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detachedminxsfics · 1 year ago

Text

Motel

Masterlist

Characters: Negan (Dead City) x F!Reader

Summary: You've grown particularly close with the Motor Inn's personal walker killer and decide to pay his motel room a visit.

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, hair pulling, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, negan's usual foul mouth, gentle dom negan

A/N: If you're from my tiktok (which spawned the chaos that motivated me to finish most of this bc you guys are crazy), hello! This is my first time managing to actually finish and upload a oneshot in months, so I apologise in advance. I was also extremely tired when I wrote most of this, but I hope it was worth the wait for the handful of you bombarding my comment sections for the past 24 hours. 😂 I knew what I had to do the moment I saw that shower scene...like damn.

You downed your third shot of the day before slamming it back down onto the counter and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes idly following the neon lights on the sign hung proudly behind the bar. The Easy Stay Motor Inn. It was a shithole. It only served as a way of keeping four walls and a roof over your head, and walkers off your ass. Speaking of, there was only one guy you'd grown particularly fond of during the month you'd spent working for the lady who owns this place and lapping up the amenities of their accompanying motel, Negan. He wasn't from around here, that much you gathered just by taking one good look at him, but then neither were you. You were both drifters. Heading from one place to the next, never staying anywhere long enough to see it through and find out whether it'd go to shit or hold out long enough before eventually falling to pieces. You just kept moving. That mentality had served you well so far and had kept you alive long enough to say that you'd made it well over a decade into the apocalypse now, not that you had much to show for it.

"Want another?" The guy behind the bar asked, half expecting you to agree to it as you had with all the others and making his way over to the bottle of vodka you'd been chipping away at.

"No thanks", you shook your head with a small smile and slid off the bar stool, "I'm gonna go try to entertain myself someplace else, but don't be surprised if I come back and finish that off later." You gestured to the vodka with a tilt of your head, and the certainty in your tone had the bartender smiling.

You headed towards the backdoor that led to the motel out back, the harsh change of lighting making you squint and shield your eyes to adjust for a moment, the dim vivid hues of the neon-lit windowless bar you'd been sitting in for the past hour or two being snuffed out once you stepped into the natural sunlight. Visual disorientation aside, you made your way down the row of motel rooms lined at your side, your interest only lying with the idea of arriving at one motel room in particular, and you stopped in front of the door when you found it. The door was a stark black to match the wooden panels sitting on either side of the window not too far from the right of the door, vines having wrapped around some of the slats in the wood from the overgrowth of shrubbery on the floor beneath it. It was run down and uncared for like just about anywhere else in this world. You tested the handle to see if the door was unlocked and to your surprise, it was. Twisting it fully you pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind you as you began to observe the interior of the room. It was generically decorated like just about any other room in this place, and he didn't seem to have left anything behind for you to snoop through. The room was so empty that if you didn’t know any better you might have thought that he'd moved on already, packed up all his shit and hit the road. You figured that this was on purpose and probably explained why he didn't care too much when it came to keeping the door locked since he didn't have any shit to steal. Smart.

Negan hadn't been around for too long now, in fact, he'd only arrived about a week after you, but he left a lasting first impression. He was useful. He pulled his weight by taking care of any of the walkers that roamed or wandered into the perimeter of the motor inn, and was never bad company on the occasions that he'd sat on the bar stool next to you and made conversation. As time went on you'd gotten closer and more comfortable with one another, and you quickly found yourself noticing that Negan was the one person you'd opened up to the most in the duration of your entire stay here, better yet felt the most comfortable doing so with. Your vulnerability wasn't one-sided, either. He never went into an awful load of detail, but he had a bad past. He wasn't on the run per se, but there was a group of people that he was hoping to avoid the possibility of encountering for the rest of his days, a community that he had a difficult history with. He alluded to what seemed to mostly amount to horrible shit that most people had done by now just to stay alive, the kind of things you see at night when you close your eyes, haunting you from the backs of your eyelids. You paid it no mind, and you told him that too; he seemed to appreciate your lack of judgement. Gradually, the conversations grew more personal and not so casual, things got flirty. It was subtle, but Negan would make small coy comments on things that you say, or little compliments now and again that toed the line a tad too much for what could be considered harmless flattery or him shooting his shot. You were able to keep yourself humble up until the night when he had jokingly mentioned how good your ass looked in your jeans after more than a few drinks, not that he needed it to let you know just how much he was checking you out. Your thoughts were interrupted by the twist of the doorknob and the sight of it being pushed open afterwards, revealing a rather sluggish and slightly dishevelled-looking Negan. Negan had a silver beard that he seemed to keep well-maintained, the hair decorating his top lip thicker than the rest. His dark hair was always slicked, though it seemed to have transitioned to more of an ashy brown over time with grey tinging at the sides of his hair. He was ruggedly handsome, that was for sure. A grin crept onto his lips when he noticed you standing by one of the beds, closing the door behind him and running his hand through his hair, slicking some of the strands that had fallen out of place in the process.

"Just letting yourself into my place now, huh? We graduating from drinking buddies to whatever the hell this is?" He quipped but was amused by how bold you were to just waltz on into his motel room.

"It's not like you don't want me here." You remarked with a knowing smile as you sat on the end of one of the double beds, to which Negan chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, a seemingly small mannerism of his that always drove you wild.

"Touché."

He sauntered to the bed next to you until he stood at the foot of it and started to shrug off his leather jacket with a sigh.

"Well whatever it is honey, it's gonna have to wait. I have been out there cracking rotting skulls for who knows how long, and now I need a damn shower."

The checkered flannel shirt he'd been wearing open underneath it was next, him tossing it on the bed in front of him before his fingers brush over the hem of his black tank top. He glanced at you with the material still pinched between his fingertips, a cocky smile creeping onto his lips as he noticed the way you were shamelessly staring at him and didn't seem to plan on stopping anytime soon.

"You gonna watch me strip now too, darlin'?"

You playfully shrugged and let your eyes wander down his torso, an eye movement Negan most certainly followed judging by the way his smile grew, as did his ego.

"I can turn around if you're too shy, Negan."

The throaty chuckle he let loose was almost immediate, his eyebrows raised as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Me, shy? Fuck no. You can stare your little heart out, and you would most definitely be staring."

Well, you certainly hadn't expected him to take it with such pride, so you caved and turned so you were facing the wall next to the bed. You could hear the sounds of clothes falling against the sheets and the clinking of metal as he undid his belt, and then the zipper on his leather pants.

"You still thinking of sticking it out here for a bit longer? I know last time we spoke you weren't so sure." Negan muttered as he got his pants down to his ankles and started to try to shake his ankles out of them.

You thought for a moment, then sighed a little.

"I think so? I don't know, I'm just trying to go day by day. Why, would you miss me?" Your tone picked up towards the end as did the enthusiasm in your voice, the suggestion making Negan's sudden laughter start in the form of a snort.

"Miss you? Shit, course I would. I'd probably move on from here after that."

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself unable to form the right words. He made it sound like you were the only reason he was still staying here, and that without you there'd just be no point. You didn't ask him to elaborate though, just silently rolled the thought around in your head.

"Well, time to take that shower. I'll be right back, and I don't know maybe we can grab a drink or some shit afterwards?"

"Sure." You mumbled in response.

After that all you heard was the soft tread of his footsteps as he made his way past you and into the bathroom, then the sound of the water being turned on and beginning to crash against the floor of the shower for a few moments before it became more muffled with Negan's body interrupting the stream, and you turned back to face something other than the blank yellow wall you'd be staring at whilst he was stripping. You did your best to focus on the small details of the room to occupy your head, the peculiar framed pictures decorating some of the walls, and the hideous design choices when it came to the taste of the room, but it was no use. All you could think about was what Negan had looked like underneath all those clothes when he was a mere few feet behind you, and what he looked like right now standing in the shower in the very next room, the image of water droplets trailing down his torso and body making it harder to stay seated with every passing second until you just couldn't take it anymore. You stood to your feet and made your way to the bathroom, standing in the doorway for a moment as you stopped in your tracks. The shower had a sliding door that Negan had slid shut, the distortion of the glass still allowing you to be able to make out the sight of him with his head tilted town and one of his palms pressed up against the wall, and the tattoo decorating his shoulder blade. There was no turning back now, you had made up your mind. You approached the glass and gave it a soft knock, the sound startling Negan a little as he turned and slid the glass just enough for him to lean into the gap he'd made.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concern tinging his voice as he used his other hand to sweep some of the hair that had fallen into his face back in place.

Your only response was the sight of your fingertips grasping the hem of your top before you pulled it over your head, holding the top in your hands for a moment as you gazed at him, trying to gauge Negan's reaction to your now exposed breasts. He seemed taken aback for a moment or two, and then his eyes darkened with lust.

"Can I join you?" You asked, fingers teasingly dancing along the waistband of your jeans as though you could tell by just the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to deny your offer.

He didn't.

"Fuck yeah you can." He rasped with a shit-eating grin, leaning back and pushing the sliding glass all the way open to make room for you to join him.

You stripped until there was nothing left, discarding all of your clothes into a pile on the tiled bathroom floor and stepping into the shower with him. The first thing you noticed was the heat. The steam from the hot water, the heat coming from Negan's body, all of it swarming your body with warmth. Then, him. All of him. From the water droplets falling from the scruff of his beard, the dark hair decorating his chest and trailing down the centre of his torso, and even the skull tattoo inked on the right side of his chest. The man was gorgeous. Your eyes dragged down his body, drinking in every inch of him until you got to the part you'd been anticipating most, but were interrupted. He cupped the underside of your jaw and urged your head back up, his thumb brushing along your chin as the tip of his thumb traced just along the edge of your bottom lip.

"You like what you're seeing, huh?" He seemed to be making more of a statement than genuinely asking, but you entertained him nonetheless.

"A lot." You replied simply, the intense and lustful look your eyes were lit with corrupting your stare as your eyes bore into his.

"Good."

He used the hold on your jaw to guide your lips to his, his lips claiming yours. The hand that had been cupping your chin moved to grasp the nape of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip and drawing your body against his. You could feel him hard against your thigh as he groaned into the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth so you could taste him and his hands keeping you pressed firmly against his body, your own hands beginning to wander from the top of his chest down to his abdomen. The water cascading down his shoulders caressed along your fingertips and down your breasts, the warm water trailing down your body whilst he continued to move his lips against yours until you couldn't breathe, and you were forced to pull back for air. The moment you did Negan dove his head into the crook of your neck and pressed his lips against your pulse point, gently sucking the skin there and occasionally teasing it between his teeth in a way that was sure to leave marks, his beard scratching along your jaw as he did. The attention he paid your neck had your hand rushing up the nape of his neck and into his hair, combing your fingers through the back before taking a fistful of his wet strands. The slight tension on his scalp and the way your breath was shaking right by his ear made him pause for a moment to smile against your skin, a hoarse chuckle following shortly thereafter. The warmth of his breath from the laugh felt hot on your skin, and you used the strands of hair you'd taken in your palm to urge his head back until his face was inches from yours again. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip when you found your voice.

"You've thought about this before haven't you, fucking me?"

His brows raised at your boldness, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

"Damn right I have. I'd have to be blind or crazy not to, you are easy on the eyes, darlin'."

"Oh?" You tilted your head as you feigned mock surprise, his eyes looking you over like you were good enough to eat, and you might just let him.

Slowly you leaned in and seductively ran your tongue over his lips, finishing with a small kittenish flick at his top lip before leaning back. You soaked up the wanton look in his gaze when you sank to your knees, your eyes locked with his all the while. Now kneeling on the floor of the shower you reached up and closed your hand around his shaft, the way his breath caught in his throat once he felt your touch giving you the encouragement you needed to lean in and run your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. As you licked at it you felt Negan's fingers stroke over your hair before he started to gather it in his hand, all of your hair soon clutched into his fist like a makeshift ponytail.

"Don't be a tease." He warned as he slid his free hand underneath your chin and cupped it, allowing him to use both the grip on your hair and your jaw to urge you forward.

Willingly your lips parted, his cock sliding past your lips and into your mouth.

"Fuuuck, there we go." Negan slurred as he slid further into your mouth, stopping just before he reached your throat.

He grunted once you flattened your tongue on the underside of his shaft and leant forward, bracing one of his hands against the tiled wall of the shower when he lowered his head to look at you.

"Shit, you look so good with a mouthful of cock." He rasped crudely with the dirtiest smile before pushing himself down your throat, and you fought the urge to gag as he did.

He started to move his hips, the motion prompting you to place your hands just above his knees for support whilst he slid in and out of your throat. Soon enough tears began to well in your eyes, the urge to choke too great as you finally gagged on him, the sensation making Negan momentarily screw his eyes shut before sliding out of your mouth. He let you breathe for a moment or two before he was already pushing down your throat again, his groans getting louder and deeper with every thrust.

"Ohh, good girl." He cooed, his sounds of pleasure gradually turning into a blatant string of curses as he repeatedly thrust down your throat, and you shamelessly took every single inch.

Eventually, the movement of his hips got slower, his moans getting louder until finally his hips stuttered and his abdomen began to tense. He tightened his grip on your hair, the harsh grasp burning your scalp, and then you felt the hot wet spurts of warm liquid coating your tongue. You waited until you knew he'd spilt every last drop and then carefully removed him and swallowed his release, your breath a little laboured whilst Negan hovered above you with totally ragged, uneven breath, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to come down from the high of his orgasm. A few tears had escaped your waterline and slid down your cheeks as he fucked your throat, but it had mixed with the occasional stream of water trickling down your face from the shower.

"You did so good, baby. So good." He praised as he finally released your hair from his hand and started gently running his fingers through it instead, his touch soothing some of the pain he'd inflicted upon your scalp.

You stayed like that for a moment just listening to the sound of the water until you felt his hand leave your hair and the sight of him extending it out in front of you for you to take, which you did. He helped you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist the second you straightened your back, his mouth crashing against yours and allowing him to taste himself on your lips, the urgency with which he kissed you making you moan into the kiss a little. Whilst he stole your air Negan guided you backwards until your back came to press against the steamy tiled wall, the condensation pooling on the tiles smearing against your skin, and the faint coolness to it making you gasp. You wrapped your arms around Negan's neck to draw him in closer, your hips subconsciously moving to bring your groin against his and allowing his still proudly hard cock to brush against your inner thigh. You broke the kiss to try to regulate your unsteady breathing, leaning back just enough so that your lips were practically still brushing, the hot heavy pants Negan breathed against your lips making you need him all the more.

"Negan?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you inside me."

He couldn't hold back the dangerous look his eyes filled with when you whispered exactly what you needed, an arrogant look in his eye as he leaned back and cockily smiled.

"Your wish is my command, sweetheart. C'mere."

He slid his hands all the way up the backs of your thighs, towards your outer thigh, and then took hold of your hips. The gesture prompted you to do a small jump that allowed Negan to hoist you up and trap you between the wall and his body, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands moved to cup your ass. In one calculated movement Negan lined himself up and sank inside you, the way you stretched around him eliciting a filthy moan from your lips almost immediately.

"That feel good, baby?" He purred, his voice full of arrogance.

He knew it did, he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes, god yes." Was all you could manage as he set a hard and intense pace, drawing all the way out before slamming back inside you, the feeling of fullness with every thrust making your mouth fall open.

One of your hands slid down his chest, his dark chest hair brushing up against your fingers as you did, whilst the other slid up his shoulder and moved to rest on the nape of his neck. His fingers were digging into your skin with the grip he had on you, strands of your hair clinging to the condensation of the tiled walls as you slightly threw your head back, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips from the way he roughly fucked into you. The overwhelming sensation caused you to idly weave your fingertips in the hair at the top of his neck and run your hands through the back of his hair, occasionally tugging at it when he buried himself especially deep and you could do nothing but squirm in his grip. The water was still running just off to Negan's side, the hot water wasting onto the floor and creating a small pool at his feet. With the way you'd angled your body it allowed him to lean in and lick a stripe up the valley between your breasts, your skin feverishly hot against his tongue as he gathered some of the water droplets and left nothing but a trail of spit before beginning to kiss up your throat. He littered your neck with kisses, moving his affections to the side of your neck before planting a few kisses along your jaw, his stubble scratching along the side of your face all the while. It felt like heaven. You couldn't think about anything other than his touch, the way his mouth shamelessly marked your skin, the sounds of his heavy breath and the guttural groans spilling from his throat like music to your ears. By this point your sweet moans grew to resemble sobs, your legs slightly shaking in his hold as Negan thrust into you over and over, and a feeling started to burn in the pit of your stomach unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"Negan." was all you managed to choke out, practically in the form of a cry.

All you felt was his lips claiming yours, and the occasional parting of your lips just enough for him to whisper into the kisses.

"I got you, I got you, baby." He swore over and over, his gentle reassurance paired with his hard thrusts tipping you completely over the edge, and your whimpers getting lost in his heated kisses.

You feel the knotting in your abdomen just before everything comes crashing over you, waves of pleasure ripping through your body and making you clench around him as Negan continues to fuck you throughout your high, your mind hazed with overstimulation. Eventually his movements began to stutter, his abdomen clenching amidst the deep v-lines framing his hips, and a string of gravelly curses poured from his mouth. Carefully, Negan unwrapped one of your legs from his waist and urged you to set it down on the floor of the shower, the other still wrapped around his hips as he held it there. His free hand moved down to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and giving it a few quick strokes until he finally came. His hold on your leg became more of a firm squeeze as he threw his head back a little and grunted, liquid splashing over the top of your inner thigh and beginning to gradually trickle down your leg. The bathroom was full of steam now, the air thick with humidity and both of your chests rising and falling rapidly as you both tried to catch your breath. After a few moments you felt Negan place your other leg down, his release still dribbling down your skin as you tried to come down from your incalculable high. His breath evened out a little, his eyes still half-lidded when his hazel eyes locked with yours, his gaze capturing you amidst the knowing grin playing on his lips. You were totally fucked out, and the sight made him chuckle.

"That good, huh?" He teased with raised brows, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip making you playfully roll your eyes and manage a small laugh.

"Shut up."

You'd give credit where credit is due, the man knew what he was doing, but you couldn't allow yourself to stroke his almost nauseating large ego any further. He shook his head with a smile, both of his hands smoothing over your waist and then taking hold of it, using it to lead you towards him. You let him coax you to the space closer to the shower head, the water now splashing directly against the back of his neck and trailing down his body, droplets of water simultaneously forming along Negan's jawline and repeatedly falling from his wet beard. He kept one hand on your waist whilst the other held one side of your face, his eyes boring into yours. His head tipped forward so he could rest his forehead against yours, water sliding down his neck when he started to speak in almost a whisper at first.

"If I hit the road, I want you to come with me."

You thought you may have not heard him right at first and leant back with slightly wide eyes, shock etched into your features.

"Really?" You muttered.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed, the stare you shared serving as more of an answer than any words you could utter, but you parted your lips to speak and did anyhow.

"You've got yourself a deal."

#negan #negan smut #the walking dead negan #negan smith #negan twd #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #dead city #dead city negan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd fic #twd negan #negan x you #daddy negan #jeffrey dean morgan

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tiredfox64 · 6 months ago

Note

So like,,,,,

Imagine if Bi-han and readsr went on a mission, oh yeah things r going very well, but then they stumble on a place that has like woah magic potion, the reader just "hey wld it b funny if I dr-" "no", but then Bi-han wasnt looking and somehow they end up with a reader thats just, the size of his palm

The rest is up to u!

Love ur writings!!!

Pipsqueak

Prior notes: This would be something that would happen to me cause I keep trying to eat inedible things. I've been told to stop trying to eat my DND dice.

Pairing: Bi-Han x Gn reader

Warnings: Hehe you're so small

“Don’t touch anything.”

Bi-Han tells you that every time you go on a mission together. If he can’t have his brothers by his side then he usually picks you to come with him on a mission. Though you have a problem with being serious. You have a habit of making things comedic during serious moments like missions and briefings. You also have a weird habit of touching things that aren’t yours and putting them near your mouth. No one knows why you do it, neither do you. You must be lacking vitamins or something.

Whatever it is, it’s a hazard when you’re on missions. That’s why Bi-Han is always warning you about doing something stupid. It’s for your own good. You don’t know what could happen to you if you touched the wrong item or ingested something you shouldn’t have. The world you live in is a strange one, you never know.

So far, you’re acting right. Liu Kang sent you and Bi-Han out on a mission to investigate a possible rat in Earthrealm, aka a sorcerer. He warned you both to be careful which Bi-Han emphasized that point. He was right to do so.

When you both arrived at the suspected location there were walls filled with strange ingredients and hanging animal carcasses. Creepy. There were rows upon rows of colorful looking potions in wacky bottles. There was one potion in particular that caught your eye. It rested on a wooden desk with different ingredients surrounding it. It looked like whoever was brewing it was making more of a cocktail instead of a magical potion. Citrus peels, brown sugar, and finger lime caviar. It confused you so much that you didn’t take notice of the other potions that were being mixed into the strange concoction. You grabbed the potion that caught your eye, sniffing it and getting hit with that strong citrus smell. Its aroma was tempting you.

“Hey Bi-Han, wouldn’t it be funny if I dr-”

“No!” Bi-Han glared at you.

He motioned for you to put it back where you found it. You did as he said until he turned his back towards you. He started going off about how he wanted this mission to be over and he can’t risk any delays. You weren’t paying attention since your attention was on the potion. It just looked so pretty and smells as sweet as lemonade. It couldn’t hurt to take at least a lick of it. You placed your mouth near the bottle before leaning it up, the liquid flowed slowly to your tongue. You licked it up quickly. Hmm, it does taste like lemona-

Bi-Han heard a poof behind him. He swiftly turned around and saw a cloud of smoke that matched the color of the potion. Once the smoke cleared he tried his best to look for you. But when he looked down all he saw was you with the bottle trapping you inside. Ah geez, you’re small.

He stared in disbelief. It was clear what just happened. You didn’t obey your grandmaster.

“What did I tell you!” He yelled which sounded much louder to you since you were so tiny now.

You looked very guilty. Your head was lowered in shame. You looked up at Bi-Han with pleading eyes, begging him to get you out of the bottle. He has no choice, he has to. He picks up the bottle and begins to dump you out onto the palm of his hand.

You’re putting him in a difficult position right now. One wrong move and he could accidentally crush you. Or worse, even freeze you. You didn’t like this outcome. You look like you were on the verge of tears even though you were warned. He groaned as he contemplated what to do now. Should he abandon the mission and bring you back safely? Or should he march forward and try his best to keep you safe? He didn’t realize it but he was so lost in thought he didn’t hear you yelling at him.

“Please, have mercy!”

When he looked down he saw he was gripping you tightly. His thumb was rubbing the top of your head which messed with your hair. He opened his hands, allowing you to breathe. This situation was already sucking. This can’t go on; he has to bring you back. Maybe Lord Liu Kang can reverse this mess.

Bi-Han didn’t want to keep you in his hands just in case he needed to fight. The problem is he has nowhere else to put you. Each possible area he could put you in would possibly squeeze you. The only spot he could think of was…sigh. He raised you up before placing you at the top of his head.

“Just hold on tightly please.”

You listened this time. Too well actually. Your impulsive thoughts won and you ended up yanking a strand of his hair on the left side of his hair. You had your Ratatouille moment. He actually raised his arm just like the movie taught you! But he might have been doing it just to smack you for yanking.

“NOT THAT TIGHT!”

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Getting a hold of Liu Kang was difficult. No one knew where he was or what he was doing. Not a good time for him to be MIA.

Believe it or not, Bi-Han was getting very worried about this situation. Having you as small as a rat made him worried about losing you. He was keeping you close to him at all times, not even allowing Tomas or Kuai Liang to poke you. In his eyes, you were as fragile as a glass animal now.

He kept you with him until someone could get a hold of Liu Kang. He kept you on his desk to keep a close eye on you. It felt like you were being treated like a child. Every time you moved close to the edge; Bi-Han would tense up before blocking you with his hands. He would drag you back by pinching the back of your uniform.

“Stay still. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He asked.

Then he tried keeping you in a birdcage he so conveniently had. You wouldn’t stop moving! You were put in little creature jail for little creature crimes. Yup, you still wouldn’t listen. You would try climbing the sides before trying to squeeze yourself through. You thought you succeeded until your hips hit the bars. Bi-Han was about to lose it on you but if he yelled he might burst your eardrums. He tried pushing you back in but every time he would poke your face you would bite him because it was uncomfortable. He did not want to try your backside. He eventually had to break the cage a little to allow you to crawl out.

That didn’t work out in his favor, what else he got?

He placed you right in front of him with his arms surrounding you. It allowed him to continue doing his paperwork while keeping you in one place. If you tried to run past his hands he would smack you back. Try climbing up his arms and he would twitch his muscles to make you fall. Like a horse trying to get a fly off. Front is no good, sides are no good, you went with the back. You started climbing up his clothes. This was the last straw for Bi-Han. You were like a devious rat that couldn’t listen to its master.

He snatched you up before shoving you into his top. The multiple layers of his uniform were usually tight against his body but there was enough space to shove you into it. Your back was pressed up against his chest area which felt like a brick wall. You tried to scramble out of there but the clothes were pressing you tight like a weighted blanket. You were tucked in nicely against your will. You struggled and struggled until you tired yourself out. You don’t have much fight left in you which was fine by Bi-Han. It was a long day already and that little fight you put up drained you out. You started to succumb to the comfort that enveloped you. It was no use, you were falling asleep.

