#i did make some more in-universe notes in the ao3 comments of 'and when my strength' if you haven't read those | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boolger · 15 days

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 2

<-former chapter ~ AO3 link I will block any ageless blogs. Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 6181.

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: reminder that reader is kinda a bitch at some points, thinking mean, unjustified things about our 141 once in a while. Unreliable narrators, my sinner. Apologies for any grammatical errors , the bad russian and such. So uh, this got waaay longer than intended so here you go. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter, so enjoy this snack for u all, my sinners.

chapter 2: Delivery from the Hybrid's Den!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I have a friend coming over for a while,” John softly said next morning, hand resting on your head, fingers stroking your long ears now and again,, “to help us with getting the boys settled.”

You were on the floor, half way beneath the kitchen table, snuggled up against Price’s leg, feeling much more needy, knowing the ‘boys’ as your owner called them, would be delivered later today or tomorrow. They needed to be chipped and Price had asked for a full health check from his vet, as well as vaccinations and dental care. John was a caring owner; the mere fact that he did this from the get go was proof of that. He had done the same when getting you, made sure that any recent wounds or scarring were taken care of - getting your teeth fixed and your nails checked.

You didn’t have much of your fangs left when he got you; your earlier owners had taken those, the memories still haunting you once in a while. They had done it without anesthesia, not even by professionals. Same with your claws, that wasn’t beneath your nails anymore, thanks to former owners as well. Price had gotten the wounds cleaned and fixed up; they had almost grown closed by now. For most of the time that you lived with John, he had made sure your nails were always done nicely, however you wanted them.

John was a good master. You loved him, more than you knew you should, desperate for his attention, acknowledgment and praise. You didn’t want to share him, not with these hounds he had decided to get…

… not with this apparent friend.

You didn’t answer with anything but a displeased sound, tightening your grip on Price’s pants; when he offered you another piece of sausage you were quick to eat it, licking at his fingers while he chuckled. For a moment your tail wagged, eating the food and pressing against his hand.

He couldn’t be serious - abruptly changing so many things? and you were just supposed to accept it? Finally, you replied.

“Do I know your friend?” You didn’t bother to seem excited in any way, your skepticism seeping into your voice like poison. Price took another sip of his tea, not commenting on it.

“You’ve met him before but it’s been years. First year I had you, I reckon. Remember Nikolai?”

Nikolai. Nikolai. Different faces flashed for your eyes, trying to pinpoint who you had met that bore that name.

“No,” you finally admitted.

“Can’t blame you, lass. You were a little mess when you met him.”

You let out a huff at his words, embarrassment making your toes curl. It was true, your mind was muddled when it came to the first half year or so together with Price. You had been wary of every single person, desperately acting out and having to wear a muzzle, slowly getting used to the gentleness and rules of John. How he was fair and didn’t change his rules, didn’t punish you without reason.

You heard the front door open, ears peeking up a little, a small bark leaving you on instinct.

“‘Morning,” Laswell called out, making you settle again with a huff. While Laswell was strict and sometimes a meanie, she wasn’t a threat. Only to you and John’s private time.

“Good morning,” John called out, “I’ve made coffee.”

“Ugh if I wasn’t a lesbian I would marry you,” Kate groaned happily, by now so comfortable with John that she simply moved to take a cup in the cupboard, helping herself to the coffee and some food. They had known each other when younger, that was all you knew. Their stories always changed when you asked.

“Morning puppy,” she greeted, leaning over to give you a small pat that you leaned into, tail wagging once more, “are you going to misbehave again today?”

“Hopefully not,” John hummed, picking up his tea cup once more, “Nikolai is arriving in a couple of hours.”

“Ah, your old crush,” Laswell mused happily as she sat down across the table, once again making you wonder how long they had known each other, “going to pull yourself together this time?”

Wait. Crush… crush? Your head whipped up to look at your owner and oh fucking hell, John fucking Price was blushing. You huffed, clearly not pleased at all with this new knowledge.

Wonderful, wasn’t that just fucking wonderful? Now he was going to abandon you fully, to run around being a lovesick puppy and playing with the new hybrids.

“Don’t tease me,” John answered, clearly embarrassed, a rare sight indeed, “that’s none of your business.”

Kate just laughed. You let out a grumble, trying to snuggle even closer to Price, practically clinging to his leg by now. Price returned his hand to your head, petting you once more, looking down at you. You returned his gaze, doing your best puppy eyes, letting out a little whine. He smiled at you, his other hand scratching you beneath your chin.

“It’s been years,” he mused and you were pretty sure that he wasn’t even talking to you, “he had to return to Russia. His mother passed away.”

Russia? A memory appeared in your mind. A small party. Champagne, treats. Praise from Price’s friends and colleagues, attention and love that you had basked in. Other hybrids that sent you longing and lustful looks. A tall, broad man with a loud laugh and a strong accent. Wearing a gold chain. Long hair, rough hands when he scratched you. He would almost make your owner shy with his teasing but he would shower you in love.

“Did I meet him at a party once?” You asked, “big guy, strong accent ? Wearing a gold chain?”

John laughed, “yes, that would indeed be Nikolai.”

Huh. It was not much you could remember about him. You remembered liking him, but despite that, you weren’t really interested in him getting here.

“He is going to help with Soap, Ghost and Gaz,” John then said, almost as if to convince himself that was why he was here. You rolled your eyes at their names. Not that you had any say, you were usually just called different pet names, but you no longer bore the name your mother had once given you. It wasn’t unusual for pets to get their names changed with every new owner. Your legal hybrid name, with John, was Daisy, even though the man rarely ever called you that. He called you so many other names, Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Birdie and so on. But apparently he had decided not to change these working dogs’ names.

“Sure,” Kate answered with amusement in her voice, taking another sip of the coffee before adding, “whatever you say.”

Price didn’t answer with anything but an annoyed grumble.

“Those are stupid names,” you muttered. A sharp tug on your ear made you yelp, one of your hands grabbing onto his wrist to get him to let go of your furry ear.

