#edit: decided to make this fic public! at least for a week or two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

juyeonszn · 1 year ago

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SACRIFICE (EAT ME UP)

PAIRING lee hyunjae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 9.17k

GENRES horror ﹒ smut ﹒ angst ﹒ fluff ig?

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, mentions of murder, descriptions of crime scenes, mentions of blood, mentions of knifes, graphic description of stab wounds, mentions of potential mental illness, THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS THAT CONSTITUTE WARNINGS BUT ?!1?1 I DONT WANT TO SPOIL !1!2!2, Lots of Kissing, mutual masturbation (f! receiving fingering & m! receiving hand job), pillow talk ig, big dick hyunjae 😈, um unprotected sex lol be safe u silly geese, car sex, cowgirl position yeehaw, creampie, this entire fic is just a whole fucking roller coaster i stg it’s gonna haunt me forever

SUMMARY with a serial killer running rampant on campus, everyone around you seems to be dropping like flies. but, hey, at least you have hyunjae to protect you.

MORE omg.. my first written work for tbz 🙀 extra super fun fact; this was originally an idea i had for hyunjin from skz on my other blog that i actually started writing the week before halloween last year (the reason it’s a horror fic), but i never finished and sort of felt like there was no point in continuing it after a while— that is until i stumbled upon the draft a few weeks ago and decided to revamp, edit, and complete it 😋 i kept going back and rereading and then blanking when i wanted to add to it until last night when i said fuck it and drank two cups of coffee to power through the end 🙌 anyways.. here u all go, my baby that i never thought would see the light of day and my first time writing a genuine horror piece <3 also special shoutout to rina my soulmate @tsukidou for beta reading 🫶

PLAYLIST sacrifice (eat me up) — enhypen, awake — the boyz, roar — the boyz, fever — enhypen, fate — enhypen, taste — stray kids, wake up — ateez, white noise — pvris, heaven — pvris

“Alright, that’s all for today’s lecture. If this was your last of the day, make sure to find someone to go home with and remember the curfew rules!” Your English professor says, concluding the class.

The students around you rush to pack up their things and get off of campus as soon as possible. You don’t seem to be in a hurry, though, taking your time to put away your notebook and laptop. Your roommates were still in their music production class, so you didn’t want to go home alone, deciding to wait until they were done.

“Y/N, don’t you wanna get home?” Professor Park asks, her voice echoing in the now empty lecture hall. She throws the strap of her bag over her shoulder and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I do, but I have to wait for my roommates. They’re in a class right now and I’d rather not go by myself.” You let out an awkward laugh. She nods at your reasoning, giving you a small smile for comfort.

“Okay, you be careful! I’ll see you on Thursday.”

You raise your hand in a silent salutation, watching as she exits the room, leaving you completely alone. Though a public space, in a public building, the fact that there’s no one else nearby leaves you utterly unsettled. Your stomach churns with a twinge of fear and you start to feel a bit claustrophobic despite being in such a spacious area, so you choose this point to hurriedly collect your belongings and get the hell out of there.

The past couple of months have been in this weird state of limbo. You don’t recall exactly when the killings started, but once the police noticed a pattern, everyone knew sooner or later that the presence of a serial murderer would be announced on the local news. Your town enforced a citywide curfew to protect its citizens, but mostly the students at your university.

Every single one of the killer’s victims were university students. You were friends with a bunch of guys and while it was nice having big strong men surrounding you, you knew that could hardly do anything to quell the lingering anxiety you’ve felt ever since the spree began.

The police seemed to be having trouble coming up with any possible suspects, or even gaining any leads, thanks to the killer’s unusual victimology and the cool down time between murders always varying. If the people in charge of protecting you couldn’t do that, how were you supposed to feel safe?

In an attempt to get to the building where Jacob, Kevin, and Eric were as fast as you could, you speed walk out of the lecture hall, accidentally bumping into someone. You bow at a nearly ninety-degree angle and hurl out apology after apology following the collision, not trying to make any enemies in this day and time.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” The stranger spits, waiting for you to glance up at him to give you a nasty glare. He looks like the kind of guy who thought he was all that, despite peaking in high school. You feel your bottom lip quiver and you avoid eye contact.

“I—”

“Woah, dude, chill the fuck out. It was an accident, I’m sure she didn’t— wait, N/N, is that you? Hey it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

There’s a familiar voice in your ears and a hand under your chin, forcing you to stand upright. Whoever you bumped into walks away with a scoff. You meet eyes with Lee Hyunjae, one of your dearest friends. He recognizes that hint of panic in your features and he frowns.

“I’m so sorry, Jae, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going—” Your breath is caught in your throat and you fumble over your words.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” he keeps a hold on your biceps. “It’s alright, I promise. He’s gone. What’s wrong?”

You shut your eyes tightly, feeling pathetic for causing such a scene for no apparent reason. Hyunjae guides you through your breathing, his focus trained on you the whole time. He always made you feel so comfortable.

“With everything that’s been going on, I’m just so paranoid and afraid of being alone. I wanted to go to the music department building and wait for the boys.” You finally explain once you’ve calmed down and the rise of your chest is even.

“How about this? I’ll take you home so you don’t have to stay on campus any longer.” He suggests, bringing up a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear. You nod slowly, gathering your bearings.

Hyunjae leads you to his car that’s parked in the lot closest to the building you were just in and the two of you make your way to your apartment. You’d been friends with your roommates for years now, meeting in eighth grade. You had just moved schools and happened to be put into a class with Eric Sohn, the most rambunctious boy you’d ever met. He thought you seemed really sweet upon first impression and decided to befriend you, introducing you to all of his friends in turn.

Aside from Eric, there was Sangyeon, Jacob, Younghoon, Hyunjae, Juyeon, Kevin, Changmin, Chanhee, Haknyeon, and Sunwoo. While it was a little overwhelming, it was nice going from zero friends to eleven in the span of just a couple days. You were pretty close to all of them, but you and Hyunjae initially hit it off the best. You understood each other on a different level than everyone else and to this day, you still don't know the exact reason why.

Towards the end of high school, your friendship with Hyunjae transformed into something that wasn’t purely platonic. You weren’t entirely sure when it started to change, but your feelings for him grew exponentially. You tried to keep them to yourself, hidden from the world to preserve your fragile teenage heart. Though you’d already been friends with them a few years at that point, you still had that inkling of dread in the pit of your stomach that one day they’d choose to stop talking to you. You especially didn’t want a silly crush to be the cause of that.

After a while, however, the lines began to blur together anyway and everyone could tell you felt for him romantically. Once, Eric had made a comment about it being so painfully obvious that Hyunjae was just as into you and it nearly shook your whole world.

When college time rolled around, you all knew you’d be attending the same university, so picking roommates was a bit of a tricky situation. You chose yours solely based on the fact that you were majoring in similar things, so it’d be easy to fit schedules together. (You also couldn’t handle being roommates with Hyunjae; it’d be too much for your heart.) Hyunjae lived with Juyeon, Changmin, and Sunwoo, while Sangyeon, Younghoon, Chanhee, and Haknyeon lived together.

Hyunjae parks in a spot near the stairs that lead to your unit. The car is still running when you unbuckle your seatbelt and you stare at the steps blankly. Though the close proximity with him has your pulse racing, you want nothing more than some company until your roommates get home. You turn to him shyly, balling up a fistful of your sweater.

“Jae, do you— do you think you could stay with me for a bit before the boys come back? I don’t— I really don’t wanna be alone right now.”

The look he gives you is full of adoration, like you personally put the stars in the sky. He smiles softly and nods, reaching across the center console to place a comforting hand on top of yours. The two of you keep them intertwined as you go inside your apartment, locking all the locks carefully before sitting on your couch.

You don’t make a comment about him not letting go despite already being in the safety of your home. You don’t say anything about him pulling you into his side either, mostly because you want him to.

With all that’s been happening recently, you’ve felt so hollow. There was this indescribable emptiness expanding in you and even though you so desperately wanted to chalk it up to something else, you knew it was due to the fact that there was growing anxiety that you could be next, that any of your friends could be next. You were starting to move like you were in a simulation, doing everything in your daily routine without a single emotion. Sure, you’d laugh when Eric made a stupid joke but that’s about the most anyone could get from you aside from the occasional panic attack.

Hyunjae being here and holding you is exactly what you needed to feel some semblance of warmth again.

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door around eight that same night, waking you from your slumber. You don’t remember falling asleep or being moved to your bed, so you’re not too sure when Hyunjae left. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you get up to open your door.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you, but we got some takeout if you’re hungry.” Jacob says with an apologetic smile, leaning on the door frame.

You give him a bleary look as you nod, following him into the dining room where your other two roommates were sitting at the table. Eric greets you through a full mouth. A small laugh escapes you when you sit across from him, Kevin adjacent to your seat. The sound of the TV in the living room plays as background noise as the four of you eat.

“So when’d you get home? I thought you were gonna wait for us.” Kevin asks.

“I was, but then I ran into Hyunjae when I was on my way to your building and he offered to bring me home,” you shrug, taking some tteokbokki with your chopsticks. “It was a whole thing, please don’t ask.”

Eric hums to himself, a mischievous grin on his face as he takes a sip of his cola. “Interesting. And you say he’s not into you…”

Heat blooms over your cheeks and you accidentally drop your chopsticks on your plate, their clacking against the ceramic garnering your roommates’ attention. Eric Sohn was now number one on your hit list. Kevin elbows him in the side and tells him to be quiet, despite the tiny upwards curve of his lips.

“If he cares about you as much as he seems like he does, he wouldn’t have left you here alone after you fell asleep,” Jacob mutters, looking at you from his peripherals. “What was the point of escorting you home if—”

“Jacob shut the fuck up,” Eric suddenly blurts, the three of you stare at him as he clambers over to the living room, turning up the volume on the TV. “Look!”

You turn in your chair, your stomach churning at the news report unfolding before you.

“We’re live just outside SNU, where another victim has been found. The body hasn’t been identified yet, but from what we do know, he was a student that attended the school,” the female reporter says into the microphone she’s holding, a glazed over expression in her eyes. “Crime Scene Investigators believe he was murdered at around six this evening, and was assumed to have been making his way home from campus. Updates are expected to come later tonight once we have more information.”

You know that far away, checked out gaze she had all too well. She’s reported on the killings for a while now, no doubt numb to the way things were at this point.

Your appetite spoils immediately and you excuse yourself from the table, making your way back to your room. You sit on your bed and bring your knees to your chest, taking a deep breath in, then covering your mouth when you breathe out to muffle the sob that follows. It was becoming too overwhelming for you and there was nothing you could do about it besides sit back and watch.

It was understandable for anyone in your situation to feel hopeless, how could they not? With someone terrorizing the city in an unpredictable manner, there was no sense of normalcy in anyone’s life. You shudder when you finally bring yourself to stop crying, digging your nails into the fat of your calves.

Through the walls, you can hear the boys talking, voices solemn.

“Why’d you have to put the TV louder, dumbass?”

“Sorry, I just like being up to date on the case, you know? I want to be prepared. What if I need to learn clone jutsu to take out the guy?”

“Eric, you’re such a clown, oh my god.”

“I get that you’re interested and all, but you have to be mindful of Y/N. You know how much this has affected her both emotionally and physically, she doesn’t need the constant reminder that it’s happening. And I’d appreciate if you apologized for telling me to ‘shut the fuck up’.”

There’s a snort in between.

“My bad, I didn’t mean to be rude about it. But while we’re on the topic, I think we both need to admit our mistakes. What you said about Hyunjae to her wasn’t cool either. I know we’re all friends, but it just came across too—”

“It was really snappy, Jacob. And a bit petty.”

“Yeah! What Kevin said.”

“I— you’re right. I just don’t want her getting hurt, in more ways than one.”

You don’t hear much else from the trio and sigh heavily, dragging your hands down your face and wiping your eyes with the heels of your palms. You grab your phone from your nightstand and hesitantly search for Hyunjae’s contact, the line ringing a couple times before he answers.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“N-no, I’m fine. I was just— I wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay,” you mess with your bottom lip. “I heard there was another victim and I didn’t know when you left the apartment, so I just— uh— I just needed to know that you were safe. I called to see if you’d answer.”

You squeeze your eyes shut out of embarrassment, even if he can’t exactly see you. The stuttering was enough to make you go into hiding for the rest of your life if this serial killer didn’t.

“Oh,” you can hear the slight chuckle in his response from the way his breath hits the speaker. “It means a lot that you’d do that, N/N. Really, I appreciate you so much.”

Your lip finds itself between your teeth and your heart is pounding unbearably fast, you think you might be having a heart attack. You bring a hand up to clutch at your chest as a fuzzy feeling courses through your whole being.

Now you were scared for an entirely different reason.

(The main one occupies your mind again later that night when you scroll through your Twitter feed, only to find out the most recent victim was the guy you accidentally bumped into. You feel like some sick version of a guardian angel was looking after you. It makes it hard to fall asleep after that.)

A couple days passed and you found yourself thinking about Lee Hyunjae more than usual.

Not to say that you didn’t already think about him at least once a day, but now it was worse. When you woke up, you wondered if he was still asleep. While you drank your morning coffee, you wondered if it’d taste sweeter had he made it for you. When you had lunch, you wondered if he’d like the spam musubi you made yourself. When you attended your other classes, you wondered which courses he was struggling with this semester.

As you were walking out of your English class, you recalled running into him. Had he not been there, you might’ve driven yourself insane trying to rush over to the music building while diffusing the issue with that stranger.

When you first began to harbor feelings for him, you assumed it would become nothing more than a silly schoolgirl crush. He was attractive and kind to you, but that was just the bare minimum— you thought you’d grow out of it. However, as time went on, what you thought was just puppy love had blossomed into something stronger. It was a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, all of that had been tossed on the back burner with everything that’s going on. Recently you’ve been too afraid for your own safety and well-being to over analyze your interactions with Hyunjae, but now you’re back to square one.

All because he’d done something nice for you.

God, the bar was so low. Was it really too much to ask for someone who was decent? Someone who wasn’t a serial killer?

You were on your way to the music building to wait for Jacob, Kevin, and Eric once again, when you see Hyunjae coming down the hall. He’s on his phone, not paying any mind to his surroundings. You’re about to call out to him when someone stops you, tugging on the sleeve of your sweater gently.

“Hey, Y/N right?” The tall boy asks, a charming smile on his face.

“Uh— yeah,” you nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Y-you are?”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I must seem like a total weirdo,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m Mingyu! We have English together.”

“Oh, you’re Mingyu? Professor Park told me about you before class today,” you give him a small comforting smile. “I don’t mind helping you!”

“Ah, that’s great to hear. I was a bit worried you’d be more annoyed about having to tutor someone so late in the semester.” Though he’s much taller than you and approached you first, Mingyu comes across as a little shy in nature. It puts you at ease in a way.

“No, not at all! English isn’t always the easiest, I get that. I wanna help as much as I can before finals. Look,” you pause, pulling your backpack off one shoulder to rip out a sheet of paper. “I’ll give you my number so we can arrange meet up dates! I’d prefer if we met at the library if that’s okay with you?”

Mingyu grins and sports a thumbs up in agreement. “That sounds perfect. Thank you so much, Y/N!”

You scribble your phone number onto the paper and hand it to him before parting ways. With the off guard conversation, you nearly forgot about Hyunjae, who was nowhere to be seen now. You feel your lips droop into a frown, since you were hoping you could talk with him for a second.

As you’re walking across the quad to the music building, a wind chill blows past you, making you wrap your arms around yourself. It was mid November and for some stupid reason, you were only wearing a small cardigan.

When you squint up at the sky, you also realize it’s more overcast than anything. There’s an angry grey cloud right above you and you curse yourself for not having an umbrella or a raincoat. You should've been more prepared, especially because of the inconsistent weather this time of year.

Suddenly, the sky is blocked from your view and you furrow your brows, spinning around. Hyunjae stares back at you with a smile ten times warmer than the frigid air surrounding you and a thicker jacket in one hand. The other holds up an umbrella just as tiny droplets begin to fall from above.

His timing couldn’t have been better.

“Heading to the music building?” He asks, skillfully placing the coat on your shoulders.

“Mhm… was gonna wait for the boys.” You respond, a little awestruck by how gorgeous he was. Especially up close. Your eyes fixate on the freckle on his nose rather than his own. He hums, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you in a different direction.

“I can take you home again,” he glances down at you. “I don’t mind one bit.”

“O-okay!”

During the car ride to your apartment, you send a quick text to your roommates about not waiting up. You were happy that your relationship with Hyunjae was evolving. The past couple semesters had been rough, and you hadn’t seen him or any of the other guys nearly as much as Jacob, Kevin, and Eric. (And that was only because you lived with them.)

You toss your keys on to the mini table beside the front door, taking off your shoes with a small groan. The boots were cute, but not very comfortable. Hyunjae follows suit, his sock clad feet shuffling against the floor to sit on the couch.

After switching on the TV, you find a random Hallmark Christmas movie to play in the background, knowing full well that his presence beside you was too distracting. The brunette turns to face you, placing a hand on your thigh gently to get your attention.

“So, who was the dude you were talking to earlier?”

You blink at his question. So he saw you after all. Was he perhaps jealous? The idea shouldn’t make you giddy, but it does. “My professor asked me to tutor him ‘cause he’s struggling with English. Why?”

“Just curious. He seemed a little touchy.” Hyunjae plays with the hem of your sweater.

“O-oh. It’s fine, he wasn’t a random perv, if that’s what you were wondering.”

He scoots a little closer to you, tucking some hair behind your ear. You feel your face flush impossibly hotter. Your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat. His body heat radiates off of him with the new proximity.

“Good. It drives me crazy seeing other guys put their hands on you.” He admits bluntly, his hand resting at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.

You know you look insane, your chest heaving up and down and your eyes widened a little. Like a baby deer caught by a predator. Who knew sweet sweet Hyunjae had a rather risqué side to him? You swallow thickly, not daring to move an inch. His thumb caresses your skin gently, goosebumps littering in its wake.

“Hyunjae…” You breathe, lips parting as you finally make eye contact with him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.”

You want to scream into the cushion behind you, your hands clamming up. Hyunjae looks like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to, his bottom lip between his teeth as he leans in a bit more. This moment was something straight out of one of your darkest fantasies. You never thought this would ever happen, that either of you would ever actually make a move on the other.

The sound of the front door unlocking catches both of your attention. Hyunjae pulls away from you faster than your brain can comprehend what exactly just occurred. Jacob is the first to walk in, laughing at something Eric said. The three males pause when they see you’re not alone.

The greetings are quick, Hyunjae dapping up the boys as if nothing. He’s also quick to say goodbye, ensuring them that he’ll make sure you’re safe when they’re not around. He gives you that smile of his, the one where his eyes form crescents, and then he’s gone.

You don’t know how much more of this you could take.

“So, Y/N…” Eric starts in the middle of dinner, side eyeing you as he shovels rice into his mouth. “You and Hyunjae have been together an awful lot lately.”

Kevin snorts, kicking the blonde under the table. You suppose it was going to come up eventually. This ‘Will They, Won’t They’ back and forth shit was starting to tire you out. You weren’t getting any younger. Time was passing you up the longer you waited to just say something. And with all that’s been going on, it was silly to be afraid of admitting your feelings.

“He’s being a good friend, Eric,” Jacob sighs, reaching across to flick him on the forehead. “It’s actually really nice that he watches over Y/N when we’re gone.”

Eric grimaces, rubbing the spot that Jacob assaulted. You frown a bit when you realize that he had a point. Hyunjae was treating you like a child that had to be tended to, babysitting you like you weren’t capable of holding your own. Granted, both times he’s come over, you asked him to. So you couldn’t really blame him for assuming you wanted him around to protect you.

“Do y’all think Hyunjae actually likes me? In a non-platonic way?”

Kevin’s spoon clatters onto the floor and they all pause their banter to look at you. Every time your feelings for Hyunjae were brought up, you chose to ignore them and switch the subject. You can’t keep running away.

“Uh— yeah. Duh. Of course he does. I don’t know anyone else who would go out of their way to stay with someone they saw as just a friend multiple times a week so she felt safe.” Kevin finally answers after a moment.

“Okay.” You settle on, taking a sip of your water.

“What do you mean ‘okay’?” He raises an eyebrow at you, but you just shrug.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

As you’re washing the dishes after dinner, you hear the news broadcast over the faucet. Another victim had just been found behind the campus library. The camera shows the scene behind the reporter, something that would’ve made you queasy a couple days ago, but now you feel nothing— just a dull ache in your chest. It’s messy, almost like the killer was in a hurry to get it over with.