After a while, Bi-Han noticed you weren’t saying a peep. When he looked down he saw you were knocked out. It was night and still no Liu Kang. Hopefully he will have better luck tomorrow. He should find a better place for you to sleep where you will be safe. He took you out and placed you on your stomach in the palm of his hand. He petted your back with one finger to prevent you from waking up. He kind of likes you this way. So punny and pathetic, it’s so adorable. You would have no choice but to depend on him for everything. Ah, he shouldn’t be thinking that way. He should focus on you getting back to normal. Still can’t help that he finds this situation a bit entertaining. Maybe he’ll drag this out a little longer just to see what else he could do with you.

After notes: All I could think of was Marc Anthony and Pussyfoot when writing this. That was the energy I was getting. I just saw a drawing that was like this idea which included Bi-Han. Strange. Adiós!

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felassan · 3 months ago

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Thoughts on the DA:TV Companion Concept Art:

General

I love that we saw these and I think the art is beautiful!! it's so cool seeing different versions of a character, different ideas for a character, and how things translated from concept arts into the character models in the game. I can't waaait to look through the rest of The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, with a fine-toothed comb!!

each character has iconic color palettes and iconic shapes and stuff :)

I feel like there is a lot to examine in these pictures, even with the spoilery text redacted!! 🔍🔍

I'm so extremely curious about what the redacted text says. 👁️

It looks like the geometric patterns drawn behind the characters are slightly different each time?

In the ones where multiple different outfits are shown for the character, do you suppose that these are only discarded concept ideas, or are some similar to some of the alternate outfits for the companions that we can find or upgrade for them in the game?

in some of the pages, there appears to be additional parts of the page blanked out/redacted rather than just the paragraph of text. I wonder if there are small text captions or even additional small drawings in those spaces that also needed to be redacted for spoiler reasons 👁️

In some of the sections below I just described what part of the art I was referring to, in others I popped in images because I was finding it hard to describe what I meant ^^

Also, the associated tweet mentions the BioWare Gear Store-exclusive variant of the artbook. The link in it just takes you to the general Gear Store website landing page at the moment. At the moment, the BioWare Gear Store variant of the artbook is out of stock (it went out of stock really quickly after release). However, CM Violet mentioned in the Discord that "We are planning on another printing [of the Gear Store variant of the art book], but no date yet! I'm sure we'll announce it when we have more news!" [source: the official BioWare Discord]

Bellara

Bellara's page is the only one I think with no name. did her name have to be redacted too bc of a spoilery reason?

I LOVE Bellara's pages. she's just so 🥺 (clenching my fist). some aspects of the design of Bellara's clothes remind me of butterflies or butterfly wings.

Left: the angle of this one reminds me of her party icon art. Center: this one shows a different design concept for her vallaslin. in this one she also has different earrings. in the full version of this drawing, it looks like she is holding some kind of tool in her hand (makes sense considering her Tinker ability), while in her other hand it's a piece of cloth, reminding me of the way mechanics are sometimes drawn holding rags during their work. her posture in the full version of this drawing is like 'You can fit sooo many triangles inside this bad boy [the giant elf head artifact/sculpture]'. hhh. Right: can anyone make out what the text above her bag says? ^^ btw, this bag design is so cute. edit: thankyou to @squidaped-oyt who mentioned in the replies of this post that this looks like it says "Foldable map"! more on that here.

HELLO??, this ancient elven sculpture/artifact thing is extremely 👀. the scale of it compared to Bellara is massive. there are beams of light coming from its eyes and the triangle set in its forehead. the triangular parts are a now-familiar aspect of ancient elven magic-tech and artifacts. the nose bridge reminds me of the design of elven nose bridges circa Dragon Age II - only he has a pointed part on his in addition. the bald head we're all familiar with from ancient elven statues, in-world murals/wall paintings etc. is it just me, or are the teeth also pointy? I wonder what this thing is.. was it just decorative (a head of a giant statue)? (this kind of thing in this Veil Jumper/Arlathan Forest concept art comes to mind). was it an art piece representative of a particular Evanuris or one of their chosen? or did it have some kind of actual function - maybe it was part of a giant protective automaton kinda thing? what this head really reminds me of is Codex Entry: Vir Dirthara: Signs of Victory -

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a monument made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stares down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves have disappeared. Light radiates from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth. "Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!"

Could this be [part of] one of those sorts of monuments/eidolons? It sure looks like it's snarling through its open mouth. And it has narrowed eyes and light is radiating from them.

The other things it reminds me of are: 1. the ancient elven sentinels (the magic-bot kind, not the Abelas and crew in Temple of Mythal kind), two. like maybe it's a giant one of these. 2. these big ancient elven hands and the Dead Hand landmark (see Trivia section) in DA:I, which is found in the Dales and contains an elven shrine and is not far from Ghilan'nain’s Grove.

Horace Medford wrote of that landmark,

"The great stone hand was something of a mystery. One assumes it is a piece broken off from a larger whole. If so, judging by the size of that one hand, I imagine the entire sculpture to be... well, large enough to require the use of obscenities to describe it. Thus I have only one question: where is the rest of the statue? It is difficult to imagine how something so large could go missing."

like maybe the head from Bellara's concept is the giant head to a similar kind of pair of giant hands (of either type).

(^ post which discusses these both here)

Left: the way this bracelet thing is worn gives it the impression of a watch, which is cool and fits her machinist/inventor kinda vibe/aesthetic :) Center: the cloth, a bit dirty from active use (what a thoughtful touch), tucked into her belt :) Right: I love the eyepiece/monocle look!! It's giving Artificer, it's giving gadgets. does anyone else think Bellara and Dagna would get on super well? 💜

These are all super interesting and I love that they were thinking about the different parts of Bellara's kit and belongings like this. in the top row, it looks like the book on the left is the closed version of the book on the right. Bellara's book full of research notes :D what I wouldn't give to browse through it!! I love how she's filled it with different bookmarks, it gives you an insight into her mind and the way it works. on the front is one of those ancient elven golden faces (like on Solas' armor's knees in Trespasser, on the Sentinels in the Temple of Mythal, on the ancient elven Deluxe edition of DA:TV armors, etc). inside, it looks like she has pressed a flower, which is so lovely. on the right-hand page, I'm really curious about the drawings there. what is it of? a map, a diagram? it reminds me a bit of the map of Arlathan Forest in the Veil Jumper issue of Dragon Age: The Missing (and it would make sense for her to have a map, Arlathan Forest is changeable lately). and if you squint, maybe that's an 'X marks the spot'? also extremely curious is the drawing on the left-hand side of the page:

Who is this depicting? the figure's headshape/headpiece/mask reminds me a lot of the Evanuris headshapes. and the general vibe of the drawing reminds me of the ancient elven Evanuris mosaics (example). Sylaise-y? but maybe it's not an Evanuris and it's more like a figure from Bellara's past? the way the flower is pressed on this page makes it look tender, like memory. or if it was an Evanuris, it makes it look like an offering or token. perhaps Bellara's vallaslin correspond to Sylaise or whichever member it is. there was a time before the gods came back the way they did in DA:TV.

It's also really cool to get a look at the fold-out material thing. do you think she usually carries this rolled up at her belt or in her bag? it looks like somewhere where she stores various kinds of ancient elven triangle fragments, or maybe it's even some kind of strange map. A map of a bunch of different reality-fragmented Veil Bubbles or something would look really strange no doubt, not like a normal map.. edit: more on that here.

Davrin

It's neat to see different hairstyle versions of Davrin! the shape of the blue sword reminds me just a lil of Starfang, which is really nice. and we saw Davrin with a griffon-wing shield like there is in these concepts in the character reveal trailer.

Comparisons of the various vallaslin designs he has in his concept arts to the final one in the game. (in some of the concepts, his vallaslin look a bit bluer, which reminds me of his tarot-style art from the party selection screen). though, in the right-most version, it looks more kind of like a circlet, a Samara Mass Effect-type situation instead :)

This on his heel is totally a spur. makes sense, for a Warden that may one day be a griffon-rider like the Grey Wardens of old :') (at least in the sense of visual language, like "spur - riding - horse - griffon").

We see Davrin equipped with an additional dagger/shortsword like this in the warrior gameplay video, albeit not this specific one, if you go by the handles.

He maybe has some stubble here. ^^

In this version of Davrin, it looks like he has a staff. (though, he still has a sword here too). Is it a polearm kinda deal, or was there a time during development when Davrin was a mage? perhaps the elf in this concept art is a version of Davrin? that elf is wielding a staff to fight, and there are some similar aspects in the outfit designs, like the considerable collar.

interestingly, his staff here reminded me of the staff held by the elven figure on the front of the DA Vinyl art. 🤔

^ Looking at that staff-Davrin concept more generally, it's interesting that this version has more overtly Grey Wardenny-parts to his armor compared to his final look, like the griffon symbol on the chestplate and shoulder.

This Davrin holds out his arm, like a falconer. in Dalish culture, the hawk is a sacred animal of the Huntress Andruil.

And this Davrin straight up is a falconer. how cool!! due to image resolution I'm not sure if the darker parts on the raptor are parts of its plumage or accoutrements, but in falconry, the birds sometimes do wear these types of accoutrements. Falconer Davrin Concept reminds me of that one DA:I Dorian concept art where Dorian had a monkey haha. :D the attention to detail in Falconer Davrin is neat too, you can see that on the hawk-perch arm he has a thick extra cover on his arm, due to the sharpness of raptor talons and grip. I really love Falconer Davrin's griffon shoulderplate, and when looking at the more geometric diamond design of his vallaslin here, what struck me was its resemblance to the diamond geometric pattern behind him.

Harding

Harding is the only one on the concept art among the named characters there who is listed as her surname rather than her given name haha. she's just Harding just like Hawke is Hawke, that's just the way it is.

The flower and leaf pattern in the top left is cute, I wonder if it was inspiration for the flower and leaf stitching Harding has on the collar of her casual clothes in the game. In the concept art it looks like the kind of design that you might have on the leatherwork on the front cover of a beautiful leatherbound journal or something. :) In the central picture she's holding and appreciating a blue flower, which is so cute ♡ and which ties to what was said about her loving plants, raising plants, and nature. she has what looks like the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol on her belt pouch as well as on her knee pads. (;;) the version of her to the left of that shows her with her hair down, in a more pony-tail like sort of style. on that version of her, you can see flower and leaf floral patterns curling up the bottom of her cape. (very pretty).

To the right of the central image, there's a big diagonal blank rectangle of content which has been removed, presumably due to spoiler reasons. Was this also text? It seems like a weird angle to have placed text at. Maybe it's a drawing of an object of some kind being hidden? A different version of her bow perhaps? (this is the case in a few of the companion concept arts btw.)

The tailored coat and pinstripe pants version of her is so cool. :D look at the tails on the back of her coat in that image. dapper. Harding formal wear? :D

of course, the two most !! images from Harding's one are these ones. copying over my thoughts from that post,

Presumably this is to do with Harding’s new magical stoney earthy powers. (In the second image, along with the bow, it looks like half her face, part of her neck and her arm itself is also stone/crystal). The glass-like shiny parts reminds me of quartz or something. :)

I do wonder if (if they are still things in the game) perhaps those two images or the stoney parts of them could also potentially have done with being redacted for spoiler reasons? how I wish the Harding image was higher resolution so we could take a closer look at stone-Harding..! somewhere off in the distance, Varric "haha, you'd be Harding in Hightown" Tethras is like "haha, Harding, you're hard/hardening" hhhh. 💀

In the image with her hood up, the blue veins on the bow remind me of blue lyrium veins. I also wonder, is she holding the stone/crystal bow with her stone/crystal arm, or is the bow simply growing from the arm? does the hard surface of her body when it's like this repel or take less damage owing to its hardness? is this something she might be able to do in gameplay later on as her story (and powers) progress?

it stands to reason that if you can turn other people/things to stone, as she did to some ghouls in the release date reveal trailer, you might also be able to extend this power to yourself. presumably this ability is tied to the Titans, the dwarves as their children, the Stone, maybe a restored (in Harding's case) connection to that, the way dwarves used to be. it also reminds me of how golems are created using live dwarves. Caridin said "It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier." 👀

Btw, speaking of Harding's magical powers, I wonder if Harding dreams at night now..?

Lucanis

it looks like there's a spot on Lucanis' page other than the text at the top that is blanked out/redacted. I wonder what it contained.

part of the geometric designs behind him reminds me of his eyes motif.

some of the alternate outfits for him look really like, majestic. in the one with the manbun, he has big poufy shoulder pieces and huge sleeves.

I wonder if any concept art of clean-shaven Lucanis exists anywhere? ^^ I'm really curious about what he looks like clean-shaven, or without a beard as he was in The Wigmaker Job.

I'm losing my mind at all the different concept ideas for Lucanis' hair, especially the one with the curled forelock and LUCANIS MANBUN omg. but I like his feathery mullet that he has in the game the best. :D

The design and coloring of his sword is just so COOL. The oil-like iridescence, purple-black, is like corvid feathers.

What a lovely sketch, lovely pencilwork. ◕‿◕ his eyebrow is slightly raised and you can see here again that his nose is slightly 'crooked' (perhaps he's broken it in the past?). I love this sort of feature sm in every character that has it.

In this one his eyes are doing the glowing purple thing again. again he is not defeating the possessed/dead/abomination/-somethingelserelatedorsimilar-is-going-on with him allegations. this one has a hood in an Assassin's Creed sorta style and the general vibe is like a ninja. the shoulder pieces look feathery, and the cloak/coat looks like feathered wings or tailfeathers. this piece feels the most "The Demon of Vyrantium" in vibe hh 👁️ And are you guys seeing this?? Here it looks like has claws like Wolverine hh!! :D though he could simply also be holding multiple knives in between his fingers (of the sort you can see at his belt in another concept, I've put that one just below here to show them), or have a bladed gauntlet, etc.

This person coming at you in the night, no wonder the evil Venatori magisters are scared of him :)

Coffee, no doubt :) cool mug shape.

Bird design again on this leg-piece.

Left: a take on the now-iconic Antivan Crow bird-masks. really cool design. here it's giving Batman, it's giving masquerade ball. I really hope we see him wearing a Crow bird mask of this sort at some point during the game!! 🧎🕯️🧎 it's a big missed opportunity if not imo hh. Right: Lighthouse casual-wear, or something very close to it. his vibe in this art is also similar to his vibe in the Lighthouse group shot.

Veilguard symbol on his chest? some of the alternate outfits include a more Veilguardy purple to them, and this one reminds me of how the Veilguard symbol looks for Rook here for example.

Lastly, in this main one, his general shape is sooo triangular. :D and his face/expression here really captures this description of him from Tevinter Nights:

Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.

In this one I also get the sense of dark circles under his eyes, which is a trait that in fiction reminds me of coffee-drinkers. ^^

Emmrich

Both staffs in Emmrich's concept art are different to the one we see him with here, but the bigger one on the concept art is close to it.

In this concept it looks like Emmrich has a scar on his chin.

Left: without his jacket on, he looks so svelte. the gold parts on his boots/knees remind me of the gold headpieces fixed to walking dead in the Necropolis. they are also hexagonal in shape, which I've become convinced is part of Nevarra's visual design language (and therefore part of Nevarran architecture, fashion/culture etc. :D he has so many bracelets and rings. Center: he looks so happy here and in the one next to it! these versions of Emmrich seem to lean more to the purple side of his color palette. these ones have a sorta futuristic vibe. you can see some of the tools of his trade at his belt, and it's a different version of his staff. here the skull floats at the top of the staff and burns with green fire, rather than being fixed to the pole of the staff. Right: Emmrich with big hair! quiff-like, and it looks like a large part of it is white rather than gray.

in this alternate outfit he's wearing a work apron with tools of his trade on the front. he's holding a glass flask that is filled with green liquid and billowing green smoke. I wonder if Emmrich is skilled at alchemy? do you think he has a lab, or that his room in the Lighthouse might be filled with stuff like alembics?

Looking again at Emmrich's outfit in these arts - from the back, the back of his coat reminds me of depictions in art and tv/film of the blood eagle?? (if you are sensitive or squeamish to gore and things of that nature, please don't google that!). the lines on the back of his shoulders remind me of musculature. The repeating pieces down the center of the bottom part of his coat reminds me of a spine. and the back of his gold belt-piece from behind straight up looks like a pelvis. the skeleton and body imagery here is an amazing art direction/symbolism for him!! what a bigbrain idea. is that sort of detailing why the design of the front of his coat looks like someone's chest has been opened on an operating table?

also, the long coat reminds me of labcoats. :)

I wonder if the bracelets and things are a Nevarran cultural thing/common fashion in Nevarra, or more of just an Emmrich thing? ^^

lastly his expression in the one on the right is so gentle and kind.

Neve

There are two spots on Neve's page other than the text at the top that are blanked out/redacted. I wonder what they contained.

I love that they tried out differing concept/designs for the look of Neve's leg, and what looks like a stand for it as well. they're all really neat and you can see serpentine aspects in all of them. a person could also have more than one.

this image contains another great reference for Neve's wand-cane thing. here the orb in the middle looks like a big pearl, like from inside a mollusk. the ring around it is definitely evoking the body of a snake coiling.

The concept art contains a blond version of Neve. because of her ice powers, it reminds me a bit of Emma Frost (Marvel). look at that Neve's heeled boot, and the size of her hat!!

I prefer the Neve they decided to go with in the end. ♡♡ ^^

Taash

oh my goooood. breathing in and out rapidly into a paper bag. oh my godd. she looks sooo cool!! I'm posting the whole thing again here just bc omggg.

Most versions of Taash have the green crystal horn. her concept arts show versions with different skin colors. her eyes in some of them look green. I love all her different-version Lord of Fortune / Rivaini gold pieces. in the top-left hand version of her, her bigger shoulder-piece is really cool (the right-hand side one); it could at once be a piece of spiky dragon bone or a piece of a big spiky sea-shell (both ideas work perfectly for her character and background). I've said this before when talking about Taash's design, but I love the parrot-break design of one of her weapons. it's very piratey. in this page, we can see several different versions of the parrot-beak weapon. also, I love all her different facial expressions.

in the right-most Taash concept, the dragon tooth-like pointy bits on her gauntlets look like they're made out of gold, not tooth. her big piratey boots are so cool and they even have a gold coin on them! you can see the spike braided into the end of her ponytail, and in that drawing the dragonscale-looking parts of her iconic armor look even more scaley, owing to the way they graduate from a full covering of scales to a partial covering to not present (in a way that reminds of how on some fantasy arts of things like dragons, there can be softer/less protected areas of their hide with no or less scales, like towards their undersides):

The bottom-left most illustration looks like it might be her iconic armor, only seen from the back, which is good to have a reference of. the design of her sword scabbard is cool, it's like the segmented flat of a dragon or sea-serpent's tail. in that image it also looks like the eye of her parrot-weapon is matched by an eye on the scabbard. something about the designs of her sword and scabbard remind me of weapons like daos. from behind, it also looks like her gauntlets might have thicker armor on one-side, better protection for the upper side of her forearms. the fingers of her gauntlets also look taloned, in a way that reminds me of Fenris.

Okay now let's talk about the concept in the center at the top! this version has longer horns and more spikes in her ponytail, in fact the ponytail here looks like a dragon tail as a result. it reminds me of Flemeth's dragony hair from Dragon Age II onwards. this version also looks like she may have blue-ish facial tattoos, or it could be vitaar. it also looks like she may have a second, smaller set of horns. in this version, the red ropes are cyan-blue instead, and she not only has the spikes/teeth on her gauntlets, but also on her boots (knee 'pad' and the heel, like spurs). in this version, her swords are dragon wing-shaped, which is pretty metal. I can't tell if the triangular piece that hangs down in the center is from the front piece of her clothing or the back piece, but it gives the impression of a dragon tail.

Lastly, the concept in the center at the bottom: here her boots remind me a lot of Dragon Age II Isabela, who is of course, also a piratey type of character from Rivain. the giant axe here is cool, the shape of its blade also evokes the shape of a dragon wing and it looks like the handle might be made of bone. the way she's carrying the axe here reminds me a bit of how Iron Bull carries his weapon in this art piece. the teal and gold color scheme of this piece reminds me of the gold and blue/green of some Ancient Egyptian things, and round her neck it looks like she is wearing a torc.

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disneyprincemuke · 11 months ago

Text

tis the season for mistletoasters

alternatively: this year she is unhinged with the decorations

in which they invite a select few of their friends over for the holidays and a particular holiday decoration catches them off guard

(series masterlist)

the door flies open, revealing the smaller girl with her friends standing in the hallway with boxes in their hands and confusion riddling their faces.

"couldn't you have just opened the door like a normal person? don't you have pets in your home?" george frowns, slowly following her inside the small apartment.

"what else do we expect from her?" max follows up.

"wait!" she screeches, arms held out to avoid them walking in any further than the entryway. she points down at their feet. "shoes off!"

"yes," sebastian mutters, already slipping off his shoes right by the door with a hand on the wall to balance himself. "on it."

"wow, very particular," lando teases, though he also slips off his shoes and kicks in towards the wall to keep it neat. he shoves the box into her hands and then pushes past her as he navigates into her apartment. "where is your child? i want to see kidnapper."

"oi, no way!" max screams, pushing past her to chase after lando. "i'm kidnapper's uncle! i suggested she adopt the cat!"

"no, this is the one cat that actually likes me! you've got cats of your own," lando scolds, shoving max to the side as they enter the living room. "i called dibs."

"doesn't matter what you guys say - i'm kidnapper's favourite." alex also pushes past her, chasing after his friends to try and race for the cat's attention. "he will ditch you no matter what."

"two of them are predicted to be future world champions. one of them's won three," she smiles, locking her jaw as she turns around. "thank you for coming over, by the way! happy holidays."

"well, i guess i'm interested if logan can really cook," george shrugs, finally stepping forward to pull her in for a quick hug. he presses his cheeks against hers. "when are you flying off to melbourne?"

she shrugs, frowning. "i haven't booked us a flight yet."

"you're travelling there by foot then?" sebastian raises an eyebrow to tease her with her last-minute planning. "tickets will be expensive if you don't get them now."

"max is lending them his private jet," mick speaks up, finally closing the door behind him. "don't be naughty in there - he won't ever let you use it again if you are!"

"i'm a very tame individual, thank you," she scoffs, leading them into the apartment. "logan's still making dinner, but the cookies finished baking right before you guys decided to all arrive together earlier than expected. i'll be right back out with the cookies."

"you baked cookies?" mick grins, following behind her excitedly. "chocolate chip cookies?"

"yeah, and butterscotch."

"butterscotch?" lando screams from his spot in the living room next to the couch. he's hunched over slightly, eyes darting all over the floor to find her beloved cat. "are those for me?"

"yes! i'll be right back out with them!" she steps into the kitchen, beaming when she finds logan chopping some meat on the counter. "hey, you. they're all here."

"i heard," logan grins, turning to look at her. "how come they didn't ring the intercom? i could have buzzed them up."

she hums, waltzing over to stand behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "i caught them at the lobby arguing because they forgot to assign somebody to buy alcohol."

"aw, what? no alcohol?" logan frowns, turning slightly to look at her. "did you get the soy sauce from the store?"

"i did! it's all over there," she beams, pointing to the clutter on the other end of the counter. "also, we still have that stash of soju in my room - that should do while i order some drinks to arrive, right?"

"you and soju?" logan raises an eyebrow. "good luck."

"it's meant to be drank like juice if it tastes like juice!" she argues, taking a step away from him. "do you need help preparing dinner?"

"no, i think-"

"sorry to interrupt. hi, logan." their heads turn to the entrance of the kitchen, lando innocently popping his head past the wall to give them a sheepish smile. "where is kidnapper? we've looked everywhere for him in the living room."

"my room, i think," logan grins.

"cool! which one is your room?"

"no!" she screeches, chasing after lando at the door. "he is in the room because you guys always stress him out! leave my baby alone, please."

"no, we came for him!" max shouts from the living room. "which door is your room, logan? tell me or i'll crash into you in bahrain next year and you can't race!"

"i'll literally snap you in half if you do that!" she screeches, disappearing from logan's sight to run into the living room.

"you're like barely 165cm tall!"

"i will find a way!"

"where's the fucking cat, (y/n)?" lando screeches. "which is logan's room where the beautiful cat sits in?"

"he's not even in logan's room," george scoffs, rolling his eyes. he walks past the bickering trio and walks towards the other end of the apartment. "he's in the balcony right there."

"oh," alex grins, walking calmly past them to slide the door open. "hello!"

"wait," mick says. logan walks out of the kitchen, wiping his wet hands on his pants as he comes in to greet everyone. mick slowly lifts his head at the object - objects - hanging from the ceiling in the corner above their decorated christmas tree. "what is that?"

"that's nothing," she answers immediately, trying to brush off the question.

"no, what is that?" sebastian voices out, following mick's stare at the corner of the room with furrowed eyebrows. "is that a..."

alex walks in, kidnapper nuzzled into his chest as he follows their gaze. "are those toasters plugged into your ceiling?"

logan puts his hands on his hips, looking up at the questionable decoration that she decided to put up for a change. growing up, she used to decorate the house for christmas with appropriate decorations and bright colours that would get people into the mood.

however, she vowed this year to be a bit more lax with the decorations since they're not spending it in the uk. there's a mysterious pair of plugs on their ceiling, and she was scrolling on twitter when the idea hit her in the middle of the night about a week ago.

and logan knows better than to try and tell her off.