“Be nice, Princess. You’re going to behave, am I understood?” You didn’t meet his eyes, a little whine merely escaped from you.

“She just needs to be shown her place,” Laswell carefully said, John not letting go of your ear, much to your dismay, but he didn’t tug on it - just kept it there as a warning, “maybe they’re better at that.”

“Hopefully they’ll be better at it than me,” he muttered and you whined - the grip didn’t loosen and he didn’t look down at you.

“Nikolai is going to help with that too?”

“He had ideas, at least.”

Fucking wonderful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nikolai was the first of the four men that you already hated, to arrive.

You stayed inside the house, watching John appear from one of the stables, almost lighting up at the sight of the man who exited the car.

He still looked like the old memory you had of him; big, long black hair and a grin on his face. He was taller than John but not by much, Almost seeming completely opposite to your owner. While John wore working clothes, a grey T-shirt beneath his blue flannel, dirt on his pants, Nikolai was wearing a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Even inside the house, you could hear the booming man that was Nikolai - he greeted your owner with a loud “John!”, before hugging him, even spinning him around. You couldn’t help but stare; John was far from small but the other man had swung him around like he had been a teenage girl.

John was blushing like one too. The sight made you curious - just like you wondered how he and Kate met, you wondered how this Nikolai met your owner.

You couldn’t help but wag your tail at how happy they looked. Despite how you hated the idea of the man staying here, even just for a little while, you liked seeing John happy like this.

Then two pairs of eyes suddenly looked directly into the window, both staring at you. It made your ears tip back a little. Your tail kept wagging, eating up the attention.

When they moved, you moved too - rushing towards the entrance, stopping in the doorframe to the living room.

“My my, if it isn’t the famous puppy,” Nikolai mused, his Russian accent strong, eyes almost twinkling as he looked you up and down, “up to trouble, da?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, though you felt your tail betray you by wagging a little, “I’m never up to trouble.”

Both of the men laughed, making you growl a little.

“Unruly - just like last time I met you!” Nikolai mused, looking over at John by his side, “you gave up on training?”

John shook his head, “don’t even get me started, mate.”

“You told enough over phone,” Nikolai answered, waving his hand at John while pushing his shoes off with his feet.

Ah. So he had talked about you with Nikolai already? The fact made you scrunch your nose a little. Maybe Nikolai was just as stupid as John when it came to realizing why you were upset.

Nikolai stepped into your personal sphere with no warning, almost backing you up against the door frame, making you panic and growl a little. Tail no longer wagging - you could see John tense up in the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted by the stranger.

“Nik—“

A part of you expected him to hit you - you had met plenty of strangers with your former owners, who didn’t even let you sniff their hand or anything. Some hurting you and —

He offered his hand. It didn’t hit you, but raised to your nose instead. You squinted at him, before taking a couple of sniffs, still not quite sure what to make of him.

“Don’t like you,” you growled in warning, showing your teeth a little, not even attempting to be polite.

“You don’t like farm life yet, puppy?” He asked, tipping his head to the side, voice demeaning, stupid smile still on his face. You wanted to slap it off his face. “Stupid little puppy.”

Instead you chomped down on his hand, Price instantly scolding out your name, moving to drag you away. But Nikolai didn’t even flinch - didn't move besides laughing again.

It made both you and John confused.

“If you want to hurt me, you would have to bite harder, Princess,” Nikolai crooned, “now let go.”

You wanted to piss in his shoes and rip his socks to pieces. Maybe scratch up that leather jacket of his. Yet you found yourself letting go of him, your teeth barely even having made a dent in his skin.

“Get your ass into your room,” John hissed, a redness in his skin that you weren’t sure came from embarrassment or anger from your action.

“No harm done, John,” Nikolai laughed; he scratched you behind your right ear, just a tad to the left and it was like your brain melted for a couple of seconds, your body reacted on its own, tail wagging and right leg moving as well, “she just attempt to be dangerous no?”

John let out a small sound that you weren’t sure what to make of before he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you away from Nikolai, “and that’s the kind of behaviour I don’t want.”

“He was being mean,” you whined in self defense, unable to not follow the hand dragging you into the living room, “he almost dared me to!”

Perhaps an overstatement, but you already knew what was going to happen the moment that Price pushed you over the armrest of the couch, “I bit him to defend myself!”

“You will not, and I repeat myself, not bite my guests,” he pulled up your skirt and down your panties with such a quick movement that you didn’t get to point out that you didn’t care, one hand grabbing your tail; his other hand collided with your ass cheeks, once, twice and then a third time, before he snapped out, “got it?”

A defiant bark left you, because while you knew it was bad behavior, you also wanted to prove that you weren’t afraid of this Nikolai. You twisted a little, knowing your ass and pussy was basically on display for both men.

The grip on your tail tightened making you cringe with pain, jaw tensing.

“Apologise.”

You shook your head in defiance, ears hitting your face. Price leant over you a little, hissing out, “I would advise you to apologize, princess. Now.”

A part of you knew he was upset because he liked Nikolai. If he actually had feelings for him, as Kate had pointed out and several things pointed towards, you knew he wouldn’t like being embarrassed too much. Your ass still stung a little.

You were the actual victim here, weren’t you? It wasn’t your fault he decided to change everything you loved and then accept that he had his lost love over, who immediately tried to push your buttons.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled after two seconds.

“Louder.” John demanded, straightening up, so that you were no longer hidden.

"I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment - then the sound of a lighter and as you dared to glance over at the bigger man, who was leaning against the door frame, you saw him staring right back at you, a lit cigarette now between his lips.

“Is okay, Lapochka.” He said, stupid smile still on his face.

With that John finally let go off your tail, pulling up your underwear and your skirt down, ignoring your whine. He didn’t even touch your pussy! Didn’t even give you some love!

You pouted as you looked over at them, sliding down from the armrest of the couch, hands going beneath your skirt to rest against your warm skin on your cheeks.

“Sorry Nik,” John once again apologized - as if it was him who John had just spanked! The audacity! You let out a little displeased bark.

“She usually doesn’t bite people,” he continued as he ushered Nikolai as if you weren’t right there, needing love and attention.