The body is covered with a black tarp, paramedics wheeling it away in the corner of the screen. The reporter still wears that dissociated expression on her face as she goes over the details of this victim. She explains that because the murder was done so haphazardly, they were able to identify the body easily.

Twenty three year old Kim Mingyu, Sports Med Major.

The rest of the news report sounds like static in your ears as you scrub away at the dishes mindlessly. Your fingers have pruned and the water was burning the backs of your hands, but you don’t feel it, too checked out to care. It seemed like the killings were getting closer and closer to you. Part of you thought you’d be next every single time.

You had to tell Hyunjae how you felt. It was now or never.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s waiting outside of your apartment complex, leaning against his car. You take careful steps down the stairs, nearly fainting at the sight of him in a hoodie and grey sweatpants. He runs around the car to open the passenger door for you, only shutting it when you’re all buckled up. It’s not long after that he revs the engine and drives off to nowhere in particular, just like you requested. (Curfew ignored.)

It’s silent at first, save for the low hum of his music, R&B that resonates somewhere within your soul. You can’t help but steal a glance from your peripheral, fisting your sweatshirt when you see how concentrated he looks while driving. He has his right hand resting on the gear shift, the other gripping the wheel. You could’ve had this view all to yourself so long ago had you just spoken up.

“Hyunjae,” your voice is wobbly, but you steel yourself to continue. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do you think— uh— do you think you could pull over?” If you were going to confess, you wanted him to look at you. Besides, the drive was starting to make you jittery.

He nods and goes a bit further, before pulling into an empty lot. He shifts into park, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could turn his body towards you, giving you his undivided attention. You mirror him, tightening your hold on your sweater when he wets his lips, smiling at you. “Is this what you called me for?”

“Yeah, actually,” you force yourself to keep eye contact, pushing the lump back down your throat. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for years now, if I’m being honest with both of us.”

He chuckles, much like he did the other night over the phone. It drives you just a little crazy. “I’m listening.”

“I— I don’t know how to word this properly…” You wipe your palms on your legs. Come on, Y/N, spit it out already. “Fuck, okay, I like you Hyunjae. Like, really like you. In the way that I sometimes wish you would kiss me until I can’t breathe. I’ve been so afraid of admitting that to myself, but I’ve realized that life is way too short to dwell over the fear of rejection. But please, tell me you feel the same.”

He stares at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. You feel like throwing up now, you stomach twisting and churning at the thought that you just ruined everything between you. There was no going back after this. He knew.

It’s as if months have passed by in utter silence with Hyunjae just sitting there, no words coming out of his mouth, until finally, he just leans across the center console, cupping your cheek with one of his hands. His vision is trained on your lips, his face close enough that his lashes flutter against your skin. God, he was even more gorgeous from this distance.

Instead of saying anything, he presses his lips to yours, a sweet but desperate kiss that melts away all the worries tucked into your head. They feel so soft on your own, molding together in near perfect timing. It’s like you’d been living for a year without rain and this kiss was the shower that saved you from a drought. It’s all you’ve ever wanted and needed and more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he breathes when he pulls away slightly. “The real thing is so much better than I imagined it would be.”

For once, time slows down in this moment, almost like the world stopped spinning on its axis. Everything slips from your mind and it’s just you and Hyunjae, here in his car in the middle of an empty parking lot. Nothing else matters. You smile at his confession, a genuine smile that was spurred on by contentment rather than force. You felt light and airy, no longer weighed down by such a trivial problem.

“I think I have an idea,” you giggle, reaching up to brush a stray hair from his face. “I’m not too sure, though, I could be wrong. Could you do that again to help jog my memory?”

Hyunjae laughs, (it’s the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard) but doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. You reciprocate his passion, tangling your fingers in his dark hair. He sighs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. Your legs straddle his lap as best as they can and he reaches down to recline his seat, scooting it as far as it can go from the wheel. The thin material of your fleece shorts hardly hide the feeling of him under you, a low moan pushing into his mouth.

He nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it with his teeth gently before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking along the exposed skin from your sweatshirt. You whine, throwing your head back as his tongue soothes over the bruising area. His hands slide under your top, rubbing up and down your sides before moving them down to your thighs, repeating the action.

“You’re so gorgeous on top of me like this, Y/N.” Hyunjae says, just above a whisper like someone else might hear this intimate conversation. He grips your hips and bucks upwards to grind into your clothed core. Your eyes widen and you involuntarily moan at the sensation. This wasn’t what you were expecting when you planned to confess, but you didn’t hate the outcome. He grins at your response, reconnecting your mouths sloppily.

If you were given the choice, you were wholeheartedly satisfied with just this. You would’ve been plenty okay with just making out. Had you been asked years ago that you’d even get this far, you would’ve snorted in your own face, so why should you be greedy and want more than what you had? (That’s not to say that you didn’t.)

“H-Hyunjae,” you stutter, your brain foggy from all of the kissing you just did. “Do you…?”

You trail off, not sure how to word your question. You didn’t want to come off like a sex crazed maniac, but you didn’t want to come off like an amateur virgin either. Truth of the matter is, you were neither, but it had been a while since you indulged yourself in something of this sort. And this time it would be with Hyunjae, the one person you never thought you’d do this with. You were nervous.

All you wanted was to be entwined with him in more ways than one. You wanted all of him— the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the sick, the healthy. He could do no wrong on your eyes and you wanted to show him that.

“Do I…?” Hyunjae trails off, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you want to make love… with me?” This had to be the single most mortifying moment of your life. You cover your face in humiliation, shying away from him when he sits up on his elbows.

“What kind of question is that?” He asks with a chuckle, prying your hands from your face so he could look you in the eyes. “If I could make love to you every hour of the day, for seven days a week, I would. I want you all the time, Y/N. Earlier today, before we got interrupted, I wanted to do unimaginable things to you.”

You hide yourself in the crook of his neck, your skin flushing hotter. Weren't you wearing too many layers? The car was starting to feel stuffy. Hyunjae’s chest rumbles with laughter beneath you, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. This is probably the gentlest he’d be with you all night, because from what you could infer, he was a manhandler.

“Take care of me,” you breathe, mouth brushing against his pulse point. “Please.”

Hyunjae stops holding himself back. He’d do whatever you asked of him, only hoping you’d be tied to him in every lifetime, just like this one. He kisses you again with an unrivaled fervor, slipping his hands inside your sweatshirt and touching you everywhere physically possible. They’re warm on your skin, palming your breasts over the flimsy fabric of your bralette.

He helps you get rid of your top and shorts, leaving you in just undergarments. The sight of you barely clothed sends him into a frenzy, especially knowing it’s for his eyes only. You aid Hyunjae in pulling off his hoodie and yanking his sweatpants down his long legs. The minute most of your restrictions are gone, Hyunjae brings you closer to him. He hisses at the contact, the warmth of your cunt through your panties putting him under a spell.

You whimper when his touch travels down your front, sneaking into the waistband of your underwear. The pads of his middle and ring fingers apply the lightest amount of pressure onto your clit the second he finds it, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your nails on one hand dig into his shoulder while the other trails down his abdomen, rubbing up and down his length through his boxer briefs.

Hyunjae groans into your kiss and you gasp for air as you tear from him, resting your forehead on his to watch as you get each other off through your clothes. If earlier was something taken from one of your wet dreams, what did this constitute as? You clench around nothing when he pushes up into you, your wrists clashing. Knowing he was just as down bad for you as you were for him just made this all that much more real.

“I need to feel you around me,” he mumbles in your ear, dipping his fingers in and out of you languidly as if to explain what he meant. “Let me stretch you out.”

You nod in response, fumbling with his briefs. Hyunjae lifts his hips enough for you to help him out of them. You groan when he reveals his impressive size, wondering how exactly he expected you to take him. He pushes your panties to the side, mimicking the sound you just made when he sees your bare pussy drooling for him. You eventually get frustrated and line him up with your hole, sinking down in one fluid motion. A voluminous moan escapes from the back of your throat, his dick throbbing achingly inside of you. At first you stay still like that, your pelvises touching as you adjust to his length and girth.

“H-holy shit— you’re s-so deep, Jae,” you cry, resting your forehead against his yet again. He pecks your lips, holding onto your hips to help you bounce on his cock, practically impaling you every single time.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl,” Hyunjae grunts, the warmth of your walls drawing him in even further. “So tight, too.”

Your thighs begin to burn and your movements become slower, which he takes note of instantaneously. He bends his knees and forces your upper half impossibly closer to him, thrusting up into you. This new angle allows him to find that one spongy spot that has you seeing stars, fogging up your brain and even your vision.

You cast a downward glance at the minimal space between where the two of you are connected. Your moans and whines grow louder with the view of every thrust of his hips into yours. Hyunjae sneaks his hand in the middle of you, his fingers expertly toying with your clit. Any more stimulation and the band in your stomach is snapping.

You’ve had sex before. You’ve slept with a handful of other guys in the past, but nothing could ever compare to this moment. Your cunt had already memorized his size and every vein, effectively ruining the chances of any other man doing this with you. Lee Hyunjae had you in a chokehold whether he realized it or not. He had you wrapped around his finger without really trying, but you could never complain.

Your walls squeeze his cock and he knows he won’t last much longer, shutting his eyes tightly. “C’mon baby, you gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, your skin flush on his own. “Wanna cum so bad for you, Hyunjae.”

“Yeah? Me too, sweetheart,” he pants, the thumb on your hip pressing against the bone. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you babble. “Please, please. I want you to cum inside me, Hyunjae.”

He kisses you softly just then, swallowing your pretty moans with something completely opposite of what he’s already given you, and that’s what sends you spiraling, fluttering around him. He groans, spilling into you and letting you milk him dry of everything he has to offer, painting your insides just like you asked him to.

You lay like that for a while, Hyunjae’s dick still buried in you to the hilt. Both of you attempt to catch your breaths and bring yourselves down from the well-anticipated euphoric state you just visited. You giggle at the condensation coating the windows of his car, extending your arm to draw a heart and a smiley face with your finger. He slowly pulls himself out, hissing at the sensitivity, but doesn’t make a move to get you off of his chest.

Where do you go from here? A line had just been crossed and you weren’t entirely sure you knew what he wanted from you. It’s one thing to imagine kissing and fucking someone extensively. But it was another to actually want a tangible, romantic relationship from them, to actually capacitate feelings for them.

“I love you,”

You jolt up and stare at him with widened eyes. Did those words really just come out of his mouth? As if he can read your mind, he nods. There’s a dragged out sigh, followed by him sitting up slightly with you perched on his lap.

“I really do, Y/N. I’ve felt this way for years and I’m willing to do anything for you.” He admits, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You kiss him gently, the pad of your thumb swiping across his cheekbone.

“I love you, too.”

The Saturday after your night in Hyunjae’s car brought everything into perspective for you.

You hadn’t spoken to him since he dropped you off at your apartment and it was beginning to worry you. Even though you made sure he reciprocated your emotions, there still could’ve been a misunderstanding. Had you been too forward? Did you scare him away? Did something happen to him? Whatever the explanation was, you didn’t like the eerie feeling it started brewing in your stomach— it was foreboding.

In spite of not talking to them at all in what seemed to be a month or so, you tried calling each of your mutual friends to see if you could get some answers. Not even his roommates picked up their phones and this made you much more uneasy. You pace back and forth in your living room, nicking at your bottom lip with your nails. Why did he choose now of all times to ghost you? What went wrong?

Kevin comes out of his bedroom a couple minutes later, expecting to grab his morning coffee as usual. When he finds you nearly on the brink of insanity instead, he decides to intervene. He supposed his caffeine could wait until his best friend was calmed down. You jump in surprise, holding a fist to your chest. He raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, my bad. What’s up? Why do you look like you’re going through a quarter life crisis?” Kevin asks you, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Is everything okay?”

“I—“ you pause and take a deep breath. “I don’t know…”

His eyebrows furrow and he guides you to the sofa so you could sit down. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”

“Hyunjae hasn’t talked to me since Thursday night, after he brought me back here,” your voice is hoarser than you’d like it to be. “I-I texted and called him a bunch but he hasn’t replied. I even— I even tried Juyo, Sunwoo, and Changmin. No luck with them either. I’m concerned, Kev.”

Kevin combs through his hair, pursing his lips in thought. “Yeah, okay, I would be too. It's a little weird that none of them are responding. Have you thought of just showing up at his place to check in on him?”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t want him to think I’m clingy and annoying in case he was there. What if he just wants to get me off of his back and he’s telling them to ignore me?”

“I don’t think that’s the case at all, Y/N,” your friend sighs, putting his glasses on top of his head and running a hand down his face. “Hyunjae has never been that kind of person in all the years we’ve known him. I highly doubt he’d switch up now. Plus, he’s literally crazy about you. I’m pretty sure the guy would move heaven and earth for you if he could. I think there’s a very real and genuine possibility that something is seriously wrong. It’s like— it’s just a gut feeling, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” If Kevin felt this way, too, that would only mean one thing, right? You had to get to the bottom of this. There was a chance that lives depended on it. A quick roll of your neck and you’re standing. “I’m gonna go over there. I can’t leave things unanswered. I can’t wait for a fucking news report.”

The ravenette pats the top of your head. “Be careful, N/N. Please.”

You give him a nod before you’re slipping into your shoes and grabbing his car keys. You’re not exactly dressed for a confrontation if there is one— clad in a pair of sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt with your university’s crest on it, and socks with sandals— but you were too preoccupied to care.

The drive itself was mentally taxing, your brain dissociating most of the ride. You’re not sure how many of the lights you passed were actually green. The closer you got to Hyunjae’s apartment, the more that trepidation settling in your lower abdomen grew. Throughout your life, you’d never been the type of person who acted on instinct or had a nagging voice in the rear of your head warning you about situations you got into. You usually went with the flow and if you made a mistake, you allowed yourself to learn from it.

However, that was prior to being thrown into a period of uncertainty like this one. Now, all you could do was act on instinct. All you could do was listen to the stupid nagging voice in the rear of your head yelling at you. All you could do was follow the blaring alarms and caution signs in your field of vision. And this time they were almost deafening.

Kevin’s car rolls to a stop outside of Hyunjae’s building, occupying an empty spot three away from the front of the stairs. Your pulse races when you step out of the vehicle and immediately recognize the cars in the spaces beside yours. Hyunjae’s, Juyeon’s, and Changmin’s. You notice a thin layer of dirt caking Juyeon and Changmin’s, as if they’d remained unmoved for a long time. Perturbed wasn’t a big enough word to describe what was going through your mind.

Half of you was terrified to take a step towards the stairs, let alone ascend them to Hyunjae’s floor. What would go down when you reached his apartment? What would happen the moment that door opened?

You ball your hands into fists, the edges of your nails jabbing the skin of your palms. The pain steels you enough to move forward, walking up the stairs slowly. There’s a chill tiptoeing along your spine the whole trip up, like your body knew what you were getting yourself into before you did. Maybe you were stupid. Only an idiot would lead themselves blindly into a scenario without knowing the outcome.

It’s been minutes of you staring at the slightly rusted numbers on Hyunjae’s door before you register that you’re standing in front of it. If you're being honest, you have no idea what you’re doing. You were acting on autopilot— progressing without a thought of what’s coming next. A shuddered breath leaves your lips and you raise your knuckles to the door.

The first knock is too soft to hear if the inhabitants were in their bedrooms, so you apply more force the second time. The sound reverberates through the hall, a wince appearing on your features. If someone was inside, surely they had to have heard that one. You wait a little longer for the door to swing open and reveal one of your friends looking perfectly fine. For Juyeon to showcase that grin of his that reaches his eyes and ask what you were doing here. For Changmin to give you that sweet smile that puffed up his cheeks and ask what you needed. For Sunwoo to blow a raspberry before he laughed at how silly you were for stressing over them. For Hyunjae to reassure you that it was all going to be okay, that he loved you. You were praying for that.

But no one showed up on the other end of that doorway and you were stuck glaring at that same painted board of wood.

That’s what sends your instincts into overdrive. Your hand grabs the knob, twisting it just in case. It makes a full rotation, pushing open the door the tiniest bit. You peek inside carefully and find all the lights in the living room and kitchen off. Your teeth bite down on your lip as you enter the apartment. One of the things you hated about it, was the annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights in their bathroom. And for some reason, that was all that infiltrated your ears.

The door for said bathroom was cracked just a tad at the end of the hallway, but what caught your attention was the room closest to you— also cracked the most miniscule amount. You see light filtering through, an almost orange glow like that of a desk lamp. Your stupidity would be your downfall, you conclude, your feet gravitating to the room. It’s Hyunjae’s you recall when you’re outside of it. They always say curiosity killed the cat, and you couldn’t help but revert to a feline and nudge it open with your foot.

You really wished that saying was just that— a saying.

Eric sits ahead of you, tied to a chair in the middle of the room. There’s a piece of fabric gagging his mouth and his clothes are tattered, blood staining nearly every inch. A long gash runs along his left bicep and a myriad of smaller cuts litter his face and arms. What your focus lands on first are the several deep stab wounds on his thighs.

A hand comes up to cup your mouth to keep yourself from screaming at the sight of your best friend in this position. He struggles against his restraints, muffled cries for your assistance shattering your heart into a thousand pieces like broken shards of glass. Tear streaks mixed with dried blood cover the apples of his cheeks.

“Oh my god, Eric,” your voice wobbles as you scramble to free him. “Oh my god…”

You pull down the fabric in his mouth first and he gasps for air. His eyes widen at something behind you and he warns, “Y/N—!” before he’s interrupted by your yelp. The person pressed into your back has their arm around your neck with a hold tight enough that you can’t escape, but loose enough that you can breathe, the blunt edge of a knife grazing the column of your throat.

“Tsk tsk, Youngjae. You should know that making so much noise when your killer’s not in the room just alerts them of suspicious activity. That’s survival 101, my friend. Isn’t that right, sweet sweet Y/N?”

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Please, let her go, Hyunjae.” Eric begs. Hyunjae hums, nuzzling his nose in your hair. He rolls his eyes and scoffs after inhaling your scent, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re a mouthy one. Not even Juyeon and Sunwoo were this chatty when I slit their throats— then again, it's not like they could talk much anyway.” He snorts.

You felt sick. You were lightheaded now, just at the thought of your friends gone. “W-why are you doing this?”

Hyunjae grumbles, pouting his lips. “Time for me to unravel my evil villain monologue, huh?” He slips a hand under your sweatshirt and pinches the side of your waist. “Well here it is; what you’re dying to know. The first incident was by complete accident, we were simply having a discussion about why he shouldn’t have been staring at your ass while his girlfriend was next to him at Jeong Jaehyun’s end of summer bonfire. The dude got pissed off that I called him out and tried to start a fight, but I shoved him so hard, he fell and hit his head on a rock. I just couldn’t find it in myself to feel bad about it so I left him there like nothing. From then on, anyone who came between us or remotely hurt you in any way wound up on the receiving end of this knife. Funny isn’t it? How you’re the one beneath it this time?”

It all began to fall into place once he laid the cards out on the table for you to read. The guy you ran into Tuesday after class. Poor Kim Mingyu, who just wanted to pass his English final. Your friends not picking up their phones. And supposedly it was all in the name of love.

“Y-you did that for me?”

“Of course, baby,” Hyunjae mutters into the shell of your ear. “I said I’d protect you didn’t I? I just want you all to myself.”

“What the fuck does that possessive bullshit have to do with me? What did it have to do with Juyo or Changmin or Sunwoo?” Eric cries. “Oh god, what about—?”

“Sangyeon, Hoon, Chanhee, Hak? Yeah, those four were taken care of way before my own roommates. You, obviously, were the chosen one this go around. Then it would be Kevin and lastly, Jacob. I planned on stopping after you three unless absolutely necessary.”

“How is any of this fucking necessary? You’re psychotic,” the blonde exclaims, still wriggling in his restraints. “Why would Y/N want you after all of this? Did you really believe she’d never find out about what you’ve done?”

Hyunjae glides the smooth edge of the blade against your skin and releases you from his grip, but takes a hold of your wrist, placing the handle in your grasp. He urges you forward, closer to Eric. “If she was scared of me, don’t you think she would’ve tried harder to escape me? Didn’t even blink when I held the knife to her neck.”

The brunette kisses your temple and you watch the fear in Eric’s eyes morph into defeat. “After everything we’ve been through? I’ve known you since eighth grade, Y/N. Eighth fucking grade. And this is how it ends?”

“H-he loves me,” you stutter, glancing at Hyunjae. “Don’t you?”

“You don’t kill your best friends out of love, Y/N! He’s insane! Please, don’t let him get into your head. You’re not that kind of person.” Eric attempts to reason.

Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you were. Who knows? That didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that Hyunjae loved you. He loved you so much that he’d kill for you. Over and over and over again.

It was kind of comical that you loved him all the same. You, too, would kill for him. Over and over and over again.

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #the boyz hyunjae #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #tbz hyunjae #lee hyunjae #lee hyunjae x reader #lee hyunjae smut #hyunjae #hyunjae x reader #hyunjae smut #juyeonszn

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sitp-recs · 9 months ago

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Fandom creators self rec game! Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Hello beloved! It’s always a privilege to see you in my inbox, thank you so much for this lovely ask and apologies for taking two centuries to reply lol this was a quite emotional trip down memory lane for me - I couldn’t decide whether to go with rec lists or single recs (oof I haven’t written one in so long 🥲) because they’re both so different and special in their own way. In the end I’m gonna do lists because I think they’re generally more helpful and popular! I’ve been going through a creative / fandom slump for a while now, so this was great encouragement as it made me look back at my own recs with joy and kindness. Thank you babes 💜

1. I actually still love the Drarry for Beginners series! Fun story, I wasn’t very confident about it at first - I was getting many requests for a classics rec list back then but I don’t really vibe with the “MUST read these or you’re not a valid fandom member” mentality so I tried to come up with a different format that felt more like an invitation than a lecture. I think I found a good balance of well known fics and hidden gems, so I’m very proud of that. Also, the banners looked really good! Especially the redemption arc and the Muggle!Draco AU ones if I do say so myself.

2. The Hidden Gems series is also one of my most precious babies - it took me a long time to plan it out, read all fics and prepare the small blurbs for each one and I really love how it came across, the authors I chose to highlight, and the fact that I was able to mix Drarry and rare pairs. I remember getting an ask back in the day that accused me of only reccing my friends (anon really overestimated my network size 🤣), they could have at least checked the hidden gem series before going for public embarrassment lol there’s so much to explore there, and I really wanna come back to it one day to finalize the second edition that I started posting in 2022. Hopefully this year!

3. 35 Romantic Shorts: my heart is so very soft for this one, not only because the ever generous @bluebutter-art has let me use her stunning art for the banner, but I’m also such a passionate champion of short form and I feel like this list really embraced the concept and delivered great recs. I’m not a fluff gal by any standards so this was a nice exercise finding the softest, most romantic and soothing reads that made my heart beat faster. It would be lovely to go back and maybe add a couple more lists with new shorts, or alternatively make new lists for medium-length and long fics. So many ideas, so little time!

4. It feels like a lifetime ago but I’m still very fond of my “smutty recs week” that I made to celebrate one of my first followers milestone. Ahh the nostalgia! All lists can be found here and include a wide variety of themes and kinks like voyeurism, dirty talk, gang bang and others. Those banners are some of my favourites too, they turned out very sassy and clever if I do say so myself. I had so much fun with them! I gotta find the time to sit down and update some of those lists with newer treats!

5. Now highlighting something more recent (from Feb 2023… LOL) I’m super proud of my Rare Pair Romance list for Valentine’s Day. It was a great chance to compile (most of) my favorite rare pair fics in one place and include different ships and tropes. I’m always looking for an excuse to rec het pairings which I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, so this was the perfect way to do it.

#asks #wow this got long #my fave rec lists #15 years later but I’m finally posting this lol #ily tacky 🐯

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omgfloofy · 2 years ago

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NaNoWriMo Week 2 Progress + Ramblings

I’ve not posted about my story project on tumblr for awhile, so I’ll post my weekly update for NaNoWriMo here.

I started posting about a FFXV fic that I was writing after my mom passed. Turned out it was very therapeutic.

So. I found a prompt that was cool and decided to write on it, and decided that I’d use the story for NaNoWriMo. I mean, I could have cheated a bit, since I was already at 40k when November started, but I opted to use NaNoWriMo to build on what I had already written.

So without further ado...

For NaNoWriMo, I’m currently at 28,460 words. This creates a total of 68,588 in my story. My story is broken into multiple files.

Main Draft File: 48,974 Main Snippet File: 17,432 That Audacity Tho: 2,182

That third file is a file that inspired me to use my CSS skills to create a custom theme for AO3 when I finally start posting this story somewhere. I’m about halfway done with said theme. I just need to work said theme more. I still have a lot of time for that, however. I’ll probably do more work on it when I’m closer to finishing the second draft or something. (EDIT: I realize that I should rename classes because they’re actually kind of spoilery and if you like diving into code, then you’ll spoil yourself on shit. Whoops.)

I’m pulling in some concepts that are normally found in things like analog horror- and am surprised that we never saw more of this kind of thing in FFXV, to be honest. Modern technology + magic being in the same environment makes it such a fun playground to have some tech+magic fuckery.

I’ve found that I struggled a LOT with writing Ignis, but I think I’ve settled a lot more to writing him, and a scene that has him as a major player in it has started being rewritten to make him sound more appropriately in-character. And I found that by doing that, it feels like he’s changed the tone/direction of the scene from what I planned it out to be originally.

Sounds on point for him, I guess.

A pair of throwaway side characters have created such a “I’m done with this” reaction from Noctis that I found myself wanting to have more with them in the story. Which turned into writing a scene on the side for the hell of it with Noctis meeting them. Strangely enough, I didn’t expect myself to actually turn it into a tense situation, because I realized while writing, that the scene was the perfect place for a major piece of that ‘analog horror’ element to come into play.

I’ve got several planned “blocks” for my story of particular events based on the prompt I read. I’m comfortably playing around in at least two of them now, with a third started. There are two more that I really need to start piecing together to pull these snippets into the main file, but that also means pulling in a set of characters (hi glaives), and then bringing all of the characters together down the line.

I feel like I have a lot of work cut out for me, but at the same time, I’m still enjoying this time in this little sandbox of Google Document files. It’ll probably be quite some time before I can make any of the story public- and I want to evade putting too many things out there because I want to leave some surprises in the story. I’m still proud of what I’ve done- especially since I’ve not written ANYTHING in years. So I felt a bit startled at how much I had to write to make this story work. Especially when I was worried about how much motivation I’d have for it or if I’d fizzle out somewhere. Now with almost 70k words together, I find myself coming to realize that I’m actually wanting to see this whole thing finished.

Yay. <3

#NaNoWriMo #fanfic writing #fanfic progress #ffxv #final fantasy xv

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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travel books and romance novels // Colin Bridgerton

Summary: Colin visits the library for research into his next trip; he didn’t expect to find you.

A/N: Colin’s desire to travel honestly reflects my own. For purposes of the fic, I have aged Colin up - it’s more to fit the plot line of Book Four which is his book anyway. I’m not sure how to feel about this fic, I'm happy with it but I’m not at the same time. I’m not being too harsh on myself however, this is my first time writing for Colin and I haven't got to grips with his character yet. I hope you all like!! <3

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Colin is very cute, pining, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers, female reader, she/her pronouns, marriage proposal, happy ending.

Word count: 4k

Colin Bridgerton had spent over two decades of his life on this planet and had yet to find something or someone he loves more than travelling. The bug first bit him in his early twenties; desperate to experience a Grand Tour – a tradition of which that had strongly died out in the past century. He had read about it so often; dreamed of it nearly every day that eventually he put the idea forward to Anthony and his mother, Violet.

Though Violet was apprehensive at first, she warmed up to the idea once Colin gave her permission to choose some of the countries he would visit. Anthony held no qualms; having travelled to France and Spain before tragedy forced the family title upon his shoulders. Being able to travel would forge Colin into the man he should be; it would give him experience, and plenty of stories to tell his children and then eventually, their children.

Upon arriving back in London after his second trip away, Colin found himself glad to be home. He had sorely missed the sounds and smells that accompany London; the clipping of horses hooves and the constant chit-chat of men and women. It was home; it would always be home.

However, as he stepped off the boat or the train, Colin always wondered the same thing. How long would it be until he craved adventure once more?

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

A month.

Colin lasted a month in the company of his beloved family before he was desperate to head off on his next adventure. However, he had no clear destination in mind. He had visited Europe, toured the Mediterranean and had hopes of crossing the Atlantic one day soon, but for now - to save his mother’s poor nerves - was content to remain closer to home.

He wasn’t one to visit libraries himself, usually sending a list of books with a servant whenever they visited the place, but this time he fancied the walk to stretch his legs. He had decided that research was the best way forward into finding his next destination, his next adventure. The library could offer such a thing.

It truly was a thing of wonder; so many books and serial publications at home in one place. The library at Bridgerton House was well stocked and Colin knew he could walk in freely and take whatever he would need, but there was something attractive about going out to find exactly what you need. There was also the added bonus of a lack of interrogation from his much-loved mother.

A huff leaves his body as Colin is pitched forward; barely catching himself before knocking into one of the shelves. Turning, Colin readies the words he wants to fling at the person who had yet they die in his throat when he finds you standing behind him with an apologetic look on your face, close to tears.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” You gasp, bowing your head politely and in apology, “I hadn’t meant to walk into you.”

Colin smiles, brushing down his suit jacket, “It’s no worry, Miss (Y/L/N). No harm done.”

“I hope not,” You reply, biting your lip.

His smile grows wider at the note of concern in your voice. “Truly, Miss (Y/L/N), no harm done.”

“Nevertheless, I apologise.”

“What are you reading?” He asks, nodding at the two books in your hand, changing the subject.

“They’re romances,” You admit shyly, “I read to my aunt twice a week. She rather enjoys them.”

“And you? Do you enjoy them?”

“There are some that I enjoy, yes, but I prefer books with adventures if I’m being honest.”

“Adventures?”

You nod, “I like them very much. What do you read?”

Colin frowns; confused at the question. You gesture to the shelves of books surrounding you, “What do you like to read, Mr. Bridgerton? We are in a library after all.”

“Non-fiction,” He replies, nodding his head to the stack dedicated to true life accounts of travellers. “I’m here doing research.”

“Research?”

“For where I want to travel to next,” Colin clarifies; walking towards the stack, all the while knowing you’re following.

“Have you an idea?”

He shakes his head; disappointed at the admission. For his last two trips abroad, he had known exactly where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do and see. Now, however, he was struggling for ideas.

You nod your head; seemingly understanding the predicament Colin has found himself in. Holding close the hardcover editions of the romances your aunt loved so much, you take a step back from the third eldest Bridgerton.

“I hope you find your location soon, Mr. Bridgerton,” You murmur in farewell, turning away from the tall brunette.

“I hope you enjoy your romances,” Colin replies, watching you walk away. Fleetingly, he wonders if he will see you again.

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

The library remains just as silent as the last time Colin visited. The books he had borrowed heavy in his hands as he returns them to the attendant who nods in thanks. Distantly, he wonder whether he will run into you again. Since meeting you last, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you.

Colin barely knew you or your family; didn’t know much about your lineage or even whether you knew of his, yet he had not stopped thinking about you and the way you held your books so close to your chest, as if protective of them and what they held even if you didn’t own them. He couldn’t explain the urge he had to get to know you. Colin felt certain that if he wasn’t to see you in the next day or so he was to go mad from the unknown.

Luckily for his sanity, he spies a familiar head of hair amongst the shelves, and he cannot help the surge of happiness that runs through him when he recognises you reading the spines of the books. “Miss (Y/L/N)!” Colin calls out in greeting; rushing over to you.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You smile, “How have you been? Have you decided on your next destination?”

“I have not though I’ll think of something soon.”

“I look forward to finding out. I’m sure Lady Whistledown will report on it.”

“I’m sure she will,” He drawls; his contempt for the author of the gossip sheet well known amongst family and friends. “How did the romances go down with your aunt? Did she enjoy them?”

Nodding your head, you explain, “Very much so. She usually stays awake for a chapter or two before falling asleep, but this time she stayed awake for close to five. I’m here looking for more books by the same author.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Only if you aren’t too busy. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from something more important.”

Colin shakes his head. “I would be happy to help.”

It takes the better part of an hour. Colin proving to be a distraction to your thoughts as you trawl through the shelves in the library. His very presence throws your mind into overdrive; overthinking his intentions for helping you, but also noticing just how handsome he truly is.

“I think we have enough for now,” You eventually comment, finding it hard to keep the sadness out of your voice as you realise that your time with the Bridgerton is up.

“Are three books enough?” Colin asks warily, as if he doesn’t want the time spent together to end either.

Sighing, you nod, “It’s enough to keep her occupied for a while. It takes us a few weeks to get through one book with me visiting her only twice a week.”

Colin nods understandingly, “Then the other romance novels must be for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I much prefer adventure novels though I did tell you that the first time we had met. Though I suppose I didn’t make that much of an impression.”

“I can assure you; you did. I just couldn’t help but notice that you must read far quicker than your aunt so surely you must read the other books you have borrowed.”

Caught out, you avert your gaze back to the books in your hand. Colin tries not to smile in triumph but fails miserably. “How often do you come here?” Colin asks, “Do you borrow books for your aunt alone, or do you read to another relative?”

Pursing your lips, you think over your answer. “I only read to my aunt and I suppose I come here at least once a week, usually on a Wednesday.”

Colin nods, “I shall see you next Wednesday then.”

Watching the Bridgerton walk away from you, you cannot help but wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

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

The friendship that develops with Colin Bridgerton felt entirely natural; as if at some point in your lives your paths were always meant to cross, and a friendship was to begin. Colin finds you in and amongst the stacks of books the following week; a triumphant grin on his lips and his eyes bright with happiness when he finds you once again in the romance aisle.

He starts to offer you suggestions of books to read, meeting you at the library week after week; all the whole continuing his research into where he wants to travel next. He hasn’t settled on a destination, yet he comes to realise that this is the longest he has remained in London in years. Usually, Colin would return home, manage a month with his family before taking off again. A routine his mother has come to despise despite offering her blessing for every trip.

Weeks continue to pass and whilst his family know that Colin has become infatuated with someone, he isn’t ready to share you with them yet. He isn’t ready for the inspecting glances and interrogations from his mother, brothers, and sisters. For now, Colin was more than content to share you with the romance books you swear you don’t love as much as you truly do.

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

The café is busy and getting busier from a lunch rush when Colin sits down across from you. His hair remains a mess despite how often he runs his hands through it in an attempt to flatten it; his eyes are bright as he smiles widely at you.

“I thought you were going to be late,” You admonish, but there’s no heat behind it.

Colin takes a sip of his tea, “I could never be late, not for you.”

“You’re a flatterer.”

“And you’re a romance fan, no matter how many times you try to deny it. Tell me, what are you reading right now?”

You purse your lips, deciding whether to relay the information to him, but the longer you wait, the larger his smile gets. “Definitely not those novels,” You comment, “There is romance in my latest book, but I am reading it for the adventure. It has pirates if you must know, very adventurous.”

Colin laughs, reaching for one of the small cakes on the stand.

“I don’t know how I stand your company,” You complain, trying your best to calm your stomach long enough for you to enjoy the food on your plate. The butterflies raging there were making it rather hard.

“You like me, that’s why.”

“I suppose that is more judgement on me than it is you.”

Colin’s only answer is to wink before returning his attention to the food on his plate. For a while, it is silent between the two of you. happy smiles are exchanged between you both and quiet laughter when you both reach for the same cake; Colin, ever so gracious, lets you have the cake. Instead, he tops up his tea and then yours from the teapot.

“I would like to visit Russia next; I think – St. Petersburg,” Colin declares, breaking the silence once and for all.

“Truly? You would travel so far?” You ask, eyes wandering to the globe on the table in the corner of the room, a display item. Centred on England, Russia could not be seen for the distance between them.

“I’d travel to all four corners of the earth if I could,” Colin admits, voice honest.

You sit back in your chair, eyes wide with wonder at the prospect of travelling even outside the county without a chaperone. “I’d love to travel.”

“It is a marvel,” Colin smiles, thinking back to his trips through Europe and the Mediterranean.

“The only chance I’ll get to travel is on my honeymoon which will be a marvel in itself,” You reply, picking at an invisible thread on your skirts.

“Why?”

You sigh, “Mother doesn’t hold much hope for my marrying. She believes that I have been out for too many seasons and have nothing left to offer that could possibly entice a man into courting me, never mind proposing.”

Colin finds himself gripping the arm of his chair in an attempt to keep his anger at bay. Such words leaving your mouth should be a crime. You have plenty to offer. However, at the sight of your slumped shoulders and sad eyes, Colin realises that you believe the words of your mother; that you truly have nothing left to offer.

On a whim, Colin asks, “Are you attending the Duchess of Hasting’s ball tonight?”

Shaking your head, you explain, “Mother isn’t one for huge events no matter the title of its holder.”

Colin surges forward, grasping your gloved hand, “Come, please. My sister won’t mind. I’ll have her add you to the guest list and send a carriage for you.”

You remain silent as you think over his proposition, ready to turn him down and return to your life of safety but the determination in his eyes and the joy in his smile leaves you nodding your head instead.

“Alright,” You agree, “I shall wait for you carriage.”

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

The London home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings could only be described as grand. Candles line the way to courtyard in which the ball would be held; they provide a romantic atmosphere, providing many a dark corner where young couples could sneak away from their chaperones.

Upon your announcement, you find yourself walking through the large crowd of people, unwittingly searching for the familiar head of brown hair. He finds you first, however, smiling widely as he notices you in the crowd.

Colin excuses himself from his conversation; making his way over to you as fast as he can without bringing too much attention to himself.

“You came,” Colin breathes as if in disbelief that you stand before him. His eyes run over you; taking it all in as his heart races. He hasn’t felt like this before; he hasn’t ever known anyone to make him feel like this. Colin feels as if he wants to show you everything, introduce you to everyone, but also keep you for himself should anyone want to steal you away.

“I said I would,” You smile, heated from his attention.

“You look beautiful,” Colin states truthfully.

“Thank you,” You answer, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you care to dance?” Colin asks, a hand outstretched and waiting.

Smiling, you nod your acceptance. You take his offered hand, letting him leads you to the dancefloor where many other couples are readying themselves for the opening notes of the dance. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Anthony’s eldest brother getting ready to dance with his wife, Kate. He offers Colin a smile and a nod to which Colin’s shoulders relax somewhat. You raise an eyebrow at the brunette only for Colin to shake his head; nothing you need to worry about.

Colin’s hands find themselves in the correct position son your body as you reach for his free hand, resting your hand on his shoulder. The music soon starts up and Colin begins to lead you round the dancefloor in a flurry of spins that leaves you giggling. His face lights up at the sound of your laughter, soon finding himself joining in.

“Stay for one more dance?” He asks as the music dies and you pull away, desperate not to let go of you just yet, happy enough right now to feel your hand in his and your body pressed so close.

“I’d love to,” You answer honestly, letting yourself be pulled back to the dancefloor where Colins hands soon start to feel like home on your body.

By the end of the second dance, you begin to feel dizzy from the spinning. Smiling gratefully at Colin, you apologise for having to bow out. He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand, “Shall we get a drink? I’m sure I saw some lemonade not too long ago.”

“Lemonade sounds perfect. I seem to have worked up quite a thirst.”

“Then by all means,” Colin declares, bowing dramatically at the waist, “We must get the lady a drink.”

Laughing softly, you follow Colin to the drinks table where he hands you a small glass of the cold drink. He goes to take a drink from his own glass but is distracted by his mother calling his name. Colin apologises before leaving you in the company of his sisters, Eloise and Hyacinth.

“Good evening, mother,” Colin greets, dropping his head to kiss her on her cheek.

“Two dances in a row?” She asks as greeting, curious to know just who has distracted her son in this manner.

Colin ducks his head; not ashamed to have been caught out in his feelings, but ashamed that he hasn’t introduced you to his family as of yet. Across the room, despite the music, he hears your laughter. His attention rests on you as he watches you laugh at something said by either Eloise or Hyacinth. Your smile is wide as you try to cover it with your hand; trying to be polite but neither sister care that much as they continue to make you laugh.

You’re beautiful, he realises. He’s known it all along, of course, but with that smile on your face, Colin cannot help but desire to be the one who brings such a smile to life. He wants to be the cause of your smiles and your laughter; the reasons why your eyes crinkle in the corner. He wants it all; he wants it with you.

“I think you know why you haven’t set off on another adventure,” Violet states pointedly; eyes dancing between her son and where you stand, talking to Eloise and Hyacinth. A mother always knows.

Colin’s eyes don’t need to follow his mother’s; they had been on you since you excused yourself from him. He’s finally ready to confront what he had known along. “I think I know too. Do you approve?” He asks; realising he sounds like a child desperate for his mother’s attention.

Violet Bridgerton smiles, brushing Colin’s cheek softly with a gloved hand. “I think you suit each other perfectly.”