"and you let this happen?" sebastian says, slightly disappointed as he turns to the williams driver. "why would you let this happen?"

"hey, this is technically her apartment," logan shrugs, yet his face is flushed from the memory of him helping her plug it in at 3 in the morning just to see her smile and giggle. "she still makes the rules."

"i think they've got a word for people like you," lando whispers, dropping his gaze to ponder if he should insult the younger man. "in america, i think they refer to people like you as 'down bad'."

a pillow heads straight for the back of lando's head, the force that it hits him causes him to stumble a couple steps forward. "leave logan alone! no way you're coming into my apartment and openly hate on my boyfriend!"

"there's just no way he thought plugging toasters off the ceiling is a good idea," lando cries, arms flying up to bring attention to the absurdity of the situation. "explain yourself; why you thought this was a good decoration for the holidays."

"mistletoasters," she scowls, hands on her hips as her lips carve into a scowl. "i couldn't find mistletoe in the store, and i was scrolling on twitter the other night and saw that. it's funny!"

"it's a hazard," sebastian points out. "what if it falls on either of you?"

"that's a stupid way to go out," mick mutters, an eyebrow still raised as his stare lingers on the pair of toasters. "maybe you should take it down before it causes an accident."

she sighs. "i can't reach it."

"wait," max speaks out, stepping forward with his hands up. he has his phone in his hand. "let me take a picture."

kidy/n

liked by sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 60,726 others

kidy/n mistle touch under the tree or something like that idk

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user1 that caption for a photo featuring logan is kinda

user2 that wasnt very just friends of u y/n

user3 any bets when they will realise theyre both hopelessly in love with one another?

user4 any bets when they will tell us they’ve been dating for YEARS?

user5 i’d hate to be either of their partners if they’re like this

user6 very gbf situation 💀

oscarpiastri you guys r so right, theyre so red flag coded

lilyzneimer oscar pls apologise

sabrinacarpenter ❤️

kidy/n NO SHOT do u WANNA GET MARRIED TO ME

logansargeant 👁️

landonorris the mistletoaster is so ???

charles_leclerc the what?

sebastianvettel worst holiday decoration i’ve ever seen

kidy/n no hating pls, im just trying to bring about the xmas spirit

maxverstappen1 took the fun out of christmas and for what

williamsracing did logan choose that decoration?

kidy/n yeah :/

logansargeant NO I DIDNT?

andrettiracing kiss me under the mistletoe 👉🏼👈🏼

logansargeant me? 🤪

andrettiracing sure!

taglist: @myxticmoon

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial

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cucumbermoon · 4 months ago

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Two of my long-term obsessions have just collided in an odd way.

I was watching "Wooster With a Wife" for the first time in about a decade and when I got to this scene, I gasped.

Because that little painting behind Jeeves looks like nothing much, but it used to be famous. It's called "Between Two Fires," and it was painted by the American master, Francis Davis Millet, in 1892.

It depicts a 17th-Century man sitting between two standing women, beneath a sprig of mistletoe. The piece itself was extremely popular in its time. It was often hung in houses, it was printed onto cigarette cases and biscuit tins. That's probably how it came to be hanging there on the wall of a pub. Somebody hung it there in 1900 and never took it down.

The thing that is particularly interesting to me, personally, about this painting is the artist who painted it. Frank Millet, born in Massachusetts in 1843, was once one of the most famous American artists in the world. He did murals in great cities across Europe and America, painted a portrait of his friend Mark Twain, was a personal friend of President William Howard Taft and John Singer Sargent. He was married and had children, but he was also known for having rather public relationships with other men, most notably the writer Charles Warren Stoddard. Their love letters are still in existence and some have been published in a biography of Stoddard.

Francis Davis Millet:

These days, the most famous thing about him is that he died on the Titanic, and as such he is the only confirmed queer victim of the Titanic sinking (obviously there must have been many others, but he's the only one with existing documentation that proves it). He happened to be traveling with a close friend whom he lived with, one Major Archibald Butt, who is often theorized to have been his partner at the time. We don't know much about their lives together, but we do know (from a letter Butt once wrote to his sister-in-law) that Millet wall-papered the inside of their house while Butt was away on a business trip. The wallpaper he chose was roses – so many roses, Butt said that he felt he was suffocating beneath a giant pile of them. It's rare to get any insight at all into the lives of men who may have been partners at that time, and I always rather loved this particular little story.

Major Archibald Butt:

Both men died in the sinking and they share a joint memorial fountain in Washington, DC. It's just behind the White House and was erected by their friends, who remembered them as being devoted to each other. Here's a little bit of information about the fountain from the National Park Service:

#jeeves and wooster #titanic #queer history

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talesofesther · 2 years ago

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sweet calamity | ch 1

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that's destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it's easier said than done.

A/N: And so the soulmate au begins (I'm a sucker for those and we all know it), anyways, I know this first part is small, but think of it as a prologue of sorts. I also can't promise that updates are gonna be super fast, because I'm kinda figuring things out as I go :') so please, let me know what you think, and especially let me know if there's anything in particular that you'd like to see happening in this series.

Masterlist

There were bumps in the road; small holes and cracks on the tree-surrounded path that lead to Nevermore. It became a familiar one, given the number of times Wednesday has already passed through it.

Today was the first day of the new semester, the return of boring normalcy after Crackstone's defeat.

Wednesday's dark eyes looked out the window, counting the trees as they went by, shadowed by the cloudy day. Her thumb was pressing over the inside of her right wrist, sometimes scratching the skin there in disdain for the faint birthmark she was cursed with.

Many people — most of them — saw the existence of soulmates as something good, the world's compensation for its cruelty with humanity; they see it as a reason to look forward to the next day, a reason to believe in a happier future.

Wednesday had a clearer vision. She knew, from the moment her parents broke the news to her that there was someone out there who had a soul that complemented hers perfectly, that it was just another devious move of this universe. A trojan horse that presented itself as salvation only to torture you — for some people to the point of insanity. Because the world doesn't give you anything on a silver platter and this was no different.

The thing about soulmates, is that each one of the pair is born with an identical mark on their skin; a mark that aches the closer you get to your soulmate, resembling the burn of a lighter on a bare finger. However, once you touch the other person for the first time, that ache is gone, never to happen again.

You could be on a train, walking a busy street, or watching a concert in the middle of a raging crowd and simply bump into the one who bears the other half of you; only to never cross paths with each other again.

So really, if anything, Wednesday respected the boldness of the universe, to come up with something so enticing, so desirable yet so out of reach.

She heard stories of people who felt the burning ache, ever present as they chased it more and more, and then suddenly… nothingness. The realization slowly sinking in as they looked frantically from one side to another and watched the people walk by, along with their chance at a happy ending.

Over time, the number of people who found their soulmate started slowly decreasing. If you did, you could be considered one of the lucky ones.

Wednesday considered herself lucky that she hasn't ever felt what others described as the sweetest pain.

The Addams girl stepped out of her car, backpack in one hand and a small suitcase in the other as Lurch unloaded the rest of her belongings. Nevermore stood in front of her in all its glory; the grey stone walls high and partly covered by climbing plants as the trees around it changed their leaves to vivid yellows and oranges.

Many students were arriving and walking through the gates, chatting animatedly and making Wednesday scrunch her nose at the unsettling noise. She spared her peers no glances, unwilling to indulge them in pleasantries and gossip about the time spent away.

It was strange how some of them still glanced at Wednesday from the corner of their eyes, whispering in each other's ears as she walked right past them, as if she wouldn't notice. She sometimes caught on to some of the words;

She's that girl who killed the evil pilgrim. That's Wednesday Addams, she saved the school last year.

The attention was not something Wednesday enjoyed, it only gave people more opportunities to disturb her peace.

As she walked through the main doors of the entrance hall, she heard it; excited steps approaching without abandon until her body was engulfed in a sea of blonde and pink.

"Enid," Wednesday said her name as a warning, though if you squint, you could say she half returned the hug.

The werewolf pulled back with a smile that Wednesday could only describe as bruising. "Hi roomie," Enid greeted, her joy dripping from her words, "it's been so long I even started missing your gloominess."

"It's barely been six months, Enid." Wednesday raised a pointed eyebrow, her features impassive as she held her roommate's gaze — until she relented; "but I did notice the absence of your obnoxious music and incessant texting."

It got Enid grinning, and with a skip on her step, she followed suit by Wednesday's side as they both walked up the stairs that led to the quad, "felt like six years to me, I didn't think I would but I actually missed school, staying home with my brothers could be considered torture."

"You can always torture them back, the possibilities are endless," Wednesday suggested.

Most students were gathering on the quad in order to hear principal Weems' speech for the beginning of the semester, including the newcomers. All tables were already filled with outcasts, some of them even sat on the ground due to the lack of space.

Wednesday huffed as she looked around, annoyed with the commotion she was forced upon; she spotted Xavier, sitting against a stone pillar with his head buried in his sketchbook; Bianca, who sat cross-legged on top of one of the tables, chatting with the other sirens; and Eugene, who was slowly walking on the opposite side of the quad, he gestured animatedly as he talked with a girl Wednesday had never seen here before, most likely giving her the Nevermore welcoming tour.

"There are even more people than before," Wednesday commented.

"I heard that a few new students transferred this year," Enid spoke after following Wednesday's gaze, "Nevermore has become quite popular…"

But the werewolf's voice faded slowly, becoming background noise to Wednesday's ears. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and attentive, lost their focus. Her burgundy-painted lips parted with breaths that came too shallow; because all of a sudden, Wednesday could only focus on one thing.

It felt like touching the tip of a lit candle with your finger, barely there, so faint that someone less aware could miss it. But Wednesday would never. Right on the pulse point of her wrist, on top of the mark she was always trying to scratch out; it burned.

The hand Wednesday had around the leather strap of her backpack tightened its hold until her knuckles turned white. She hasn't blinked since Enid started talking and she could feel the back of her eyes stinging, but her body was stuck in time. Stuck in a moment that shouldn't exist.

Only when the feeling faded, did Wednesday let out the puff of air she'd been holding. She didn't turn her head, but her gaze skimmed over the quad against her own volition, finding Xavier and Bianca and… Eugene was gone but who cares, Wednesday's so-called other half had just been close enough for her to feel them.

For a second she could feel strings pulling at her heart, willing it to match someone else's beat; her skin got littered with goosebumps and she hated every second of it. Hated whoever it was that was inciting it upon her.

It was sadistically ironic, really, that the only person who loathes the idea of having a soulmate, will most likely be studying with them.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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dira333 · 6 months ago

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Eyes of the blind - Deidara x Reader

This came over me, I hope it makes sense. Tagging @missalienqueen and @snuggleboots for my Naruto stuff

The thighs you’re sitting on are strong, the skin pale. You rub your left hand over it, look for the little mole you know must be there.

When you hear a soft sigh you lean forward, your right hand finding a naked shoulder and, fanned around it like a halo, silky blond hair.

“When did you wake up?” You cock your head to the side to signal that you’re listening, but don’t answer, too busy carding your hands through his hair.

You know his eyes are blue because he told you, but you will never be able to see for yourself. His hair though, long and silky and as golden blond as the wheat fields outside, is something you can see, simply because you can touch it.

“You’re making me flustered,” Deidara whispers when you don’t answer and your hand immediately reaches for his cheeks to find a pretty blush there.

In the distance, you can hear the rumble of a house waking up and on the other side of the thin walls, you can hear the creaking and rattling of his comrade getting ready.

But right now, right here, you have him for yourself.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers and you lean in even further, pressing your lips to his.

In a few hours, Deidara will be gone, leaving nothing behind but memories and shallow promises.

You cannot tie him down, so you might as well enjoy the time you have.

“A room for the night,” the voice is young, male, and confident.

Suzu names the price. You can hear a bag of coins drop on the table before she’s even finished but there’s also something else, something rattling and creaking, as if he brought a machine with him.

“How many?” You ask from your place in the back, already making your way over.

The dark wood is clean where your hands find purchase, you mostly grip the wood to check, not because you have a hard time moving from one point to the other. Some paths are muscle memory already.

“Oho, aren’t you a pretty one?”

You blink in surprise. “Excuse me?” You ask.

“Excuse my partner,” a deep, almost unsettling voice speaks. It sounds like a machine talking and a shiver’s running down your spine, “He’s easily excitable.”

“Am not, Master Sasori. And even if so, what’s so bad about that? You just don’t find any joy in the world at all!”

“Two… men, I think,” Suzu whispers from the side.

“You are correct,” the deep voice cuts her off.

You stretch out your hand. “I’m the owner of this place. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’d love to offer you a room. I’m a little particular about one rule, though, you have to shake my hand on it.”

“Like I have to be asked,” a warm hand grasps yours and pictures bloom inside your head. There’s a mouth in the middle of it, the lips closed. His skin is smooth, his muscles strong.

When you move to pull away he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

His mouth is full, his lips soft and pink, pulled into a smirk.

But it’s not that what captures your attention but the silky strands of hair that caress your hand as he pulls away, golden like the wheat fields outside.

You swallow thickly, unable to speak as he drops your hand gently and steps back.

Before you can gather yourself, your hand is grabbed again, rather forcefully this time.

His partner's hands are cold and wooden, distinctly so.

He drops your hand almost instantly and you’re thankful for that.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you croak out, urging to get back to your little office.

Warm hands move up and down your arms, pulling you against an equally warm chest.

“I’m back,” Deidara hums into your ear, his lips pressing into your skin so you can see them. “Did you miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” you offer, dragging the paintbrush over the paper one last time.

You can see his pout this time, his lips still pressed to your skin.

“Just a little? I missed you a lot.”

“Mhm, you sure did. Came back after only… what was it, five months this time?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy and you know that.”

“I know,” you swallow a sigh, “I know.”

“Sorry,” his hands wrap around yours, both mouths pressing kisses onto the back of your hands. “I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. But-”

“Don’t apologize,” you insist. It’s easier if you don’t talk about it.

But the closer you’re getting the more it pops up.

What he does for work. How long he’s gone this time. If he’ll come back.

“I want to take you to the Onsen this time,” Deidara insists, setting the table as you prepare a private Dinner in your rooms. Sasori’s taken his usual room, hiding away for his and your privacy.

“I don’t really like the Onsen.”

“Yeah, because you’ve never been with me,” Deidara insists, eager and excited.

You want to argue against it, but he’s probably going to leave tomorrow or the day after and you don’t want to ruin the time you have with useless arguments.

And it’s nice, in a way, to float in the water with him keeping you safe. To be wrapped in his embrace, letting the warmth soak into your bones.

Your body is pressed against his, letting you see the pale skin, and find all the freckles that dust his back. You want to paint him again like you have many times before.

“Deidara?” You ask in the middle of a story about a mission - he’s vague with information but describes his bombs in great detail. “Do you ever think about marriage?”

He stills underneath you and you curse your tongue, loosened by the relaxing atmosphere.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he confesses, surprising you.

“Me too. Suzu got married two months ago.”

“Oh, how nice,” his hand rubs over your back and you’re not sure if he does it to calm you down or himself.

“Have you ever gotten… proposed to?” He asks after you’ve been silent for a while.

“No.”

You can hear the water lap against the edge of the pool, you can hear him breathe, but he doesn’t speak.

“No one wants to marry a woman who cannot see.”

When he kisses you this time it’s forceful, almost aggressive. You don’t speak about this topic again for the night, but you think he might disagree with you there.

If only he would say something about it.

“Here for the week,” a voice calls out to you. You know that voice.

“Deidara?” You ask, guessing.

“Ah, you remembered me.” He sounds proud.

You get up from behind your table but he’s already there, a warm hand on your arm.

“You’re painting?” He asks, “Can I see?”

“I sell them on the market,” you explain, “It’s not much, but it’s an extra income.”

He hums appreciatively, his hand never leaving you. Maybe he craves touch just as much as you do.

It’s the first night he comes knocking, asking if you want company.

You wake up with your hands tangled in his hair.

You don’t cry when he leaves, don’t dare to hope when he promises he will come back again.

“Have you ever had something to fight for?” You ask on a day he insists on keeping you in his lap as you paint, his chin hooked over your shoulder so that he can see what you’re doing.

“I thought so,” he offers, chuckling low as you pick a certain gold shade. “Are you painting me, doll?”

“Maybe I am,” you play along, “But you didn’t? Have something to fight for, I mean?”

“I have my art,” he insists, but you can tell he’s deflecting the question. “I’ll make everyone either believe in it or die.”

“Explain it to me,” you ask, “your art. What is it like?”

You paint as he speaks.

“I think I get it,” you say, putting your paintbrush away. “Even if you want a moment to stay forever, it’s made sweeter by the knowledge that it never lasts. Like kissing you.”

“Aww,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin below your ear, “You’re so smart. I could never have thought of that comparison.”

There are stitches on his arms when he comes back. Sasori is no more.

His new partner is too curious and if not for Suzu offering herself up to distract him, you wouldn’t have any time alone with Deidara.

It ends like it always does.

No matter how many times you tell yourself to keep your heart safe, it seems to already belong to him.

He’s resting now, head in your lap as you drag your hands through his hair.

“I love you,” you promise him, “even if I don’t want to most days. I just wished you’d love me back. Loved me enough to stay with me.”

“Goodbye,” you say when he turns to leave, press a kiss to the back of his hand like he did when you first met, “I will not forget you.”

“I’ll come back,” he insists, voice heavy with something you can’t begin to untangle.

“No, you won’t,” you shake your head, uncaring of the tears that are collecting in your eyes, “And it’s okay. If your art is more important than me, than so be it. But here, those moments with you will live on forever. Goodbye.”

You turn before he can say anything else. He doesn’t run after you.

And you’re going to be okay, you tell yourself.

No man wants to marry the woman that can’t see.

But at least there was one who dared to love you.

“Need a hand?” A voice asks and your head shoots up before your heart has fully registered it. Suzu gasps.

“Deidara?” You ask, tripping on your way out, barely catching yourself in the doorway.

“Careful, doll,” a warm hand grabs your elbow and you can feel the lips there stretch into a smile.

“You’re here?”

“For good,” he offers, voice tired, “If you’ll have me.”

Your hands find his face, bruised skin and burnt off hair.

“Lost an arm,” he explains when your right hand finds nothing below his right shoulder, “Well, lost it again, to be exact. But servers only need one arm anyway, right?”

“Why did you come back?”

You can hear him swallow, your fingertips finding his lips just as he starts to speak.

“I was ready to die when I thought… I just thought, I’d do everything to have another moment with you. And isn’t that more important than becoming art itself, just for a moment, that comes and goes?”

“Only if you mean it.”

Deidara laughs. “Let me prove it to you.”

- - -

“Careful!” Deidara’s voice rings out. “No running in the field where we can’t see you.”

“Yes, Papa!” You can hear your daughter giggling, the sound of her feet hitting the ground as she explores her surroundings.

“How are you feeling?” Deidara’s already next to you, one warm and one cold hand on your shoulders. He’s still getting used to the prosthetic.

“I’m doing great,” you tease him, “I’m just pregnant, not disabled.”

“Very funny,” he huffs, playfully biting your nose, “do you wanna walk around a bit? The wheat’s already golden, you’ll love it.”

“I think I’ve painted enough golden pictures for a lifetime, don’t you think,” you ask, hand finding his hair without meaning to, running through your hands like golden silk.

He gasps dramatically, pressing your hand to his chest.

“Painted enough of me? Have I ever been this insulted?”

You kiss him, burn the color of his lips into your mind yet again.

“Today,” you ask, “show me your eyes. Surely there’s something out there that compares.”

“No, he insists, “Today I’ll show you yours. Even though I doubt there’s something that compares.”

“You’ll have a lifetime to try.”

“That I do.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #naruto x reader #akatsuki x reader #akatsuki #deidara x reader #deidara fluff #deidara angst #akatsuki fluff #akatsuki angst #naruto angst #naruto fluff #deidara x you #deidara x yn

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peachy-pink-princess · 1 year ago

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The Crown

Pairing: Prince!Jungwon X Commoner! Reader(fem)

Basic plot desc: Royalty AU/ Jungwon is the most suitable bachelor but he wants somebody he can't have

Warning: 18+ content (this is my first 18+ piece) Also not proof read because I was afraid it was cringe.

WC: 1.2k

A/n: feel free to give feedback just please don't be mean

The prince sat on his throne and rolled his eyes as he watched his mother pleading with him to meet with more suitable bachelorettes. She would never be able to convince him because he already knew who he wanted and figured since he was the king, he should get his way. Before his mother could continue, a particular person—jungwon's love—enters the room. Naturally, the servant girl was unaware of the prince's affections for her. She was almost too pure to understand his emotions.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to make you aware that dinner will be waiting for you in the dining hall when you're ready" then you bowed turning to leave. Oh, his heart was barely able to handle it. You deserve to be a queen, not some servant, and he only wanted to protect your innocence. He must have you.

As The Prince and his companions ate their dinner, you stood by the back wall, ready to help if necessary. Despite the prince's favorite cuisine being spread out on the table in quantities sufficient to feed an army, something seemed amiss. He appeared to be focusing on you. This was no normal gaze, no not at all. He was practically ravaging you with his eyes. It made you feel so dirty yet also slightly excited. "Get a grip of yourself Y/n, he's a prince! You probably just didn't make the food to his Likings" you tried to shake off his stare but no matter what you could feel him looking deep inside of you.

Later that evening, you returned to your servant quarters, although you could hardly call them that anymore. Gifts have been mysteriously appearing in your room. It began with little gifts like a new pillow or blanket and developed to include larger presents like cash and specialty candies that were only available to people of wealth. You feel someone suddenly hovering over you, which is really uncomfortable, but you don't turn around until you hear the voice. "I see you've gotten the gifts that I have given you, is everything to your liking?" It was him. The prince himself standing mere inches away from you. "Your highness" you immediately bow to him, it's what You've been told and trained to do your whole life, it's also something the prince loathes, seeing the love of his life someone who views as is equal being forced to treat him as if he was better. "Don't bow, it's unnecessary." He says simply. "But your highness-" you begin to say but quickly get cut off. "Jungwon. Just call me that." He says.

You could hardly believe it. Not only was the prince standing in your room in the middle of the night but he was telling you not to call him by his Royal titles, it was unheard of... Almost scandalous.

"Your highness, Jungwon, you shouldn't be here heaven knows what people will assume if they find out" you say softly. "Let them find out. I've spent months admiring you, my dear. Let the other servants find out, for all I can even my parents can find out, if it means I have you." He retaliates. He hands find a way to yours as he looks you in the eyes "I would give up this crown for you, I would give up the world for you. Please, let me stay the night with you" he spoke. "Ok... Jungwon, I want you here." Your voice is soft there is still a bit of uncertainty in your words. But the prince wastes no time.

Before you know it a pair of lips find yours, your lips dance in sync with each other and you finally realize how serious the prince was, the amount of passion truly showing in this kiss. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." Jungwon says flashing his signature grin. "If I may...can I remove this?" He says regarding your clothes. Your heart begins to beat fast, but it seems your lips moved faster than your brain. "Yes please jungwon" you say. Before you know what the two of you are standing together; skin on skin, completely exposed.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined" he tells you. "you imagined what I looked like naked?" you couldn't help but chuckle at that, how was it that you adorned in commoner clothing made more of an impression on The Prince than the princess counterparts who wore corsets made of whale bone and the most expensive jewels imaginable. "You really don't understand how long I've been in love with you, please, y/n can I take you, right now?" He tells you there was more than a hint of desperation in his voice, he was completely desperate. "I'm all yours, jungwon." And with that the prince is pushing you down on your small mattress, hovering over you and spreading your legs. You didn't really know what to expect, but the feeling of him pushing in was both pure bliss and pure pain. You had never experienced something like this before. You couldn't help but let out moans of discomfort and pleasure. "Shhh... My princess the pain will go away soon I promise. I-if it makes you feel better to know, this is my first time doing this as well, I wanted to experience this with someone I love, not some random rich girl. I could only imagine doing this with you." He spoke. His heart was swelling up with joy finally being able to say the words that were on his chest for so long.

As the pain started to subside the yearning for more took over. "Jungwon, I can't wait, please more." You speak softly staring up into his bobba eyes. He gives you a smile before kissing your forehead. "Anything my princess wants, she gets" he says before thrusting into you brutally. You had not expected to go so fast but you would be lying if you said it didn't feel good. He hands on your hips and your legs wrapped around his waist as he continues to pound into your pussy at an almost inhuman rate. "Fuuuuck your pussy was made for me I swear. You take me so well Princess" he praise, whines leaving his mouth with everything thrust. "Jungwon it feels so good, you're so big" you muster up the courage to say. Oh how your words filled him up with so much confidence. He began to snap his hips into you even harder than before, sharp thrust after sharp thrust all hitting your spongy walls just right. "Gonna cum soon princess? Gonna let your prince cum in you?" he asks in a sweet but also teasing Manor. He already knew the answer to his own question. The feeling of you clenching was a give away that you were close and how could you say no to your prince? You wanted him to fill you up, you needed it. "C-cumming" you moan, probably a little louder that you should. Feeling you clench around him, jungwon's orgasm hits him hard, filling you up to the brim with his seed.

The two of you pant, trying to regain your breath as he pulls out of your sopping hole. There's a silence between you two but it's peaceful, no words need to be said, yet the prince still speaks. "I mean it y/n, you are my world, this crown means nothing compared to you." He says softly. Your mind is already too far gone to fully understand his words but a smile still spreads to your face. You expected him to leave, but the prince never did.

He stayed the night with his princess, just like he said he would...