“Is okay,” Nikolai answered with a shrug, casting one last glance over at you, smirking for just a second, “some of it was my fault - wanted to see what she would do.”

Asshole.

“Room, princess - now.”

“But he literally ju—“

“I said now.”

“You’re being so fucking mea—“

“Crate then.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You might have slammed the door to your room, growling as you plopped down on your big fuzzy dog bed.

It was about 30 minutes later than you dared to wander from the room to the kitchen again, standing in the doorway, watching the two men talk. Eyes moved to watch you again, as you whined and got on your knees. crawling to the two men, shamefully settling between Price’s legs on your knees - tail carefully wagging, sending your owner a pitiful glance.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered, knowing John was easy to sweeten up, “‘m sorry, sir.”

A hand moved down to scratch you, though it wasn’t John’s- you carefully licked his hand, a pleased rumble leaving the guest.

“Smart one,” he muttered, giving your cheek a little pinch, “knows how to be sweet, da?”

“Always,” John answered, looking down at you with his usual loving eyes, “soft lass is hard to stay mad at.”

“Perhaps you need some more company,” Nikolai pointed out, “I worked with military pets before, they’re much different than you, milaya.”

“We don’t need them,” you whined, having no idea what Nikolai had just called you, “John will forget about me, will be too busy, he –”

John’s foot ever so gently pushed against your stomach, “don’t start that again.”

“Just insecure,” Nikolai suggested, making you huff.

“Am not,” you argued, but you still nuzzled closer to John, starting to move your hands to his inner thighs, moving to look up the best you could, looking from under the edge of the table, sweetening your voice a little, “It’s just a mistake, that’s all.”

“Spoiled, that’s what you are, darling,” John pointed out, but he still reached out to gently pat your head, “however, the boys will be here in a couple of hours and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You whined pitifully at his words, upset that your clear dissatisfaction with them joining the farm wasn’t clear. It was like John didn’t want to realize at all that he didn’t need to stay out on this farm. He needed to go back to the city, to the fancy penthouse apartment, to the parties that lasted out to the late hours of the night, where you could gossip with all the other hybrids.

“Milaya,” Nikolai repeated again, rustling with something in his jacket that hung over the back of the chair he was currently sitting on, pulling a little package from it. You watched curiously, though trying to seem disinterested. That was until he opened it and the most wonderful, mouthwatering scent you had smelled in a while appeared and you instantly moved from between John’s legs to Nikolai’s, making your owner chuckle.

The piece of jerky looking meat that Nikolai held in between his thumb and pointer finger, looked simple but oh the smell of it made it known that it was good.

“You behave and let us look through papers now, da?”

“Yes,” you said, unable to look away or stop your tail from wagging, “I’ll behave.”

The moment Nikolai offered you the piece, you were on it, barely missing his fingers with your teeth as you stole it from his grip. Nikolai was chuckling, putting the bag back into his jacket, while you chewed, a pleased moan leaving you as you settled beneath the table.

Hopefully these mutts would prove themselves too difficult - so that John would send them away again. You would happily wave goodbye to them.

With the sweet aftertaste of the meat in your mouth and their soft voices discussing fences, you closed your eyes.

You weren’t going to help with the pack settling in - that was for sure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You barely got used to your owner’s crush, before there were once again new things happening. Kate appeared, greeting Nikolai like an old friend as well. You hadn’t figured out much about the man, other than he had worked with a lot of hybrids throughout the years. And with helicopters. However that all fit together, you didn’t know… didn’t really care.

The big truck that arrived a couple of hours later, stood out against the farm houses; a colorful logo was painted on the otherwise steel gray vehicle.

THE HYBRID’S DEN! helping owners find their perfect hybrid pet since 1960!

You remembered seeing their logos everywhere when you were sold to the auction, years ago. The auction houses and facilities had often felt like an intermission from your former life to your new; never knowing what was going to happen, treated with the minimal care, but kept healthy enough for the auctions.

The staff wore the colorful logo on their black uniforms, exciting the truck a few moments later. You almost wanted to tell them to ‘get the fuck back into that truck and drive off’ again, but you figured it wouldn’t result in them actually doing so.

You kept your distance, standing on the steps of the front door - strategically keeping Nikolai between you and the closed metal crates that were inside the truck. There were nothing more than a few air holes in the boxes, from where some different sounds appeared. Barks and a growl or two, though they all sounded a little slurred. Nikolai moved, giving you a better look at them, as he joined John who was nodding along to some of the information, while looking through and signing some papers. Though you were mostly distracted by the crates, you could hear some of their conversation, catching words like sedated, muzzles, stressed. Your own trip hadn’t been nice either but a part of you wanted to point out to your owner that this only proved your point of this being a bad idea.

Some of the auction workers helped move the crates to one of the bigger empty sheds that Price had apparently been renovating without your knowledge. So apparently not so empty any longer. Not that it had been hard to do that, you ignored most of the different renovating and building jobs that both John and the helpers did.

Still… he could have told you. God, did your master tell you nothing anymore? It didn’t really help your mood, your growing annoyance clearly amusing for Nikolai if his smiles back at you were anything to go by.

Despite your repeated frustration with this entire situation and these new hybrids’ mere existence, you followed along inside the shed. It was nice… Isolated, with a tiny bathroom, an area padded with mattresses, which was clearly for them to sleep together, pillows, blankets… you wanted that too. Sure, you had loads, but this only made you want more, want more from Price, so that he could prove he still loved you.

There was a radiator, several windows, lamps and electricity outlets. You scrunch your nose with displeasure. They didn’t deserve that. At least they weren’t inside the main house.

There was a little notch in the other corner opposite the bed area, almost like a tiny expansion, another door next to it; it was almost like a small horse stall - a deep layer of hay covered the floor. You didn’t even step into the place, but you knew the hay would itch.

You wanted it. Not the itching of the hay, but the entire place, simply for the sake of having it, so that they couldn’t. Speaking of them, you watched from the main entrance as the metal boxes were opened.