The smile that breaks over Colin’s face could only be described as blinding as he takes his mother’s hand from his face, kissing the back of it before leaning in to kiss her cheek. Against her cheek, he whispers, “Thank you, mother.”

Violet nods, eyes lined with tears as she watches her third eldest son walk away from her. She would be the first to admit how well suited you both are; the need for adventure alive in the both of you. She shakes her head fondly as she watches her son make his way over to you; holding out his hand, asking you to dance to which you graciously accept.

Violet begins to walk the outskirts of the ballroom; feeling nothing but pride and happiness for each one of her children and elated in the knowledge that there was soon to be another marriage in the Bridgerton household.

-----------

The morning after the ball is a pleasant one. The weather wonderfully warm as the sun shines through the windows; heating the drawing room pleasantly. Turning your face, you take in the rays, careful not to risk too much exposure.

Your latest read remains open on your lap as you continue to bask in the warmth of the sun. So far, the book has captured your attention and has failed to let it go. The heroine of the novel too relatable personality wise for you to take a break long enough. At this point in the novel, she had offered an ultimatum to her suitor – he can join her on her next escapade, or he can find another woman to marry. You could only hope he would join her in her next adventure; their comradery was too perfect to end so suddenly.

However, after the events of last night, you found it hard to focus on the book long enough to turn the page. Instead, you found yourself reading the same line over and over again, desperately trying to lose yourself in the witty prose of the author.

But your mind focused on last night: the music, the dancing, the company. It had been a dream; it felt like a dream – only your mind could cook something up so perfect, yet deep down you knew you had experienced every second. You were certain you were still dizzy from the spins you had taken when dancing with Colin.

Biting your lip, you think back to the three dances you had shared with the third eldest Bridgerton. Three dances – could it be true? Shaking your head, you answer your own question. It was true; you remember every moment with crystal clarity. Three dances with Colin had to mean something; it had to mean he felt something for you. Your heart begins to race as you think of the possibilities

“Miss,” Your Butler states, interrupting your daydreaming, “A Mr. Colin Bridgerton is here to call on you.”

“Show him in,” You answer, standing from your window seat, brushing down the skirts of you dress. Biting your lip, you could only hope that you looked presentable.

“(Y/N),” Colin greets as he enters the room, a large smile on his face. A bouquet of red roses and lady’s breath in his hand that he offers to you.

“They’re beautiful, Colin. Thank you,” You whisper, eyes darting around the room for a vase. They would be put in there after Colin had left.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“What did I do to deserve flowers though?” You ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Colin smiles, “I know where I want to travel to next. I came to tell you.”

A pang of disappointment rushes through your body soon followed by upset. Placing the flowers on the nearest table, you do what you can to avoid his gaze as you ask, “When do you leave?”

“That’s the thing,” He starts, shifting nervously, “I have something to ask of you before.”

“What?”

“Travel with me. Come with me,” He all but pleads, reaching for your hand, “As my wife.”

Your eyes widen as Colin’s grip on your hand tightens. “What?” You question, breath coming in a hurry. “What are you asking me, Colin?”

“I’m asking you to marry me so we can travel together. I’ve seen the world once; I want to see it again with you.”

“I have to admit this isn’t what I expected today,” You ramble, trying your best to not look into his eyes. The moment you do, you’re done for.

“(Y/N)…” Colin interrupts, cutting off your nervous rambling. “I need to know an answer, love.”

It’s only then that you let yourself look into his blue eyes; reading the emotions written over his face. He was promising you adventure; the likes of which you had only read in books. Colin was promising you a future full of love and laughter; a dream you had hoped for since you were a young child.

Suddenly, as you look into his blue, blue eyes, it’s all clear.

“Yes,” You whisper, somewhat breathless but entirely ready to begin your future with the man in front of you, “Let’s see the world together.”

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff

#colin bridgerton x reader #colin x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton imagines #colin bridgerton imagine

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years ago

Text

For AU Day for @nessianweek I thought I’d test out this College AU that’s been bouncing around my brain because I’m College AU trash that I’m considering writing a proper/chaptered fic for. Hope you enjoy! :)

Most days, University of Prythian feels like every other public college. All brooding brick buildings and precisely placed green spaces and students loudly milling about in droves. A group of frat boys throwing around a frisbee on the common. A group of girls in bikinis tops taking advantage of the late August sun. Shouts of “oh my god, hey” and “how was your summer” just barely drowning out crying parents dropping their kids off. It’s migraine inducing.

Nesta throws the car into park, the old Chevy only groaning slightly as it settles after the trek up to campus. She hears the doors open and close, but she just grips the wheel and closes her eyes, taking in three steadying breaths and hoping the oxygen can find a way to calm her spiking blood. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s a new year. After everything that happened last year, technically up should be the only direction. She hopes. Once Nesta feels like she has a hold of her frayed nerves, she slides out of the driver’s seat to find Feyre already excitedly pulling her bags from the trunk, settling them on the pavement next to the car. Elain comes up beside their youngest sister, pulling her own suitcases out.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off closer to your dorm, Elain?”

“I’m in Oakwood this year. It’s not that far a walk.”

Nesta nods, grabbing the last of Feyre’s bags and closing the trunk. Before Elain can wheel off with her bags, Feyre’s wrapping an arm around each of her sisters’ shoulders, a wide smile plastered across her face under her U of P baseball cap.

“The Archeron sisters are back together again!”

“Well, until Nesta graduates,” Elain reminds Feyre.

“Maybe she’ll do a fifth year, just for us.”

Nesta just raises an eyebrow at her sisters’ antics. A fifth year? Impossible. Not only because she takes her studies very seriously, keeping her GPA well above the average, but because the idea of spending an extra, unnecessary year in this place sounds like her own personal circle of hell. The sooner she can finish her degree and get on with the rest of her life, the better.

“Alright,” Feyre concedes. “Bad suggestion.”

With a wave and a promise to meet up for dinner later, Elain is off towards Oakwood Hall. Nesta hoists one of Feyre’s duffle bags onto her shoulder, following her youngest sister toward her own dorm hall. As she steps up onto the sidewalk, though, her shoulder collides with a firm body, Feyre’s bag almost falling out of her grip.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going,” Nesta seethes.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” a voice calls in return, already swallowed up by the groups of students moving in and out of the dorm hall.

Nesta rolls her eyes at the saccharine nickname, resettling the duffle on her shoulder and catching up to Feyre. Her sister’s dorm reminds Nesta of her own freshmen dorm from back in the day, simple and small, all white walls and plain wood furniture. Despite the things already in the room, Feyre’s roommate is nowhere to be seen.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Nesta asks, dropping the bag she had been holding onto Feyre’s bed.

“I should be good. Orientation starts in a few hours.”

A moment passes as the two sisters stare at one another. They aren’t exactly the most affectionate of families, hugging and that sort of thing. So with a small nod and smile, Nesta is on her way, back out of the dorm hall and to her car.

Luckily, the off campus apartment she’s staying in this year isn’t that long a drive, and when she walks through the door, Emerie is already inside, leaning against their kitchen counter, a fork poised between her fingers and what looks like a slice of chocolate cake perched on a plate.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emerie drawls, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips gives away the teasing nature.

“Hope you brought enough to share,” Nesta replies, eying up Emerie’s plate.

“Do I look like I’m made of money? Go to the dining hall and get your own.”

“When’s Gwyn meant to get in?”

“Not until later this week. I’m surprised you’re on campus this early.”

“Feyre has orientation this week. Plus I need to hit up the bookstore. I have Williams this semester.”

“That man seriously needs to get that stick out of his ass when it comes to having the “right edition” for his class.”

“Tell me about it,” Nesta sighs, sneaking her hand into the utensils drawer and then snagging a bite of Emerie’s cake before the female has a chance to react.

“Hey!” Emerie calls after Nesta as she retreats to her room. “You’re lucky I like you, Nesta Archeron!”

~ * * * ~

The campus bookstore is mostly filled with parents and baby-faced freshmen trying to decide which University of Prythian gear to spend all their money on, but once Nesta pushes back to where the shelves of textbooks live, the throngs of bodies thin out. She can’t help but run her finger along the spines of the books, all lined perfectly along the shelves. Each spine is a different color, a different texture, bold or curvy font declaring its title to the world, and while many are textbooks, that feel under her fingers is still a comfort. Like a heartbeat lives between the soft linen pages and beats in time with her own.

A turn around the corner and Nesta finds the section of books she needs. She scans the different titles, and when her eyes finally land on the one she needs, she can’t help the long sigh that looses from her lungs. Of course, it’s on the very top shelf. Nesta reaches her arm up, stretching up onto her tip-toes until the pads of her fingers just brush the spine of the book, trying to inch the book closer to the edge where she could get it down.

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

Nesta falls back on her heels in surprise, the voice and nickname snagging on her memory. She whips her head around to find a guy leaning against the shelf, arms crossed casually across his chest and a smug smile plastered across his face. He’s tall with broad shoulders, dark curls pulled into a bun at the back of his head. Nesta’s eyes can’t help but snag on the lines of ink dancing across the skin of his arms and peeking out of the open cuts of his bro-tank. When her eyes dance back to his face, his hazel eyes are alight like he had clocked and was delighted in what she had been doing. It makes her brain crash back into action, a scowl settling easily across her features.

“You were the one who bumped into me earlier. Outside of Somerset Hall.”

“That was you?” the guy asks, not even being subtle as he checks Nesta out. “My apologies. Let me make it up to you by taking you out to dinner.”

Nesta doesn’t even deen that with a response. With a scoff, she turns back toward the front of the bookstore. She can come back later for the book she needs, ideally when this insufferable man with his cocky grins and overconfidence is nowhere to be seen. As she weaves her way through the shelves and toward the exit, she pointedly ignores the heavy set of footsteps she can hear trailing behind her.

“At least tell me your name.”

“No.”

“No? Well that’s definitely an interesting name. My name’s Cassian by the way.”

“I don’t recall asking.”

“You didn’t have to. Your eyes were asking for you.”

That has Nesta halting in her steps. She whirls around and clearly her sudden stop has this Cassian thrown off, his own steps stumbling. Good. She likes having the upperhand.

“Does that line actually work for you?”

“Actually, I usually have to use less words. My ruggedly handsome looks do all the talking.”

“Rugged? Sure. But handsome?” Nesta pointedly rakes her eyes down his figure, and when they meet back with hazel, Cassian’s cock-sure grin slips the barest hint at the corner. “I don’t think so. You looked like you crawled out of a dumpster.”

Nesta expects his smile to fall fully at the jab, and she hopes it’s enough for him to leave her alone, but instead that smile is still stubbornly there. Even worse, it twists and shifts into a smirk, like this is all some kind of fun game. It makes Nesta’s heart give an extra kick in her chest, and before she can even think about dwelling on what that means, she turns on her heel.

“Goodbye, Cassian.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

~ * * * ~

On Thursday, Nesta finds herself at the dining hall. It’s a little late for breakfast and too early for lunch, so luckily the place is blessedly not too crowded, just a few pockets of students talking and laughing at various tables. She’s standing in front of the pastry display when her phone starts buzzing incessantly, and she slides it out of her pocket to find Feyre going off in their sister group chat.

I just met the most attractive man I have ever seen

I’m not fucking around. HIS FACE

And he called me darling

He asked me to drinks tomorrow night!

“I personally prefer the blueberry muffins.”

Nesta snaps her attention to her left to find Cassian standing there, that same wide and cocky grin from the bookstore settled across his face. His hair is down today, soft curls framing his face and brushing against his cotton tee covered shoulders.

“You again,” Nesta sighs.

“Isn’t it funny how we keep meeting?”

“Funny isn’t the word I would use.”

“It’s almost like the Universe keeps pushing us together.”

“Or you’re stalking me.”

“Maybe you’re stalking me,” Cassian says, tossing a wink Nesta’s way.

“And why would I do that?”

“I thought we already established the fact I’m ruggedly handsome?”

“Pretty sure the only thing we’ve established is that you’re full of yourself.”

Nesta turns and snags one of the wrapped chocolate chip muffins out of the display case, fully prepared to end this conversation and enjoy her snack in peace.

“You forgot something the other day, you know.”

Nesta looks back toward Cassian where he has an outstretched hand between them. There, clutched between his fingers, is the book she went to the campus bookstore to pick up. She blinks a few times at the wide script proclaiming Art Through the Ages, the cogs in her brain tripping over one another and trying to comprehend the sight before her. Her hand begins to reach out to take the book before she snaps it back to her side, her eyes locking back on Cassian’s face.

“You got the book I needed?”

“The perfect excuse to find and talk to you again.”

“Well, I can’t accept it.”

“Then you can Venmo me,” Cassian says, leaning into Nesta’s space and pressing the book into her hands. “And your Venmo will have your name, won’t it? So it’s a win-win.”

This close up, Nesta can see all the green vines and gold flecks that make up his hazel eyes. The way his nose sits just off kilter like it’s been broken and set not quite right and the stubble pushing through along his jawline. She can feel the warmth that seems to radiate off his person in rolling waves. It’s a bit overwhelming.

“It’s Nesta,” she offers, taking a step back.

“Nesta,” Cassian says, like he’s testing the weight of her name on his tongue. “Well, Nesta, how about that dinner? The offer still stands. Or we could skip straight to dessert.”

Nesta lets out a snort at the comment. She’s sure the sound isn’t particularly attractive, but she can’t help it. The audacity of this man.

“Only in your dreams,” Nesta quips, turning on her heel and heading toward the register to pay for her muffin.

“Is that a promise?”

She pretends she doesn’t hear him as she swipes her meal card and makes for the dining hall exit. She can feel Cassian’s eyes tracking her the whole way.

Later, when Nesta gets back to her room and is thumbing through Art Through the Ages, she finds a note folded up between the pages. She opens up the paper to find an unfamiliar scrawl, simple black lines spelling out ‘Cassian’ and ten digits. She hesitates for only a moment before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash.

~ * * * ~

Classes start up on Monday, and Nesta is ready to throw herself back into her books, notes, and work. She has a jammed packed schedule this semester, knocking out the rest of her general education credit requirements needed to graduate on time. The perfect distraction to keep her mind busy. At least, she was able to squeeze in enough classes that actually interest her, including a course on Early Women Writers.

On Tuesday, she walks into the science building and her chemistry class. She finds a lab table a few spots back from the front, settling onto one of the stools. She pulls her textbook and laptop from her bag and is just typing in her laptop password when she feels a presence behind her.

“I guess I should thank you for coming through on your promise. The best dreams I’ve ever had.”

Nesta can’t stop the pained sigh that pulls its way out her lungs. She rubs a hand down her face before turning to the right, just in time to find Cassian sliding into the stool beside her. He has another cotton tee on, his hair once again pulled up into a bun style.

“Please don’t tell me you’re taking this class.”

Cassian reaches into his backpack and pulls out his own chemistry textbook, holding it up as some sort of proof.

“The Universe strikes again.”

“So you keep saying, but clearly the Universe has bad taste.”

Cassian throws his head back and laughs at the comment, surprising Nesta with his reaction and earning them a few curious looks from the rest of the class. The sound is deep and warm, seeming to radiate from deep within his chest. His shoulders shake like his large frame isn’t enough to contain the sound, and Nesta finds herself staring at the crinkles that appear beside his eyes.

“Alright, class. Welcome to chemistry.”

A hush falls over the whole room as the professor strides in the door and to the front of the room. She hands a small stack of syllabus sheets to each person sitting at the front to be passed back and a blank seating chart to fill in is passed between the tables. The professor goes through the syllabus for much of the allotted class time, and Nesta makes notes in the margins of hers about the grading system and circles the important deadlines she’ll need to remember.

“I hope you’re comfortable with where you’re sitting and who you’re sitting with,” the professor addresses the class an hour later. “They’ll be your lab partner for the rest of the semester.”

Nesta wants to groan as she buries her face in her hands. How did this become her life? As if simply seeing Cassian’s insufferable face three times a week for this class isn’t enough, now they actually have to interact and work with one another. If Cassian’s theory about this being the Universe's doing is correct, Nesta is pretty sure the Universe is just laughing in her face now.

“Well, would you look at that, Nes,” Cassian drawls from beside her. “Another point for the Universe.”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Nesta mutters from between her fingers.

“As long as we get to cuddle a little beforehand.”

“Cute,” Nesta says, putting as much dry sarcasm as she can behind the single word.

“You know, lab partner,” Cassian offers while he stands up and slings his backpack across his shoulders. “I think it’s going to be a great semester.”

#my fic #acotar #nessianweek2021 #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian

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desiraypark · 3 years ago

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Alright.

So.

I really wasn’t trying to get too deep into the mess. Why? For a couple of reasons.

1) Because when I joined this ADCU fandom--I was very aware that I was going to see racist shit. A lil’ internalized sexism. All of that. I’d mentally prepared myself for it before I came through, or tried my very best. As I stated in a post a week or two ago, I was very vocal about these things in my younger adult years, but now, I am tired and just no longer interested in letting racism, misogynoir, microaggressions, and other things on the internet get my blood pressure up (because I’ve gotta deal with it in real life). I simply block, filter, and move on. This is my path. Not saying that it’s right, that’s just the stage that I’m in right now.

2) What I’ve heard of this controversial fic is offensive to me. More so, the erasure of certain elements about the Civil War is what I found offensive. Did it piss me off or enrage me? No, because again, I’m tired lol. Offended, yes? Angry--me? No.

Now, I’m not writing this as a “woman of color”. This is a BLACK woman about to tell you what HAS pissed me off over these last few days. And I’m saying it straight from my account--not on anon or some account that just blossomed a couple of days ago.

I’m writing this as a Black woman who lives in a neighborhood that used to be a plantation (big house and slave cabins still up and intact up the street from my home) - because there is barely a place in my city you can walk where your feet don’t touch land that used to be a plantation, or a slave trading station, or an auction block, or a public whipping post, etc. I live in a city that is ENTRENCHED in “memories of the Civil War” -- “good” and bad memories.

I’m writing this as a Black woman who once worked next door to a Confederacy Museum--MUSEEEEUM--and watched old white men sit outside of the building with their flags. Or, who once had an old white man come to into my job, walked up to me with a shady, condescending glint in his eye, to ask me questions about “the museum next door” that he hoped to visit one day.

I love historical AUs and write them myself. Me, personally, I’m not gonna tell anybody they can’t write romantic/smutty Civil War AUs (I’m just gonna fucking block them). Because people are gonna do what they want and as we’ve seen demonstrated, there are some people who are gonna do the shit HARDER if it’s called out. But I DON’T have the privilege of reading something in that setting and being able to imagine myself as a landowner. This is a fact.

People can say “oh, well there were Black landowners back then!” But could they own that land without a “guardian”? Could they walk around town without “papers” to “prove” that they were free? Do we think that free and/or landowning Black people were just walking around untouched in the 1860s and AFTER? We LITERALLY just commemorated the 100th Anniversary of the Tulsa massacre. Come the fuck on, now.

I can BARELY write my 1920s AU shit without thinking about how race impacts the my OCs. I just CAN’T make that separation. And it must be nice that some of you WOC and white readers can do that. I’m happy for you. Whatever.

Now, from what I’ve gathered, I believe that this is the point that was originally being brought to SH--that not only could some of her audience not see themselves in this story, but some of them actually might be hurt by it. And instead of being thoughtful of that, excuses were made. The “colorblind” card was thrown out and it was stressed that “sides” in a Civil War setting were written “vaguely”. The dismissal and denial is what has frustrated me.

But ah, here’s the thing.

This is a pattern.

I think some of you might be under the impression that this might be the author’s “first misstep” (that is, if you think that is the case at all). I’m going to tell you a quick story. And this story is not secret--these incidents and the posts (pro-cop posts) that correspond to them were shared publicly.

I’ve long had SH blocked for awhile. Why?

You remember when another writer whose name started with an “S” went through this whole thing about all cops not being bad? I was actually quite friendly with that writer and expressed among people (including SH) that I wanted to reach out to S because I knew she was young and probably just hadn’t lived enough life and been around others to understand why their stance was problematic (and wrong). But then, I found out that she’d done the whole deleting POC’s comments thing...

She’d reached out to me wanting to talk, but at that point, after learning about commentary deletion, I didn’t want to be bothered. I decided that I would not reach out to her. I unfollowed her and moved on, because as I later told SH, Aiyana Stanley Jones was born around the same year that S was--but unlike Aiyana (who was murdered by WHO?), S will be fine. And I don’t regret my decision. I would have been a fool to try to be the Black person who “reaches out” to try to educate somebody. And I would have regretted doing so.