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dapandapod · 9 months ago

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Particular with nicknames

Why hello there! This was written last september (2023) and has since been sitting in my draft, making me rewatch streams because no pathetic reasons at all i swear. Anyway, here is Jaskier having a Moment TM when Geralt uses a very specific nickname. Thank you @ahh-fxck for helping me beta read <3 much appreciated! Please enjoy streamer!Geralt and Pathetic!Jaskier! <3 On Ao3 here

For all the love Jaskier has of words and language, he is strangely picky with nicknames.

It’s not that he dislikes them, he is just strangely neutral. Alright, that’s not true.

His famously ill-advised and stormy relationship with Valdo came to mind. Jaskier had fallen promptly out of love with him when he was called ‘Snugglebutt’ in front of all of their friends. They were together for another month or so past that, because Jaskier thought himself cruel and wanted it to work.

Well, it did not.

Nowadays he shares a flat with his long time best friend Geralt, one of the few constants in his life and the one who just might own about two thirds of his heart.

It’s not a big flat, but they have a room each, a small kitchen, and a shared living room. That is also where Geralt has his small streaming corner set up, back against the wall and facing the room.

Easier that way to keep it clean if he streams with the camera on, no accidental flashing unsuspecting viewers that way. Something learned by trial and error, as Jaskier tends to run warm and just forgo pants. And shirts. And socks.

They also share their flat with a terrible little cat named Roach, who has never quite warmed up to Jaskier. Took to Geralt the instant she saw him, however, and the two are inseparable whenever Geralt is home.

All of this in itself is not an issue. Oh no, all of this is more than fine.

Watching Geralt be sweet with the terrible little furball makes Jaskier’s heart ache pleasantly, listen to him coo about her fur being so shiny and smooth, what a good girl she is, wow look at that yawn!

No, the problem came up the first time as Geralt was lazily watching TV on the couch, back to their little kitchen where Jaskier had just served her royal highness some very expensive cat food.

Roach does as she always does when Jaskier is involved, and simply walks out. It’s routine by now, and the food is usually gone by morning. It’s more about Jaskier knowing his place at the bottom of the list than not liking the food.

But as she returns to the living room with Jaskier trailing after, considering plopping down on the couch too instead of working on his doctoral thesis, Jaskier finds himself fundamentally changed.

“Hi baby.” Geralt says, voice all sweet and dark and gravelly, and fuck.

It is very much aimed at Roach, who is being a cutie, begging pets from under the table. But Jaskier’s insides do a kickflip, his brain short circuits.

Flushing deeply, Jaskier can’t control the little HRK sound escaping his throat.

He is frozen in his tracks, tongue tied and feeling absolutely pathetic. Geralt turns around to look at him with a questioning frown.

“You ok there?” he asks, Roach climbing the couch and up to the backrest, demanding attention.

“Just peachy,” Jaskier squeaks out, and then flees to his room.

Holy fucking shit and mother of turds.

Baby?? Of all the nicknames in the entire world, that is the one Jaskier is going to have a meltdown about?

Just, the lazy way Geralt said it, Jaskier feels like an old maid, clutching his pearls.

It’s fine. He will be fine.

It was meant for Roach, of course, it’s fine.

It is not fine.

Geralt is streaming, talking with some other players. He is not a big name, but he does have a following, and sometimes gets invited to other streams if it's a multiplayer game.

Jaskier is moving around the living room, untangling the nest that their couch has become recently, blankets and hoodies and socks thrown everywhere. He is also holding a banana, somewhat forgotten in his new mission to make the couch sittable.

Part of his distraction comes from listening to Geralt talking, there is a lilt to his voice when he is on stream. It is unclear if Geralt is aware of doing it, but Jaskier can listen to it forever.

While in the process of moving one blanket over to the footrest, Geralt laughs at something said in his headphones.

“Oh baby, I didn’t know you cared!”

Jaskier drops the banana.

Feeling like a deer caught in headlight, Jaskier is unable to do anything but staring, feeling heat climbing his neck, up to his cheek.

Then Geralt’s eyes meet his over his screen, his face is neutral but his eyes are knowing.

Fuck fuck fuck he is in so much trouble.

Maybe it’s fine to have that many blankets. Perfect for hiding, perfect for pretending the way Geralt says ‘Baby’ doesn’t go on loop in his head, and will be for days.

Jaskier is in a constant state of fear.

Ever since the Stream Incident, as he has come to call it, there is this new tension whenever they are in a room together. Where Geralt will look at him consideringly, where Jaskier will pretend everything is as per usual.

He has gotten better at not freezing, but a thrill runs through him every time Geralt uses That Word, making very unsubtle eye contact as he does.

How is his poor heart to cope?

Sometimes, late at night, when Jaskier is unable to sleep and he knows Geralt is still streaming, Jaskier joins in to watch. It is uncertain if Geralt has figured out it’s him or not yet, he has sneakily named his account to Bardelicious, and doesn’t usually join the chat.

Tonight, Geralt is playing a fantasy game. A monster hunter and his bard, fittingly enough, and he makes light commentary about things in the game.

Until there is a scene where the bard does something noble, stupid and somewhat foolish.

“Oh, baby.” Geralt says sadly, shaking his head.

The chat goes absolutely wild, more than one asking him to say it again, to call them baby, which is a little weird and also absolutely fucking valid.

“Why are people so weird about that?” Geralt says, chuckling. The replies roll in, and his eyebrows climb up his forehead. Jaskier’s heart is beating hard, because this could either be really good or really bad.

“Sexy? Doubt that.”

Jaskier regrets it as soon as he presses send, and by then it’s too late.

‘It is when you say it.’ was all he wrote, but it was the first thing he had written in there. Geralt doesn’t know it’s him.

It should be fine. He is fine.

Some more responses follow, but Geralt is strangely quiet. The game scene plays out, the monster hunter and his bard having a nice bonding moment.

It’s soothing to watch, to hear Geralt’s commentary every now and then. He falls asleep with his phone in his hand, earbuds still in.

The next morning, Jaskier is woken up by the scent of coffee and a hungry Roach yowling in the kitchen. She only does that when Geralt is around, so it is safe to assume he is up.

Which is a little odd, because Jaskier fell asleep before the stream was over, and he feels like death warmed over.

His jaw cracks when he yawns. Lured by the scent of coffee, he manages to get out of bed.

Geralt is indeed up and about, Roach winding affectionately around his legs as he prepares her breakfast.

“Morn,” Jaskier rasps, scratching his stomach and giving another yawn.

Roach doesn’t even look at him, fully focused on her man and her meal. The bowl is placed on the floor for the queen herself, and like the gremlin she is, she eats it without a fuss. Little bastard.

Jaskier joins Geralt at the bench, seeking coffee like a flower seeks the sun. He can stop when he wants, coffee is not an addiction, it is a way of life.

“Were you up all night? Hand me a cup, will you?” he says, reaching for the fruit bowl that Geralt for some reason keeps religiously stocked.

In reply, he gets one of the typical hums, which could mean absolutely anything, and two cups. Jaskier pours for them both and Geralt adds the usual unholy amount of sugar to Jaskier’s, which makes him smile.

“Any plans for today? I really should be working on my thesis, but I can’t be arsed.”Jaskier leans back against the counter and sips at his coffee, which is still a little too hot.

Geralt is watching him over the rim of his mug, sipping on the steaming coffee.

“I have a thing I thought to try,” he says, voice gravelly, eyes locked on him.

It makes Jaskier’s stomach flip, and he takes a too big sip, the drink burning his tongue and all the way down his throat unpleasantly.

“Yeah? Anything you want help with?” Jaskier asks nervously, realizing he is still holding his chosen fruit without eating it, so he puts it down on the counter.

The corner of Geralt’s mouth ticks up into a crooked smile, and yeah, Jaskier is in danger. It is way too early in the morning for Geralt to be such an absolute heart throb.

“If you are willing.” Geralt says, and Jaskier finds himself nodding despite himself. If Geralt asks him if he is willing, the answer will probably always be yes.

“Sure! Uh… What is it?”

Geralt takes a step towards him and puts his cup on the side of the counter. Then he grabs Jaskier’s cup out of his hand and puts that down too.

His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat, his hands now clammy and gripping the counter behind him.

Geralt inches forward, the space between them shrinking fast. He stops just shy of touching him, and tilts his head, white hair falling over his shoulder.

“So I was streaming last night,” Geralt begins, and oh dear, oh no. “And there were some interesting comments that I couldn’t get out of my head.”

“Uh… Oh?” Jaskier says dumbly, and Geralt huffs a soft laugh, breath hitting Jaskier’s face.

“You're particular with nicknames, right? I mean, you are still mad at Valdo.”

With growing worry, Jaskier is starting to realize where this is going.

“He called me snugglebutt. In front of people. That’s embarrassing!” Jaskier defends himself faintly. Geralt leans in an inch more, leaning against the countertop and crowding Jaskier against it. Fuck.

“But that’s not what you think when I say ‘Baby’, is it?” Geralt’s eyes are trained on him, and smiles when he notices Jaskier’s flustered little sound, the way heat climbs up his cheeks.

In a weak attempt to save face, Jaskier looks down, anywhere but meeting the intensity of Geralt’s gaze.

It has the unfortunate effect of noticing how close they are, how Geralt’s t-shirt rides down just enough to reveal collarbones, how his hands flex against the counter.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, Jaskier,” Geralt mumbles, leaning close enough for his nose to drag against Jaskier’s cheekbone.

Jaskier pulls in a breath, tilting his head in a way he hopes is invitingly.

“You’re not.” Jaskier whispers, and is rewarded with Geralt putting a hand on his hip, letting his nose drag along Jaskier’s neck. “You really, really not.”

“Is it the nickname? You look so startled whenever you hear me say it.” Geralt asks, one finger finding skin under the hem of Jaskier’s t-shirt.

“Just you. Pretty sure you could call me snugglebutt and I’d thank you.” Jaskier confesses, blurts really, when the rest of Geralt’s hand sneaks under his shirt to find his lower back, playing with the soft hairs there.

“Good to know,” Geralt smiles against his skin and Jaskier braves turning his head, their cheeks brushing together.

“Are you going to kiss me anytime soon, or are you gonna let me keep suffering?” Jaskier breathes, his hands finding Geralt’s and tracing them up his arms slowly.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, considering with a cheeky grin, the absolute bastard, so Jaskier takes matters into his own hands. Quite literally.

Geralt’s face is warm, rough stubble and barely visible scars and imperfections brush against his fingers. Geralt must have turned into it, because their lips slide together, coffee and morning breath mingling as Jaskier finds himself now properly pressed against the bench and Geralt’s body.

Then he is being kissed harder, deeper, and Geralt hoists Jaskier up on the counter, using Jaskier’s thighs to pull him closer, closer still, and presses open mouthed kisses against his neck. With a gasp, Jaskier scrambles to find a grip, to get some control of himself, but it is very, very hard to focus.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, baby?” Geralt murmurs against his skin, and Jaskier full body shivers. “I can feel you watching me, you are even in my streams.”

“You knew about that?” Jaskier asks breathlessly, stealing a kiss when Geralt shifts to look at him.

“If you wanted to be discreet, maybe you should have chosen something else than ‘Bardelicious’.” Geralt smiles, and Jaskier pouts and pinches his side in revenge.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Why didn’t you?” Geralt counters, and well, this won’t go anywhere.

“I like listening to you. I like listening to your voice as I go to sleep,” Jaskier says quietly, and Geralt hides his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Jaskier asks when Geralt stays there, melting into his body.

He doesn’t get anything but a muttering grumble in reply, and Jaskier smiles and strokes his hair.

“I need to find a nickname for you too. I refuse to be the only one being absolutely useless as soon as you open your mouth.” Jaskier murmurs into Geralt’s hair.

“Gmmrmgmg.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, ‘like it when you say my name.” Geralt says, and Jaskier is melting all over again.

“Well then, Geralt,” Jaskier purrs. “Let me finish my coffee, and then we’ll take a nap.”

Reaching for coffee without really letting go turns out to be hard, and when Jaskier with some struggle finally gets a hold of his cup, the coffee is still unreasonably hot.

They nap in Jaskier’s bed, both of them crawling in under the blankets and curling up together. Jaskier’s chin resting on top of Geralt’s head, Geralt’s arm slung over Jaskier’s chest.

When Geralt wakes up and press Jaskier into the mattress, it doesn’t take long for Geralt to discover exactly how to fluster Jaskier enough to splutter broken syllables.

It’s alright.

When Jaskier has recovered from being melted goo, he will return the favor.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier the bard #modern au #gamer!geralt #dapanda writes #getting together #napping #pining #well something anyway #the draft name of this fic 'baby HRK' because yes that is the sound both author and bard made

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morning-star-joy · 1 year ago

Text

a gold rush (Tommy Miller x F!Reader)

Unfinished & Discontinued

Pairing: Post-Outbreak, Tommy x F!Reader

Summary: After your home is no longer safe, you join the Fireflies with the promise to patch up their wounds as a nurse. One Firefly in particular makes sure you feel welcome, and you develop a hopeless crush on Tommy Miller, unaware that he feels exactly the same about you.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI Mentions of sex (not with each other), Mutual Pining, Friends (Idiots) to Lovers, Age Gap (about 20 years), Pet Names (sweetheart, sugar, darlin'), a little Angst, Language

Wordcount: 4.5k

A/N: I'm gonna be real with you guys, I don't really know where this series is going. BUT I am hella vibing with it, and I hope you guys enjoy whatever it is. It also has some hopefully pleasant little surprises for my ASHWAH reader friends!

“Hey, girl.”

The two words were directed towards you, meant to catch your attention, but your mind was nowhere close to the present as you stared into the small fire at the center of the little camp you found yourself sitting in.

It hadn’t even been 48 hours since you had up and left your entire life. You had hardly left your hometown of Portland, Oregon before the Outbreak, and you certainly hadn’t been outside of the tall walls of the QZ ever since the world fractured into pieces because of the Cordyceps.

Not until all hell started breaking loose inside those walls, and your mother had risked everything you both had left to ensure your survival.

“Hey,” the voice said again, a bit louder this time, and you curled within yourself further, hands grabbing your own shoulders tightly as the person snapped their fingers at you this time, then going so far as to whistle at you, like you were some kind of dog they had bartered for. “Girl. Hey.”

“Shut up, will ya?” another voice snapped, and you winced at the harshness in it, even as it wasn’t directed towards you this time. “Her name isn’t ‘girl’.”

“Well, she hasn’t told us what it is,” the first man scoffed, and you turned your head away from the discussion, resting the side of your face on your knees as you stared blankly out into the forest surrounding you, the tall trees keeping this small band of rebels safe from prying eyes. “What am I supposed to call her?”

“How about ‘ma’am’, you dumb fuck,” the other voice replied almost angrily, and you wrapped your arms around your knees now, holding them tight to your chest. “Learn some decent manners, why don’t you?”

There was the sound of shuffling around the fire then, but you tuned out the noises again once the conversation about you seemed to reach its end, your eyes unseeing as you stared into space until footsteps approached you.

Even then, you didn’t realize they had actually stopped in front of you until a voice quietly greeted you, “Uh, excuse me. Ma’am?”

Silence greeted whoever was trying to speak to you now as you continued to stare at the breeze rustling through the leaves of those trees, memories of the past few weeks flashing through your mind, holding you captive in your grief until that voice spoke again, closer this time, “Ma’am?”

Your head jerked up, a gasp escaping your lips as you scrambled back from the man who had crouched in front of you.

He held up a hand, palm turned towards you in what was probably an attempt to show you that he meant no harm, but it was the bowl of something that smelled decent enough to at least be edible in his other hand that grabbed your attention.

His eyes followed your gaze, and he laughed softly under his breath, giving you a crooked smile before offering the bowl out towards you.

“Figured you might be hungry,” he said softly, gesturing for you to take it as you continued to stare at him blankly. “Don’t think I’ve seen you eat since we picked you up a couple days ago.”

You frowned, glancing back and forth between the bowl and his face.

It was a face that looked kind enough. Older than yours, a bit weathered, but not as hardened as you had seen other men become over the harsh years since the world had ended.

In fact, there was something almost distinctly kind in the wrinkles on his tan face, a softness in the crinkle of his brown eyes as he lifted his other hand to point a finger at the bowl.

“You worried it’s poisoned?” he asked, arching a brow as he picked up the spoon resting in it. “I can taste test it for ya, if that’d help.”

A laugh slipped past your lips then, soft and hardly audible, your own eyes widening as much as his at the sound of it.

You hadn’t made so much as a peep in the two days you had been traveling with this group of rebels.

Fireflies, you reminded yourself, remembering the horror stories that FEDRA had fed you about the rebellion throughout your education in the QZ.

But FEDRA had also claimed that their own faulty government was full of the good guys, and they took your father’s life in front of a crowd to make a point, so you figured you should take the agenda spread against the Fireflies with a grain of salt.

Still, you couldn’t help but be scared. Up until now, you had been lucky enough to still have your parents by your side through every twist and turn this screwed up life had thrown at you. You were lucky you had had your family by your side for 25 years, even if you were now alone.

Surrounded by strangers who you were supposed to trust, who you were supposed to help, trading your wellbeing for taking care of theirs with the medical skills your parents, both doctors before the Outbreak, had taught you since the collapse of society.

Right now, though, this Firefly was looking at you with a small smile, chapped pink lips curled up under a dark mustache, and you found yourself leaning forward towards the bowl he was holding.

At your movement, he held it out further, letting you slowly reach out to take it, bringing it back to rest on your knees before picking up the spoon and taking a tentative bite.

Definitely not the best meal you’ve ever had, but you only just then realized that you were fucking starving.

And so you dug in without preamble, only pausing to duck your face away with a blush when the man chuckled quietly across from you.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said kindly, voice rumbling deeply from a broad chest, and you looked up at him again, brows furrowing as you finally picked up to a distinct drawl in his voice, an accent that very much did not belong on the West Coast. “Not laughing at you, promise. Just glad you’re eating somethin’.”

You actually believed him, for some reason. But you still focused on slowing down your pace, not wanting to embarrass yourself as much as you didn’t want to puke up the measly meal later. Your knees came down from where they were pulled up in front of your chest to sit cross-legged, bowl in your lap as you took your time eating out of it until it was empty.

“There ya go,” the man said with another smile, your full stomach flipping pleasantly as he mumbled a quiet, “Good girl.”

Your fingers trembled on the bowl as you passed it back to him, and you figured he would get up and leave you then.

But he stayed crouched in front of you, dark brown eyes glancing over your face before he asked softly, “Can I have your name, sugar?”

Lips parting, you exhaled softly, brows knotting together as you considered turning away again without saying a word.

Though when you saw the sincerity in his gaze, you found your name slipping from your cracked lips, the first thing you had said in days, and you watched the man brighten instantly at the sound—whether your voice or the giving of your name was the cause of this, you didn’t know.

“Pleasure to meet ya, sweetheart,” he said warmly, shifting the empty bowl into one hand so he could jerk a thumb back towards himself and introduce himself with a small grin that was nearly mischievous, “Tommy.”

“Tommy,” you repeated, giving a slow nod before glancing away when his grin grew wider, eyes warm and almost sparkling at the sound of his name being spoken by you.

“You got it,” he said warmly, only shifting to rise to his feet when it was clear you wouldn’t look back at him again. “Anything else you need, sugar, just lemme know. I got your back here.”

Finally, you glanced back up at him, but he was already looking away, broad back turned to you as he walked towards the other side of camp, and you watched him go the entire time.

When another one of the Fireflies made some snide remark about him flirting with the new girl and Tommy told them to fuck right off, you bit your lip, holding back a smile as you turned your face up towards the sky this time instead of out into the dark expanse of forest around you.

You felt the warmth of a gaze on you a few more times that night, but you fought to ignore it, even as you went to bed with a stomach full of butterflies along with the meal he had given you.

Tommy, you had mouthed the name out silently before you fell asleep, shaking your head to yourself as you felt stupid at how such a small act of kindness had uplifted you so much.

But it was a cruel world, and those little moments made all the difference.

One and a half years later, and those little moments of kindness still made all the difference to you.

You had tried to pass on the small act of sincerity that had been shown to you when the Fireflies first picked you up to the injured rebels that you treated over the months that passed. Once you found your stride amongst the rebel group, you made sure to offer each person you healed smiles and soft, kind words, as well as treatment for however they had gotten hurt.

This attitude certainly had a positive effect amongst the group. While you remained soft-spoken even after overcoming your initial fear at your new life, you tried to make those around you feel safe, whether you were making sure they weren’t bleeding out, or offering a warm greeting as you waited in line for lunch.

Over time, you came to be held in high regard by many members of the rebellion, for both your capabilities as a nurse and the feeling of safety that you had created inside your small medical tent that was hitched up wherever your group found itself across the country.

Unbeknownst to you, your warmth had drawn in quite a few admirers, men and women alike who tried to find any excuse to wind up in your tent.

And you gladly saw anybody who needed mending of either their body or their soul, but none of them managed to bring a smile out of you quite like Tommy Miller did.

The man certainly had a soft spot in your heart, weaseling his way in there to stay after he had taken the time and effort to welcome you into the Fireflies, making sure you were warm and well-fed on your initial journey from the Portland QZ to what had been their current base back then.

Since then, your group had shifted locations a few times, but Tommy never strayed too far from you.

It’s not like the two of you were the best of friends, or anything. In fact, you didn’t even think you really talked that much. But he still made time to pop his head into your medical tent, asking if you had slept well or bringing a meal to you when he knew you were working late and hadn’t taken a break to take care of yourself yet.

“Gotta keep ya in tip-top shape, sugar,” he’d smile down at you, a small grin that made your heart skip a beat at how it almost looked sneaky, like he knew something that you didn’t. “What would we do if you collapsed on us or somethin’? Who would keep you together?”

You’d bite your lip whenever Tommy would make a comment like that, ducking your head back down to continue going over inventory, trying to distract yourself from the hope that he would be the one to catch you if you ever fell.

Because, okay, you may have just a tiny crush on Tommy Miller.

But it was harmless, just a simple admiration of his handsome features and steadfast reliability from afar.

Nothing wrong with picturing him laying with you on lonely nights, smiling stupidly into your pillow as you imagined his arms around you, or biting your lip hard to keep from moaning when you pictured his fingers down between your legs instead of your own.

The latter didn’t happen often, as your life was too caught up in a fast-paced whirlwind with your work keeping the Fireflies patched up and healthy.

Whenever you had a moment to take care of yourself, though, it was his face that appeared in your mind, imagining that smooth Southern accent whispering those sweet little pet names he had for you in your ear until you were coming around your own fingers, wishing he was filling you up to bring you to release and not having to do it yourself.

Besides, you had heard stories of Tommy’s…prowess, for lack of a better word. He by no means got around, but there were a few ladies amongst the Fireflies who had their tales on just how good he could make a woman feel.

You tried not to let it get to you. Tried not to be bothered that one of the women Tommy sought out under the cover of night for much-needed release wasn’t you.

During those moments when the jealousy did hit, you would scold yourself for feeling such a way, reminding yourself that you were all adults here, and a silly little crush that he couldn’t possibly know about didn’t mean anything.

Still, you enjoyed the rush of serotonin you got every time he poked his head through your tent to flash you that charming grin and share a few words with you before heading off to wherever he was going next.

When your tent flap opened this time, you were hoping deep down that it was him, but you weren’t all that disappointed when you saw that it wasn’t.

“Again?” you sighed, glancing over the woman who had walked in with bloody knuckles that she was holding in one hand.

“Don’t give me that look,” she sighed, walking over to plop herself down unceremoniously on one of your cots. “It’s all consensual.”

“Yeah, but you know Marlene would be upset if she knew about these fights,” you tried to say sternly, but your voice was laced with concern as you walked towards one of your closer friends in the Fireflies, worried that she would end up with something worse than bruised knuckles if word got around that she was partaking in these unsanctioned brawls for entertainment.

“Well, Marlene can kiss my ass,” was the snarky reply, and you fixed her with a stern look, sighing again when she only shot you a cheeky grin at your lack of amusement at her sass.

“I swear to God, Carina,” you muttered as you pulled out some antiseptic and gauze to begin to treat her knuckles, watching as she straightened, refusing to wince at the sting out of stubbornness to never show a hint of vulnerability that you knew she hid deep down. “If you get yourself kicked out of the Fireflies—”

“You’d follow me out of undying loyalty?” Carina supplied, wiggling her dark eyebrows at you, and you groaned, pressing the cotton soaked with antiseptic harder against a cut to make her wince with a quiet hiss at the sting.

“Your sister would,” you said flatly, watching as a crack finally formed in the carefully nonchalant facade she showed the world before glancing away from you. “So would Tommy.”

A frown pulled down on the woman’s face, making that scar running horizontal across her cheek more prominent, and suddenly Carina seemed much older than you knew she was.

You both were around the same age, and when you arrived at the first base camp for the Fireflies a year and a half ago, she was quick to take you under her wing and show you around the place.

“Looking like a goddamn lost puppy, walking around all wide-eyed like that,” Carina had said as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, directing you away from the men’s bathhouse that you were red in the face from almost stepping into by accident.

Long dark hair pulled into a ponytail and equally dark eyes that were as guarded as her soul, Carina took no shit from anybody, but also was fiercely loyal to those she cared about.

You were lucky that you had become one of those people over your time spent in the Fireflies, spending most of your free time with her and her younger sister.