The Belgian malinois and German Shepherd mix was the first one to stumble out of the box; he fell two steps later, directly into the hay, a deep sigh leaving him, eyes darting around. You could barely see him from the amount of people inside the stall.

“It’s alright, Gaz,” Price comforted, while you stayed in the door, keeping his distance to the hybrid, “You’re okay, boy.”

Gaz didn’t answer, just panted a little, ears tipped backwards - his eyes looked a little blown from what you could see.

“When will the sedatives wear off?” Laswell asked one of the workers, but you didn’t look at them, eyes instead at the other hybrid.

When you had arrived, you had been scared and angry, drugged as well. But you had been alone. While you grew up with your parents, in a nice enough place, you hadn’t seen them for years - and while you had befriended a lot of other hybrids throughout the years, you had never been a part of a “pack”. You were alone — but this Gaz wasn’t and a part of you envied him, even for that.

“In an hour or two,” the worker replied, pulling you from your deeper thoughts, “they weren’t too happy to settle down before we left. It was necessary.”

A small bark left the man in the hay. It was answered by the two other hybrids, who still hadn’t come out of their respective boxes. Nikolai gently tapped on the top of one of the boxes with a knuckle.

“Come join your friend,” the Russian suggested, voice not as loud as earlier.

A moment later the border collie mix, Soap, crawled out of his box, eyes instantly on Gaz, letting himself lay halfway on top of the other. A little growl leaving him, muffled from behind the mask. Not even a second later, Ghost got out of the last crate. The Great Pyrenees almost got on his legs, growling despite the muzzle and swaying from the drugs.

You watched the staff pull back the metal boxes, letting the hybrids get some space. Ghost didn’t stay on his legs for too long, eventually sitting down next to his pack mates, the lower half of his face hidden from view as he looked around the shed.

His gaze stopped at you; you were unable to sense the reaction from seeing you again, if there even was any.

“We’ll let you have some minutes, okay? Then we’ll take the muzzles off.” John gently offered, pulling the giant from the moment, so that he looked away, giving Price a small nod. Your owner was at the edge of the hay filled area but he didn’t step into it.

You stepped back, letting the staff members from the auction pull away the boxes, Laswell and another farm worker helping them. Nikolai looked from the pack, then over his shoulder at you, barely even trying to hide a smile.

Then he winked. You sent him an unimpressed look back, tipping your chin up a little, looking away from the three hybrids in the hay, pretending you weren’t curious about them.

Some more rustling in the hay and then a half croaked, “mah held hurts,” left Soap, voice a little slurred - you couldn’t help but look over at him. His accent was weird. His ears were tipped down, some hay already stuck in his hair. With the pathetic look on his face you didn’t understand how he was supposed to be a big bad soldier.

You weren’t being petty at all.

“It’s the sedatives,” John calmly answered the hybrid, who let out a big breath from behind the muzzle.

“If I take the muzzle off, will you behave?”

“We have water for you,” Nikolai added, keeping his distance - you kept him in between you and the dogs, not risking anything. You trusted the men to be able to defend themselves. But with no claws or fangs, you weren’t a fighter - more a runner. Even if you didn’t like running.

The two muzzled ones, Soap and Ghost, sent each other a look - but it was Gaz, half hidden beneath Soap, who let out a tired “please.”

Ghost gave a small nod then. John stepped into the hay, unhurried as to not spook them, and it was Ghost who tipped his head down first to let Price open the lock with a small key. The moment he was free, he smacked his cracked and dry looking lips.

Clearly, the man had never heard of chapstick.

Though, much more apparent, where the colony of scars on his lower half of the face. Trailing from around the lips, one over the nose as well - cheeks and chin. As he smacked his lips, you saw he had lost a fang in the bottom of his mouth. It wasn’t just sanded down like yours, the tooth was fully missing.

Price repeated the action with Soap, the hybrid instantly opening his mouth wide with a yawn, his jaw even making a popping wound.

Nikolai appeared with three bottles of water from a little cooler in the shed - you didn’t have your own cooler, which meant you would be demanding one… not that you needed it but still — giving the hybrids each one, that was always immediately opened. Gaz pushed Soap away and sat up too, while John backed away.

“My name is John Price -we met shortly at the auction. I’m the owner of the farm and you will all answer to me. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” For a moment you were impressed with the three hybrids’ synchronized answers. Only a short moment however. They were probably just beasts trained to answer like that. Yeah, yeah, you could do that too, if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“This is Nikolai, my friend, he will stay with me for a while, helping you all to settle in properly. You will follow his orders too - as well as a mean looking woman, Kate Laswell, who will appear at some point.” Humour tipped into the last part making Soap snort and Gaz give out a half-slurred giggle, while Ghost just let out a grunt.

“And this,” Price suddenly turned over to you, looking a little amused from the distance you kept between all of them, “is my pet, Daisy.”

“Well hellooo, bonnie lass,” Soap said, his tail immediately wagging, grinning at you, as he slurred, “aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”

Nikolai and John dared to laugh at his words, his rather pathetic attempt at being charming, while you growled, watching Soap get an elbow in the side from Gaz, while Simon just stared, almost differently than the scot, like a hungry beast. If you were fully inside the shed, you might be able to smell if they were turned on. Disgusting.

“Come’ere, sweetheart,” John crooned, clearly pleased with the reactions from the men, while you scrunch your nose, tipping your chin up a little - giving it a shake to reject the command.

“Do not be like that, milaya,” Nikolai suggested, “thought you were going to behave, no?”

You just growled a little again, unable to help your tail go between your legs a little; you didn’t really want to be spanked again, but you didn’t really want to become acquainted with these hybrids either.

“My princess isn’t too pleased with you lot being here,” John calmly explained without taking his eyes off you - they were still all staring at you - as John raised a hand, making a ‘come-hither’ motion that had you swallowing some spit, “but she isn’t going to chase away any wolves, are ye, pet?”

You huffed, crossing your arms before stepping inside the shed. The scent in there was nice and clean, even with the vague scent of the newcomers, and you walked to John, stopping halfway hidden by him.

