corny or anything, but like all art, it can also save someone’s life.

That said, I don’t think a poet has failed if the reader feels emotionally unaffected by their work. Sometimes, a writer may wish to portray an event or theme in a cold and unaffecting manner to get a certain point across. There’s value in that type of poetry, too, and art’s inherent subjectivity means that someone might be moved by a poem that someone else feels indifferent towards. There’s also value in poetry that is private and not meant to be shared, because even if only one person derives something from it, then it is valuable. I do think, however, that the further one strays from that ideal of earnestness, the closer the work hinges on being trivial or pretentious. We’ve moved past the need to be overly cynical or ironic.

I agree, poetry that is never shared is not lesser by any means – I find great personal value in treating a poem like a diary of sorts. Maybe each stanza mimics a different entry... With all that you feel manifesting into this thing that is at once completely attached to your experience but also – if shared – something that becomes detached and open to reinterpretation... That is really powerful. How do you think people who have never written before could be encouraged to start writing for themselves, whether for fun or as catharsis – without the pressures of becoming someone recognised or followed?

I really like that approach! I think the diaristic style of writing is often looked down upon as less legitimate, even though it isn’t. To answer your question, I think normalising the act of writing poetry purely for enjoyment or as a form of catharsis is really important, especially from a young age. Part of that could be achieved by exposing young people to more than what one might call the poetic canon. Being disappointed that a student isn’t engaging with poetry when they’ve only been introduced to Shakespeare is like assuming someone isn’t musically inclined when they’ve only been exposed to a single genre of music. Another way would be to incorporate more writing activities that utilise the poetic form, and allow the freedom to explore it outside the confines of academic study. I’m not saying all teachers should follow the example of Dead Poets Society, but there are so many ways to foster creativity and make poetry more approachable.

Do you think poetry is sometimes perceived as an inaccessible art? 

100%. I think that’s the biggest problem with how poetry is perceived. A lot of it comes down to the way poetry has been taught and disseminated for centuries – through a lens that is inherently exclusionary, upheld by systems that are classist, racist, sexist, etc. Hopefully that is starting to change – studies have shown that more and more young people read and write poetry, largely thanks to the rise of social media poetry. Poetry can represent such a wide range of experiences, but for people to view it as an accessible art form, more barriers need to be broken. Amanda Gorman becoming the youngest inaugural poet in American history, and the first Black poet ever to perform at the Super Bowl this year alone is certainly a huge sign of progress. 

Do you have a favourite literary journal, or a poetry platform you would like to recommend? What have you been reading lately? 

Subscribing to the Poetry Foundation and the Academy of American Poets’ poem-a-day newsletters has been a great way of keeping poetry in my everyday life. Recently, I’ve also been loving a podcast called Poetry Unbound, where each 10-15 minute episode immerses you into a single poem. On YouTube, I love Ours Poetica, a video series curated by poet Paige Lewis in collaboration with the Poetry Foundation that features readings of poems by writers, artists, and actors – including John Green reading Moore’s Poetry and Savannah Brown reading her poem the universe may stop expanding in five billion years. It offers a truly intimate and approachable way of experiencing poetry.

Above: Konstantinos’ poem “lonely little london”.

Is it important to you to read a wide variety of poetry, from different communities and on different subjects? Do you think it’s important for poets to write about things beyond their immediate world? 

That’s probably the biggest shift that has happened since I first got into poetry – realising how important it is to read widely. I was mostly drawn to poetry that reflected my own limited experience, but now more than ever I find it vital to immerse myself in different points of view, especially from underrepresented or marginalised groups. I now see poetry less as a means of personal expression than a form of empathy, and because of that I’m able to gain so much more from it. That said, I don’t think it’s necessary for poets to write about things that aren’t part of their immediate world. It depends on one’s goals and ambitions, but there’s already so much that’s unique about a person’s immediate world – things that are reflected in society at large – that being forced to write outside of it can often lead to work that feels hollow and insincere, or even insensitive. That doesn’t mean it has to be limiting – the beauty of poetry is that you can write about your immediate world but not necessarily through it.

Lastly… Do you think a poet is born a poet, or made into one? Which is more important: natural talent, or practice and growth? Can anyone become a poet? If everyone has it in them, do you think anyone who puts their mind to it can produce meaningful work – since, of course, all work is meaningful in one way or another, whether privately or publicly?

This is a slightly tricky question to answer, because either way it could imply that only some are afforded the privilege of becoming poets. If a small percentage of people are born poets, then of course that means everyone else is inherently excluded; if one is made into a poet, then only those who are able to cultivate any artistic inclinations will have the opportunity of fulfilling their potential. Most people will say the truth, as always, is somewhere in the middle, that it’s some complicated combination of the two. But I feel it’s much simpler than that – when you boil it down, really, everyone is born a poet.