“Does Gracie know about these fights?” you said slowly as you wrapped Carina’s cleaned knuckles in a bit of gauze, watching as the tough woman grimaced at your question and looked away.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” she murmured, though the way she couldn’t look you in the eye now let you know she didn’t believe a word she was saying.

Grace was young, not even 16 years old, and the center of Carina’s universe. You knew keeping anything from her younger sister killed your friend inside, and while it was a little under-handed, you hoped that bringing it up would get her to stop risking her place in the Fireflies by taking part in these fights.

You decided to leave the topic to rest at that, letting Carina stew over her actions and the possible consequences as you packed up the supplies left from what you had used to take care of her hand, when loud footsteps entered the tent.

“Seriously?” was the first word that slipped from the person who had just walked in, and your heart skipped a beat, stomach flipping as you focused hard on continuing to put your things away instead of glancing up the instant you heard his voice.

“Don’t give me that,” Carina groaned, pushing herself off the cot to head over towards her best friend who you saw was glaring at her in disapproval when you dared a glance over at him. “I already got enough shit from Doc over here.”

“Not a doctor,” you said, the same thing you always told her when she called you that, but Carina was crossing her arms and glaring at Tommy as he did the same to her.

“You gotta stop pulling this shit,” he said firmly, but not unkindly, his eyes warm and caring as he glanced over her face. “You’re gonna get in deep shit one of these days for doing this sort of thing. What the fuck is mi estrellita supposed to do then? What am I supposed to do?”

Carina’s eye twitched at the fond nickname Tommy always used for her sister, spinning on her heel to stalk out of the tent without another word.

“Rina—” Tommy called after her, but she was already gone, and he rubbed a large hand down over his face with a quiet groan.

When his hand fell to his side, his gaze finally landed on you, and you straightened immediately, butterflies dancing through your stomach as you watched those dark brown eyes soften further while a small smile flickered onto his face.

“Hola,” he greeted warmly, and you gave a hesitant smile back, trying not to show your enthusiasm that he was now in your tent as you played with a pen in your hands from where you had sat down at your desk.

“Hey, Mr. Miller,” you said quietly, nervously tapping the button of the pen as his smile got a bit larger, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his hip before leaning forward a bit from where he still stood close to the entrance of the tent.

“Tommy, sweetheart,” he said kindly, and you inhaled sharply through your nose at the way his accent wrapped around the term of endearment, blanketing you in a warmth that made your spine tingle pleasantly as he watched you fidget with your pen. “You’ve been here almost two years, you can call me Tommy.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, giving a nod to show you had heard him, even as you both knew you wouldn’t listen.

Yes, you had called him Tommy when speaking to him on your journey to the base. You still referred to him as such with others.

But as your little crush grew more and more, you resorted to referring to him respectfully instead, trying to keep a barrier between you so he wouldn’t know how deeply you ached for him, worried his first name would come out as more of a sigh of longing if you spoke it again.

“Hey, uh,” Tommy cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder towards the tent flap before taking a few steps closer to you, and you held onto the pen tighter, watching him approach you as his thick brows furrowed and he lowered his voice to ask, “Can you keep all this between us?”

Your shoulders deflated, sighing quietly as you glanced over his face. “I’m not gonna turn in Carina, Mr. Miller. She’s my friend.”

Tommy sighed then, a quiet sound of relief as he leaned back away from you, giving a nod as he murmured, “Alright, good.”

He reached a hand up to rub over his mustache, and you glanced away quickly, trying to ignore the surge of desire you felt and staring down at your carefully written out agenda for the day instead.

Behind you, Tommy’s footsteps echoed through the tent as he walked back towards the entrance, but you heard him pause before calling back towards you, “Thanks, sugar.”

You looked up, glancing over your shoulder to expect him to be gone, but he was still standing there, gazing at you with a look in his eye that was still kind, still warm, but something else that you couldn’t place that made your heart race.

But that look was gone in an instant when you made eye contact with him, though the kindness remained as he clarified, “For patching Rina up. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” you said softly, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as you smiled up at him, watching as he stiffened before adding, “I’m not gonna let Gracie’s big sister get hurt.”

Tommy laughed softly then, lips curling up into a small smile as he gave you a nod of respect. “Appreciate everything you do for us around here, darlin’. Don’t know where I—we’d be without you.”

Your eyes widened, your pen nearly slipping from your grasp as you caught onto what he had been about to say, and your head whipped back around to stare down at your desk again.

“No problem,” you murmured, pulling your daily agenda closer to you, staring down at your own handwriting as you waited to hear the tent flap close behind Tommy when he left.

It took another moment or two before he did, and you felt the warmth of his gaze on you the entire time before he was finally gone.

God dammit, you had it so embarrassingly bad for that smooth bastard.

“Tommy Miller, you’ll be the death of me,” you muttered to yourself with a sigh, shaking your head to get yourself out of the pining stupor he always trapped you in as you set about the rest of your work for the day.

Little did you know that he was pulling himself out of a similar longing with each step he forced himself to take away from your tent, just like he did every time he gave in to wanting to see you.

Tommy felt like a goddamn fucking schoolboy with a playground crush, and he despised it.

He was a grown fucking man, one who wasn’t shy about treating a woman with the care and attention that she deserved.

But around you, Tommy found himself at an utter loss for words. Faced with your soft voice and gentle smile, the man nearly melted into a puddle every time he was around you, marveling at how you could manage to make him feel a way that he didn’t think he had ever felt, even before the world went to shit.

He was not the first nor the last man to feel this way about you. In fact, he suspected that having a crush on you was slowly becoming a fucking requirement to be a part of the Fireflies.

Hell, even Carina praised you with a twinkle in her eyes, and Tommy knew perfectly well that there would be a line out your tent if you ever decided you needed a companion to keep you warm at night.

A lot of effort was made by him not to think about you in that way. You deserved better than to have a place in his dirty thoughts, and when he found himself growing hard at the image of you naked under his sheets for him, he’d seek out a way to satisfy the need to cum, even if it wasn’t in you.

But, fuck, he was secretly mortified by the amount of times he imagined you when another body was beneath his, fucking into one of his casual partners as he pictured your face screwed up in pleasure instead. He’d squeeze his eyes shut and try to imagine how your soft voice would sound moaning for him as he made you come twice as hard as he did whenever he thought of you while he fucked somebody else.

Tommy would stare up at the ceiling those nights, letting a woman who was very much not you fall asleep on his chest as his mind would run rampant with thoughts of how it would feel to hold you close, to shower you with affection that he wasn’t quite sure he even knew how to give.

That was what kept him away from you. You were so soft, so sweet, and deserved the entire fucking world laid at your feet.

Something that Tommy wasn’t sure he could give to you.

He had done things, terrible things, that he wasn’t sure you could live with if you knew. The thought of you not being able to look him in the eyes if you were aware what his hands were capable of, what his hands still did for the Fireflies—it tore him apart, and so he knew he had to keep you at an arm's length, even as he was dying to pull you closer.

Tommy stayed away from you, kept himself away, fighting with the urge to seek you out from fear that one day he would throw caution to the wind and pull you right into his arms when you flashed him that sweeter than sugar smile that made his heart ache in a way he had never felt before.

And if you ever did say his name again, Lord have mercy, he may just fuck you in that tent right then and there.

That was why Tommy had to keep himself away from you. Because more than he wanted you, he respected you. You kept this godforsaken rebellion together, and you deserved so much better than having his dirty hands on you, tainting something so rare and precious.

So he admired you from afar, dreaming of another life where he could have held you and cherished you how he wished he could do now.

taglist: @cynibuns @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @pedgeitopascal let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or all my fics! (I don’t tag blank blogs)

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x female reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller fic

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unseededtoast · 1 year ago

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Light As A Feather | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: The gravity of your job begins getting to you, and you come to realize you've forgotten how beautiful life can be. And one tranquil night, it's like Spencer is able to lift the weight and makes you feel light as a feather. Inspired by Hozier's "I, Carrion (Icarian)"

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: General violence, angst, pining. Poorly Edited

a/n: howdy folks. I'm still in my spencer reid/hozier brainrot era and so here's another. I hope you all enjoy it and thank you for all of the support I've received, it means the world!!

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather.

You had never been to Colorado before, and now you wish you could be here under different circumstances. It's the beginning of fall and it seems as if the people of Boulder are head over heels in love with the season. Which is understandable, you think you'd love fall this much too if you lived in a place this beautiful. The trees are painted in vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red and the distant mountains stand proudly in the background with their snow capped tops. Your eyes are glued to the lush landscape as the SUV drives through Boulder to reach your destination.

You, along with the rest of your team, were called by the Park Rangers from the Rocky Mountain National Park about a few bodies they had discovered. Your superior, Hotch, decided their case was odd enough for you all to pay a visit. At first you hadn't wanted to come, convinced that there would be something closer to home to tend to, but now you're glad you agreed to come. Fall time in Quantico just isn't as picturesque.

Eventually, the SUV you're crammed into alongside three of your other team members drives up a long winding driveway to a hidden cabin in the woods. Hotch had booked the place, seeing as how close it is to the National Park and how secluded it is from potential people of interest. Once again, you tried to argue that the cellphone reception would be terrible up here and that it might hinder the case, but you were outvoted, and the rest of the team wanted to stay here. You hadn't understood why, but when the venue comes into view your jaw almost drops and you understand.

The cabin isn't at all what you had been expecting. Instead of some run-down, small, stuffy house, you see a large, sprawling log mansion. There are large windows adorning the front, accompanied by a wraparound porch on the second level. It's very reminiscent of a tasteful ski lodge.

"Wow." You breathe out as the car comes to a stop outside the front door.

"Still think it's a bad idea?" Hotch smarts off as he opens the trunk and starts handing people their bags. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you grab your bag from him and stare up at your home for the next few days.

The rest of the team wastes no time in going inside to claim their room, but you're happy to meander around for a little bit to familiarize yourself with the layout. You'll let them fight over the rooms and take whatever is left. After all, in a place of this size, even the smallest room is bound to be plentiful.

As you go through the halls admiring the artwork on the wall you spot Spencer doing the same, staring at a particular painting on the wall. You take just a second to appreciate the way he looks, standing there and analyzing art. You've always had an appreciation for Spencer, and not just for his good looks, but also his intelligence and his company.

Since your first day at the FBI you've felt drawn to him, he made you feel important, and heard, when others dismissed you. In fact, he's the reason you're on the BAU team in the first place. He was the only one to recognize your abilities and talents. You try not to hold a grudge about the fact the rest of the team was ready to let you transfer out after your internship. But instead of standing there and gawking at him like some braindead fool, you walk up to him, setting your bag on the floor beside your feet.

You look at the painting that's caught his attention and try to see what he does, try to think about how he interprets it. His mind is an amazing, complex thing, and you hope that one day you'll be able to understand just a small portion of it. It's a painting of the Great Rocky National Park, you can tell from the mountain formation and the river running through it. The painting is almost an identical match, as if it's actually a picture rather than painting. However, there's one small spot on the painting that looks like it's been painted over and over, it sticks out to you.

"What do you think happened there?" You point out the flaw and look up to Spencer, whose eyebrows are drawn closely together as he leans in and looks at the spot. After a few moments of quiet reflection, he stands back to his full height.

"I'm not sure. It looks like maybe the painter had difficulties finding the right shade." He says, still staring at the spot. Your eyes linger on his face before tearing them away before he catches on.

"You're probably right. I'm going to go find what room they left me." You say, grabbing your bag from beside you. Spencer bends over to pick up his as well,

"I should probably do the same." A small smile adorns his face, and the two of you begin walking through the cabin to find the empty rooms the team left you. According to the venue's website there should be one room for each agent, and you're thankful for that. You had never been a fan of sharing room with your coworkers, something about it just feels wrong, but when there's no way to avoid it you endure without much fuss.

The two of you check every room on the first floor only to find that they had all been claimed, meaning you two had to climb the stairs for rooms on the second level. Of course the rest of them would all claim the first floor rooms first, nobody likes to bother with stairs first thing in the morning.

You and Spencer find the empty rooms, side by side with direct access to the porch. You suppose there are worse rooms to have. Eager to step out onto the porch, you toss your bag on the bed and open the sliding door. Colorado's crisp air envelopes you as you step out and you take a deep breath. The air out here feels so clean and refreshing. Great Rocky National Park is directly in front of the porch, giving you an eagle's eye view of a portion of it as you lean onto the banister. Might as well enjoy a little bit of peace before you start working the case.

-----

"Three women were found in the same spot days apart from each other. All bludgeoned and stabbed through the heart." The Park Ranger speaks, indicating to the crime scene that's been barricaded with yellow tape. The Ranger stares at the scene, which is now an inconspicuous patch of dirt and grass, as if there weren't several dead women resting here. The scene is right beside a big body of crystal blue water.

You hang back from the rest of the team, opting to look at the surroundings instead of the immediate scene. The team knows now that finding the tiny details is your forte, and they leave you to your own devices in the beginning of investigations. The cold breeze causes you to hold your too-thin jacket closer to your body as you begin your observations.

"They were all found in the same spot?" Hotch asks the Ranger, who confirms that all of the victims were found in the exact same spot. As you examine the landscape, your eyes narrow in an attempt to find even the subtlest detail. Before too long, you see something out of place in the lush grass and walk over to it while pulling on a pair of gloves.

There's a pamphlet laying in the grass and upon further examination you see that it's been marked up like someone gave the traveler directions. Directions right to this spot. The killer lured at least one victim here. This trail is far off the beaten path, it's not marked by the Rangers. Only someone familiar with the area would know about it.

"Look at this." You call out to your team, and soon a few of them join your side to examine what you found. Spencer and Morgan look over your shoulder at the pamphlet, which is in better condition than you would've thought considering it was laying in grass beside a body of water.

"They're familiar with the area, they had this planned." Spencer speaks up and you nod your head, agreeing with him. Morgan holds out an evidence bag once he's done looking at it and you slip it inside, protecting it from any further damage. Morgan walks off with the pamphlet, leaving you and Spencer together, both deep in thought.

"What have you come up with so far?" You ask softly, curious to see if his theories line up with yours. Spencer shifts his weight and sighs, looking back to the crime scene.

"The killer is organized. They lured at least one victim right to this spot, and I'm assuming they did the same with the others. And they had to have brought the weapons with them. While there are branches to bludgeon people with, there's no evidence of anything nearby being cut down recently. If they used a natural object, it's likely they would've tried to blend it back in with nature." He explains and you nod your head along with what he's saying as you observe the scene and the scenery surrounding you.

"Unless they tossed the weapon into the water. They could have easily used a rock to bludgeon the victims." You counter his explanation. Spencer and you always did this with one another when forming theories. Not as to dissuade, or prove the other wrong, but to make your theories and explanations stronger. It's one of the qualities you most like about him. His eyes drift to the water.

"They could have. But they had to have brought the knife, there's no natural substitute that would leave that precise of a wound." He says, and you relent, agreeing with him.

"I want to question the Rangers, get their work schedules, and see the call logs. I also want to know where the victims were staying and if there's any camera footage of them in the welcome center." You shiver with a gust of wind and hold your arms tighter around your body as you walk off to gather the information you want.

Spencer decides to join you in going to the welcome center, claiming that in a huge national forest that none of us should be traveling alone. He has a good point, but you wouldn't have objected to his company either way. The Ranger from the scene escorts you two to the welcome center in his cruiser, the warm air letting your fingers regain their feeling.

"Who found the bodies?" You ask as you hold your hands in front of the vent emitting warm air. The Ranger looks at you through the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"I found one and Birch found the others during his patrols." He answers and you mentally make a note to find Birch.

"Is that area regularly patrolled?" You push further for more information and the Ranger shakes his head.

"No, it wasn't, until I found the first girl. She had to have been out there for at least three days. After that I sent Birch out to keep an eye on the area. He found victim two a couple days after the first, and found the third a single day after the second." He says and you look to Spencer, both noting the decrease in time between kills. A sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that if you don't find the killer soon, then you may be finding a fourth victim any day now.

Once you reach the welcome center, the Rangers are more than happy to provide you with the security camera footage, work schedules, call logs, and anything else you may need. In fact, it's Ranger Birch that hands over the information himself. He's a young man, maybe mid twenties, with meticulously groomed hair and pressed uniform pants.

"Thank you." You tell him with a warm smile, taking the footage and other information off the counter and into your hands. He nods back with a wide, white-toothed smile and tells you and Spencer to come back if you need anything else. The moment you step out of the welcome center you give Spencer a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think?" He asks you before you can ask him. You lick your lips and glance back into the welcome center, Ranger Birch still looking at you. Your eyes find Spencer's and you motion for him to follow you.

"I think he takes pride in both his appearance and work, and he knows the park well." Hotch pulls up in a black SUV to pick you and Spencer up to return you to the cabin, where the entire team will discuss what's been found so far.

-----

The trip up to the cabin only takes about ten minutes. Your mind works to put pieces of the puzzle together the entire trip back, but there's just not enough known information yet, and it bothers you. You like to have answers quickly because the faster you get answers, the less people will die. Your leg bounces up and down the entire way back, eager to begin deciphering the evidence.

The SUV comes to a stop outside the cabin and before Hotch can turn the car off, you're out and making your way to the entrance. A man dressed in a casual flannel shirt hunched over the flowerbeds stops you in your tracks before you get to the front door. He wipes the dirt from his landscaping gloves onto his worn overalls as he greets you.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I hope you enjoy your stay here. I'm James, I do the landscaping work around here and a few other cabins nearby." He offers you a warm smile, which you try your best to return, but your anticipation is causing you to become short.

"Nice meeting you." You go to walk into the cabin, but James' voice stops you once more. Spencer and Hotch approach, engaged in a conversation likely pertaining to what happened at the welcome center.

"Wait, ma'am. I never caught your name." James smile is reminiscent of an old friend, and he looks at you expectedly. Against your best wishes, you answer him, not wanting to be unnecessarily rude to your host.

"We'll, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Maybe I'll catch you around before you head out. Are you here for work?" He continues his conversation as Spencer and Hotch walk into the cabin undeterred by the landscaper. Maybe if you had just slowed down one of them would've been caught instead. James' eyes linger on the items in your hands.

"Yeah, the whole team is here for work." You answer, shuffling some items around in your grasp. James nods his head and tears his gaze away from the items, the warm smile returning to his face.

"Must be some important work if a whole team is here. By the looks of you all I'd say you're some sort of police." He guesses, eyeing the firearm that's strapped to your thigh. Your eyes narrow at the man, and you nod.

"Yeah, something like that. I really have to get going, they're probably waiting for me in there. Have a nice night, James." You find your exit route out of the conversation with the friendly mannered landscaper. As you step through the door you hear his voice call out to you once more.

"If there's anything I can do to help, number's in the guestbook." The door closes, and the conversation finally ends.

Taking a cleansing breath, you join the rest of the team who are all gathered around the rectangular dining table, which has been designated as the investigation headquarters. On the table are a slew of files, photos, and papers. You add the information gathered from the welcome center to that collection and Hotch starts the conversation.

Hotch reviews the known information and circulates photos of the victims. They're all beautiful young women, and according to Garcia, were staying at nearby resorts and cabins for vacation. The photos get passed to you and you look at them intently, committing to memory every detail you can absorb before you pass them along. It's obvious that these victims were chosen because of their physical appearance, they all share the same basic features such as hair color, eye color, and stature. And eerily, you seem to match the profile as well.

"The physical appearance of the victim is important to the unsub. Having three victims with similar features is no mistake, nor is it a coincidence." You add to the conversation, seeing your team members look from you to the photos on the table.

"Maybe the victims represent someone who scorned the unsub? Extracting revenge through them." Spencer suggests, and it's a good theory. You chew on the skin of your bottom lip as your mind races with theories and trying to piece the information together like a puzzle.

After the general briefing, Hotch assigns Morgan and Prentiss to interview the Park Rangers to establish alibis, JJ and Garcia to continue conducting their online investigation, and Spencer and yourself to go over the welcome center footage. Hotch was going to speak to the people running the cabins the victims were staying at to see if there are any leads there.

You and Spencer are on the second hour of footage when your eyes start becoming heavy. Reaching for the remote, you pause the footage and stretch, needing to take a break.

"You want some coffee?" You ask him, needing something to keep yourself awake. He nods his head,

"Yes, please." You stand from your seat and go to the kitchen to prepare the two of you some coffee. You're sure to put an ungodly amount of sugar in Spencer's, knowing that if you don't you'll hear him complain about it. And most times you enjoy the sound of his voice, but you don't know if you can stand hours of CCTV footage and him complaining about a lack of sugar right now.

You return to the table and place his mug in front of him, steam rising from it. You sip your own and resume your position at the table and reach for the remote. Spencer reaches for it at the same time, your hands brushing one another's. His hand is warm and soft, perfect for the chilly autumn air.

"Sorry." You say, pulling your hand away and forcing any other thought than the footage from your mind, knowing that there's already a faint pink adorning your cheeks. No matter how long you've worked with him, even just simple touches is enough to send you spiraling if you let it. You try not to delve into what that might mean; you profile people for a living, the last thing you want to do is profile yourself. Without a word, Spencer just smiles back politely and presses play.

The footage rolls and you two identify the victims who all showed up unaccompanied, which you find odd considering they were on vacation with their families. Your hand jots down quick notes in sloppy handwriting as you critically examine what you do, and don't, see in the footage. Spencer and you replay the footage showing the victims easily five times each, both silently taking notes, knowing you're going to compare soon. After watching the third victim's footage for the last time, you look over to Spencer, who's face is illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun.

"Do you want to go first?" He asks and you nod, trying not to stare at how the sunlight reflects the amber color in his warm prismatic eyes. You look down to your notes and try to get your thoughts straight before speaking.

"I noted that all three victims walked into the welcome center with a pamphlet already in hand. None of them took the ones provided by the park. They all showed up alone. I can only assume that the unsub gave them the pamphlets with instructions on how to find the scene. Only, I'm willing to bet it was framed as a good-intentioned suggestion. There's no way those women would have gone if they didn't trust the unsub to some degree." Your eyes glance from your horribly written notes up to Spencer, who's leaning on the table, clinging to every word you say. He hums in consideration before he speaks up.

"I would agree. And if the victims were all staying at tourist destinations, those pamphlets were likely already there. So now the question is whether or not the unsub talked to them at their cabins or before they walked into the welcome center." He says, and a lightbulb goes off in your mind.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for the unsub to speak to them at their cabins? I mean, if the unsub caught them in the parking lot there's a chance they might have their families with them. But if the unsub spoke to them at their cabins, the women might be persuaded to leave their families behind for some reason." You say, going with the logical deductions that pop into your mind. Spencer mulls over your words, his eyes narrowing, staring back at you in deep thought.

"You're right. The unsub likely works for the resorts. It would give them access to the victims and it wouldn't be weird for them to give suggestions to guests." He confirms what you thought and you look back to the screen, seeing the third victim frozen in time.

"We should let the team know." You say and Spencer nods. The two of you finish off your coffee and wait for the rest of the team to arrive. You're confident that the two of you have a solid lead on this case. You only hope you can find the unsub before there's a fourth victim.

-----

The sun sets on the scenic landscape and you lean against the banister of the wraparound porch. The rest of the team isn't back yet, and the last thing you want to do is stay inside when it's so beautiful out here. The snowcapped mountain in the distance gleams brilliantly, and it's almost blinding, but you can't look away. Sounds of water rushing and birds chirping fill the air and if you let your mind relax enough it's almost like you're not here to solve murders.

Your head rests atop of your arms on the railing and you breathe in the cool air. The breeze gently blows your hair around, sending a shiver up your spine. You had severely underestimated how cold it would be here, and as a result, you failed to pack adequately because you were basing your packing off of Virginia fall time temperatures, which are noticeably warmer.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Spencer walking out of his room. He joins your side and leans forward on the railing, looking out at the breathtaking view. His curly brown hair gets blown into his face, and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear. You're also enjoying the breathtaking view.

He looks at peace, which is not something you usually see in him. His mind works overtime almost twenty four hours a day, especially on cases. It has to be torturous sometimes, to never get a reprieve from your own thoughts; and that's something you know all too well. There are some nights where you can't sleep because gruesome memories from the job haunt you.

Noticing that you're staring at him, you turn your gaze back to the colorful trees. The two of you enjoy a moment of tranquility together, a rare moment in the fast-paced career you pursued. A bird flies by, and you can only imagine what that freedom feels like. Most times you feel like your job keeps you cemented in one place, always dealing with death and the most heinous monsters that reside in this world. You often forget just how beautiful and free life can be.

A particularly crisp breeze comes through and you visibly shiver, which Spencer notices. Without a word, he goes into his room and comes back moments later with the throw blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed. It's burnt orange in color and is made of faux fur, warm and soothing. Spencer drapes it over your shoulders and you hold onto the ends, keeping it secure around you. If you could stay in this moment forever, you would.

Spencer stands so closely beside you that you feel his warmth coming through the blanket, and without much thought, or care, you lean into him just slightly. He makes no effort to move, and the two of you stay like that for what seems like an eternity. His warmth and his smell are so comforting and makes you feel safe. Deep down in your heart you know he makes you feel at home.

The two of you enjoy each other's company in a peaceful silence. There's never been the need to fill the silence with him, like there is the others. While you two are quite talkative in the team dynamic, when you find yourselves alone it's often relaxed with no expectations. You two talk when you want, or is needed, but when there's nothing to say you're more than happy to just be around him. And you hope he feels the same about you, and you think he does, but you're never brave enough to ask for fear of ruining whatever relationship it is that you two share.