So, anyway. SH tried to encourage me to talk to S anyway, because S felt so bad and hurt. I politely declined, gave my reasons why, and me and SH left it at that and remained cordial. This is something I do regret because I should have known better. Because guess what? About a month later (IF THAT), SH made a post regurgitating S’s same pro-cop sentiments.

But I made no fuss. I simply unfollowed and blocked. She’d shown me who she was and I finally decided to believe her. No need to argue. I had no desire to “call her out” because she already knew how I felt--and she’d only shown me that (as history has shown my ass time and time again), I don’t matter to her and I don’t count in the world she’d rather exist in--(edit: or at the very least, the fanfic worlds she’d like to create). Calling her out would have been fucking pointless.

So, I can’t let this week end with y’all thinking that this is just some “slip up” or misstep--or some “sudden attack” made out of jealousy or whatever other shit people are spewing. These recent events are merely a day that has long been coming.

Now.

I’m about to put “Civil War” in my filtered tags and content, and go on about my day. Bye.

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

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dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

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liesyousoldme · 4 years ago

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Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Fic Masterlist

Completed:

Richie Tozier: Come Out & Play (Oneshot, Rated M)

Richie Tozier: Come Out & Play, a new Netflix special! Comedian Richie Tozier is back after a very public mental breakdown. And he's ready to (over)share. (5.7k words)

baby i didn't know, but i'm glad that you found me (Series, Rated E)

1. i've been waiting

Eddie loses touch with the Losers after he's forced to move away from Derry. After 5 years, he finds a way to see his friends again - including Richie, who is just as beautiful as he remembers. (15k words)

2. i'm seeing the most in your eyes

Eddie comes out to his mom, visits with an old friend, applies for a job, and finds his home. (14k words)

we'll get where we're going even if we're late (Oneshot, Rated E)

Richie sees a lot happen in the deadlights. Eddie has to keep reminding him what's real. (7.8k words)

the time and space between us (Oneshot, Rated T)

For Eddie Kaspbrak, dying was just like falling asleep. And then he woke up. (10.7k words)

The Power of Sexting (Oneshot, Rated E)

Richie accidentally sends Eddie a shirtless picture. Things escalate from there. Or, Richie and Eddie play Gay Chicken: Sexting Edition. (4k words)

i love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? (Chaptered, Rated E)

They'd been so close to everything they ever wanted when they were young. And then they forgot. Now that they're back in Derry, they're remembering. Or, a retelling of Chapter 2, with a happier ending. (36k words)

(Continued Under The Cut)

That's where you'll find me (Series, Rated T)

1. In The Wrong Place Trying to Make it Right

"Richie wasn’t sure how the fuck he’d managed to forget Eddie Kaspbrak. Like, now that he’s got Eddie’s hand in his (his remaining hand, Richie’s traitorous mind reminds him cruelly, and he avoids looking at the hospital gown lying flat against the bed where an arm should be) he remembers everything. " Or, 27 years later, Eddie makes it out of the sewers alive. (5.5k words)

2. Got My Heart Set On Anywhere But Here

“Let’s make it a rule to never talk about It again,” Richie suggested, and Eddie readily agreed. “Let’s focus on the future instead of the past.” “Like visiting New York next week?” Or, 27 years later, Eddie gets divorced. (4.9k words)

3. I'll Be What You Need (Goodbye, Apathy)

"Helping you through nightmares of me dying is the least I can do after you literally nursed me back to health for six weeks," Eddie responded with a tired smile. Richie didn't say anything, just let his head fall back into his pillow, pulling Eddie with him. Eddie sighed as he nestled into Richie's bed. Richie felt his heart beat faster the way it always did when Eddie was in his bedroom, in his bed, in his arms. The small smile that had formed on his face fell, however, when Eddie spoke again. "I think you should see a therapist." Or, 27 years later, Richie goes to therapy. (4.6k words)

Block the Noise, (Oneshot, Rated T)

Richie has a conversation with his newly ex-manager and Eddie doesn't like what he (over)hears. (1.5k words)

i've never seen nobody shine the way you do (Oneshot, Rated T)

It was like this: Richie had thought that moving to New York together, getting an apartment and going to school, would be good for both of them. And it was! But! While Richie had thought that he had reached his limit, his max capacity, the top level of Loving Eddie Kaspbrak, he was now being proven dead wrong. Perhaps there was no cap to how much a man could love Eddie Kaspbrak, and wouldn’t that have been nice to know before he’d gone and moved in with the little asshole. Because it was one thing to see each other every day at school, and to have sleepovers on Friday nights, and to spend their afternoons together doing fuck-all, but it was another to see Eddie fresh from the shower, his wavy hair dripping water droplets onto his bare shoulders, his skin flushed from the heat. It was another to wake up and eat breakfast together every morning and dinner together almost every night. Especially since Eddie had decided to start looking like he did now, all bright-eyed and ready to take on the world. So, it was like this: living with Eddie had him absolutely fucked. (2.6k words)

just hold me close (Oneshot, Rated T)

It's Richie Tozier's birthday, and Eddie Kaspbrak would do anything to make him happy. (1.7k words)

say anything (Oneshot, Rated T)

There were so many things he wanted to say to Richie, all the time, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t put himself out there, couldn’t risk ruining this friendship. But it was getting harder and harder with every day that passed to keep his mouth shut. (4.6k words)

you heard them say it (Oneshot, Rated T)

Even after she's 6 feet in the ground, Sonia Kaspbrak still lives in Eddie Kaspbrak's head. (2.5k words)

Misinterpretation (Oneshot, Rated T)

A prompt from Tumblr: "I'm only here to establish an alibi." (1.7k words)

let's find the place where happiness begins (Oneshot, Rated T)

After Eddie survives Neibolt, he and Richie have a few things to discuss. (3k words)

make it feel like the first time (Oneshot, Rated T)

“Eddie,” Beverly said, grinning. Eddie felt his heartrate speed up and focused on taking a deep breath. He was 17, he hadn’t carried around his aspirator in ages, and he wasn’t about to have a panic attack in front of his friends over a stupid party game. “Truth or dare?” Eddie gets asked about his first kiss. Too bad he lied about the fact that he's had one. (2.7k words)

keep you sheltered (Oneshot, Rated T)

Richie has a fear of thunderstorms. (1.6k words)

so into you (Oneshot, Rated T)

Richie is tired of Eddie watching from a distance. (1.7k words)

Like Kisses on the Necks of Best Friends (Oneshot, Rated T)

He’d wanted to kiss Richie for ages, and suddenly, on their walk home from school Richie just fuckin’… plants one on him, blushes beet red, uses a Voice to say “Good on ya, mate,” which didn’t even make fucking sense, and then takes off running in the opposite direction. Eddie had stood there, gaping, until Richie was an entire block away. Or, Eddie has to sit on Richie's lap for a car ride two days after Richie kissed him and ran away. It's totally not awkward at all. (2.2k words)

now my bedsheets smell like you (Oneshot, Rated T)

Richie and Eddie can't sleep without each other. (3k words)

You're only brave in the moonlight (Oneshot, Rated T)

A homophobic church sign makes Eddie cry, and Richie decides to do something about it. (2.3k words)

WIP:

once in twenty lifetimes (Twoshot, Rated T)

Eddie Kaspbrak had to say goodbye to his best friend at age 13. He wished desperately to live in some other universe where Richie never had to leave. He can imagine them. Happy together in other, better worlds. 27 years later, Eddie Kaspbrak gets to say hello to his best friend at age 40. Maybe he decides this universe was worth the wait.

isn't it just so pretty to think... (Series, Rated T)

...all along there was some invisible string tying you to me First kisses at every age in every universe.

a supercut of us (Drabble Collection, Rated T-E)

#reddie #reddie fic #my fic #my fics #redid my masterlist #updated with latest fics

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

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The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff. I will edit this for grammar later.

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink, reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink.

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt.

God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this.

Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case.

For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths.

Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries. Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs.

When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.

“I’m his type!”

“And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

“Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality.

Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

“No! Not you too!”

“Yes!”

“Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack.

“Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air.

“Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

“Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air.

You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’.

Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid.

A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space.

“Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort.

“Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand.

Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place?

“We’ll be taking a room.”

“Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key.

Wait. We?

Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily. You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.

You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close. You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face.

You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish.

Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now.

Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people.

Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

“So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

“Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile. You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked.

“Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey.

You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade.

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

"If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything."

You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

“You kinky shit.”

He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you.

You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

“Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole.

You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element.

“No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass.

With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts. You were a sight to behold.

Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind.

You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip.

Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours.

Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work.

When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure. In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch.

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair.

You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.

You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation. You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror.

Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder.

Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you.

Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration.

You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.

A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air.

Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear.

The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping.

A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire.

You're so close. You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun.

He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem. Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body.

He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it.

“Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

“Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

“That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers.

“Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.

“Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch.

Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth.

“Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs.

You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin.

His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied. “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant.

A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.

“Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock.

“Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up.

Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you.

“Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.

Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle.

Ah ah ah

Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.

With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin. “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go.

He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms.

Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips.

“Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.

Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker.

Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel.

You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly.

“March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past one.”

Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.

“Thanks.”

“You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey.

That asshole.

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

Thanks for reading!

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell.

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#Slade Wilson #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson smut #slade wilson imagine #dc smut

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years ago

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Hi everyone, this is Crys (as you know),

TW: SA Accusation Mention, Lucas

After a long mental debate in my head and weighing a lot of options, I’ve decided to make the decision to temporarily remove Lucas from my fics. I’m essentially just changing the names and putting the fics I do have for him on private for now. This goes for both Too Soon, Too Late and Zemblanity, also. A lot of these fics and writings came from my old blog (one that I ridiculously lost the password to so now I have to scavenge around for that) and thus if I can't edit it now it's going on private and the ones that I could I fixed already. If you want a complete list of changes, it'll be under the read more cut.

For now, that is what I’ve decided to do. I’m not doing this to spark any arguments on my page or to invite any anon hate, this is my choice that I made after taking my own morals and my own thoughts first into account and then others on this blog and it will remain this way regardless of the outcome of anything. For me, personally, it just doesn't feel right to leave it up and pretend that nothing is happening. And I'm not writing this to urge anyone into my side with my reasoning because that isn't my place, I can't and I won't police you on how to think or how to approach this as I expect all of you to treat me similarly with mutual respect. I’ve always been one to put my morals over people who don’t even know me and because of that I’ve made this decision. This doesn't make me a fake fan, I still love WayV they're still my ults, but I have my own thoughts to prioritize first over and boyband. And if you call me that seriously then I will simply laugh at it and delete it.

Any negative ask coming in regarding this will be deleted. Remember the world doesn’t revolve around you or him (or at least mine doesn't) and I don't have to change what I do on my blog just because someone doesn't like it, I have my own thoughts and actions that I'll prioritize first and I understand that him and this situation can be triggering for some people and I choose to respect that over simple fanfiction. I’m checking the situation every now and then (and I understand that’s breaking my usual wait a week to figure things out rule) and the two final options are really just delete the posts for good or take them off of private, simple as that. But as for what I believe I will always believe the victim first regardless of who it is and whether or not I know them because I understand that it's not easy nor is it a joke to accuse someone of SA.

Again this is my choice, I can't stress that enough, and nothing will change it unless there is an official statement out. And I'm only making this long post in hopes of not being misunderstood. I've juggled just not telling you guys at all and just silently changing it, but to avoid future confusion, I figured that I'd put this out. I've said it before on my last blog that I've always understood that we never really know these idols, all we know is their "idol personas," and I've always kept that in mind and as of right now it is all I'm thinking of because it is the truth. In the end, he's a complete and total stranger to me and literally everything I do will not make an impact on him. I really don’t know why anyone would get upset over this choice of mine because it doesn't affect them in any way and it's literally just pieces of fanfiction, the only reason why I don't delete them outright is because I put a lot of time and effort into them and I don't want to put that to waste. But, if you do take offense for whatever reason, please know and understand that it’s my opinion and I don’t care if you try to change it because unlike many people I actually utilize the block button when people get too pushy for no reason on this app. This is all I'll be saying on this matter. Please respect my opinion and choices as I will respect yours regardless.

Thank you, that is all. (And I mean this genuinely despite the tone of the above few paragraphs) Have a nice day, everyone!

Every single request that centers around Lucas has been privated

Every single request that includes him has been privated and is due for edit once I get back into my old blog

Too Soon, Too Late in its entirety has been privated (and will likely go through an entire rewrite which was planned even before all of this because wow I'm cringing)

The main story of Zemblanity, it's endings, certain Warden's Notes, and certain Interrogation Rooms have been privated (and will likely go through a minor rewrite depending on events)

Lucas' 23 Days of NCT has been privated

Lucas' character in Infatuation has been changed to Hendery (and I've already edited and replaced all of the names)

All timestamps centering or including him have been privated

Since Prominence is entirely made up of screenshots I will be devoting a day sometime in the future to edit the posts that mention him and until then those will remain public.

Asks and Crys Talks posts are a bit harder to shift through because I don't know how to shut up so for now those are still up because I apparently have 5K+ posts on this blog and I literally just don't have the time to go through them all

Locked and Reloaded will remain public for now as he hasn't been mentioned many times anyway, but it will go through edits soon.

#important

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3pirouette · 3 years ago

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Fic: Worthy (or Five Times Steve Talked to People about Time Travel and One Time He Didn’t) (1/1)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: “What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

A/N: I started this on August 8, 2019. I have revisited it various times since then, fixing things that were misremembered after we got Endgame on DVD and fixing tenses. It feels more appropriate than ever right now to post, though. The first section, with Wanda, was written back in 2019. I’ve made minor edits, but her words have been around LONG before WandaVision was even announced. Obviously, by the ending, AU.

Also, I KNOW I skip potentially the MOST important person he should be talking to, but Steve’s conversation with Bucky from this fic actually got pulled out and turned into it’s own fic/universe: Six Dates, Times, and Places. Read that if you need some BFF Steve and Bucky.

~*~

Steve woke up at night in cold sweats, still feeling the vibranium cracking under his fingers as he tried to recenter himself, as he tried to remember where he was. The small tent on the edge of the former battlefield wasn’t much, but it was better than he’d been used to when he was in the trenches, and it was enough for now.

He let other people, better equipped people like Pepper and Strange and Sam handle the big stuff- the cities and the government and the publicity and the how of everything they did. He was never really prepared for what happened if they brought everyone back, he admitted it to himself now on dark nights when he woke up with his heart racing, that he never really thought they’d do it.

He headed up the clean-up: walking through the destruction and trying to put some order to it, helping dig out the bodies of good men and women who lost their lives, who wouldn’t be brought back by a snap, helping destroy the tech that Thanos had brought so it never fell into the wrong hands. He and Wanda spent their days putting right what went so very, very wrong.

Even with everything nearly done, with the building nearly ready for renovation and every lost soul accounted for and laid to rest, it didn’t seem over. It had been weeks, and yet the years before seemed like moments. He spent his days moving like a ghost, going from task to task, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After it was over, when the clean-up was deemed done and it had been decided it was time to move on, Wanda was the first person he said anything to as they stood together on the ridge, overlooking the old Avengers headquarters as it was bulldozed to the ground. “I should probably feel happier,” Wanda mumbled. “At peace.”

Steve sighed, looking at the scorched dirt beneath his feet: it was ruined. Nothing would grow there for years after the hit it took. “You don’t have to feel anything.” He looked at her, unsurprised to find tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. “I don’t.”

“I’ve thought so many times about…” The words caught in her throat, but she took a deep breath and continued, “About sneaking into Bruce’s lab and taking that stone. The time stone…”

Steve didn’t say anything, just waited for her to finish: he was afraid that his own selfish desires regarding that stone would just fuel her own.

“But going back wouldn’t fix it,” her words were as much for his benefit as her own. They both knew it was far, far too tempting.

“You don’t think so?” He played the devils advocate, and it felt good to let it out. “You don’t think that maybe you two could just avoid it all? Or even stop it all?”

“After this?” She looked over the dead land and shuddered. “The way I understand it, it would always happen, would always come. And I just…” Her voice broke, and there was a darkness in her eyes he was uncomfortable with when she turned to face him. “I just couldn’t live through that again.”

Wanda turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at him. “We deserve more,” she whispered. “We’ve lost everything to make this happen. We deserve more.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was enough to remind him that those dark thoughts were just that- thoughts. And those thoughts would have consequences he wasn’t ready to pay the price for, or so he told himself.

Deep down, he felt like he deserved something, too.

~*~

The next time he discussed time travel was with Bruce and Hank. Pym was describing the use of his newly altered regulators while Bruce was constructing a smaller platform. This would be the last time, they both said over and over, that it would be used. Pym planned to destroy all references to the quantum realm in his work and Bruce had been working with Fury and Shield to carefully control the flow of information about what had happened.

“Son, please tell me you understand how dangerous this little trip of yours is going to be?” Pym asked him softly, laying both his hands on the table as he looked him right in the eyes. For a minute, Steve felt like he was back with Erskine- Pym had the ability to see straight into his soul the same way that man did.

“I understand, sir.” Steve nodded, trying to hide every morsel of dark thought, every late-night inkling and every dark moment. He was going to bring the stones back, return, and… and… He doesn’t know where he fits in in this new world, doesn’t even know if he wants to, really, and that must be what Pym saw on his face.

Pym narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t move. The silence stretched so long that even Bruce stopped what he was doing to look over and watch. “Ask your question.”

Steve could barely hold the façade of surprise for a breath before it fell. He let the pretense fall away: his shoulders hunched, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he felt like a different man. He felt like Steve, the broken veteran, and not Captain America, the superhero. “How much… how much damage can I really do?”

Before Pym could speak, Bruce put down his wrench and had his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know that look, Steve. That’s the look I had about a million times before I left every place that ever meant anything to me.”

Pym slid a stool over and sat softly, his face grim. “There’s not much that you could say that would surprise either of us, so I suggest you come out with it.”

Steve looked at them, their faces as open and honest as his was at every grief management group he ran during the dusted years: they were waiting for him to say that he wasn’t coming back because he wanted to take his life.

But it was more like he wanted to take his life back. It hadn’t been his since Erskine accepted him into Project Rebirth, he just didn’t know it then.

“Don’t I…” He stopped, staring at his shoes. It took a lot for him to look up, into their eyes. “I don’t feel like…” He stopped again and took another deep breath. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever understand. He wasn’t sure if they could.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and it bumped against him compass. His lifeline. His reminder.

He knew their stories. If anyone could understand, they would.

He pulled the compass out and opened it gently, putting it on the table. “Her name was…”

“Peggy Carter,” Pym finished. “She busted my balls as the head of Shield, but she was on my side when it counted.” Pym turned the compass gently, noting the slow spin of the broken dial.

Bruce looked at Steve, sadness in his eyes. “Steve, I didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t want anyone to know.” He shrugged, taking the compass in his hands. “She died, right before the bombing and the signing of the Sakovia Accords.”

Pym stood, the scraping of his chair cutting off anything either man would have said. “You were… a lot skinnier when you met her, weren’t you?” He stepped next to Steve, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kinda sickly, too.”

Steve laughed, a slight smile on his face as the memory hit him. “I wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life.”

“Director Carter kept this picture on her desk of a skinny, kinda confused looking GI.” He looked up at Bruce, “I asked her about it one day. I knew she had a husband that no one ever got to meet, and that he was at least 6 inches taller than her based on the glimpse I managed of him once when I showed up at her house unannounced.” Hank began to circle the room, hands coming out and fidgeting. “She said it was someone she knew during the war, and that it was a reminder to never take a single thing for granted. Now, most people assumed it was her brother who was KIA.” He turned and looked at both men, a smirk on his lips. “But the way she smiled when she looked at it: it wasn’t sad and it wasn’t sisterly, either.”

Pym picked up a vial of the serum, looking at it. “Bruce, correct me if I’m wrong, but to be as honest as I can be, we really don’t know what kind of damage you could do if you go back and…” he chose his words carefully, “don’t stick to the plan.”

“Uh, that’s true. We really don’t know how this works; I just know what Strange and The Ancient One told me. That if we put them back, it should kinda… fix itself.” Banner shrugged, unsure if he was as onboard with what Pym was implying as Pym seemed to be.

Pym almost looked happy as he continued to think out loud. “We don’t know the rules. For all we know, there are no rules to it. The Quantum Realm is… nearly unknowable. But the way she looked at that picture…” He sighed, placing the vial back in its rack. He looked Steve in the eyes, open, honest, and unjudging. “You’ll have enough to get back, if you want to.”

Pym went back to his computer, and Bruce went back to his tinkering, and Steve never heard another word on the subject from either of them.