However, as John’s arm snaked around your soft waist in a strong grip, you whimpered as you were pulled forward a little, unable to hide behind him. Both Gaz and Soap were wagging their tails at you, while you tried ignoring the scent of the room the best you can.

“I’m expecting you all to get along - and not hurt each other too badly, understood?”

While the others answered in agreement you just hid your face in his shoulder, twisting a little in his grip.

“No playin’ too rough,” Nikolai added, “Puppy isn’t used to other hybrids.”

“I am!” you snapped, “Just not…”

The shed was quiet for a moment as you mulled over your next words. What to call them. Military dogs. Strays. Mutts, un –

“Not what?” Nikolai almost seemed entertained by your declaration and you looked away, before finally mumbling.

“... working dogs.”

Simon huffed. You shot him a sharp look that he didn’t really seem to be affected by, in any way.

“I’m sure you all will get along,” John just mused, before looking down at his watch, “A certain princess has become too bored now we’re no longer in the city -” he ignored your mutter of ‘have not’, “- and I can’t entertain her all the time. Mentally or sexually.”

You whined with embarrassment, a little angry growl seeping into it, but Price didn’t really react, barely moved as you twisted in his grip, ignoring the grin of the several males in the house.

“ - Now, I will leave you three to get acclimated a little. But, there are a couple of rules that I expect you all to follow, if not there will be punishments.”

Synchronized nods. You still twisted, digging your fingers into his arm to no avail - then a hand snagged onto your collar from behind, choking you shortly as you were pulled back, Nikolai pressing against your back. Now free, Price pointed to a little map over the area, that you hadn’t noticed on the wall.

“Your jobs will essentially be to help keep the place safe. We have had problems with wolves and foxes, and so has the neighbors, since there lives a bunch in the area. You three will help keeping them away and Soap will help around my sheeps and goats in particular, given you’re a herding dog–”

Soap nodded, tail wagging, all three dogs staring at the map intensely.

“- I will find other things for the two of you to help with as well, but your main focus will be on keeping the animals - and the rest of us - safe. One of the neighbors got some horses stolen not too long ago. I would like to avoid that as well.”

You didn’t even know that. What you did know, however, was the heat of Nikolai’s body behind you, keeping you close and tethered so that you couldn’t run off.

“Most of the wildlife will go away if intimidated, but at times you might need to attack them. I am not going to give you any firearms yet though,” John looked over at them, his voice firmer than you usually heard it, “That will come along the way, if needed. We can discuss other weapons later on.”

The mere idea of John giving them any kinds of weapon made you want to throw up - or throw a fit. Had he gone fuckin’ mad?? giving them guns? They were going to shoot everyone, going to kill John and you. You really didn’t want to die.

“My farm includes these - and these fields. You will not and I repeat not, leave my land without a valid reason. There will be punishments if you do - you will all be given collars like another certain puppy–” all eyes watched you for a moment and though, you wanted to hide your face in your hands, you didn’t, merely crossed your arms, ignoring the low laughter from Nikolai behind you, “that are fitted with trackers, so I will know if you do.”

Great. So hoping for them to run off wasn’t a possibility for now.

“Biting or attacking my staff in any way will result in severe punishments. You will lose privileges if you don’t do as told, without a valid reason. Is that understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good boys. Now, these upcoming days you will most likely be following me or Laswell around, while we get you in on all these. All dinners will be eaten in the main house and you will be given keys once I get them made one of these upcoming days. I will give you a couple of hours now –” Price looked down at his wrist watch, “Then call you in, an hour or two before dinner, so that you all can shower. Any injuries, allergies or anything that the Hybrids’ Den didn’t write down, that I need to know?”

They all shook their heads, behaving like synchronized swimmers in your opinion.

“Good. You’re all free to relax here or explore the farm if you wish so, when the drugs wear off.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you entered the farm house, you shrugged off your jacket and abandoned your shoes in the entrance, not caring to clean up after you, ignoring John’s irked huff.

“Insane!” you declared, walking further into the house, “You’ve gone insane! You’re all going to forget about me and those horny knotted mutts will be all up in my business!”

You flopped down on the couch, face first, continuing your ranting into the fabric.

“I might as well barricade myself inside my room - Because I dont have a tiny house!! but guns! SURE ! give them guns!” Your voice was muffled, but you were, perhaps a tad dramatically, loud in your ranting. You could just make out whispering between the two men but you didn’t care… not until you were forced to, quite literally.

“Little puppy,” Nikolai’s accent was heavy - his body even heavier as he settled on the back of your thighs, a fist coming to rest next to your head, that kept his full body weight from you, “Throwing a fit again, da?”

You could feel the slight bulge against your fat ass, making you swallow - and tail wag, hitting Nikolai against the thighs, making the man chuckle. John as well, who settled down with a cigar in one of the arm chairs opposite the couch. You didn’t even need to look to know that he watched as Nikolai tugged at your skirt.

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

Text

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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dduane · 2 years

Text

BTW… re: Smut

... off my comment to this post the other day...

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say. If someone's jerking off to my erotica, then all I can do is lean back in the typing chair, smile a bit, and think, Good! I got the job done. :)

(...with the tags: #and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:) ...)

...and then noting (with affectionate amusement) some responses:

Well, troops, better get busy filling in that bingo box. 😄

Also: I have to say (while stressing that I absolutely appreciate the humor behind "shocked, shocked, scandalized...") that the dissonance is, temporally speaking, a bit ill-founded. Because while I may be best known for the Young Wizards works these days... by no means did they come first. This did.

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Granted, from the here-and-now POV of readers with access to the hot-'n'-spicy shipfic or PWP on AO3, this sort of thing (and the numerous other lights-often-off or dialogue-only sexytiems passages in the traditionally published Middle Kingdoms works) would be seen as pretty small beer: soft, non-edgy stuff. Yet in 1979 apparently there were those who found the sex and sexualities on display in The Door Into Fire arresting enough that the book got me nominated for the Astounding Award (for best new author in the field) two years in a row.