Sighing, you cuddle yourself further into the blanket as the sun dips lower and lower, the golden hue turning orange. Spencer moves beside you, and you see his fingers twitch, like he was going to reach out for something but doesn't. Your head turns to look at him above you, and his head lowers, so that your eyes meet one another.

You had always known his eyes were beautiful, but up this close you can truly admire the depth of them. The golden hues remind you of the sunsets, the green in them is like the rich moss that adorns the sides of the rocks; or like the pine needles on the tall trees, and the brown is reminiscent of swirling espresso. Taken aback from his closeness and the heat creeping up your spine, your lips fall open and his eyes glance between them and your eyes. He's so close to you, your bodies practically pressed against one another. You feel yourself being drawn to him, like he has his own magnetic pull.

But whatever was about to happen is cut short by the rest of the team arriving back to the cabin. You and Spencer seem to come back to reality and step away from one another. Flustered, you unwrap the blanket from your shoulders and hand it back to him, already missing the warmth.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft and tender, and his hand brushes your own as he grabs the blanket from you.

"Of course." He smiles softly back, and the two of you part ways to join the rest of your team downstairs to catch up on the latest information. But you can barely pay attention to what is being said, for your mind is drowning with flashes of Spencer out on the porch.

-----

The next morning you wake up as the sun shines in through the windows, illuminating the room beautifully and warmly. Hotch had given everyone the night to mull over the information and said that the investigation will pick right back up in the morning. After you get dressed and ensure your service weapon is properly attached to the harness around your thigh, you make your way down the stairs for a morning cup of coffee. Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch are already sat at the table, picking at some toast for breakfast as they get the sleep rid from their systems.

You make a cup for yourself and Spencer, knowing he will be up any moment now. As per usual, too much sugar gets put into his and then you pour your own. The warm drink calms your nerves and you close your eyes, trying to get your mind prepared for whatever the day may bring. You know there may very well be a fourth victim found soon and you need to be on the top of your game to find the unsub.

"Good morning." A raspy voice makes your eyes open, and you see Spencer walking into the kitchen, dressed in a button up and tie. It's quite casual for him, but you like it, it looks nice on him.

"Good morning, made yours right here." You say and nod over to the mug on the counter. He looks from you to the mug with a smile on his face.

"Thanks." He says, and the two of you stay in the kitchen, sipping on your coffee and waiting for Hotch to give everyone orders.

"Feeling good about today?" It's something you always ask when an investigation seems to be coming to a close. You think it sets a tone, an expectation that the team will succeed. Spencer sips his drink and nods,

"I feel good about today." He confirms, flashing his bright white smile.

Last night, after the team had arrived, Hotch had shown everyone the list of employees from the neighboring resorts and cabins and today the team will be interviewing those employees. You're convinced the unsub has to be on that list and you intend to find out who it is. The questions have already been sorted in your mind, though you're able to adapt to anyone's personality and are prepared to get answers.

"Same teams as yesterday, we're going to divide and conquer." Hotch says, handing each team a list of names. You look down at the list he handed you and see that there are a total of fifteen employees for the small resort that you and Spencer are covering. It catches your attention that seven of the fifteen are women, and you mentally place them lower on your suspect list. This doesn't seem like a crime women usually commit, no, this seems like the work of a man as evidenced by the brute force used.

Morgan and Prentiss take off in one car, Hotch takes another, leaving you and Spencer with your own SUV. The two of you gather your needed materials, such as photos and notepads, before you head out. Spencer grabs the keys and tells you that he's going to warm up the car as you finish organizing your things, and you're grateful for that. Sitting in a cold car doesn't really appeal to you right now.

Once you're content with the items you've chosen to bring along you head out of the cabin. The bright light almost blinds you, and you squint in order to see. From the corner of your eye you see something move, and when you turn to look you see it's the landscaper from the other day, already flagging you down. Resisting the strong urge to just ignore him, you wait for him to reach you on the porch steps. He looks like he's already been hard at work today, he's covered in dirt and sweat.

"Well good mornin'. Got anything interesting going on today?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the light with his gloved hand. You shift your weight and look to the running SUV, already planning your escape route out of this conversation.

"Uh, yeah, you could say it'll be an interesting day." You reply as politely as you can. James smiles widely at your response.

"What sort of thing you have planned?" He asks and you sigh, not wanting to be part of this conversation any longer.

"I'm not at liberty to say, but I've gotta go, my partner is waiting for me." You excuse yourself from the conversation before he can get another word in. From behind you, you hear him say.

"Well alright then, I'll be around if you need anything." As you slide into the driver's side of the car and hand your bag to Spencer, you see the man heading back to the tool shed.

"That's twice now that he's singled me out." You say, keeping your eye on him for a moment longer, watching his moves. The fact that you match the victim profile is not lost on you, and you think it might be making you just slightly paranoid.

"I noticed that too. Could be that you were the first one there the last time, and the last one out this time, but it's definitely something to keep note of." Spencer says as you drive off to the tiny resort the two of you had been assigned. You know he might be right, but the man went out of his way to flag you down this morning and completely ignored everyone else. An uneasy feeling in your stomach tells you that the landscaper should be looked into more thoroughly.

When you and Spencer reach the resort you waste no time in beginning your investigations. The two of you are laser focused on the task at hand, and agree to split the list equally. Spencer volunteered himself to question the extra person. Luckily, the front desk attendant was more than helpful and secured two rooms for the interviews to be conducted.

The first four interviews go by without incident, all front desk attendants and kitchen workers who have no indication of manipulative traits and answer your questions openly. You've done this enough times to spot exactly what you're looking for, you know what gets under the skin of unsubs, especially the organized ones who think they have it all figured out.

A couple other interviewees give you good information about the victim who stayed here. They tell you how they remember seeing her with her family in the hall, and how nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the room when it was cleaned. Hotch had questioned the families last night, and cleared them from the suspects list.

By the time you reach the end of your list, you know you can safely cross every one of them off. None of them responded to the misinformation you sprinkled in the questions, things the unsub would've been known to be untrue. And none of them had any sort of reaction to you insulting the intelligence of the unsub, something that would have surely set them off in some way. But to your dismay, none of them had any clue of who could be capable of this kind of malice. Typically, there's at least one person who's able to spot something weird about someone, but not this time.

You group back up with Spencer, the two of you comparing notes in the room he used for his questioning. He had the same results as you and you both were hoping someone else on the team was more successful.

"We got all of them except for James Hilton. The others said he bounces around to each place and some days he's not even here." Spencer says, pointing out the only uncrossed name from the list.

"James Hilton. That's the landscaper." You say, barely able to recall his name from yesterday. The uneasy feeling in your stomach grows.

-----

In the afternoon, the team reconvenes in the cabin around the table to compare findings. Every other agent was able to interview everyone but James Hilton. Granted, his job requires him to go from location to location, but it seems like he's been hanging out around this cabin often. However, he was nowhere to be found when everyone came back. But maybe he went to another location to work on their flowerbeds.

"We'll need to get his statement today. Anyone up to track him down?" Usually you volunteer to go after someone like this, but something is telling you not to, and you listen to your instincts. Thankfully Morgan offers to track him down, and Prentiss joins him once more. You pick at a piece of paper on the table as your mind works, mulling over what you know about the case and the overly-friendly landscaper.

Before Morgan and Prentiss leave, Spencer informs the team about the conversations that James has dragged you into. You tell them exactly what happened, and they all agree that it seems suspicious. Hotch goes off to make some calls to JJ and Garcia, leaving you and Spencer at the table.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks, leaning forward on the table. His voice snaps you out of your trance and you cease to fiddle with the paper.

"Me? Yeah I'm fine, why?" You ask, not sure why he's concerned. He looks conflicted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he answers.

"Well, it's just that you fit the victim profile and the conversations with the landscaper seem to be suspicious. And you keep playing with the paper which is an indication of anxiety." He says, trying his best to not profile you in front of your face.

"Spencer, I'm okay, promise. I was just thinking." You tell him, and it's the truth. While James makes you feel uneasy, you're confident that nothing will happen to you. Spencer nods and you stand from the table, wanting to inspect the cabin with finer detail and stretch your legs.

After going from room to room looking for the tiniest thing that might be relevant to the case, you find yourself staring at the same photo that caught Spencer's eye when you all first arrived. There's something about it, something about the discolored spot, that you just can't let go of. It's bothering you for some reason. Frustrated, you take it off the wall and bring it to where Spencer is in the main living area, nose in a book. He looks up from the page when he hears you coming, his eyebrows scrunching closely together.

"What are you doing?" He asks, putting the book on a side table. You place the painting on the large coffee table and put your hands on your hips.

"There's something about this that's driving me insane." You say, eyes drifting from Spencer's face to the painting. It takes Spencer all of ten seconds to analyze the painting again.

"It's the same place the bodies were found." He says and your eyes widen, taking in the scene again and realizing he's right.

"Wait. If this is the same place the bodies were found, then that, is the exact spot they were in." You say, pointing to the discolored spot. The discoloration is where the grass meets the water, the mountain in the background. Your eyes drift to the bottom corner of the painting where you see a cursive 'J' painted in white.

"Do you think the killer is the one who painted this?" Spencer asks you, and you nod.

"I'm sure of it. There's a J painted in the corner. It has to be Hilton. Can you call Garcia?" You ask, mind feeling like it's running a marathon. Spencer doesn't hesitate to get Garcia on the phone.

"Hello my beautiful boy genius, what can I do for you today?" Penelope's voice sounds throughout the room and you smirk at her entertaining phone greeting.

"Hello my beautiful computer genius, can you do me a favor?" You speak first and you can hear her laugh through the phone.

"Oh my darling anything for you." Her voice is melodic and you shake your head at her antics. You love Garcia, she's one of your closest friends inside and outside of work.

"Can you find anything on a James Hilton from the Boulder, Colorado area?" You ask her, knowing your answer is about to be served on a silver platter in just a few moments. Garcia's quick typing echoes through the phone.

"James Hilton, born and raised in Boulder. Has been working as a property manager for the last ten years at the property you all are staying at. Has one traffic record from the nineties, but other than that he's clean." She says, but you were hoping for something more incriminating.

"Anything about a wife, or a girlfriend? Maybe even a sister or mother?" You ask her, staring down a the painting.

"It looks like he was in a long term relationship with Valerie Wilson, also of Boulder. But according to her Facebook page, they are over with." She says, Spencer and you looking at each other, knowing you may have just found a potential piece of the puzzle.

"Perfect. Can you tell me what she looks like and how to contact her?" You ask and write down the details Garcia recites. After you get the needed information, Spencer hangs up and calls Hotch to inform him of what the two of you just found out. Hotch tells us that he's on his way back to the cabin after he's done with the last interview.

The painting lays in front of you two, and you take a seat on the arm of the chair Spencer is sitting in, your leg brushing up against his and your arm resting behind his head to keep yourself stable. Your eyes are glued to the discoloration, and you know there's just something about it that's more than just not being able to find the right shade.

"Is there a way to see if something has been painted over?" You ask Spencer rather than Googling it, knowing he can probably get you an answer faster. He clears his throat and nods his head.

"A few years ago it was found that Vincent Van Gogh painted over several of his works due to the cost of canvas. Experts used x-ray to see through the layers, revealing the original painting." His answer is exactly what you were looking for.

"We have to get this thing x-rayed. And someone needs to contact Valerie and ask her about her relationship with James. His tool shed should be examined as well" You jump off the chair's arm, ready to leave immediately, but having to wait for Hotch before you can proceed with anything else.

-----

Hours later, your leg is bouncing up and down, eagerly awaiting the results of the x-ray. The hospital staff had never encountered something quite like this, but you were thankful that they were cooperative. Spencer had come along with you while Hotch stayed back to get in contact with Valerie. You check your phone every ten seconds to see if you have a new message for him, but your screen is blank.

Thankfully, a few minutes later an x-ray technician comes out and beckons you to a dark room where she clips the x-ray images onto a lightboard. While the images aren't in color, you can still see exactly what you need to. The images show that where the discoloration is, there used to be a woman standing and a man on one knee. A gasp leaves your mouth, the pieces finally fitting together in your mind. Without a doubt, James is the unsub.

Spencer and you race back to the cabin and spill the findings to the rest of the team. Hotch informs you that Valerie had confirmed that James recently proposed, but she turned him down. All of the victims match her appearance. He must have been killing to fulfill some sort of revenge he felt was necessary.

The team calls each of the resorts that James is employed at only to find that he's not at any of them. While the others scramble to try and find a way to find him, your eyes land on the guestbook.

"Guys. I can call him. He told me his number is in the guestbook and we know I fit the profile. He won't be able to help himself." You say, and the others don't have any good reason as to why you shouldn't do it. Your hands shake from the adrenaline as you dial the numbers and the phone rings, your heartbeat resounding in your ears. You're so close to catching this depraved man.

"Hello?" He answers finally. You let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding and speak up.

"Hi James, you told me to call you if I needed help with anything. And, um, I think I might have broken one of the outside lights." You quickly come up with a lie, hoping to lure him out here for the arrest. You hear him moving around on the other end and the start of an engine.

"Of course, I'll be there in just a moment, honey." He says and you hang up the phone, trying not to gag from his pet name.

It takes James all of fifteen minutes to reach the cabin. When he pulls up, the entire team is waiting for him, but you were the one with cuffs in your hands. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Hotch and Morgan were out the door ordering him to the ground. With smug satisfaction, you step over the man and secure his hands in cuffs behind his back.

As the local police show up to take him away, he's spitting every expletive in the book at you. Rage and hatred show themselves very clearly on his face, and you see who he really is. You smile sickly sweet at him as he's shoved into the back of the cop car. Another monster off the street, unable to do harm to another woman. It's like a weight gets lifted from your shoulders.

-----

After the excitement of the arrest, you come down off your adrenaline rush. The rest of the team are packing, getting ready to leave in the morning, but you can't find it within yourself to do it. You're too struck by the beauty in front of you to worry about going back home. You just don't want to part with this yet. So you find yourself out on the wraparound porch once more, the sun retreating far too quickly behind the horizon for your liking.

Despite the waning sun, the landscape looks brighter, more vibrant now that you know that the killer is in custody. Usually, the team gets only a few hours of celebration before you're saddled with paperwork and the next case. A bird flies past again, and you appreciate its freedom again. Its sweet melodies carry in the breeze and soothes your weary soul.

You love your job, you can't imagine doing anything else, but it does wear on you. Both physically and mentally. Before you had started working with the team, you never could have imagined the kind of evil lurking everywhere, even in a place as gorgeous as this. But now, it's like wherever you look, no matter how beautiful the surroundings, you can always spot something amiss. You feel weighted by the knowledge of what reality actually is.

The familiar sound of the sliding door catches your attention, and you see Spencer coming towards you, blanket in hand. A smile finds its way onto your face as he closes the distance between you, securing the blanket around your shoulders. Just like yesterday, he stands right beside you, admiring the view.

"The others are all leaving tonight, they said they want to get a headstart on the papers. But I told them we'd go back in the morning." His voice is raspy, yet soft.

"But what about the plane?" You ask, eyebrows knitting together. He shrugs his shoulders and looks down at you.

"I told them we'd fly back in the morning, already have the tickets arranged." He says, easing some of your anxiousness, but not satisfying your curiosity.

"Why?" You search for the answer on his face.

"Because I saw how much you like it here. You deserve one workless night." He says with sincerity and your heart swells at the sentiment. You fully turn towards him, soft blanket draped lightly across your shoulders. You notice that Spencer has traded his button up for a simple pullover. Something so simple has never looked so good before.

"Thank you, you really didn't have to-" He cuts you off with a smile,

"I know, but I wanted to." He admits, pink coloring his cheeks. You stare up at him in awe, not quite sure what you did to deserve his thoughtfulness. Not being able to hold back your affections, you reach out and engulf him in a hug.

"Thank you, Spencer." You reiterate into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you. After a few fleeting, precious moments, you let go of him. Staring up into his eyes, you reach a hand up and stroke the soft skin of his cheekbone with your thumb. He doesn't flinch from your touch like he does with others, no, he leans into it as if he's savoring the feeling.

His arm that was around your waist come up to cup your cheek, and he gently brings your face towards his, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You hold him close, a flurry of warmth spreading from your face down to your body. His other hand finds its way around your waist, securing you to his body.

You break the kiss as your chest begins burning with the need of oxygen, and he rests his forehead against yours. Your hands come up to gently grasp the sides of his face, keeping him in place so that you can admire his beauty. After minutes pass by in silence as you two appreciate each other, Spencer tilts his head up and kisses your forehead.

He turns you around so that you're facing away from him, and he grabs the blanket from around your shoulders. Seconds later, you feel him standing behind you, wrapping the soft blanket around the both of you. His chest is behind you, and he hands you the edges of the blanket so that his hands might find the soft curve of your waist. Spencer pulls you in to him so that you're leaning back on his chest.

Spencer rests his head atop of yours as the two of you relax your minds and bodies, focusing solely on each other and the scene in front of you. Your hands come down to entwine themselves with his with a soft smile on your face.

A lone tear falls from the corner of your eye as you're overcome with emotion. You cannot recall a single time in your life that you've felt this serene, where everything just feels perfect. Your soul is well nourished and full from Spencer alone. All of those cases you worked together, the stolen glances across the office, the simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness for each other has culminated to this one precious moment in time; and you've never felt more content.

The sun eventually sets behind the horizon, the chilly breeze billowing the blanket around you both. Above you in the sky, the stars shine brightly, and you tip your head back to admire them. You can never admire their true beauty in Quantico, their shine is dulled by light pollution, but you can see them clearly here. You can see everything clearly here.

"You know, scientists estimate that there are about two hundred sextillion stars in the sky within the Milky Way." Spencer whispers in your ear as you two bask in their soft white light. You turn around in his hold and smile up at him,

"And yet none shine as brilliantly or as beautifully as you." You say, and pull him in for another soft, heartfelt kiss. As you pull away, you watch as his eyes flutter open and he smiles endearingly. You've never seen such a beautiful sight, never felt comfort as warm as him, and you know as you lean into his embrace, that you will not bear the weight of this world or this life alone.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #hozier #spencer reid x you #Spotify #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid comfort

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en-dazed · 1 year ago

Text

between pages - lee heeseung

PAIRING: heeseung x reader

GENRES: bookshop au, bookseller!heeseung x reader!reader (lol), fluff, slight angst?

PROMPT: in which reader meets heeseung who works at a bookshop

WORD COUNT: 6,563 words.

A/N: i wrote this within 12 hours and it’s not proofread but i just had to bring it to life. this is my first fic on here and also my first fic in years so be very brutally honest on what you think about it <3

At the corner of the street, looking slightly out of place beside the pharmacy next door, is a bookshop. Weathered brick walls and ivy vines creeping up the side made anyone who passed by it gaze longingly at the whimsical place. The bell on the door jingles in delight when you push through the door, signalling your entrance into the world of literary wonders. The aroma of old and new books intermingle in the air in a way that fills all your senses and makes you never want to leave the place.

It was on the 3rd day of December you had wandered in there, feeling as if you had been beckoned inside by the bookshop itself. You had been on your way home, tired after a long day. It was the same path you had taken everyday for the past 2 years. It was the same bookshop that you had passed by everyday. And yet, there had been something about it today that had made you look twice - your gaze not moving away on the second glance.

You walked through the rows and rows of wooden shelves filled with books, noting the meticulous way it was organised with all genres having its own place. You didn’t know what you were looking for. You didn’t know if you were even looking for something in particular.

“May I help you?” A soft voice spoke from behind you. You turned around to face the bookseller. For a minute you were at a loss for words. The guy in front of you couldn’t have been much older than you. His warm doe eyes were slightly covered by his dark hair, the bangs falling over his forehead. He wore a smile on his face, soft and inviting. He was breathtaking.

Caught off guard by his presence, you couldn't find the right words at first. He noticed your gaze, and his smile grew wider, making your cheeks flush.

You looked towards the shelves again, pretending to look around as you answered his question. “I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for.” You admitted.

The bookseller nodded understandingly. “Allow me to make a suggestion then.” He traced the spines of a nearby shelf, looking for a specific title. After a brief moment, he carefully plucked down a hardcover book and extended it towards you.

“I don’t know what books you like,” He started as you accepted the book in his hands. “But I hope you like this one. It’s one of my personal favourites.” He smiled radiantly at you.

You looked at the book in your hand, the title somewhat familiar but not quite known to you. Your curiosity was piqued, both by the handsome bookseller and the book he had given you.

“I’ll take it.” You decided without a second thought.

“I’ll ring you up at the front then.”

5 minutes later you walked out the shop with the book tucked under your hand - for which you had paid a ridiculously discounted price for, at the insistence of the cute bookseller. You had walked in with no guidance other than your curiosity and you had walked out with thoughts of the dark haired guy surrounded by books swirling in your head.

You had a feeling you would be coming back here again.

There was an almost magnetic pull from the book as soon as you had come home that day, urging you to devour the words inside it. And so you did.

You spent 2 days using every waking moment to read, unable to make yourself stop. It was only when you closed your eyes at night that your thoughts shifted. Now, your mind was filled with thoughts about the bookseller. You mentally kicked yourself for not having asked him his name.

He had been spot on with his recommendation. Within an hour of you turning the last page of the book, you showed up at the bookshop slightly out of breath.

“Do they ever find each other again?”

The bookseller looked up from the book he was reading behind the counter, surprised at the sudden intrusion. You stood impatiently, waiting for an answer.

“You finished the book.” He was smiling now, putting down the book after carefully sliding in a bookmark.

You nodded passionately. “I needed to know. Do they ever find each other again? He lost her at the end.”

The guy seemed to ponder the question for just a beat before he answered. “I’ve read the book from front to back more times than I can count but even I don’t know the answer to that.” He admitted begrudgingly. His voice held a touch of hesitation as he continued. “But I like to think they do. I like to think that he finds her between the pages and falls in love with her all over again.”

You listened intently to his response. The way he spoke, with a clear love for the book and genuine affection for the characters lit a spark inside you. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a glimmer of hope that mirrored your own yearning for a happy ending.

"I like that thought," you whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Falling in love between the pages... It's a beautiful notion."

He returned your smile, a genuine warmth emanating from him. “Books have a way of capturing our hearts don't they?”

A comfortable silence enveloped the both of you, filled with unspoken emotion and understanding. It felt as if the bookshop itself held its breath, watching the connection between the two strangers grow.

Breaking the silence, you mustered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind since your first encounter. "By the way, I never caught your name."

He chuckled softly, a sound that felt like sunlight if sunlight could be heard. “You’re right, we never introduced ourselves did we? My name is Heeseung.”

“Heeseung” The name rolled off your tongue easily, a sense of relief to be able to put a name to the face that had haunted you for the past 2 days.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you for introducing me to this book.” You said sincerely. “I think it’s become one of my personal favourites as well.”

His eyes gleamed at you, clearly happy his recommendation had been a hit. “You’re very welcome Y/N.”

He made his way out of the counter, moving towards you. “Perhaps I could show you more books that I love?”

“Yes, please.”

With every book you discovered at the hands of Heeseung, your bond grew stronger. You grew comfortable in his presence, conversations flowing effortlessly and laughter filling the air. The bookshop smelled sweeter to you whenever Heeseung smiled and Heeseung could’ve sworn the shop lit up whenever you entered.

Amidst the bookshelves and the scent of inked pages, a new story had begun - one of you and Heeseung. It was a tale written not on pages but etched in stolen glances and lingering touch of hands reaching for the same book. The bookshop became a haven for you, a place where two souls intertwined.

Heeseung was a university student just like you. A Literature major, he had confirmed with a laugh. You couldn’t imagine him being anything else. You learned that the bookshop was owned by his parents.

“I grew up between these shelves.” He had told you one day, talking softly as if he was telling you a secret. “I don’t think I remember anything else other than books and the way it felt to discover new worlds.”

You felt your heart gravitate towards him a little bit more with every new piece of information.

You discovered that when Heeseung was 12, he had pretended that the back door was the entrance to Narnia. He would tell you stories about how he would walk back there alone, opening the door and always hoping that one day there would be a whole nother world on the other side of it. The thought of a young Heeseung with bambi eyes filled with hope made you smile.

Heeseung couldn’t understand why he felt such a pull towards you. Your visits to the shop had long changed from just a quest for new books to just visits for him. You found solace in his company as he did in you.

On one such evening, you sat besides him at the counter. You held a book on your hand, except it wasn’t a book that belonged to the store or to Heeseung. A frustrated sigh escaped you as you scratched out the words you had previously written on the book. Heeseung watched sympathetically.

This had become routine. You would come to the shop with your assignments, claiming that the peace and quiet inside helped you work with a clearer mind. Secretly, you also wanted to spend more time with Heeseung, even if you had other things to do.

Heeseung loved to watch you work. He had observed you unknowingly for so long he could tell all your frustrated little quirks, the way you would sit up straight when you solve a problem and even the way you would tap the pen against the edge of the book as you thought things through.

Your hair slipped past your ear onto your face and without a second thought, Heeseung grabbed the strand and pulled it behind your ear once more as if it was so natural to touch you. He only realised what he had done when he felt you freeze under his touch.

Immediately, he pulled his hand back. “Sorry.” The word rushed out, his hands suddenly warming up from the memory of your touch.

You looked up and he could see that your cheeks were red as well. “It’s okay.” You mumbled. You looked away, unable to make eye contact with him without feeling like you were going to burst into flames.