~*~

His first stop in the past was the sanctum. He wanted to meet the Ancient One, to see her, to hear what Bruce had told them for himself directly from her.

She didn’t disappoint. She took the stone back, letting it float into the locket she wore with no more fanfare than if she were asking him about the weather. “So, I assume you prevailed?”

“We did,” he confirmed, sitting when she gestured for him to join her in the library. “There were still losses…” he sighed deeply, thinking of Tony, “but we won.”

She sat quietly, waiting expectantly as the tic of the clock was the only sound between them for long minutes. “In your time,” she whispered gently. “Your question is not something that can be rushed.”

“Do you know what I’m going to ask?” He leaned forward, letting Mjolnir rest on the floor, the case full of stones next to it.

“No,” she tried to smile but it fell flat. “I can feel the anger and frustration coming off you in waves, the defeat, the… fatigue. You did not come to me first out of convenience.”

He looked away, still unsure of where to start even though he had said it a million times over in his head. In the end, he blurted it out. “What if I stay?”

He’d caught her off guard, for it wasn’t remotely what she thought he’d ask. She sat straighter; eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”

“What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

She looked at him, wonderment in her eyes, “You never planned on giving up your whole life.”

He tried to laugh it off. “The things you don’t understand when you’re barely more than a kid, right?”

“You had hopes and dreams, just like any other man out there.” The Ancient One stood, stepping toward him. “Why that surprises me, I’m not sure. Even Gods are men at their very core. Even I was once a woman with hopes and desires.”

“It feels wrong to say these things out loud...” he let his hands fall to Mjolnir, afraid to try to lift it. Every day since the battle he’d been surprised that it still comes so easily to his hand.

She came closer until she was kneeling before him. “And yet they must be said.” She waited until he met her gaze. “If you go back to your time, my future, what waits for you?”

He took a deep breath, leaning back, eyes far away. “Friends. Duty.” He sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Putting the world back together and finding our place in the universe.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And what waits for you if you go back to the past?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t… I don’t know if…”

The Ancient One put her hand on his. “What do you hope is there?”

Steve smiled briefly, the words out before he can stop them. “I had a date.”

“Love,” she whispers, almost disappointed.

“And understanding,” Steve pipes in quickly. His words grow passionate as he continues. “She knew me better than anyone ever has- she knew me before this,” he gestured to himself, not for the first time wishing his muscles were a suit he could shed to show people just what he was like, and why it’s so significant that Peggy understood him back then, “and she still stood by me. I got the feeling… I got the feeling that even if the serum never worked she still would have liked me. No, I’m sure of it. She was smart and beautiful and everything I ever dreamed my future might be.” He stopped short. “Don’t... don’t I deserve that, after all this?”

“The universe doesn’t deal in ‘deserves’ Mr. Rogers.” She stood, her voice flat and perfunctory. “If it did children wouldn’t die of cancer and good men wouldn’t die in religious wars.” She kept her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. “The universe deals in balance, though, and I feel you are due for some rest.” She reached down, lifting the case of stones and handing it to him, but she did not even attempt to lift the hammer. “Go on,” she waited as he gingerly lifted the hammer, his breath coming easy after it was in his hand. “I cannot tell you anything for sure. But I can tell you the sanctums you know of are in existence back farther than you could imagine. Should you feel things have taken a turn for the worse, do not hesitate to find me.”

Her smile was gentle, and somewhat forced, but it made him feel just a little better.

~*~

The soul stone disappeared from his case as soon as he materialized, and he didn’t stay to find out why. He understood the toll that place could take, and he had so very little left to give.

He left so quickly he didn’t hear the Red Skull whisper his name on the wind.

~*~

Once on Asgard, he thought about just putting the hammer down and letting Thor find it, but he decided that wielding it might just get him out of trouble if he was caught trying to make his way into the palace through the underground tunnels Thor told him about.

The only person who saw him was the one he least expected.

“Why did he send you?” Loki asked from behind the forcefield. “Unless… he isn’t…”

“No, he’s not dead.” Steve supplied the information wearily.

The god paced his cell, “You’re from the future, as well, then?” He smiled at the soldier. “Thor was looking a bit… pudgy.” His voice and face showed his confusion and slight repulsion at the idea. “That’s not the Thor running around with his little girlfriend up there now. I know that much.”

“Things went…bad.” Steve didn’t know how much to tell the man. He believed Thor when he said Loki wasn’t the villain they pegged him to be, but he also was still very wary of the god. “We…did what we could.”

“Could you be any more cryptic?” Loki sat on his bed, leaning back, amusement in his voice. “Interesting development, though, there,” he pointed to Thor’s hammer, “You must truly be something to wield that.”

Something must have changed in Steve’s face, something barely perceptible, but Loki saw it. “You doubt yourself?”

Steve knew he shouldn’t talk to him, and yet, there was something alluring about the trickster. “I’m… concerned I won’t be… worthy.” It sounded lame even to him as it fell out of his lips.

Loki laughed. “Who is?” The trickster paced. He started to speak, then changed his mind with a dramatic shake of his head. He stopped, crouching behind the forcefield so he was eye to eye with Steve. “Whatever it is rattling around in your head… You’re leaving Mjolnir here, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Then does it really matter if you’re worthy?”

Steve looked at the god, his mind clicking slowly around the idea that perhaps his own morality didn’t matter. He tilted his head and regarded the hammer. “This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted purely for myself, and somehow that seems wrong.”

Loki stood, smoothing out his coat with a huffed laugh. “You’re talking to a man who has been politely described as a narcissistic megalomaniac. The only things I’ve ever really wanted were for myself. I learned that lesson young.” He looked Steve right in the eyes. “If you don’t want it for yourself, whatever ‘it’ is, no one else will want it for you.” Something sad fell behind Loki’s eyes though his face didn’t change. “No one will just give you what your heart desires, not when you’re giving them what they need. They’re thinking about themselves, not you. Sometimes, you have to just take it.”

The revelation settled like a rock in the pit of Steve’s stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow it felt right. ‘Captain America’ served a purpose. He filled a hole that needed filling by someone and as long as he was there, they were going to take advantage of that.

He didn’t need to take over the world, as Loki had attempted, but he needed to take what he deserved before there was nothing left to have.

Before there was nothing left of him to enjoy it.

~*~

With each step through the Lehigh base he kept thinking one thought: this is too easy.

There were less guards, less people, than when he’d been here last, and theoretically, if he’d done things right, that should only have been less than a few minutes ago. He tried not to dwell on the knot settling in the base of his stomach as he swiftly moved to put back the tesseract.

He almost had it slid in nice and tight when the voice came over his shoulder. “Jarvis said he saw you. I thought the man was nuts, but he refused to leave.”

Steve let his head fall, his hands on the edge of the glowing box. “Howard…”

“I didn’t tell anyone, just cleared out the base.” Steve heard the soft footsteps as his former friend joined him. “Said I needed to run a dangerous experiment.”

Steve turned, taking in the tight and so much older face of his friend, unsure of what to say. Howard shoved his hands in his pockets but just continued. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure you’d come back, or if Jarvis had ever really seen you in the first place, but here you are, putting back something you stole from me. Without even a hello?” Howard laughed darkly, pointing at his suit. “You get tired of the red white and blue, or are you serving another nation now?”

Steve pressed his hands to his own chest, his head falling down and his eyes squeezing tight. “It’s a long, complicated story, Howard. And I don’t know how much I can really say.”

Howard shook his head, disappointed. “Can you tell me who that man was with you? The one who couldn’t even remember his own name?”

Steve couldn’t look at him, pain coursing through him at the loss of his friend. “No.”

Howard waited until Steve looked at him, cutting him close with the hurt in his voice, “Can you tell me why you never told me you were alive?”

Steve nodded. “That much I do owe you.”

Howard bobbed his head, really taking in the appearance of his friend for the first time. His eyes went wide as he looked at Steve and found the things he tried to not see before: the new lines along his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the way the lines around his mouth had deepened that all signaled not only was this not a social call, but the man was not all that well. “Ok, well, I’ve got a bottle of scotch in my desk, that’ll have to suffice for me.” He tipped his head, “Let’s go.”

The hallways were deserted, and Steve lingered his eyes just a second too long on Peggy’s door, which had only blackness behind it.

Howard noticed. “I sent her home, too. She doesn’t know why and I’ll catch hell for it tomorrow.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. A few more steps and they were settled in Howards office, Steve on the almost comfortable chair across from Howard as he sat behind his desk, pouring out two tumblers of scotch. “So, can you tell me how I managed to look for you for years and here you are, waltzing into my facility and stealing the tesseract?” He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a hearty gulp. “Though, since you were putting it back, I guess you were just borrowing.”

Steve took the other tumbler from the table, holding it in his hands but not drinking. “I’m honestly not sure what I can or can’t say that doesn’t risk changing things.” Steve stopped, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “But what the hell, right? If anyone’s going to understand this… will understand how important it is, it’s you, right?”

Howard shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “There’s a good chance I’m your guy.”

Steve took a second, eyes lost in the whiskey. It wouldn’t do anything, but the idea of it somehow gave him courage all the more. He drank it like a shot, swallowing and putting his glass on the desk. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

Howard set his elbows on the desk, leaning over it, intensely curious. “How about at the beginning… How did you walk away from that plane crash? We looked for you for-“

“I didn’t,” Steve interrupted, solemn. “I spent almost 70 years in the ice.”

Howard sat up straight. “But you’re…”

Steve couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I told you it was a long story.”

“That’s why you’re worried about changing things.” He leaned forward, hands in fists. “You managed to time travel?” Howard shook his head, his eyes glazing over as he thought. “Is that like a… normal thing in the future?”

“No,” Steve replied right away. “It was a last desperate attempt to…” he took a deep breath. “A lot of people had died, half of…” He took another breath, not really sure how to explain it all. “It was more than just our world at stake.”

Howard pushed back, eyes wide. “Other…planets?”

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The future was… interesting.”

Howard reached over and lifted the bottle of scotch, the liquid only half filling it. “We might need more than this…”

Steve laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. “For this story? Yeah.”

~*~

An hour later Howard was pacing the length of his office, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from running his hands through it, and half a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Howard laughed and leaned back against his desk. “It’s a fucking mess is what it is.” Howard turned and put both hands on his desk. “I can’t believe it actually fucking worked.”

Steve felt guilty. He hadn’t mentioned Pym, not knowing exactly how the two were relating at the moment. He hadn’t named Tony, either, just called him ‘an inventor’ and later Iron Man and gave no indication to his friend that his son would end up dying to save humanity. But there were some things he wasn’t ready to risk ruining, some things he couldn’t quite yet face. “That’s… not the worst part.”

Howard turned his head, his eyebrows at his hairline as he looked at his friend. “There’s more?”

Steve looked at his folded hands, feeling guilty. “I want to stay.”

“Is that inherently a problem?” Howard searched his face, hoping for some hint. “You are, technically, more from this time than you are that one.”

“I… don’t know.” He sighed. “I was hoping you would.”

Howard sank in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Like, if you stay, you become your own grandfather or something like that?”

“Well… not quite, but yeah.” Steve’s teeth were set on edge. Of all the people he knew, of all the people he’d asked about this, Howard would be the one to give it to him straight.

Howard tented his fingers, eyes un-focusing as he thought about the problem.

The phone rang and Howard ignored it, looking at his friend. After five shrill rings he lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, silencing it. “What did… what did the scientists who were helping you say about—” He was cut off again as the phone rang once more. With a sigh Howard put it on speaker. “Hello?”

Jarvis’ anxious voice filled the room, startling Steve. “I’m sorry sir, but I couldn’t stop her without risking serious bodily harm.”

Howard’s face soured, “Stop who?”

The door behind Steve crashed open. “Howard you bloody wanker this is absolutely ridiculous. You ship me off for no reason when I have serious work to do. You’re not even doing an experiment are you? No, you’re drinking and—"

It was when she looked down that she got her first glimpse of him, and it ripped the words from her mouth.

He stood, slowly, and tried to smile, even though he could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. “Hi, Peg.”

Her breath caught and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before the only thing she could think to say fell from her lips. “You’re late.”

~*~

End Notes: To keep track, here are the five times: 1. Wanda 2. Pym/Bruce (Yes, they count as one, sue me) 3. The Ancient One 4. Loki 5. Howard. And the one time he didn’t was Red Skull. I don’t write this trope that often, so… yeah.

This was all written LONG before Loki came out. Just in light of all the silliness going around I felt like I needed to post, and hopefully some of you needed to read it.

Let’s keep fandom happy and enjoyable, friends.

#Steggy #Steggy Fic #3P writes stuff #Salty as hell and I'm going to write fic about it

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savrenim · 3 years ago

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hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

#my life #my writing #ifmlam

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

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Idk if you doing requests or not rn buut, feriowind has been posting a bunch of vampire!Hermann and I needs some modern vampire Hermann and professor Newt...

uwu ily

SO I feel like I should open by saying a WIP fic with this concept by @coloredpencilroses exists and I Love it, so read High Stakes for something much better than this lol (and leave a nice comment). HAPPY OCTOBER!!!! warning for very mildly implied sexy stuff. EDIT: and of COURSE I forgot to tag @theloccent for my extremely belated fill for the “Vampire” square on my bingo card :/

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

Newt has always been an extremely persistent type. He considers it, naturally, one his greatest strengths—no theory goes untested, no question goes unanswered, no experiment goes…well, unexperimented. You don’t get more PhDs than you can count on one hand if you’re not persistent. You don’t get a date with the hot new engineering professor down the hall if you’re not persistent, either, but Newt is finding this venture is taking a little more effort than usual. That’s fine, though. He likes challenges.

Dr. Gottlieb was hired by the university at the start of the semester, after the head of the engineering department—who’s nearing her seventies—finally decided she’d had enough and announced her retirement somewhat last minute. He is, frankly, unlike anyone Newt’s ever seen before, a weird combination of cheekbones, wide lips, and a turn-of-the-century old-fashioned air that carries over into everything from his wardrobe to the stiff way he carries himself. He wouldn’t look out of place in a black and white photograph, Newt thinks. Or maybe even the illustrations of a Dickens novel. That’s not why Newt’s into him, though—well, not the only reason why.

In the entire month and a half Gottlieb’s been here, he hasn’t spoken a single word to anyone his contract doesn’t require him to; when he is forced into conversation, he scowls and snaps and mumbles his way through before making a polite excuse as to why he needs to leave the room right now, immediately. No one knows anything about him other than the bare minimum—that his name is Dr. Gottlieb, he lectures in engineering, and he exists. Shit, Newt doesn’t even know his first name. The little plaque outside his office just says Gottlieb.

The mystery just makes Gottlieb all the more alluring to Newt.

Anyway, his continued failures in winning Gottlieb over aren’t a result of a lack of trying. On Gottlieb’s first day, Newt stopped by his office to introduce himself. He didn’t bother knocking. Maybe that was his first mistake. “I’m Newt,” he said. “My office is a few doors down from you. You’re the new department head?”

Gottlieb looked stricken, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said. He didn’t say anything else.

“Cool,” Newt said. “Anyway, I’m technically in the bio department, but I teach a few interdisciplinary courses with engineering, so I requested they stick me over here to get a bigger office.” He cracked a grin. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb said.

Newt tried again the next day.

“Your office is so dark,” he said, conversationally, because it was—lights all off, books stacked up everywhere, maroon drapes drawn tightly in front of the single small window. Dark and stuffy. “Feel free to stop by my office whenever you want a break from it. I have a corner one, so I have two windows.”

“I requested this office,” Gottlieb said, not looking up the article he was marking up.

Newt became desperate by his third attempt and did something that’s left him burning with shame even now, weeks later, and that would probably warrant the immediate transfers of sleep-deprived engineering majors out of all his courses if word ever got out it was him: he deliberately broke the department coffee machine. “Man, I can’t believe that thing is busted again,” he declared to Gottlieb. “Good thing I have a Keurig in my office.” Newt had gone out and purchased a Keurig immediately before destroying the coffee pot. “Seriously, come by whenever you need caffeine.”

Gottlieb blinked at him, long and slow, and Newt had the strangest sense that he knew exactly what happened to the coffee pot. “I never drink… coffee,” Gottlieb finally said.

For all Newt’s troubles, the list of things he knows about Gottlieb has expanded by two pitiful points: that his accent is English and posh, and his voice is low and sexy. Helpful.

It’s a chilly day in late October when Newt finally decides to enlist the aid of his interdisciplinary undergrads. Some of them—he learned after poking around their registration records—have a seminar with Gottlieb, and they seem his best bet at learning anything. A spouse—a first name—Newt would take Gottlieb’s favorite color, even. “So,” he starts class, unwinding his scarf off his neck, “that Dr. Gottlieb sure is weird, huh?”

In Newt’s firsthand experience, undergrads love to gossip about their professors, and his certainly don’t disappoint. Gottlieb’s classes are all held in the basement of the engineering building. All run well into the evening, after the sun’s set—most not finished until nine—and Gottlieb hustles out of the lecture hall the moment he can. He walks with a cane and a slight limp. He always dresses like that. He’s never mentioned any sort of family, and wears no wedding ring. He’s scary good at math. No one knows his first name.

“You’ve been an invaluable help,” Newt tells them all seriously.

He mulls the new information over in his office later as he grades some tests. So Gottlieb is a bit of shy, reclusive, genius. No surprise there. Well, his apparent hatred of sunlight is kind of weird (if unsurprising, given how pale he is) but maybe he just has sensitive eyes or something. Who is Newt to judge? At least he knows how to improve his next plan of attack—he just has to ask the guy to come over and sit in a dark room in silence with him. That’s probably Gottlieb’s dream date, actually.

There’s a knock on Newt’s office door. Newt looks up and drops his pen: it’s Gottlieb.

“Uh. Hey, dude!” he squeaks, unsure of how to proceed in this entirely unfamiliar territory. Gottlieb, willingly interacting with him? Willingly leaving his office? “Is there…can I help you with something? Did you want that coffee after all?”

“Most definitely not,” Gottlieb says coolly. He’s standing far enough back from the door that not a single sliver of lamp light from Newt’s office hits him, instead shrouded by the shadows of the dark engineering department. Newt didn’t realize how late it had gotten. “My students informed me that you were interrogating them about me.”

It’s not a question. Newt is struck by a wave of nervousness that he doesn’t quite understand—maybe it’s the sour expression Gottlieb is giving him, something in those dark brown eyes that are piercing through Newt. He feels, foolishly and briefly, like cowering under his desk. He swallows. “Yes,” he says, and adds, stammering, “I mean—I wasn’t interrogating them. I was just asking a few questions.”

“Why?” Gottlieb says.

“Uh,” Newt says. “I guess I was…curious, about you?”

He works up the guts to look Gottlieb in the eyes; he sees Gottlieb’s eyebrows jump the tiniest fraction of an inch. “You’re attracted to me,” Gottlieb says, another non-question, though Newt hears a flicker of surprise.

“Yeah,” Newt admits.

“I see,” Gottlieb says. Then, to Newt’s surprise, he suddenly smiles. “I’d like if you invited me over for dinner, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Dinner,” Newt says. He feels strangely dizzy; but, shaking himself, he quickly gets over it. “I mean, dinner! Yes! Shit! When?”

“Tonight, I should think,” Hermann says.

Tonight is Friday, which means they don’t have work tomorrow. By the time they make it off campus it’ll be almost ten—way later than people eat dinner—and besides, Newt already had a sandwich at around seven. Is dinner a euphemism? Is Gottlieb propositioning him? God, why didn’t he wash his sheets with the laundry this week? “Tonight,” Newt says. He stands up abruptly and grabs his leather jacket with trembling fingers. Why is he trembling? Nerves, he guesses. He’s about to hook up with total hottie Dr. Gottlieb, he’s allowed to be nervous. “Fuck yes. Let’s go now.”

Gottlieb is not impressed with the messy state of Newt’s apartment, and even less impressed with the state of Newt’s refrigerator and freezer. “Dinosaur chicken nuggets and canned Lime-A-Ritas,” he says with a sniff. “Hm. You ought to be getting more vitamins, Dr. Geiszler. I’m certain you’re deficient in something.”

“You sound like my dad,” Newt snorts. He throws his car keys on the counter and shrugs off his jacket. “There’s some leftover Chinese on the second shelf if you want it—just some lo mein. Or I could put a frozen pizza in the oven. Or I guess we could order something too?”

Gottlieb shuts the fridge door delicately. “How kind of you to offer,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he means it. Newt is suddenly struck by how bizarre a sight he is in the midst of Newt’s chaotic kitchen: buttoned up to the throat with his stupid shirt and blazer, prodding at the fraying lime lizard-shaped rug by the sink with the end of his ornately-handled cane. Out of time and out of place.