There's no question that the broadly inclusive tone set by the Middle Kingdoms books went on to affect and underlie the YW universe in very basic ways. (There've been some scholarly works written by academics who've picked up on this, so [much to my relief] this perception hasn't been just me imagining it.) But I'll grant you that those who don't know the MK novels wouldn't be in a position to make the connection. (shrug) This is just one of those things that comes of having a lot of fragmented readerships who don't know about each other... a side effect of having done a lot of different things during a career. I can also understand how not knowing about the MK works could leave people who know me only, or primarily, as someone writing for a younger readership, a little bit disoriented (or maybe concerned) when the issue of me writing openly sexual material rears its head. But that wouldn’t be a change of direction. It’d be, to some extent, more a return to form.

Anyway: I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed...) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you're willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it's to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added... let's just say nuance. 😏

Now this whole concept will doubtless horrify some of the "Eww, You're Too Old To Be Writing This Kind Of Thing, Go Get A (Home) Life" types. To which all I can say is, "...Well, good!" By and large, such folks are not my readers anyway. And as for any of them who are, and can't deal…? They need to understand that (pointing off to one side) those people over there—the various kinda-straight and pansexual and bisexual humans, and the gender-fluid fire elemental, and the otherly-gendered Dragon, and the mostly-gay ones enthusiastically shouting "We're fuckinnnng!" down the stairs—are Nita's and Kit's godparents. Without the members of that extremely mixed marriage and their increasingly extended family, there might be no Young Wizards series... not least because it was the splash made by the first of the Middle Kingdoms books that got the Errantryverse crowd in through a major publisher's door. And the series’s continued (modest but still noticeable) success through the second and third volumes kept the writing of new YW books going for a good long while.

...So. For those who may have had questions: HTH. 😀

(And now back to the unending search for a more graceful synonym for “testicles”.)

#Young Wizards #Middle Kingdoms #writing young adult fiction #writing adult fiction #writing adults-ONLY fiction #all sisters under the skin

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olderthannetfic · 3 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/753405110589259776/note-spoilers-on-this-ask-for-anyone-who-hasnt

I’m this anon, and using your anon box to reply to a bad take in the reblogs of it lol.

1. aO3 treats the show and book series as separate fandoms for Bridgerton. My friend’s genderbend fic though is based on the books — thought I made that clear here. And yes book fans were being genuinely homophobic in her comments, not just her interpreting them not shipping it as “homophobia.” It was full of “get out of OUR tag” and claiming just writing a female character in a male version or shipping her male love interest with a guy was “misogyny,” exactly as I said. It’s a huge problem in the fandom. The main Reddit sub is so full of homophobia that queer fans had to spin out a separate inclusive sub called r/bridgertonlgbt. I’ve heard of people on TikTok being called “bourgeois degenerate” and “groomer” just for questioning why it’s supposedly such a dramatic and horrible change to make Michael into Michaela in the show.

2. Can we finally fucking retire the really tired, knee jerk “book is always better” attitude that has never been universally true anyway lol. The books Bridgerton are based on are pretty middling het histrom that repeat plots so much between them that that’s one of the big changes the show has had to make — just not have seasons 1 and 2 follow the same plot beats like books 1 and 2 did. The show has had to make a lot of changes just because it has a bigger audience than your average het histrom reader and while I haven’t loved every shift, it is overall better for it. Or just like, focusing on more than just each season’s main couple like the books only do — also better! The subplots are some of the most fun parts of that show, but also, it makes sense that people are going to continue to want to follow their favs from season to season and not just zero in on each couple. Yes I’ve read all the books. They simply are just not that great, TV is a different medium than books anyway and so certain changes are necessary, and frankly most of the loudest parts of the “book fandom” online who complain about the changes are people who read the books because of the show anyway. They’re all wildly inconsistent in what they consider acceptable changes: they’re largely on board with making the universally white books more racially diverse, but not adding queerness and gender diversity. Why is one ok but not another? Especially when a lot of them are ok with sad or bittersweet queer stories in subplots like Brimsley’s but not happy stories for main characters. Why is that, I wonder? A lot of people are pretending to be “book snobs” as a mask for bigotry, or just have bad taste, but regardless I think we need to get over the idea that stalwart defense of some mediocre and overly tropey romance novels is more elevated or intellectual and like the show isn’t an improvement in being less lazy about the cliches of that genre than the original author. (Seriously, I read a lot of romance novels, so this is not a knock on the genre as a whole or its readers — but the Bridgerton books are SO lazy and SO repetitive. Honestly I think a lot of the book defenders need to read more histrom themselves. Then maybe they’d see how weak and lazy those books can be compared to what else is out there.)

Fandom please learn basic things about how adaptation between different mediums works 2k24 also stop assuming that consuming a story in text form over another is an inherently intellectual activity

A pretentious friend of mine who loves Shonda Rhimes was going on at me a while ago about how she ~always reads the book first~ and then waiting for applause as if that's unusual!

She then tried to launch into how shocked she was by the books being... well, lowbrow trash, but she had some complex and boring way of explaining this.

I was like "Honey, you do know what a regency romance novel is, right? Right?!"

I mean, there are adaptations that are nearly exactly like the middle tier of romance novels. They're movie length and they air on Lifetime. This was a change not only of medium but of overall target audience and vibe.

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mimisempai · 9 months

Text

No one comes close to you in my heart

Summary

The fact that Aziraphale has rivals is annoying enough in itself, but when on top of that the rivals are, a nebula, a car and now a cup of coffee?

He's not going to take it lying down!

Notes

One last little story for this year!

I wish you all a wonderful 2024! Full of joy and little pleasures!

Thank you for your support and love through your kudos and comments!

See you next year for new and exciting adventures!

On Ao3

Rating G - 1098 words

"Ah, there you are, love of my life!"

Aziraphale, who had just returned from a most tedious meeting of the Whickber Street shopkeepers, was delighted to be greeted by Crowley's voice as he walked through the bookshop door.

But his elation was short-lived, for as he entered the shop, he noticed that Crowley, who hadn't seen him, was not speaking to him, but to the cup of coffee in his hands, which he was now inhaling with a blissful expression on his face.