There was a moment of silence before your words slipped out, so quiet he could barely hear it, so quiet he wasn’t even sure if he was meant to hear it.

“I liked it.”

Heeseung smiled.

On Saturday’s Heeseung was off. You had found out when you had dropped by unannounced and was met with an unfamiliar blonde haired boy at the counter instead of the familiar face you were used to.

“May I help you?” The boy had asked politely, reminiscent of the way Heeseung had uttered the same words to her the first time they had met.

“Is Heeseung here?” You asked, slightly nervous. Had something happened to him?

“Heeseung is off from work every Saturday. I’m the one here when he’s not.” The boy looked at you curiously as if studying you. “How do you know him?” He asked, inquisitively.

“Im his…,” You trailed off not knowing what to label yourself. You had long passed the relationship of a mere customer or stranger. You couldn’t call yourself acquaintances, you knew him much more intimately than that. You had never even exchanged numbers.

“I’m a friend.” The unsure tone of your voice made the boy look at you suspiciously.

“I’m Jake.” He introduced himself. “I’ll let Heeseung know you were here if you give me your name.”

You shook your head aggressively. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just come back later.”

Before the boy could respond you walked out of the store, disappointment settling in your stomach.

The next time you ran into Jake was when he had walked in while you and Heeseung were laughing together between the shelves. Heeseung had been standing close to you, his head so close that you could smell the scent of his shampoo.

“A friend huh?” Jake’s voice had shocked the both of you, jumping away from each other as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Jake had laughed at the way you both reacted, running away as Heeseung chased him around the store - a poor attempt at hiding how flustered he was.

Jake slowly wiggled his way into your days together, the duo turning into a group of 3. He went to university with Heeseung, he had explained to you. “Although I'm into more non-fiction books unlike him.” He laughed.

As a Physics major, he was deceivingly smart. He had a knack for explaining complex concepts in a way that made them easy to understand, often engaging Heeseung and you in conversations about theories about the origins of the universe, the nature of black holes, and the possibilities of time travel. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself captivated by his explanations. Heeseung - ever the attentive friend - soaked up the information like a sponge. He asked insightful questions, allowing Jake to delve more into the topic excitedly. You knew that he did it because it made Jake happy and the thoughtfulness of his actions made your heart flutter.

With Jake, you found more sides of Heeseung that you hadn’t seen before. He was slightly louder, less reserved and rougher with Jake than he ever was with you.

Slowly, you began to show up on Saturdays as well. You found yourself growing closer to Jake, developing a genuine friendship beyond your connection through Heeseung. He became someone you could confide in, someone to vent to when you were having a bad day. It wasn’t long before Jake figured out your very thinly veiled crush on Heeseung.

“Just tell him already.” He groaned at you, watching as your eyes followed Heeseung as he restocked the shelves.

You let out a sigh, the fear of rejection hanging heavy over you. “I don’t know Jake. What if it ruins our friendship?”

Jake couldn’t believe how stupid you could be. “If you don’t see the way he looks at you then you’re really blind.”

You didn’t want to believe him. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. But when Heeseung caught you eye across the room and gave you a smile, you couldn’t help the hope that blossomed in you.

When you imagined Heeseung, it was always at the bookshop. You couldn’t imagine his existence outside of those four walls. So when Heeseung asked you out to go to a movie, it took you by surprise.

“You know there’s a movie adaptation of the first book I recommended to you.” He had started, nervously running his hands through his hair. “We should go see it.” He looked at you, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Together.”

You felt like your heart had dropped to your stomach. The book in your hands slipped, falling to the ground as your hands became shaky from nervousness. Heeseung leaned down to pick it up, the same time as your hand reached to grab it as well. For a split second, your hands brushed his. Quickly, you let go, letting him pick up the book.

Wiping your suddenly sweaty hands on your skirt, you nodded yes at him. “I’d love to.” You spoke, hoping your voice wouldn’t shake.

And just like that, his eyes seemed to shine - as if the stars inside couldn’t help but celebrate his small victory.

On the day of the movie ‘date’ (you weren’t quite sure what to call it exactly, although Jake was very insistent on calling it a date), you spent the whole day texting Jake in panic.

Y/N: WHAT DO I WEAR?????

Ikeu: i guarantee you he will drop down to his knees as soon as he sees you no matter what you wear

ikeu: stop panicking this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him

You knew he was right. Heeseung wasn’t the type to care what you wore, he never had been. But you made a special effort to dress nicely, smoothing down the wrinkles on your shirt as you finished getting ready.

By the time Heeseung had texted you that he was outside you were ready on the outside but felt like a pile of goo on the inside. Butterflies dancing in your stomach, you walked out the door of your house and towards Heeseung who stood next to his car outside.

Heeseung looked the same as he always did, except his dark hair was now pushed back revealing his forehead. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, widening slightly as he took in your appearance.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered.

You felt shy under his gaze, as if you were once again a teenager out on your first date with the boy you liked. But this was Heeseung and soon after you got in the car, you relaxed.

You had thought that things would be different without the inked pages surrounding you but you were quick to realise that it wasn’t the bookshop that made Heeseung special - it was him that made the bookshop shine.

Heeseung made you wait in the car after he had parked, running around quickly and opening the door for you. “I can’t let a pretty girl open the door on her own.” He said flirtingly.

You rolled your eyes at him jokingly, trying to disguise how much he was affecting you. The movie theatre was half full when you walked in, the movie almost about to start. Heeseung glanced at you as the lights dimmed, his eyes filled with excitement and anticipation.

The movie soon started, the familiar story you had read before unfolding before you. The characters were just as you had imagined them to be. You sneaked a peek at Heeseung who seemed to be just as entranced by the movie as you were.

As the ending of the movie grew closer, you realised that the story was going in a different path.

“They didn’t lose each other.” Heeseung whispered in astonishment as the movie neared its end, with the main characters still together. The alteration from the original story had caught both of you off guard, but instead of disappointment, there was a sense of intrigue in the air.

“That was unexpected," you commented, breaking the silence as the credits rolled on the screen.

Heeseung chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, it definitely took a different turn. But you know what? I kind of like it," he confessed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “It’s nice to see a happy ending.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you nodded in agreement.

“I think you were right.” You said, as you both walked out the movie theatre together.

Heeseung looked at you, a look of confusion on his face. “About what?”

“I think they did find each other between the pages. And they fell in love again as they had before. I think they would’ve fallen in love with each other even if they had met in a 100 different lifetimes.”

When you stopped talking, you noticed that Heeseung had fallen behind. He had stopped just a few steps behind you with a strange look on his face.

"Heeseung?" you called out, concern lacing your voice.

Heeseung blinked a few times, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you had come to associate with his moments of uncertainty.

“Y/N I -“ He began, his voice tinged with anxiousness.

You waited with bated breath, unsure what he was about to say.

“Can I hold your hand?” He blurted out suddenly.

Startled by his sudden request, you blinked a few times, momentarily taken aback. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, and a mixture of emotions swirled within you—excitement, nervousness, and a tinge of vulnerability.

The reality of the situation sank in. This wasn't just a casual outing between friends anymore. There was an unspoken shift in the dynamics, a hint of something more. Your mind raced, trying to process the significance of his request.

You smiled softly, holding out your hand in response. Without a word, without any hesitation - Heeseung took your hand in his. Fingers intertwined, he stepped closer to you, eyes on your hands. It was a comforting touch, a warmth that spread from the tips of your fingers to your whole body.

Heeseung was looking at you now, a fierce look in his eyes. You felt like fleeing at the intensity of his gaze but you held your ground, not moving your eyes away from him.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was even softer than before, barely a whisper.

His question hung in the air for a breath too long, as if even the wind had stopped to listen for your answer. Your mind could no longer comprehend what was happening, having short circuited minutes ago. It was your heart that led you when you nodded, wordlessly accepting his request.

Heeseung moved without hesitation, as if he had been waiting for this for so long that he just couldn’t wait any longer. The world around you seemed to blur as Heeseung leaned in, his gaze locked with yours. A surge of electricity rushed through your body when his lips met yours, soft and tender. It felt like a culmination of all the unspoken words, stolen glances, and shared experiences that had brought you to this point.

He kissed you longingly and sincerely. He kissed you and you forgot that there was ever anything besides the feeling of kissing him because how could there be any feeling as good as this?

When he finally pulled away there was a change in him. His smile was certain, confident. Even as you wordlessly walked back to his car, he didn't let go of your hand. He dropped it for just a second when you got in but as soon as you were seated in the passenger seat next to him, he took your hand in his.

Friends had shifted to something more.

You quickly grew accustomed to the way Heeseung’s lips felt on yours and the way your hands intertwined. The following weeks were filled with stolen kisses behind books and lovesick looks exchanged across the room.

It was impossible to hide from Jake, not that either of you tried.

“You know I can see you two kissing behind the shelves!” He yelled, making the both of you jump in surprise. You both turned various shades of pink at getting caught.

Jake stood there, a mischievous grin plastered across his face, clearly enjoying the sight of your embarrassment.

“I know you’ve been dying to get together but someone’s got to make sure you’re not causing a scandal in the bookshop.” Jake teased.

With a sigh, you turned to Heeseung, still feeling the warmth of his touch. "Isn’t he supposed to be off today?” You asked, with fake annoyance.

Jake feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Hey, I resent that! I'm just looking out for the literary integrity of this place."

You couldn't help but laugh at Jake's theatrical response. Despite his teasing, you knew he genuinely cared about both of you and wanted to see you happy. It was his way of expressing his support, even if it involved some playful ribbing.

Heeseung chuckled, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Well, Jake, I appreciate your concern, but I think we've got this under control."

Jake raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Oh, really? Well, I'll be the judge of that."

Before you could respond, he playfully pointed towards a nearby bookshelf. "Kiss cam! Show me you're in control."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You glanced at Heeseung, who wore a mischievous grin matching Jake's. With a twinkle in your eyes, you leaned in and shared a quick, playful kiss.

"Happy now, Jake?" you asked, suppressing a giggle.

Jake pretended to wipe away tears dramatically. "You've made me a proud matchmaker. Carry on, lovebirds!"

And Heeseung did, sneaking another kiss in before he continued his original job of stocking the shelves.

When you joined Jake at the counter, his gaze became serious. “I know I fool around a lot. But I really am happy for you.”

“I know.” You replied.

“I’ve known him for years now and I dont think I’ve ever seen him so happy before.”

A warm feeling spread through your chest as you listened to Jake's heartfelt words. It was a reminder of just how special your connection with Heeseung was, not only to you but also to those who cared about you both.

"I feel the same way," you confessed, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Heeseung has brought so much happiness into my life too. I'm grateful every day that our paths crossed in this little bookshop."

“Well let’s hope your story has a happily ever after.” Jake said and you laughed, completely unaware of what was to come.

The beginning of the end came on a cold May day. You had been to the bookshop almost everyday since December. Everyday, the door had swung open to invite you in. This time, however, the door remained shut. A sign hung from a nook on the door told you it was closed.

Worried, you dialed Heeseung quickly. Was he sick? But if he was wouldn’t Jake cover for him? Was something wrong?

Heeseung picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hey," Heeseung’s voice came through, but it lacked its usual cheerfulness. "I'm guessing you saw the sign."

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice heavy with concern. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

There was a moment of silence before he answered. “I’m alright. The store… not so much.” He admitted.

Your heart sank further at Heeseung's somber tone. The weight of the situation settled heavily upon you, leaving you eager to understand what had transpired.

"What happened, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine worry.

Heeseung took a deep breath, his voice holding a mix of disappointment and resignation. “It's a complicated situation. My parents have been struggling to keep the business afloat for a while now. The rising costs, declining foot traffic, and the emergence of online retail... it all took its toll. It's been a tough decision, but we had to close the doors."

The news hit you like a wave, leaving you momentarily speechless. The bookshop had been a sanctuary for both of you as well as Jake. It felt like losing a part of your history, a place that held countless memories and moments that would forever be etched in your hearts.

“Well… what happens now?” You whispered, your voice trembling.

“Princess.” His voice had grown quiet and the realization that he had even worse news hit you like a brick.

“What’s going to happen to you, Heeseung?” You were almost too scared to ask.

“Princess, I- we-,” He sighed in frustration on the other end of the line.

“We’re moving. To the countryside.”

The words left you stunned and unsure of how to respond. Moving to the countryside meant leaving behind the life he had in the city, the familiar streets, and the comfort of his routines. It meant uprooting everything and starting anew in an unfamiliar environment.

"But... what about everything here?" you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Your friends, your university..."

"I know, Princess," Heeseung replied, his voice filled with regret. "It's a difficult decision, but my parents have made up their minds. And I've already applied for a transfer to the university there. It was accepted today.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as you tried to comprehend the magnitude of the changes that lay ahead.

"What about us?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What does this mean for our relationship?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Heeseung responded, his voice filled with tenderness. "Princess, I love you more than anything. I can't imagine my life without you. This move doesn't change that. We'll find a way to make it work, no matter where we are."

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words washed over you, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. It was true, love had a way of transcending physical distance and overcoming obstacles. If you both were committed to making it work, perhaps the countryside could become a new canvas for your relationship to flourish.

It was only when he had hung up the call that you realised it was the first time he had told you he loved you.

Jake was just as depressed at the news as you were. Gone was his cheery persona, replaced by one of a moping puppy. Not that you could judge, you weren’t much better after all.

“Heeseung will leave tomorrow night.” Jake’s words cut through the sombre air like a knife.

You hummed in response. If you opened your mouth you were sure tears would start flowing.

Heeseung's impending departure felt like another blow, a painful reminder of the changes that were unfolding in your lives.

You remained silent for what felt like hours before you whispered. “Jake?”

He looked at you in response.

“I’m going to miss him.” The tears that had been threatening to overflow finally did, and you cried and cried into Jake’s shoulder.

His arm wrapped around you comfortingly, rubbing circles on your shoulder. “I’ll miss him too.” He whispered just as sadly.

The following evening arrived, casting a melancholic haze over the room. The minutes seemed to slip away far too quickly, leaving you feeling as though time itself was playing a cruel trick on your emotions.

As the hour approached, you found yourself standing outside the bookstore, the place that had once been a safe haven for you, now closed and devoid of life. The emptiness mirrored the ache in your heart as you awaited Heeseung's departure.

Jake stood by your side, a solemn expression etched across his face. He offered you a gentle squeeze of the hand, his silent support speaking volumes.

Minutes later, the sound of a car engine broke the silence, signaling Heeseung's arrival. Your heart skipped a beat as he stepped out of the vehicle, his familiar smile now tinged with sadness.

You rushed to his side, unable to contain the tears that welled up in your eyes. Heeseung's arms enveloped you in a warm embrace, and you clung to him as if trying to hold onto the moments you had shared.

"I'm going to miss you," you managed to whisper through your tears, your voice choked with emotion.

Heeseung held you tighter, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and reassurance. "I'm going to miss you too, more than words can express. But this isn't the end, princess. We'll find our way back to each other."

The three of you stood in a tight circle, a knot of intertwined emotions. As Heeseung pulled away, his gaze shifted between you and Jake, gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Thank you for being there for me," he said, his voice sincere and heartfelt. "I couldn't have asked for a better friend."

You took a step back, allowing Heeseung to say his goodbyes to Jake. The two shared a heartfelt embrace, their unspoken bond woven tightly between them. As they parted, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of loss, knowing that the dynamics of your trio were forever altered.

Heeseung turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. "Take care of yourself," he whispered, his words lingering in the air like a promise.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "I will. You take care too."

With one last lingering look, Heeseung climbed into the car, the engine humming to life. As the vehicle pulled away, taking a piece of your heart with it, you stood there, feeling the weight of his absence settle upon your shoulders.

You saw Heeseung in between the pages of books, his essence infused in the words that transported you to different worlds. Reading became your refuge, your escape from the ache of his absence. It was as if the characters and narratives were a bridge between you, keeping your connection alive despite the physical distance.

Every night, when the world grew quiet, the phone would ring, and his voice would fill the room. Those conversations were precious lifelines that provided a temporary respite from the longing in your heart. His words, filled with love and tenderness, wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing the ache of his absence.

And when the morning light spilled through the curtains, you would awaken to his text, a simple "good morning" that carried more weight than any words could express. It was a reminder that you were still connected, that he was thinking of you even when he was miles away from you.

“It’s so quiet here.” Heeseung’s voice said over the phone. “I’m still not quite used to it.”

You listened intently, hanging onto every word he said.

“Do you miss it here?” You asked.

His voice was sad when he replied. “I miss everything there but mostly I miss you.”

Your heart ached to see him.

“I miss you too.” You whispered.

He called every night without fail.

“Princess,” He would say and your heart would flutter at the pet name.

“I think you’ll like it here. It’s so peaceful to read beneath the stars.” He said with a smile hanging to his words.

“Would you live there forever?” You asked him, half teasing, half anxiously.

“I’d live anywhere if it was with you.”

And your heart would catapult across your chest.

Weeks would turn into months.

“I wish the bookshop didn’t have to close.” You told him, on another particularly vulnerable night.

“We can always open a new one.” He replied.

“Together?” His response had lifted your mood. Heeseung always had an uncanny way of knowing exactly what to say.

Heeseung's laughter resonated through the phone, a sound that brought warmth to your heart. "Yes, together. We'll fill the shelves with our favourite books, create a space where people can find solace and inspiration. It'll be our own little sanctuary."

Your heart swelled with love for Heeseung, his dreams intertwining with yours, creating a vision that felt so real, so attainable. The miles between you seemed insignificant in that moment as you both shared a dream that bound you together.

December slowly approached, marking an year since you had first encountered Heeseung.

The 3rd of December this year was cold. Or perhaps it felt colder to you, with the thought that Heeseung wouldn’t be by your side.

As you stood in front of the familiar bookshop, now closed and silent, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. You had initially wandered in, unsure of what you were even looking for. You had left with so much more than you could even dream of. The chilly wind brushed against your face, mingling with the scent of fallen leaves, creating a melancholic atmosphere.

You closed your eyes, picturing Heeseung's warm smile, his comforting presence that had filled the bookstore with life.

“Princess?”

You must be dreaming. You turned around, your heart skipping a beat as you saw Heeseung standing before you, his eyes filled with love and determination. His hair had grown longer but it was still Heeseung, your Heeseung.

“I couldn't let this day pass without being by your side," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of apology and devotion. "I had to come back to you, even if it's just for this day."

Tears of joy streamed down your face as you rushed into his arms, holding him tightly as if afraid he would disappear once again. The world around you faded into insignificance as you embraced, the warmth of his presence banishing the coldness that had gripped your heart.

"I missed you," you whispered into his ear, your voice filled with an overwhelming mixture of relief and love.

"I missed you too, Princess," he replied, his voice choked with emotion. "Being away from you made me realise that you are my home, no matter where we are."

His words made your heart swell with emotion, holding onto him tightly. He smelled just like you remembered - of books and ink.

“I have a surprise for you.” He said gingerly, holding your chin in his fingers to look into your eyes.

“Bigger than this?” You laughed in between sobs.

“Much bigger.” He smirked. “I talked to my parents. It took a whole lot of convincing and a lot of time spent with Jake researching on how we can bring in more money this time but-“

He allowed you to piece together his words before he continued.

“We’re reopening the bookshop. And this time I - no, we will be handling it.”

Your eyes widened, your heart leaping with a mixture of astonishment and delight.

“You mean... we can open a new bookstore together?" you asked, your voice barely containing your excitement.

Heeseung nodded, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Yes, together. We can bring our dreams to life, Princess. Just like we talked about.”

Tears welled up in your eyes once again, but this time they were tears of pure joy. The weight of the past few month’s longing and uncertainty lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a surge of hope and anticipation for the future.

"I can't think of anything more perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude and love.

Heeseung pulled you into another embrace, his warmth enveloping you completely.

“I told you Princess. I’d live anywhere if it was with you.”

Nestled on the corner of the street was a bookshop. Its brick exterior exuded a timeless charm, and the large windows invited passersby to peek inside and discover the treasures held within its walls. The sign above the entrance bore the name "Whispering Pages," a fitting title for a place where stories whispered and imaginations soared.

You and Heeseung stood behind the counter, side by side, ready to greet each customer with a warm smile and a genuine love for the written word.

Together, you and Heeseung - with the help of Jake of course - had painstakingly transformed the empty space into a sanctuary for book lovers. The shelves were lined with an eclectic mix of genres, ranging from classic literature to contemporary fiction, from fantasy realms to historical accounts. Each book held a story, waiting to be discovered and shared.

And as the bookshop's door chimed with the arrival of new customers, you took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the ordinary. The soft whisper of turning pages, the gentle rustle of paper, and the quiet yet profound love that bound you together. In this bookshop, where stories came to life, you had found your own love story—a tale woven with laughter, stolen glances and kisses between pages.

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happysaddca · 6 months ago

Text

Just a drabble, where you've taken the DCA out of the plex and they're seeing their first thunderstorm. Not connected to anything, inspired by a discord convo and being published as a thank you for the donations made thus far.

The inside of the pizzaplex had been a relatively static place. Yes, there were cycles: openings and closings and the occasional holiday where the building remained closed the entire day, but it was always the same. The same music, the same smells, the same air recycled over and over. The deeper into the plex you went, the less you were affected by the outside world.

This meant the animatronics, especially the Daycare Attendant, had gone their entire lives without weather. Moon had caught glimpses, when its security route brought it into the atrium and lobby entrance, and then after, when it’d been infected. But Sun had always kept to the daycare’s playpen, and even the lobby only had a single wall of glass doors that shuttered after closing and windows covered with blackout film and neon lights.

After the fire, after whatever it was that’d happened, you’d taken the Attendant and gotten the fuck out of Utah as soon as you could sublet your apartment and escape your lease. Rural nowhere is cheap, so you’re able to find a house, enough space for you and a gangly seven foot something animatronic to coexist without living on top of each other. You are also able to get a new job that allows you to stay home and watch over the Attendant and their recovery.

The house is surrounded by woods. You like that, and that there’s a hiking trail nearby. You try to encourage Sun and Moon to explore outside, to enjoy the newness of it all, but unless you are with them, they keep mostly to the house. You get it. They’re traumatized. You’re traumatized. Only you can go to therapy. You’re pretty sure even if there was such a thing as robot therapists, they wouldn’t be able to handle the Attendant’s particular flavor of PTSD.

But this isn’t about their trauma, nor yours.

This is about the weather.

For the first month after the fire, after your federal level theft, the weather holds. It’s nice, if a little warm. There are cloudy nights and sunny days, and you watch Sun and Moon as they adjust to seeing their real life counterparts and the changes that come and go. The rain, such as it is, is light, a drizzle, something that compels you to pull on your rainboots and drag them out with you to hunt for frogs.

Sun doesn’t know what to do when you hand them your catch, and it jumps out of their hands and back into the woods seconds after you place it in their palm. Moon’s a little better, creating a cage with its fingers so it can look the beastie over before kneeling and letting it go. You continue to chase after frogs and even the odd snake until it’s well past dark and you have to play catchup on your work. You end up with a cold the next day, but it’s worth it. It’s even worth their anxious coddling since you know they’re trying their best and they’re literally programmed to take care of humans. Little ones, but still. You’re all they have now.

It’s nearly three months into your new routine when a proper storm hits.

You’re so hyperfocused on the computer, chewing through the chin cinch of your headphones, that you don’t notice it’s gotten dark until Sun turns on the lamp by your desk. Their sudden presence startles you.

“Mm?” You resist the urge to rub your eyes as you adjust from the white bright screen of your laptop. You blink instead, squinting blearily in the right direction. “What's up?”

“There’s a flash flood warning.” Sun's rays are partially retracted, fingers twisting around each other. When they catch you watching, Sun switches to toying with the drawstring of their hoodie. “Should we be concerned? It feels we should be concerned with the creek in the backyard.”

You lean to one side to peek out the window, noting just how dark it's gotten outside. “No, most of the time those warnings are bullshit.” Sun cringes, voicebox clicking over, but to their credit, they don’t chide. “If you're really concerned, I think I remember the basics to prepare for a thunderstorm. And I won't take a shower til the whole thing passes.”

“Why can’t you shower?”

You shut down your laptop, already unplugging it from the wall. Your back cracks and you have to resist the urge to groan, straightening up to stretch. “If lightning hits the house, it could travel up the pipes and electrocute me. Water’s a good conductor and all that jazz.” There's a metallic click, Sun's rays withdrawing entirely as you speak. You pat their arm. “I'm not going to be electrocuted Sunny.”

“No, you most certainly are not!” Sun clasps a hand over yours, trapping it until you’re standing and can gently pull away.

Sun’s overly eager to help thunderstorm-proof the house. It takes some reassurance that you definitely will not be trying to shower in the middle of the storm, so no Sun, we don’t need to turn off the water to the entire house. Anything electric is unplugged. Even your alarm clock isn’t safe from Sun’s cautiousness. You don’t fight them too much. Sun’s anxious and a caretaker, and without the daycare all their attention is on the house and you.

You do insist on Sun joining you on the front porch when the house has been sealed and mostly lightning proofed. You sit with your back against the house, stretching your legs out and sipping on a glass of lemonade so cold it leaves your fingers chilled. Sun stands nervously by the door, shifting their weight from foot to foot in time with some long gone tune.

“Do you feel it too?” you ask. The world’s gone dark and greenish blue from the light filtering through the trees. Sun’s faceplate tilts towards you questioningly. “The weight of the air right before a storm.”

“That might be an organic only thing friend,” Sun says gently, and you sigh.