“It’s Newt,” Newt says. “Please don’t call me Dr. Geiszler, it makes me feel ancient.”

“Hm,” Gottlieb says.

“And what,” Newt says, deciding to test his luck a little, “uh—what should I call you?”

Gottlieb considers him. “Hermann,” he says.

The name rings a bell in the back of Newt’s head. He swears he’s heard it somewhere before—an article, maybe. A book. Has he stumbled across Dr. Gottlieb’s research before without even realizing it? He’s on the verge of asking what publications Gottlieb’s been featured in when Gottlieb suddenly snags hold of his hand; then, raising it to his mouth, he kisses it. His lips are as cold as his skin. “Would you like to show me to your quarters, Newton?” he murmurs.

Newt shivers; he nods.

“Hermann Gottlieb,” Newt says aloud later, while Hermann redresses himself. “Now I know where I’ve heard that name before.”

“Yes?” Hermann says. He’s lacing up one of his Oxfords.

“I worked with his research in one of my dissertations,” Newt says. “Another Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, I mean. He was a brilliant mathematician from—God, 1830-something. German. His work was groundbreaking for the time, or shit, for our time, too.” He remembers seeing a portrait of that Hermann Gottlieb in one of his sources; the whole of the similarities between him and Newt’s Hermann Gottlieb (the dark eyes, the mouth, the cheekbones) are a little too much to be entirely coincidental. “You must be related to him, right? Like, he’s your great-great-great—”

“Yes,” Hermann cuts him off quickly. He turns to Newt and smiles. “A distant ancestor, certainly. I believe you are the first in some time to have made that connection.”

“Always thought he was cool,” Newt yawns. “Man, I’m tired.” The romp with Hermann had been fun, if not unexpectedly exhausting, and a little…out of the ordinary. The dude apparently has some sort of weird biting kink that left Newt’s neck stinging a little bit, but it’s cool, Newt doesn’t mind. It was like boning a vampire or something. Kinda hot. “Do you need me to show you to the door, or can I just stay here? I’m serious about spending the night though. I really don’t mind.”

Hermann fiddles with the laces of his other shoe, then, slowly, draws the whole thing back off. “If it’s not an imposition,” he says, and smiles again, shyly. “Though, I warn you—I’m a bit of a late sleeper.”

“Good, so I am,” Newt says. “Could you toss me the sweatshirt hanging on that chair? You can grab one for yourself too, if you’re cold, I’ve got another hanging in the closet. No, not--yeah, that door.”

They dip under the covers and get cozy, Newt taking on the task of big spoon, because Hermann is a cold sonofabitch and could use a little insulation. The last thought on his mind before he drifts off to a comfortable sleep is how strange it is he can’t feel Hermann’s heartbeat—though, he realizes, it’s probably just muffled by their clothing.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

Text

Preview: Nightclub, Hero Edition

Katsuki Bakugo and Hitoshi Shinsou X Reader fic, plus Neito Monoma being a dick

All Minor characters are aged up. Do not come at if I did not send for you.

---080---

Contents: public sex, voyeurism, threesome, fingering, light hair pulling, praise kink, double penetration

A shiver ran down your spine. Mind Jack couldn’t want anything from you, could he? You thought about all the girls your ex-boyfriend compared you to. You were too prudish, and when you did have sex, you weren’t all that adventurous. You wanted to like sex just like everybody else did. Whether it was you or your partners, you couldn’t tell. You sipped your beer, chiding yourself.

This is a mistake. I should just check out and go home.

You almost turned to find one of your friends when Mind Jack caught your eye again. You glanced up at him to see Mind Jack whispering something to Bakugo. He had his hand cupping his mouth so you couldn’t tell what he was saying. Not that it made a difference at any rate with the club’s pulsing, beating music thrumming in your ears. To your shock, Bakugo turned his red eyes towards you.

You couldn’t help swallowing hard and downed the rest of your drink. You thought it best to sneak away and grab one of your friends before you did something silly and out of character. You tiptoed unto the dance floor, brushing past gyrating, sweating bodies. Two of your friends joined the others dancing and didn’t even hear you calling out to them. A pair of strong hands reached out and touched your waist.

“At least let me talk to you before you start running for the hills.” A voice said next to your ears.

You gulped again. You never heard this voice before but felt its timber shoot pleasure all the way down your spine. You felt the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“Um,” you licked your lips. “I’ve never done this before. I-I don’t really go out to clubs.”

“Relax. I’m not going to bite.” The stranger spun you around to face him.

You faced those indigo eyes up close and personal. This close, you could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He was pale beneath the strobe lights.

“Unless you’re into that sort of thing,” he chuckled.

“Are you, are you at least going to give me a name before you try to dance with me?” You stammered.

“Mind Jack, but you can call me Hitoshi.”

“Is it safe for you to give me your real name? Being an underground hero and all?” You asked.

“Let’s just say I’m very comfortable getting to know you. How about you give me your name, or else I’ll start calling you kitty.”

Your face turned beet red, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol you just finished off. Shinsou pulled you close to him so that your bodies pressed together.

“Y-Y/N L/N. I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Well, L/N, can I have this dance?”

“S-Sure,” you answered.

Hitoshi lowered his hands to your hips and looked for permission. You laced your arms on his shoulders and nodded. Throughout the first song, you apologized for not knowing how to dance and stepping on his toes. Hitoshi squeezed your hips, and you couldn’t deny how his hand felt on you. Your lower belly was full of butterflies at this point. You wondered if a single bottle was all it took to make you lose all inhibitions. You were lost in your own thoughts as well as Shinsou’s burning gaze when a voice pulled you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I cut in?”

You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. Could it?

You were spun around landed in the chest of none other than Katsuki Bakugo, Ground Zero himself. Your face turned a brighter shade of red. Your body moved parallel to his as the music pulsed in your ears. Katsuki’s hands wandered to your lower back and hip as he pulled you close. He leaned his head towards your neck. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, giving rise to goosebumps. Your heart fluttered in your chest. Your nails dug into his shoulders as if begging him to stop or continue; you could no longer tell at this point.

Another set of hands pulled you away or tried to. Katsuki’s hold on you was too strong to remove you entirely away from him. Hitoshi appeared behind you. His hand reached behind the back of your neck and turned your face towards his. Katsuki kissed the juncture of where your shoulder met your neck while Hitoshi claimed your lips. You moaned at the dual sensation of two men kissing different parts of you at the same time. Your legs instantly turned into Jell-O. If not for the set of hands holding you up, it would be easy for your legs to give out from beneath you and make you collapse on the floor. Alcohol officially had nothing to do with you making out with one pro-hero while another kissed your neck.

Hitoshi ran his tongue along your bottom lip, silently asking for permission for entrance. Slowly, you opened your mouth to permit him. Hands ran up and down your torso and the top of your thighs. Between them, you were gripped, groped, and caressed in ways at your ex would have never. You became lost in the flavor of Hitoshi when you heard a deriding laugh even above the pounding music.

You didn’t realize that you closed your eyes the moment Hitoshi started kissing you. When you opened them again, standing before you with a sneer on his face was your ex-boyfriend, Neito Monoma. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at you stuck between two men.

“It’s been less than what? A week? Couldn’t decide which one, so you decide to be a slut with both of them?” Said Neito.

“Hey, Monoma,” said Hitoshi.

“Wh—”

He stupidly fell right into Hitoshi’s trap. Neito stood there dumbly in the middle of the dance floor with that vacant stare.

“Monoma, stand there and watch us please your former girlfriend better than you could.”

Katsuki chuckled against your skin. “Yeah, ya damn extra. Stand over there with that dumb, shitty look on your face.”

#bakugo #katsuki bakugō #shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #reader fic #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #mha smut #mha fanfiction #Bakugo x reader #Shinsou x reader #Bakugo and Shinsou x Reader #reader smut #aged up characters #minors do not interact #Neito Monoma being a dick #preview

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Bare Oneself and One’s Soul (Bi!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader)

Summary: Sex workers and strippers are being killed in Portland, Maine. The BAU team investigates the fourth and attempts to build a profile. But with part of the puzzle still missing, the reader contemplates offering to revisit a previous profession of theirs - the oldest in the business - to draw out the unsub.

AN: My first fic for Criminal Minds! I started watching the show about two weeks ago and I cannot stop. I’m on series 4 so no spoilers for me please! I would like to open requests soon, still wanna write more diverse readers hence why this is my first entry into this fandom.

Thank you @imagining-in-the-margins for inspiring me with your Bi The Way fic and answering my queries! You’re the bee’s knees!

Feedback and requests to be tagged in specific fics are welcome

Word count: 6.9k words

Content Warnings: Descriptions of violence, descriptions of dead bodies, homophobia, threats of outing, stripping, lap dances (mild NSFW), Gone Girl spoilers. Please let me know if I have missed anything!

Your name: submit What is this?

“Dancing, at its best, is independence and intimacy in balance.” ― Donna Goddard, The Love of Devotion

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was already hard enough with this job. But someone targeting sex workers and the like, that was going to make things harder. The victims were anonymous in the eyes of the general public, subhuman, not worthy of being reported to warn others in their profession. Furthermore, the associates of the victims were not likely to talk to law enforcement.

Emily, Derek and Y/N returned to the temporary base of operations, having already faced this reality with the limited responses garnered from very few witnesses.

Only the recycling guy who found the latest body was willing and that was a stretch on the definition.

In the police station, Hotch was sifting through the security tapes he had access to, JJ at his side trying to spot the unsub. Spencer was building up a geographical profile and Rossi was out speaking to the family of the latest victim.

Y/N helped Morgan hand out the coffees they’d picked up, dropping a hefty amount of sugar packets and a disposable stirrer on the desk beside where Spencer was working. He stared up at the map and tried to clear his mind in case an epiphany decided to pass by.

The fourth victim was exactly like the three previous. The body was found down the back alley of a local nightclub, this one called Red Effort, and it was sat up daintily in the corner made of the building and a dumpster. A plastic bag was over the head. An expensive silk tie for a gag left in the mouth. Evidence of another used to tie the wrists together but that tie was gone. Other than that, the body was stripped naked.

“The bag wasn’t used in the suffocation; it was put on after death. The unsub couldn’t look at the victim after he’d killed him,” Y/N theorised, “But the nudity has a statement of sadism.”

Derek pointed to the photograph of the fourth victim’s neck, “Bruises around his neck show that strangulation killed him. Some kind of rope, possibly a belt about inch and a half wide, just like the others. But the tie is what gets me. Why leave one in the mouth but not the other around the hands? And why not leave the belt?”

“Hermès is an expensive brand,” JJ said, “But if it was cost the unsub was worried about, they wouldn’t leave the other behind. It must be something sentimental about that tie but not the other items used.”

Moving on, Spencer’s geographical profile highlighted the clubs’ connections. Utopia, Pulse Point, Move, and now Red Effort had tacks in them, standing out over the map. His “colouring in” highlighted clearly the MO of the killer they were after: it was someone local stalking the clubs over the last two weeks.

“The previous attacks show that they are only in the city and the unsub doesn’t hit the same club twice - at least so far. The next target is likely to be one of these three clubs in the radius: Focus, Potential, or Encore.”

“Anything in the CCTV?” Rossi asked.

JJ pinched the bridge of her nose, “Nothing so far from Garcia.”

“Well, I think we’re ready to present the profile to your officers, so if you could get everyone together, we can begin.”

When the group of officers had their notebooks at the ready, Hotch began:

“We’re looking for a man in his mid-thirties to late forties. When he’s in these clubs, he will seem confident and charming, even if he is a lone man amidst multiple women.”

Then Prentiss took over, “He is voyeuristic, hence why he is targeting strip clubs instead of approaching a prostitute. He likes to watch his victims perform, see them with other men before he makes his move.

“Outside of the club, he is less confident,” said Y/N, “He may present himself as heterosexual, probably married which is why he can’t target these men during the day. Going into the city likely means that he lives in the suburbs.”

Morgan continued, “His sexuality is warped; violence is what produces sexual release in his mind. The strangulation method, using a belt, shows that he doesn’t have enough strength themselves to take out their victims. He has to get their complete vulnerability before he can strike.”

Spencer turned away from his map to point to the evidence board, “He is targeting young men, strippers. Some of his victims were prostitutes. They were all brunettes, slim build, all performed on a stage in a nightclub the night they died, and witnesses have confirmed that they gave dances to men and women.”

“This unsub is escalating,” Rossi concluded, “The first attack was five days apart; the last was only two days. These are vulnerable people who need our help. Let’s catch this guy before he hurts any more people.”

A few hours later and Y/N was paired up with Emily at Focus. Drinking water in opaque glasses, they moved subtly to the music with their eyes steady across the club’s topography. The debrief played over and over in Y/N’s mind.

Although, his mind did stray to the fact that it was odd being in one of these clubs again. Being on the other end too, as a “customer”. Not disconcerting, just odd.

“Leather jacket, three o’clock.”

Over the rim of his glass, Y/N followed Emily’s direction and found their suspect. He was looking at a woman who was giddily on the receiving end of a lap dance.

No.

He was looking at the dancer. The man who was sporting some body paint that blended well with his tiger print shorts.

“You got eyes on him?” Emily spoke under her breath.

“I do.”

The suspect passed the dancer gradually, sauntering whilst making steady eye contact. Then his head snapped in the other direction and he walked right out of the club, still unhurried. The dancer’s stare lingered after him before he finished up his routine, flirtatiously thanked the ladies for their generous tip. He walked in the direction the suspect had gone.

Without speaking, Emily and Y/N were next to leave after the suspect. Their guns were drawn once the cool air of the night hit them through the back exit. A streetlamp’s light threw the two men’s identities into silhouettes. Emily and Y/N approached with as much stealth as the bare alleyway would give them before Emily made the call.

The suspect reached out to the dancer and Emily shouted, “FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”

The suspect looked more annoyed than surprised or scared of the guns pointed at him, “Hey, woah, what’s going on?”

“Hands up!” Y/N repeated sternly.

Y/N got the suspect in handcuffs not seconds after complying, Emily moving over to the dancer to check that he was alright.

“Derek?” The suspect screwed his features up, straining to turn and look Y/N in the eye.

Y/N cut him off, “Shut up.”

But still, as the suspect was dragged over to the cop car parked at the kerb, he remarked, “You’ve grown into your big boy pants.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Rossi unlinked his fingers and pressed them into the case file, pushing the photograph across the table to where Fabian O’Conner was sitting. The Encore club’s new manager had kept up his act of being more irked with the officers than intimidated. He was sloppy in his body language, especially after only five hours sleep in a cell and another hour in that uncomfortable chair, not taking any of Rossi’s questions seriously. All Fabian talked about was his club and how shit things were for him in the last fortnight.

“I’ve had three cancellations alone this week!”

Behind the glass, Emily looked to Y/N, “Why’d he call you Derek?”

Y/N was about to lie through his teeth when Hotch’s mobile trilled on the desk.

“Hotchner… OK… alright, we’ll be on the scene right away.” Hotch hung up and looked grimly at his team, “There’s been another murder, at Potential.”

JJ pointed at Fabian who was swinging on the chair’s back legs, “Well, it wasn’t him, so either he has an accomplice or we got something wrong in the profile that meant the unsub slipped past unnoticed.”

“Prentiss, JJ, Morgan, let’s get to the scene,” Hotch instructed, “Reid, Y/N, stay here, keep us updated on what Rossi gets out of this guy.”

As he watched his colleagues exit the building, Y/N wiped his cheek with the back of his left hand, “I’m gonna make more coffee, Spencer, you want any?”

“Please,” Spencer replied, looking over his shoulder with that white people smile he’d nailed over the years. Tossing a thumb’s up in his direction, Y/N headed off to get them their drinks.

“Why would he kill at the risk of losing business himself?” Reid asked him when he returned, sliding the paper cups onto the desk.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” said Y/N, “Fabian’s all about business. Plus, he’s the straightest guy I’ve ever met, don’t think he’d be within fifty miles of comfortable leaving these bodies naked.”

Before Spencer could ask how Y/N would know something like that, his phone rang out and he placed it on speaker phone.

“Garcia, whatcha got?”

“An update on that evidence of yours yesterday,” She spoke, “The tie is a very specific kind. Limited edition at Hermès, bought recently online. The paper trail leads us to a Mr Andrew Lowenthal who lives not a mile away from the city. Prentiss and Morgan went to go check out his home.”

“Brilliant, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, boy genius.”

She hung up before Spencer could but Spencer was already off on a tangent: “Limited collection, they’d stand out to the owner, so maybe they’re left as a message for someone.”

“But who?” Y/N asked the obvious.

He tapped his pen against the post mortem report that hid the corpse’s photographs. Something about those ties just stick in Y/N’s head. They kept reminding him of the ex-boyfriend in Gone Girl, his aversion for all the ties Amy bought him. The same ties Amy used to ruin his life, and that same ex-boyfriend couldn’t say anything at all about it.

Unfortunately, Rossi couldn’t get much more out of Fabian and he was let go. The alibi he’d given was checked out and found to be watertight. Apparently he was just looking in his competitor’s club for a dancer who had left Encore a week ago.

The investigation proved to be more fruitful outside of the station however when, a few hours later, JJ appeared with her notebook, “This girl Emily and I interviewed yesterday, she won’t tell me her real name, but she was there today at Focus. Says she saw a woman this time, a woman walking with Daniel into the alleyway behind the club.”

Hotch’s phone was heard entering the building before he was, buzzing in his palm before he promptly answered once in the room, “Emily, you’re on speaker.”

“So Andrew Lowenthal was home. Get this: he’s gay.”

“What?”

“We caught him packing his things to move out. Andrew came out to his wife Marcie recently and she reacted badly, threw a fit, accused him of cheating. Andrew says he’s been meeting with a man, a stripper, he won’t name him but he says they’ve been working through understanding his sexuality. Who can say if he’s really cheating or not, but this all came out a fortnight ago.”

Morgan continued, “Right when the killings started. Marcie won’t ask for a divorce, she’s threatened to out him though. She’s been staying out late as well on the nights the murders happened.”

Hotch looked at the case file in front of him, up at the geographical profile up on the board.

“Alright, thank you. Come back to the station.”

“The reason the unsub got away is because we thought the unsub was a man,” Y/N sighed as Hotch hung up.

Hotch was quick on the contradiction, “We can’t rule out Andrew yet. All the witnesses so far have said the victims were seen a man.”

“Yes, while they were at the club, but they were killed after work in the alley, not in the private rooms they rented!” Spencer pointed out the security tracking the movements of the victims next to his map, “After she, the unsub, had confirmed that these men would dance and, in her mind, sleep with other men!”

“He’s right,” Y/N supported, “It’s how the unsub would verify that her next victims were involved in homosexual activities. I should have thought of that sooner.”

Garcia was up on the phone immediately, searching for Marcie Lowenthal amidst the security footage. The genius that she was, it only took her a minute to find the new suspect at every single crime scene. The clips appeared on the laptop screen and played, this time with a box around the woman’s face to bring her out against the rest of the image.

“Marcie Lowenthal,” JJ pointed to her image on the screen. Garcia was correct, she had been right there, at the corner of each photo printed off from the other clubs

JJ carried on as the conversation between Daniel and Marcie unfolded onscreen, “Around the middle of the night, approaches Daniel, arranges to meet him outside in the alley once he’s finished work.”

“And we thought she was just too nervous to instigate a dance with them,” Derek bit his lip hard, “So what do we do now? She’s not at work, she’s in the air until she kills again. She’s been escalating, so she’ll kill again tonight.”

It was then that Y/N decided to jump in with the idea he had been brewing since his second cup of coffee:

“I could go undercover in one of the clubs.”

Hotch stared for a moment at Y/N, clearly caught off guard by the outburst, before speaking in that collected drone of his, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Each club is hit once, Encore is one of two potential spots left, the unsub is escalating so they will be at one tonight. It’s “Boys in the Buff’ at Encore tonight, so likelihood of them being there is high compared to Potential’s ‘Dollar a Drink’ gimmick, OK? It’s just a suggestion. If we have another plan, I’m all ears.”

“You fit the MO, but how would you even blend in?” Spencer asked.

The next bit came out a lot easier than when Y/N had expected.

“When I was here during college, I used to be a stripper at Encore, before I worked in the FBI. ‘Derek’ was my pseudonym. Fabian was a bouncer at Encore before he became manager.”

The wave of expressions changing throughout the room were significant: jaws slacking; a little lift in an eyebrow; most notably, silence.