The angel muttered, "Not again, first a nebula, then the Bentley, and now a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, Angel, you're here! Cup of tea?"

The demon, apparently unaware of Aziraphale's mood, didn't wait for the angel's reply and went to the back of the bookshop, continuing, "I also picked up some Eccles cakes from Nina, as I suspected you might need some sweet comfort food after the meeting."

The angel's resentment melted like snow in the sun.

His demon, always so thoughtful.

As Crowley, with his back to him, continued to talk while preparing the tea, Aziraphale couldn't resist and approached, wrapping his arms around the demon's waist to hug him from behind.

Crowley, surprised, asked quietly, "Angel? Are you all right?"

The angel, his cheek pressed against the demon's back, nodded softly, humming.

Crowley chuckled softly before saying, "You know, it's going to be a little harder to make tea like that."

Aziraphale laughed lightly at that before replying, tightening his embrace around the demon, "You're far more comforting than any cup of tea or cake, my dear."

The demon, cheeks slightly flushed, said softly, "That's kind of you to say."

"It's not kindness, it's the truth. Your acts of service always make me feel so well cared for."

Crowley placed his hands on the angel's that were intertwined on his stomach and, interlacing their fingers, replied softly, "Only for you."

Aziraphale laughed lightly against his back and replied, "We both know I'm not the only one benefiting from your kindness, but I also know it's a subject that makes you uncomfortable, so let's leave it aside."

Crowley untied the angel's hands and turned between his arms to face him.

Aziraphale was now intrigued by the small, mysterious smile the demon wore as he looked at him.

Crowley cupped the angel's face and traced his lips with his thumb, saying softly, "Look at you, you're gorgeous."

Aziraphale gasped at the words, a scene from the distant past returning to his mind.

"Let there be light."

Suddenly there was an explosion of light and color around them as the universe came to life. Aziraphale marveled at the spectacle before him, but his gaze was suddenly drawn to the angel beside him, laughing and ecstatic, uttering little cries of delight. The red-haired angel was literally transcended by joy.

Aziraphale looked ahead again as the angel at his side exclaimed, "Look at you, you're gorgeous."

Aziraphale sincerely believed the other angel was speaking to him, so he turned and smiled at him angel to see that this was not the case. The red-haired angel was looking forward, and he was undoubtedly speaking to his creation.

Aziraphale didn't quite understand why he was so disappointed, but what he did know was that he really wanted the other angel to look at him with the same admiration he had for his precious stars.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale snapped out of his thoughts, and as he looked into the demon's eyes, he realized that what he'd been craving for millennia was right there in front of him. Crowley was staring at him the same way he'd looked at his newborn nebula.

Pure awe in his eyes.

Blushing, the angel replied softly, "Thank you, my dear."

Crowley smiled softly and said, "Tell me, Angel, did you miss me?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened as the demon continued, "I bet you did."

This couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

As they each carried a box of plants and headed for the Bentley, Aziraphale looked back at the bookshop and asked, "Um, everything okay with...?"

Crowley, realizing what Aziraphale was talking about, replied as they walked on, "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must've been asleep, I heard snoring coming from his bedroom."

As they arrived in front of the Bentley, the angel was about to reply when suddenly Crowley leaned forward and asked, "Did you miss me?"

Aziraphale, a little unsettled, watched as the demon smiled foolishly at the car and continued, "I bet you did."

And me?

Aren't you going to ask me?

Yes, I missed you.

Aziraphale, couldn't hide the annoyance in his tone as he replied, "I'm sure it did."

The angel snapped out of his thoughts, and now seeing the mischievous gleam in the demon's eyes, he thought they might both be playing the same game, so he replied in a tone he intended to be neutral, "I haven't missed you at all."

"Oh, come on, Angel, don't be like that."

The demon, still holding the angel's cupped face in his hands, brought his face close to his and continued, "As for me, I missed you, love of my life."

Aziraphale, realizing he had been completely exposed, sighed, "You heard it all, didn't you?"

Crowley nodded slowly and replied quietly, "I couldn't let you think that a nebula, a car, and a cup of coffee were more important in my life than you, Angel.

Aziraphale pouted, but Crowley brushed it away with his thumb and said in a soft voice, "But it is true, you are the love of my life."

The angel, disarmed, could only surrender to the blatant sincerity in the demon's gaze, and it was he who closed the distance between them to press his lips to Crowley's.

A little later, as they parted to catch their breath, Aziraphale raised his hand to push back a red lock that had fallen across the demon's forehead, and he said softly, "I did, you know?"

Crowley raised a puzzled eyebrow, "What?"

"I did miss you...then and now."

He watched with delight as the demon's cheeks flushed and, seeing his embarrassment, continued, "When you're not here, I always miss you, my love."

Then, taking advantage of having rendered him speechless, the angel wrapped his arm around Crowley's neck and pulled him into another kiss.

Whether on a trip to Scotland or in a meeting for a few hours, the angel would always miss his demon, so how could he have lasted more than a day in heaven without him?

Impossible.

They belonged together and to the world.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2)

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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eastwindmlk · 4 months

Text

For this month's @jilychallenge I wrote a little successor to last month's Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can.

Partner: @charmsandtealeaves

Prompt: University Football/rugby/field hockey training is open to the public, on a very hot day star player A takes a shower from a water hose and B walks against a lamppost bc B might have been staring Either read on AO3 or under the cut!

At least this one had trees, Lily thought as she once more hobbled down a sandy path surrounded by people in costumes ranging from breathtaking to mind-boggling. Though, admittedly, there was an odd concentration of steampunk at this particular faire. Which she did not mind in the least.

Lily was drawn to all the shiny brass, gears, and pants. There really was nothing like dragging a full-length gown through the damp grass and dusty paths of a castle’s garden to really make you appreciate the comfort that comes with wearing trousers.

Which was nothing against the red dress Mary had let her borrow this time around. Even if she did feel a little suspicious about the colour, of the myriad of colours, the sneaky blonde had selected the only red.