“Probably. Maybe some evolution thing.” You rub at your arm, feeling goosebumps. “It’s gonna be a big one.” You lean forward, trying to peek out at the sky. “Whenever it actually breaks. It sure is taking its sweet time, isn’t it?” No response beyond a mechanical hum. “You and Moon are plenty charged right?”

Sun’s rays tick in time with their thoughts, a slow rotation that distracts you from watching storm clouds. “Yes, we should be all right so long as we can charge in the morning.” They step closer to the edge of the porch, the pale white light from their LED eyes bright against the dark.

“Good. My laptop’s charged. Are you too distracted to watch Netflix?”

Sun’s rays stop ticking. “...no.” That’s definitely a yes, but you’ll still be able to tempt Sun with the promise of classic TV and cartoons anyway. First, you finish off your lemonade, the first few drops of rain falling and catching the edge of Sun’s face.

Despite Sun’s worrying, the thunderstorm proper doesn’t start until well past nightfall. You dozed off on the couch, propped against the Attendant. It’s not the nice sort of nap that leaves you refreshed or at the very least no worse than before. Your body is too warm and stiff, and it’s just as uncomfortable to move as it is to hold still. “Sun?” you mumble, lifting a hand to rub at your face. It’s like moving through soup. You open your eyes slowly, the darkness oppressive. It’s tempting to close your eyes and go back to sleep. “Moon?”

The Attendant is no longer with you. Unsurprising. They like some distance during their change, just in case something went wrong. Rain is pounding against the windows, loud and demanding of the quiet inside. As you force yourself to sit up, you’re blinded by a flash of lightning. Thunder follows a few seconds later, and you shiver. You have to take a breath. It’s just thunder. You’re fine. You should find Moon and make sure it’s okay.

“Moony?” You shuffle through the house in the dark, looking for the red glow of its eyes or the faint glow in the dark star pattern of its pants and hat. No Moon, but more lightning makes things appropriately dramatic and tense. The thunder is louder now, closer. It echoes in your mind, distorting to a growl.

Wait, no. You know that growl. You turn slowly in place, lightning leaving red ghosts in your vision. You make it to the front door, peeking outside.

Moon is standing at the edge of the porch, arms held stiffly at its sides and faceplate craned back towards the sky. At some point, it must’ve removed Sun’s hoodie. The porch is wet as you step outside, joining Moon and trying to see its face. Lightning again, and Moon’s growls intensify, hands curling into claws. Thunder answers Moon. You should count next time, to see how far away the storm is.

“Moon, come inside,” you say, keeping a safe distance as it continues to growl, locked onto something in the sky. “If the wind changes, you’re going to get soaked.”

Lightning, then thunder again, louder, closer together. Moon’s growl shifts to a hiss at the bright light, and it swipes at the sky when the storm seems to respond—lightning flickering close together, the world lit in black and white except for the red of Moon’s eyes. The storm is here.

Moon’s growling and hissing are drowned out, but not his laugh. It cackles in response to something in the air, and then Moon steps out, down the steps and cutting across the lawn faster than you can react.

“Moon!” Your voice is swallowed up in the sound of the storm. You can see Moon for a moment, but only for that moment, darkness swallowing its shape up before the next lightning strike. You run to turn on the porch light, but the switch clicks uselessly under your hand.

You grab your rain boots, slipping them on before racing after Moon. The rain hits cold and hard, immediately plastering your hair flat to your scalp and turning your clothes into a second skin. “Moon!” You listen, but you can’t hear anything over the storm. You can’t see either, arm up in an attempt to shield your face from the rain.

“Naughty.” Moon’s voice breaks through the static, metal closing tight around your shoulders like a cage. You jerk away instinctively, but its fingers dig into your lowered arm and shirt, points of contact that brighten with pain when lightning strikes. “You’ll get sick.”

“I was looking for you,” you say. Moon’s reply is drowned out by another lightning-thunder combo that leaves Moon squeezing you far too tightly. You try to pull away, but it drags you against its chassis instead. Its body is cold, the rain is cold, and you are freezing. “Moon, let’s go back inside.”

There’s no response, just a low hiss that you feel more than hear. Or maybe you’re imagining it because you’re starting to shiver. You try to pull at Moon’s arm, but it’s locked in place. You try shoving back against its chest instead. Moon actually stumbles back, something snapping hard enough to reverberate through its arms. It lets you go as it falls into the muck and leaves. Lightning strikes, thunder coming a second later. The storm is moving away, but that does little to hide Moon’s distress at the sound. Your arm hurts where its fingers had dug in.

“Moon, let’s go inside!” You still have to yell to make yourself heard, stepping in between Moon’s legs, pulling at its face until it's forced to look at you. “We can talk about this later. Let’s just go!”

Moon is looking past you, back at the sky. You shake its face, digging your fingers in when it starts to resist. Finally, red eyes find yours and a hand gently, oh so gently, wraps around your wrist. You let go, and Moon stands, silent except for an automatic growl that kicks up whenever the sky flashes.

Inside, you towel off and change, refusing to let Moon leave the room. It remains turned towards the window, braced against the sill and face nearly touching the glass. You approach Moon cautiously, holding a second towel. “Moony?”

Even in the dark, you can see the indents left in the wood when Moon moves its hands. You offer the towel up, but Moon does not take it. It just stares through you, still half turned to the window. It doesn’t protest when you start wiping it down in its stead.

“You know, I’m scared of thunder,” you offer, lifting one of Moon’s arms to pat dry. “Always have been. Did any water get inside?”

“No.” Moon’s voice is quiet.

“Good.” Moon lets you manipulate it so you can dry its face, growling softly as thunder continues to rumble. “I’m taking your hat. We’ll need to wash your pants too.”

“Dinner first.”

You snort, dropping the towel on its face. “Dry yourself off then.” You take its hat, but when you go to move, Moon grabs your arm again. You flinch as it brushes against your brand new bruise. It immediately lets go, pulling the towel off its face.

“I hurt you.”

“It was an accident.” You take the towel to throw back at it, but there’s a sudden flash of lightning (when had it died down?) and you flinch, dropping the towel instead. Moon’s growl kicks up again, its hand releasing you as it stands and turns back to the window. You swallow back the lingering fear. “Moon, it’s fine. Look, we can go to the basement—”

“It’s running away.”

You have to stop. “What?”

Moon’s voice speaks through the growl, each sound punching through the other in a staticy mess. “The storm. It’s running away.”

“Yeah, storms tend to move…” Your voice drifts off as you catch on. “Were you trying to fight the lightning?”

Moon doesn’t answer, but it does reach back with one hand. You take it and are pulled back into its arms, wedged between the windowsill and the Attendant. Its hands remain off you, fingers curled into its palms, even when you lean back to watch the rain.

“Next time, try to fight it inside. You’re metal. Lightning could fry you and Sun both if you get struck,” you say, voice soft.

“Always wanted to fight a storm.” Moon rests its face on the top of your head.

“Why?” You have to bite back a smile, just in case it's being serious. Instead, you feel Moon shrug, the motion limited to its shoulders as something inside its exoskeleton gives an unhappy creak.

“Seemed fightable inside the plex.”

You laugh. “Moony, you—how do you feel now that you fought one?”

There’s a quiet moment where you can only hear the rain and the thrum of Moon’s fans working away inside. “Wet.”

That earns him another snort. “Yeah, rain tends to be wet.” The thunder is a soft sound now, the lightning out of view. “You’re sure nothing got inside?”

“Sure.” You pull away as the porch light turns on outside. “Power’s back on. Change your pants. I’m not letting you walk around the house dripping mud.”

“Mm.” Moon follows and clings a moment longer, butting its face into the back of your head. “Will fight the storms again for you and Sun.”

“Okay.” You pat at its head. “But next time, let’s try and fight it from inside the house, okay?”

This time when you pull away, Moon lets you go so you can turn off the porch and fetch your laptop. Moon changes into a soft pair of sweats, the perfect material to cuddle into as you pull it into bed to watch more TV and wait out the remainder of the storm.

#daycare attendant fnaf #daycare attendent #fnaf dca #dca sun #fnaf sun #dca moon #fnaf moon #dca #my writing #gender neutral reader #ambiguous relationship

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vampylily · 1 year ago

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Transcription of Fall Out Boy's interview with Rock Sound

Since I was going to read the article anyways, I thought I'd transcribe in case it'll be more accessible to read for others. The interview with Pete and Patrick goes in depth on the topics of tourdust, evolving as a band, So Much (For) Stardust, working with Neal Avron, and more.

Thank you to @nomaptomyowntreasure who kindly shared the photos of the article! Their post is linked here.

PDF link here. (more readable format & font size)

article in text below (and warning for long post.)

Rock Sound Issue #300

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE

WITH THE TRIUMPHANT ‘SO MUCH (FOR) STARDUST’ CAPTURING A WHOLE NEW GENERATION OF FANS, FALL OUT BOY ARE RIDING HIGH, CELEBRATING THEIR PAST WHILE LOOKING TOWARDS A BRIGHT FUTURE. PETE WENTZ AND PATRICK STUMP REFLECT ON RECENT SUCCESSES AND THE LESSONS LEARNED FROM TWO DECADES OF WRITING AND PERFORMING TOGETHER.

WORDS: James Wilson-Taylor

PHOTOS: Elliott Ingham

You have just completed a US summer tour that included stadium shows and some of your most ambitious production to date. What were your aims going into this particular show?

PETE: Playing stadiums is a funny thing. I pushed pretty hard to do a couple this time because I think that the record Patrick came up with musically lends itself to that feeling of being part of something larger than yourself. When we were designing the cover to the album, it was meant to be all tangible, which was a reaction to tokens and skins that you can buy and avatars. The title is made out of clay, and the painting is an actual painting. We wanted to approach the show in that way as well. We've been playing in front of a gigantic video wall for the past eight years. Now, we wanted a stage show where you could actually walk inside it.

Did adding the new songs from ‘So Much (For) Stardust’ into the setlist change the way you felt about them?

PATRICK: One of the things that was interesting about the record was that we took a lot of time figuring out what it was going to be, what it was going to sound like. We experimented with so many different things. I was instantly really proud. I felt really good about this record but it wasn’t until we got on stage and you’re playing the songs in between our catalogue that I really felt that. It was really noticeable from the first day on this tour - we felt like a different band. There's a new energy to it. There was something that I could hear live that I couldn't hear before.

You also revisited a lot of older tracks and b-sides on this tour, including many from the ‘Folie à Deux’-era. What prompted those choices?

PETE: There were some lean years where there weren't a lot of rock bands being played on pop radio or playing award shows so we tried to play the biggest songs, the biggest versions of them. We tried to make our thing really airtight, bulletproof so that when we played next to whoever the top artist was, people were like, ‘oh yeah, they should be here.’ The culture shift in the world is so interesting because now, maybe rather than going wider, it makes more sense to go deeper with people. We thought about that in the way that we listen to music and the way we watch films. Playing a song that is a b-side or barely made a record but is someone’s favourite song makes a lot of sense in this era.

PATRICK: I think there also was a period there where, to Pete’s point, it was a weird time to be a rock band. We had this very strange thing that happened to us, and not a lot of our friends for some reason, where we had a bunch of hits, right? And it didn’t make any sense to me. It still doesn’t make sense to me. But there was a kind of novelty, where we could play a whole set of songs that a lot of people know. It was fun and rewarding for us to do that. But then you run the risk of playing the same set forever. I want to love the songs that we play. I want to care about it and put passion into what we do. And there’s no sustainable way to just do the same thing every night and not get jaded. We weren’t getting there but I really wanted to make sure that we don’t ever get there.

PETE: In the origin of Fall Out Boy, what happened at our concerts was we knew how to play five songs really fast and jumped off walls and the fire marshal would shut it down. It was what made the show memorable, but we wanted to be able to last and so we tried to perfect our show and the songs and the stage show and make it flawless. Then you don’t really know how much spontaneity you want to include, because something could go wrong. When we started this tour, and we did a couple of spontaneous things, it opened us up to more. Because things did go wrong and that’s what made the show special. We’re doing what is the most punk rock version of what we could be doing right now.

You seem generally a lot more comfortable celebrating your past success at this point in your career.

PETE: I think it’s actually not a change from our past. I love those records, but I never want to treat them in a cynical way. I never want there to be a wink and a smile where we’re just doing this because it’s the anniversary. This was us celebrating these random songs and we hope people celebrate them with us. There was a purity to it that felt in line with how we’ve always felt about it. I love ‘Folie à Deux’ - out of any Fall Out Boy record that's probably the one I would listen to. But I just never wanted it to be done in a cynical way, where we feel like we have to. But celebrating it in a way where there’s the purity of how we felt when we wrote the song originally. I think that’s fucking awesome.

PATRICK: Music is a weird art form. Because when you’re an actor and you play a character, that is a specific thing. James Bond always wears a suit and has a gun and is a secret agent. If you change one thing, that’s fine, but you can’t really change all of it. But bands are just people. You are yourself. People get attached to it like it’s a story but it’s not. That was always something I found difficult. For the story, it’s always good to say, ‘it’s the 20th anniversary, let’s go do the 20th anniversary tour’, that’s a good story thing. But it’s not always honest. We never stopped playing a lot of the songs from ‘Take This To Your Grave’, right? So why would I need to do a 20-year anniversary and perform all the songs back to back? The only reason would be because it would probably sell a lot of tickets and I don’t really ever want to be motivated by that, frankly.

One of the things that’s been amazing is that now as the band has been around for a while, we have different layers of audience. I love ‘Folie à Deux’, I do, I love that record. But I had a really personally negative experience of touring on it. So that’s what I think of when I think of that record initially. It had to be brought back to me for me to appreciate it, for me to go, ‘oh, this record is really great. I should be happy with this. I should want to play this,’ So that’s why we got into a lot of the b-sides because we realised that our perspectives on a lot of these songs were based in our feelings and experiences from when we were making them. But you can find new experiences if you play those songs. You can make new memories with them.

You alluded there to the 20th anniversary of ‘Take This To Your Grave’. Obviously you have changed and developed as a band hugely since then. But is there anything you can point to about making that debut record that has remained a part of your process since then?

PETE: We have a language, the band, and it’s definitely a language of cinema and film. That’s maintained through time. We had very disparate music tastes and influences but I think film was a place we really aligned. You could have a deep discussion, because none of us were filmmakers. You could say which part was good and which part sucked and not hurt anybody’s feelings, because you weren’t going out to make a film the next day. Whereas with music, I think if we’d only had that to talk about, we would have turned out a different band.

PATRICK: ‘Take This To Your Grave’, even though it’s absolutely our first record, there’s an element of it that’s still a work in progress. It is still a band figuring itself out. Andy wasn’t even officially in the band for half of the recording, right? I wasn’t even officially the guitar player for half of the recording. We were still bumbling through it. There was something that popped up a couple times throughout the record where you got these little inklings of who the band really was. We really explored that on ‘From Under the Cork Tree’’. So when we talk about what has remained the same… I didn’t want to be a singer, I didn’t know anything about singing, I wasn’t playing on that. I didn’t even plan to really be in this band for that long because Pete had a real band that really toured so I thought this was gonna be a side project. So there’s always been this element within the band where I don’t put too many expectations on things and then Pete has this really big ambition, creatively. There’s this great interplay between the tour of us where I’m kind of oblivious, and I don’t know when I’m putting out a big idea and Pete has this amazing vision to find what goes where. There’s something really magical about that because I never could have done a band like this without it. We needed everybody, we needed all four of us. And I think that’s the thing that hasn’t changed - the four of us just being ourselves and trying to figure things out. Listening back to ‘Folie’ or ‘Infinity On High’ or ‘American Beauty’. I’m always amazed at how much better they are than I remember. I listened to ‘MANIA’ the other day. I have a lot of misgivings about that record, a lot of things I’m frustrated about. But then I’m listening to it and I’m like, ‘this is pretty good.’ There’s a lot of good things in there. I don’t know why, it’s kind of like you can’t see those things. It’s kind of amazing to have Pete be able to see those things. And likewise, sometimes Pete has no idea when he writes something brilliant, as a lyricist, and I have to go, ‘No, I’m gonna keep that one, I’m gonna use that.’

On ‘So Much (For) Stardust’ you teamed up with producer Neal Avron again for the first time since 2008. Given how much time has passed, did it take a minute to reestablish that connection or did you pick up where you left off?

PATRICK: It really didn’t feel like any time had passed between us and Neal. It was pretty seamless in terms of working with him. But then there was also the weird aspect where the last time we worked with him was kind of contentious. Interpersonally, the four of us were kind of fighting with each other…as much as we do anyway. We say that and then that myth gets built bigger than it was. We were always pretty cool with each other. It’s just that the least cool was making ‘Folie’. So then getting into it again for this record, it was like no time had passed as people but the four of us got on better so we had more to bring to Neal.

PETE: It’s a little bit like when you return to your parents’ house for the holiday break when you’re in college. It’s the same house but now I can drink with my parents. We’d grown up and the first times we worked with Neal, he had to do so much more boy scout leadership, ‘you guys are all gonna be okay, we’re gonna do this activity to earn this badge so you guys don’t fucking murder each other.’ This time, we probably got a different version of Neal that was even more creative, because he had to do less psychotherapy.

He went deep too. Sometimes when you’re in a session with somebody, and they’re like, ‘what are we singing about?’, I’ll just be like, ‘stuff’. He was not cool with ‘stuff’. I would get up and go into the bathroom outside the studio and look in the mirror, and think ‘what is it about? How deep are we gonna go?’ That’s a little bit scarier to ask yourself. If last time Neal was like a boy scout leader, this time, it was more like a Sherpa. He was helping us get to the summit.

The title track of the album also finds you in a very reflective mood, even bringing back lyrics from ‘Love From the Other Side’. How would you describe the meaning behind that title and the song itself?

PETE: The record title has a couple of different meanings, I guess. The biggest one to me is that we basically all are former stars. That’s what we’re made of, those pieces of carbon. It still feels like the world’s gonna blow and it’s all moving too fast and the wrong things are moving too slow. That track in particular looks back at where you sometimes wish things had gone differently. But this is more from the perspective of when you’re watching a space movie, and they’re too far away and they can’t quite make it back. It doesn’t matter what they do and at some point, the astronaut accepts that. But they’re close enough that you can see the look on their face. I feel like there’s moments like that in the title track. I wish some things were different. But, as an adult going through this, you are too far away from the tether, and you’re just floating into space. It is sad and lonely but in some ways, it’s kind of freeing, because there’s other aspects of our world and my life that I love and I want to keep shaping and changing.

Patrick: I’ll open up Pete’s lyrics and I just start hearing things. It almost feels effortless in a lot of ways. I just read his lyrics and something starts happening in my head. The first line, ‘I’m in a winter mood, dreaming of spring now’, instantly the piano started to form to me. That was a song that I came close to not sending the band. When I make demos, I’ll usually wait until I have five or six to send to everybody. I didn’t know if anyone was gonna like this. It’s too moody or it’s not very us. But it was pretty unanimous. Everybody liked that one. I knew this had to end the record. It took on a different life in the context of the whole album. Then on the bridge section, I knew it was going to be the lyrics from “Love From The Other Side’. It’s got to come back here. It’s the bookends, but I also love lyrically what it does, you know, ‘in another life, you were my babe’, going back to that kind of regret, which feels different in ‘Love From The Other Side’ than it does here. When the whole song came together, it was the statement of the record.

Aside from the album, you have released a few more recent tracks that have opened you up to a whole new audience, most notably the collaboration with Taylor Swift on ‘Electric Touch’.

PETE: Taylor is the only artist that I’ve met or interacted with in recent times who creates exactly the art of who she is, but does it one such a mass level. So that’s breathtaking to watch from the sidelines. The way fans traded friendship bracelets, I don’t know what the beginning of it was, but you felt that everywhere. We felt that, I saw that in the crowd on our tour. I don’t know Taylor well, but I think she’s doing exactly what she wants and creating exactly the art that she wants to create. And going that, on such a level, is really awe-inspiring to watch. It makes you want to make the biggest, weirdest version of our thing and put that out there.

Then there was the cover of Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Start The Fire’, which has had some big chart success for you. That must have taken you slightly by surprise.

PATRICK: It’s pretty unexpected. Pete and I were going back and forth about songs we should cover and that was an idea that I had. This is so silly but there was a song a bunch of years ago I had kind of written called ‘Dark Horse’ and then there was a Katy Perry song called ‘Dark Horse’ and I was like, ‘damn it’, you know, I missed the boat on that one. So I thought if we don’t do this cover, somebody else is gonna do it. Let’s just get in the studio and just do it. We spent way more time on those lyrics than you would think because we really wanted to get a specific feel. It was really fun and kind of loose, we just came together in Neal’s house and recorded it in a day.

PETE: There's irreverence to it. I thought the coolest thing was when Billy Joel got asked about it, and he was like, ‘I’m not updating it, that’s fine, go for it.’ I hope if somebody ever chose to update one of ours, we’d be like that. Let them do their thing, they’ll have that version. I thought that was so fucking cool.

It’s almost no secret that the sound you became most known for in the md-2000s is having something of a commercial revival right now But what is interesting is seeing how bands are building on that sound and changing it.

PATRICK: I love when anybody does anything that feels honest to them. Touring with Bring Me The Horizon, it was really cool seeing what’s natural to them. It makes sense. We changed our sound over time but we were always going to do that. It wasn’t a premeditated thing but for the four of us, it would have been impossible to maintain making the same kind of music forever. Whereas you’ll play with some other bands and they live that one sound. You meet up with them for dinner or something and they’re wearing the shirt of the band that sounds just like their band. You go to their house and they’re playing other bands that sound like them because they live in that thing. Whereas with the four of us and bands like Bring Me The Horizon, we change our sounds over time. And there’s nothing wrong with either. The only thing that’s wrong is if it’s unnatural to you. If you’re AC/DC and all of a sudden power ballads are in and you’re like, ‘Okay, we’ve got to do a power ballad’, that’s when it sucks. But if you’re a thrash metal guy who also likes Celine Dion then yeah, do a power ballad. Emo as a word doesn’t mean anything anymore. But if people want to call it that, if the emo thing is back or having another life again, if that’s what’s natural to an artist, I think the world needs more earnest art. If that’s who you are, then do it.

PETE: It would be super egotistical to think that the wave that started with us and My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco has just been circling and cycling back. I remember seeing Nikki Sixx at the airport and he was like, ‘Oh you’re doing a flaming bass? Mine came from a backpack.’ It keeps coming back but it looks different. Talking to Lil Uzi Vert and Juice WRLD when he was around, it’s so interesting, because it’s so much bigger than just emo or whatever. It’s this whole big pop music thing that’s spinning and churning, and then it moves on, and then it comes back with different aspects and some of the other stuff combined. When you’re a fan of music and art and film, you take different stuff, you add different ingredients, because that’s your taste. Seeing the bands that are up and coming to me, it’s so exciting, because the rules are just different, right? It’s really cool to see artists that lean into the weirdness and lean into a left turn when everyone’s telling you to make a right. That’s so refreshing.

PATRICK: It’s really important as an artist gets older to not put too much stock in your own influence. The moment right now that we’re in is bigger than emo and bigger than whatever was happening in 2005. There’s a great line in ‘Downton Abbey’ where someone was asking the Lord about owning this manor and he’s like ‘well, you don’t really own it, there have been hundreds of owners and you are the custodian of it for a brief time.’ That’s what pop music is like. You just have the ball for a minute and you’re gonna pass it on to somebody else.

We will soon see you in the UK for your arena tour. How do you reflect on your relationship with the fans over here?

PETE: I remember the first time we went to the UK, I wasn’t prepared for how culturally different it was. When we played Reading & Leeds and the summer festivals, it was so different, and so much deeper within the culture. It was a little bit of a shock. The first couple of times we played, I was like, ‘Oh, my God, are we gonna die?’ because the crowd was so crazy, and there was bottles. Then when we came back, we thought maybe this is a beast to be tamed. Finally, you realise it’s a trading of energy. That made the last couple of festivals we played so fucking awesome. When you realise that the fans over there are real fans of music It’s really awesome and pretty beautiful.

PATRICK: We’ve played the UK now more than a lot of regions of the states. Pretty early on, I just clicked with it. There were differences, cultural things and things that you didn’t expect. But it never felt that different or foreign to me, just a different flavour…

PETE: This is why me and Patrick work so well together (laughs).

PATRICK: Well, listen; I’m a rainy weather guy. There is just things that I get there. I don’t really drink anymore all that much. But I totally will have a beer in the UL, there’s something different about every aspect of it, about the ordering of it, about the flavour of it, everything, it’s like a different vibe. The UK audience seemed to click with us too. There have been plenty of times where we felt almost like a UK band than an American one. There have been years where you go there and almost get a more familial reaction than you would at home.

Rock Sound has always been a part of that for us. It was one of the first magazines to care about us and the first magazine to do real interviews. That’s the thing, you would do all these interviews and a lot of them would be like ‘so where did the band’s name come from?’ But Rock Sound took us seriously as artists, maybe before some of us did. That actually made us think about who we are and that was a really cool experience. I think in a lot of ways, we wouldn’t be the band we are without the UK, because I think it taught us a lot about what it is to be yourself.

Fall Out Boy’s ‘So Much (For) Stardust’ is out now via Fueled By Ramen

#fall out boy #fob #tourdust #pete wentz #patrick stump #fob interview #so much for stardust #smfs era #your unemployed friend at 2pm on a monday:#anyways. hope this is helpful i loved the interview!

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