Rossi walked into the room, completely ignorant to the tone set by Y/N’s revelation, “Marcie Lowenthal’s next move is at Encore. She’s building up to Focus where her husband has been going. Garcia tracked his car’s GPS to that club five times in the last month.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Encore is the next step and then Focus,” Y/N fidgeted with his pen.

Hotch turned back at Y/N and in his usual calm and collected tone he spoke, “Tell us what you need for this.”

“I’ll need an hour to warm up, a slot on stage, and a guy to dance with then take to a private room. And some hot pants.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Encore was empty, the stage free from dancers, the bar barren.

It was always weird to look at a club when it was empty and all the normal lights were on. Even more so that it had been redecorated in Y/N’s hiatus from Portland, highlighting how surreal it was to be back.

Y/N climbed up onto the stage and surveyed the empty seats. Then he began to warm himself up. A grunt escaped him every now and again, fighting against his stiff joints. Thankfully, the BAU was another job that kept fitness levels high as a necessity.

Humming his chosen song, Y/N began to test his flexibility against the pole. Muscle memory brought back his techniques one after the other. He repeated one of his old routines in broken segments, saving the transitions for last before he was ready to properly rehearse it. With a sigh, he took off his button up, leaving only the tight spandex that wrapped his crotch in a deep cherry red.

“Nice package.”

Mimi was watching from the side of the stage, her heels dangling by the straps on the tips of two fingers. A fond smile played on her lips, one that grew into a toothy grin filled with genuine glee as she approached him.

“Hey!” Y/N finally retorted, though there was that same playfulness in his voice that meant he didn’t take the comment on his junk to heart.

“Hello,” Mimi gave him a warm embrace, “What are you doing back here, you idiot?”

Y/N settled for the excuse of needing a few extra bucks and figured it would be nice to join in the gender equality of male strippers. Mimi didn’t seem convinced.

“You choose that now? When all those guys in the other clubs are getting murdered?”

“I’ll be sure not to follow anyone the alley. Are you doing ok?”

“All good.”

“Really? I’ve seen you at some of the crime scenes, talking with the FBI.”

“I’m safe, especially with my girls.”

“Speaking of, it’s ladies’ night, what are you doing here?”

“Just picking up something I forgot,” and she poked him in the centre of his chest, “Good luck tonight.”

Y/N rubbed that spot as she left the club, “Thanks.”

Not much else happened between Y/N finishing up his rehearsal and the club opening. The conversations in the dressing room was soon drowned out by the din of eager customers waiting.

To say that Y/N was more nervous about dancing in front of his co-workers – his actual co-workers, not the other dancers – than performing in front of a serial killer would be an understatement. He had gone to the toilet three times in the last ten minutes. And that was saying something; the men’s loos were beyond disgusting.

On the steps up, he could see Emily was at the bar with JJ. They looked normal enough. Two gals on a night out to a strip club. A quick scan found Derek near the door with one of the bouncers. Hotch and Rossi were hidden in the security room, and the other agents at their aid were outside with civvies over protective gear. Everyone was watching as the announcer introduced him as “Derek” for his walk across the stage. Whoops and whistles followed him as he preened for the women in the seats down below.

Then he found Spencer. For once, he was dressed like he was from Las Vegas. Loud colours splashed across his shirt, clashing with the strobe lights. But he definitely stood out as one man amongst tens of women.

And thus began behaving “normally”. Y/N’s head space allowed him to move with ease throughout the groups of women to make it towards Spencer, who had already locked eyes on him.

His hand was shaking a little as he touched Spencer’s shoulder going past. It was a repeat of an action he’d seen on one of the tapes: keeping eye contact with a potential wallet he could dance for before pretending to drop interest.

The look between them was another matter. Eye contact was something that made the both of Y/N and Spencer nervous, but not when it was with each other. That comfort that was oft shared across the table at a meeting still comforted Y/N as his hand fell from Spencer and back to his side. The warmth of it spread through his body and gave new life to his confidence. He was safe. His team were all here. He was going to be fine. He was going to be brilliant.

The first up on the stage to perform was a man, taller and buffer than Y/N, dressed as a fireman. He swept a woman from the audience off her chair in the middle of the routine.

The second was a trio of oiled up men, weaving in and out the front row between exaggerated erotic dance moves. It was a bit of a laugh, goofy with the hen do at the front egging them on.

And now it was his turn.

“Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and then see what we find?”

Y/N took his time stepping up to the pole, using the sultry slow beat of the music to his best advantage. Knowing most of the club had their eyes on him was horrendous and enthralling simultaneously. The next four minutes were crucial for attracting the unsub.

He performed a reverse grab to face his audience dead on. Hung gracefully upside down, still moving around the pole.

The murmurs of awe were appreciated but not what the unsub was looking for.

Time to up the ante.

Dismounting the pole, Y/N dragged a chair into the centre of the walkway. He pretended to survey everyone at the front of the stage before landing on Spencer. There, he knelt forward and held out his hand. As soon as his grip reached Spencer’s wrist, Y/N pulled him up and onto the chair.

In position, he ignored all the women screaming in the crowds, ignored the fetishization at their expense. He focused on Spencer. And that awful shirt.

He kept an inch between them for now, but Spencer wasn’t tense as he had imagined. No, Spencer was lounging back, and basking in the performance. The smile on his face, it was daring Y/N to move closer.

Spreading his legs to stand between them, Y/N touched him first. He could feel the padding of Spencer’s bulletproof vest beneath his shirt’s soft fabric. At the ends of those lovely arms (the ones often hidden beneath those cardigans) Spencer’s hands twitched.

Y/N backed up against him like he had done with the pole. A cinematic parallel the women definitely appreciated. Bringing those long legs back together, Y/N made himself comfortable on his lap, a fingertip facing the threat of being cut as it dragged along Spencer’s jaw. That prickle of stubble sparked against him. Their faces so close that his lips so close to brushing over Spencer’s, barely any space for the crooning of the possessive lyrics to reach between them. Straddling Spencer gave Y/N even more confidence. He continued to tease Spencer, taking in the smell of the sweat from the light’s heat and his skin’s flush, bolded in bright pink. His lips at his throat, they dragged across the swell of his Adam’s apple that quaked beneath him as Spencer swallowed.

They heard a whistle from the crowds that was almost definitely from JJ, spurring on the crowd to react louder. But over their roars, Y/N heard a gasp fly from Spencer. His eyes instinctively drifted down to look at Spencer’s open mouth, down further at where he was sat. Even if Y/N couldn’t feel everything, the trousers were doing nothing to hide how Spencer was feeling.

Bills were flying onto the stage floor. Y/N continued to play his part, arching his body to ripple against Spencer’s. But Spencer caught his hip, his bottom lip now bitten as he let out a groan, low enough to not be heard over the music’s closing bars. But it was clear that his reaction sparked something in the audience. Y/N leant back to survey his handiwork, twirling a loose lock of Spencer’s hair around his finger in the space between them. Then his hand drew away and left that hair in his face before climbing off him and walking off the stage with a blackout - bar one pink spot left on Spencer.

The second he was off stage, Y/N turned around and watched from the wings. Spencer rose from the chair and took a little bow. He bowed again much to the pleasure of the crowd. As he walked down the steps, Y/N could see that he was very clearly aroused.

Y/N made his way out as soon as the audience’s attention was on the stage. He knew the unsub would still be watching Spencer, now stood at the bar and sipping from a glass. It was hard not to feel the sting of a serial killer’s stare as he approached Spencer with a coy smile.

“Hey.”

Turning to face him, Spencer finished his drink before speaking, “Hello, Derek.”

“Hope you enjoyed yourself up there.”

“I did.” And he leant against the bar leisurely, his hand pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket, “Any chance of another round? Without the crowd this time.”

Plucking the money free with one hand, Y/N beckoned with the other, “Right this way, sir.”

Both men could see the unsub watching them in the reflection of the ceiling, following them until they filtered through the beaded curtains. Spencer went into the private room first. Y/N closed the door, trapping them in a room of mirrors and flooded pink light over a disco ball - music only muted slightly on the tiny speakers. The epitome of sleaze.

“The unsub followed us here,” Y/N dropped his act and the dollar bills onto the couch arm, falling into one half of the seat.

After a moment, Spencer sat down beside him. The cuffs of his trousers hitched up, revealing the Reid Special that was mismatching socks. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment.

“Uh, what happened out there…”

Spencer struggled to find the words so Y/N jumped in, “Don’t even worry about it. You’re not the first guy to pop a boner when I’m dancing.”

Even with that reassurance, Spencer was tenacious in explaining himself, “I want you to know I wasn’t creeping on you, and that I was focused on the situation at hand. It’s just, when an attractive man is mostly undressed and dancing like that right in front of me -” he paused to look at Y/N for the first time since they’d entered the private room “- Well, that was the most natural response.”

“I get it. It’s all good.”

Spencer, the germaphobe, perching on a couch that was definitely not up to any kind of sanitary standard, wearing that horrendous gaudy shirt, decided to strike up conversation.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Become a stripper.”

“Kept me fit during college and the tips were good.”

“Then why’d you quit?”

“I wanted to be an agent more than I wanted money.”

Eventually the wordless drone of EDM faded and Shook Me All Night Long began to beat across the room. Y/N jumped right up onto his feet, his hands open and out for Spencer to take, “Come on, up. No way to pass the time like dancing. And I’m not talking the kind from onstage!”

Spencer’s frown was hilariously contradictory, “We are tracking a serial killer, who likely has you for her next target.”

“I know, but we’re in a private room, and we’ve got another fifteen minutes at least to pass. We can’t do anything else, so up!”

“Y/N, I don’t dance. You know that.”

Sighing, Y/N’s head lolled back then rolled around to look Spencer dead in the eye, “Think logically. You need to leave this room, looking like you’ve just gotten the lap dance of your life, all hot and bothered. Either you get up and dance, or I’m gonna have to get in your lap again.”

Spencer blinked, “I know you think that’s a threat, but it’s really not.”

That caught Y/N off guard, and again when Spencer stood up and began a very awkward, very out of time two-step. Y/N let Spencer’s words go to focus on getting him more pumped.

“There we go! Let your body do all the talking.”

“My body is telling me to sit down.”

“Well… Ignore it then. It’s just us!”

Now, when his dances were coordinated like the one he had performed on stage, Y/N was rather good. Dancing outside of the stripping profession however was not his forte. One might even say he was worse than Spencer in this regard. Somehow the random arm movements alongside the bouncing on the balls of his feet were classified as “dancing”.

Spencer couldn’t laugh; his efforts, once he matched the energy, were no better. His curly hair jumping just a little delayed, that one lock that Y/N had pulled onstage still separate, he tried the headbanging like Y/N suggested. It was somewhat terrible, but not completely.

It was midway through the second song that the men fully allowed themselves to enjoy this silly moment in the sea of seriousness.

Only when Locked out of Heaven faded into more EDM did they stop for breath. They went halves on the couch and soaked up the temporary respite.

“Can’t imagine if it was Hotch in here instead of you,” Y/N panted. Spencer let out a little wheeze at the notion as he continued, “Not to undermine the importance of the job but I was glad it was you I was going undercover with. And I think you’re quite attractive too.”

It only took a fraction of a second for Spencer to understand what Y/N was referring to at the end. With a surge of confidence, he replied, “Only quite?”

“No offence to that exploding rainbow of a shirt, but I prefer you in your usual button-up and tie.”

They shared so much in that moment. Smiles, breath, honesty, the couch, endorphins. It went beyond the eye contact across the conference room’s table.

In a spike of nerves, Spencer reverted back to a constant in his life: facts.

“You know, dancing is meant to improve problem solving skills and reduces cortisol – a stress hormone – in the body. Furthermore, Dr Lovatt proved that dancing helps with social bonding. The synchrony involved in dancing to a beat along with other people is a powerful way for humans to connect.”

Y/N propped his head against his hand, arm leaning on the back of the couch as he watched Spencer’s facts unfurl.

“I didn’t know that,” He said quietly, “But it explains why it made me feel better about going back out there.”

“You weren’t nervous though. You weren’t tapping.” And Spencer pointed to Y/N’s hands, still as the rest of him.

Flexing his fingers before relaxing again, Y/N dared to look at Spencer again, “It’s why I said I’m glad I’m undercover with you.”

Spencer held that look, just for a little longer than before, checked his watch, “I guess we should get going if we wanna catch Marcie Lowenthal.”

“I suppose we’ll have to do our jobs,” sighed Y/N, only half joking.

Just before he was about to leave, Spencer was stopped by Y/N, who proceeded to untuck Spencer’s shirt and pull the end of his belt out of the loop.

“Make sure she sees you looking like this.”

Spencer gave him an incongruously polite nod before exiting. Once in view of the unsub, he made a show of adjusting his appearance before going to the bar to get another drink. Y/N took his time before coming out with the stack of bills tucked into his hot pants.

His dancing continued but back to its regularly slutty program. It was an hour with a hen do, six women who were tipsy and very liberal with their dollars. Sometimes Y/N found JJ and Emily while he was blending in, and though he couldn’t smile, and neither could they, he felt that safety net secured. Safer still when he passed them by on his way to the bar where Marcie Lowenthal was nursing a beer in a flower-patterned shirt and black skirt.

She was the one who initiated contact, stroking over Y/N’s arm to get his attention as he passed.

“Hello,” Marcie leant over to speak in his ear, “I enjoyed your dance earlier.”

“Thank you.”

“You versatile?”

“I can be anything you want.” And Y/N touched her waist, “I can make you feel good.”

With a catlike grin, Marcie leant in to whisper, “When do you get off?”

“Doesn’t matter if I do, it’s all about you, darling.” She let out a bark of laughter before Y/N managed to answer her question properly, “I finish in an hour.”

It was then that he realised Marcie was gripping his arm tight, “Meet me outside, in the back alley, in fifteen minutes.”

The team was right; she was escalating, devolving now that she was planning the murder before the night was done.

Y/N kept up the mask of intrigue, though he was cringing into himself underneath. “In here not good enough for you?”

“I like it dirty.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you there.” He winked before heading towards the dressing room.

His palms were a bit sweaty. That soon changed as he stepped outside in just his pants and a button up he’d brought for this very occasion. The alleyway seemed empty, aside from the unsub waiting by the dumpster. But Y/N kept faith that his team was ready and waiting nearby as he approached Marcie who was wrapped up in her leather jacket.

It was when she reached for something in her pocket that the hem lifted and Y/N saw the belt around her waist, hoisting the skirt up over her hips. About one and a half inches wide.

From her jacket pocket, Marcie procured a silk tie, “I like my men seen and not heard.”

“My safe-word is ‘alligator’,” Y/N said before opening his mouth.

Silk never was his favourite form of gag; it was too soft, too soggy once in the mouth. Marcie tied it roughly around the back of his head, causing Y/N to grunt and again when she tugged again with another around his wrists. Then he felt it. The cold tip of a blade pressed against his stomach.

“Turn around,” Marcie spoke through gritted teeth. A glance behind her and Y/N could see the shadows of his fellow agents gaining on them. Complying, he turned around as slowly as possible. The tip of the knife dragged across his skin.

“FBI! Marcie Lowenthal, drop the knife!“

Derek’s booming voice caught Marcie off guard, the knife breaking the skin of Y/N’s lower back.

“Drop it!” Hotch stated with less volume but just as much authority, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Drop the knife and step away from him,” Emily backed up from the other end of the alleyway, taking a step towards them.

Seeing that she was surrounded, Marcie crumbled and dropped the knife. It clinked away somewhere to the right. The team swarmed on her.

“Hands in the air, on your knees!”

The grind of handcuffs snapping around her wrists was the cue. Y/N ripped the gag from his mouth and began untying his hands; he was quick to pass the agents and officers to get on the street. There, he placed the tie in an evidence bag on his way out of the alleyway. Spencer, FBI vest atop his stripy shirt, held out Y/N’s coat for him. He thanked Spencer. He kept his “now I look like a flasher” comment to himself.

Lowenthal did not go quietly, not even as she was forced into a cop car to be driven to the station.

“Straight people are fucking headcases,” Y/N muttered to himself as he ducked around various onlookers.

“The tie,” Emily remarked as she saw the second one being examined, “It was her first anniversary present to Andrew. The others were ones purchased after he found out he was gay.”

“And Andrew couldn’t say anything about her behaviour or else she’d out him,” concluded Y/N.

With a nod, Emily touched his shoulder, “You alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” and Y/N squeezed her hand before heading over to the club – hopefully for the last time. By the corner of the building, he found Mimi waiting and watching.

She spotted him and spoke quickly, “You take care of yourself.”

She pulled him into a hug. Y/N had enough time to say “you too” before breaking away and joining the team to drive back to the station. Mimi had already vanished from the scene by the time Y/N was looking out the passenger window, driving by the hubbub of Encore.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Thankfully, Y/N was granted the opportunity to change before getting on the jet home – as was Spencer. Both were in their comfort clothing: a hoodie and joggers, and a cardigan paired with slacks respectively. Claiming the couch, Y/N curled up around his pillow and rubbed over the bruise that he could feel growing on his shin. His friends were occupied with their own activities. Everyone was too wired to sleep.

“Get many tips?” Emily joked about fifteen minutes into the flight.

“I did alright, and no wank stains on ‘em either. Makes you rethink your career choices?”

“No stains? That’s how you know you’ve hit the big time.”

“I’m a luxury few can afford.” A pause followed as Y/N thought on the money tucked into his bag’s front pocket, then he addressed the cabin, “Y’all better not think any less of me because I used to strip.”

“Of course not,” JJ spoke up immediately, and a wave of agreement swept through the cabin.

“We’d never judge you for that,” Rossi added.

“Good,” Y/N stood up in the middle of the aisle, “Feel free to judge me for keeping these though.”

And he dropped his joggers to reveal a pair of hot pink hot pants with “BABY SLUT” in sparkly letters on his rear – just visible below the hem of his black FBI hoodie.

Instantly JJ and Derek exploded into splutters, Derek fumbling with his phone to take a photo. Emily was well on her way to laughter as she gawped and grinned. Spencer was hiding behind his book, his eyes peeking over the top. They were crinkled at the corners so Y/N could tell he was smiling. Even Rossi and Hotch had the tiniest of smirks that lit up their eyes with mirth.

“Look at you, Hot Stuff!” Derek cheered.

“Think this is a better uniform than the vest? Alright,” Y/N held a hand up to Hotch who had either opened his mouth to speak or had just forgotten to control his jaw, “I’m putting them away.”

Just like that, he pulled up his jogging bottoms again and fell back onto the couch, as if nothing ever happened. He was pleased as punch that he could joke about this with his co-workers and not at his expense.

A spare glance landed on Spencer, who had dropped his book into his lap and was suddenly very interested in the cuff of his left sleeve. Y/N made no comment but felt very pleased that he’d gotten another response from the doctor.

Sitting in silence, he folded his arms around the pillow, pulling it into his chest. That silence continued until they had landed and were back in the office to drop off the paperwork, ready for revisiting tomorrow. That was when they were alone, when Y/N made his move to speak to Spencer.

“Hey,” he started, drawing Spencer’s attention away from his shoulder bag, “I am sorry about all the touching on this case. I know you don’t like it.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Spencer’s eyes widened and his hand reached out as if to grab them from the air and drag them back, “I, um, I mean I understood that you had- it was necessary for your cover to remain intact; you don’t have to apologise.”

Y/N couldn’t really do anything other than blink. It felt a little formal after their previous interactions, more awkward after the “attractive” comment they had shared.

“Good, no bad blood?”

“Not at all.”

Walking away from the desk when Spencer dragged Y/N’S attention back with a burst of words, “A-And I wanted to say I don’t care that you were a sex worker. In fact, I think you’re brave. Not just on this case; going up to on that stage when you were in college, dancing for all those people, and doing that with a serial killer last night, that took a lot of guts. I really respect that. You, I respect you, Y/N.”

God, that was attractive. That flow of words that were often statistics or fact Spencer had tucked away in that brain of his, something Y/N never wanted to interrupt and it was admiration, understanding, for him.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

Then Y/N remembered something else. The front pocket of his bag was unzipped and he held out the bills to Spencer, “Kept your private room refund stain free.”

The brushing of fingers during the exchange of money filled Y/N with more butterflies than the entire outing in the club.

“Thank you.” Spencer tapped the bills between his thumb and forefinger, looking back to Y/N, “Maybe I could buy you dinner some time, with this stain free money.”

Y/N bit the inside of his cheek to restrain his glee, yet still a comforting smile beamed at Spencer, “I’d like that.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“Real intimacy is a sacred experience. It never exposes its secret trust and belonging to the voyeuristic eye of a neon culture. Real intimacy is of the soul, and the soul is reserved.” ― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #my writing #wc: 5k+#imagine #r: male

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