It did not stop her from making note of the styles she liked. For possible future reference. While she would not admit it to Mary, who would become more insufferable than she had been when she mentioned wanting to come with her to this event., But she was making mental notes for a potential future endeavour.

In one of the larger clearings, there was a section cordoned off with a thick rope. A sort of playpen where a bunch of kids, some in costume, were running around with foam swords. All screams and giggles as they chased each other.

But that was not what caught her attention. Casually leaning on a large wooden sword stood a Ren Faire snack. His linen shirt hung open to reveal a healthy amount of dark chest hair and an impressively muscled chest.

She could not help but let her thoughts wander when his hand ran through his wild, ebony locks, showing off a hint of some very, very toned forearms a better person would have ignored. But who was she kidding? The way this man casually leaned against his sword did things to her.

Mary caught her attention by grabbing Lily’s wrist and pulling her towards a steampunk contraption. It was not until she got closer that she realised it was a grill. They sold burgers and sausages that smelled pretty damn good.

It also meant they could sit down in this clearing and enjoy the show. Watch and listen to how this tall, dark, and glasses-mediaeval man-candy would teach the little whirlwinds some basic sword fighting. That sounded like the perfect show to go with their pit stop.

And so, Lily and Mary found themselves a large tree to lean against that offered a perfect view of the clearing.

“Oh, you picked a brilliant spot, Lils.” Her friend complimented and settled in. “Never say no to a little dinner with a view.” She could feel her elbow trying to poke her through her corset, and she nudged the smirking blonde back with her shoulder.

Taking a bite from her burger, Lily grinned. Enjoying the way this man’s commanding voice got all the kids in line so easily. The baritone that floated over was not entirely unpleasant. The smile that she could spot was positively dazzling.

“He kind of looks like your knight, doesn’t he?” Mary suddenly commented while they watched the swordsman make a brave attempt at battling a hoard of kids. Laughing and pretending to get hurt as they smacked his shins and hips with their weapons.

Lily squinted, trying to remember how ‘Sir James’ had looked up close. But frankly, she couldn’t quite remember his face. Besides, with the armour on, he could have just worn a lot of padding. “No, he didn’t wear glasses,” she decided after a moment of scrutiny.

Then she paused to glare at her friend, swatting her on the arm. “And don’t call him my knight!” Lily huffed and rolled her eyes. He was here, somewhere. She knew that much. His troupe had been on the pamphlet, and they’d contemplated going to another show.

Not that she saw the point. They saw one, and she was pretty certain they were basically the same thing. Besides, and this was something she was not going to admit aloud if he did not recognise her, she might actually be a little hurt.

It was silly, but for a moment, there had been a spark. And immature as it was, Lily hoped that he did not have that every show. That she was just a little special.

“Do you want to get a closer look? Maybe you’ll know him better by his big, manly hands.” Mary’s voice dropped as she mocked her with a gleeful grin on her face.

Taking a large bite from her burger, Lily used it as an excuse not to answer immediately. To let the rosy dusting of her cheeks come down. “That is unfair to bring up, and you know it. I had a few cups of wine at that point,” she protested as if she had not wholeheartedly meant them.

“Come off it, Lils. We both know he is ridiculously hot and so very into you. I still can’t believe you didn’t ask him for a drink.” Again, it wasn’t like she had not considered it, but she was sure he got offers like that all the time. “Tonight, when we go to the show, you are going to stroll up to your prince charming and get that drink. Or, I swear, I am going to slide into his DMs and give him your number.”

“You wouldn’t!” She gasped, even though she knew that she absolutely would. “This is just some ploy for you to get into these things for free, isn’t it?” Lily narrowed her eyes suspiciously and let out a loud ‘Ha’ when Mary pulled up her shoulders, looking guilty.

“It would be a nice perk. These things aren’t cheap, you know. Plus, it would get you laid. Who knows, maybe he is particularly talented with those large, masculine hands of his.” With every word out of Mary’s mouth, Lily’s look turned a little more disappointed and then exasperated. In the end, she flicked open her fan to hide her face behind it.

“There are kids present,” she hissed, though it did not seem to bother Mary in the slightest. “I bet he is into every halfway decent-looking girl.” Taking another bite from her burger with a little more vigour than strictly necessary. “The man has a fan club, Mary. I doubt I crossed his mind after turning down his advances.”

Mary tutted, rolling her eyes at her friend. “Or, you have been on his mind because of that. Ever considered that?”

Yes. “No, because that is bonkers,” she lied in return. Of course, the thought had crossed her mind; on more occasions, she would like to admit. She mostly blamed sleep deprivation and slow days at her residency. There were too many opportunities to have caffeine-induced delusions about a bloke who practically flirted with girls for a living.

“Suit yourself,” Mary quipped with a shrug and set her eyes back on the field of shrieking children brandishing practice swords at each other. They ate their snacks in peace until the blonde decided to pose a queer question. “Say, Lils?”

“Huh?”

“Think we’re getting old?”

The redhead’s eyebrows drew together, and she turned her head slowly in the direction of her friend. “What on earth makes you say that?” The offence dripping from her voice, and a lifted eyebrow punctuated her ridiculous question.

She nodded in the direction of the feral hoard, making Lily giggle while they brutally attempted to bring down the instructor. Her head tilted curiously, hoping her friend would elaborate so she did not need to admit that there was something incredibly hot about the way he humoured those kids.

“Well, you know how I feel about offspring. But damn!” Mary laughed, sighing longingly. They watched, spellbound, while he bent down just enough for one of the smaller kids to mount his back. Little arms wrapped around his muscular neck in a clumsy chokehold.

Lily hummed in understanding, unable to contain her giggle as the girl on his back decided to use the man as a mount. A very impressive, feral battle cry came from the little princess as she raised her sword and the Ren Faire snack charged.

Her friend was right; she could almost feel her temperature climbing, the baby fever simmering far closer to the surface than it had before. The little voice in the back of her mind sounded remarkably like her mother singing about a biological clock.

“It is almost rude, really,” Lily decided with a determined nod. Making it Mary’s turn to look at her in utter confusion. “How are we supposed to shamelessly stare when he’s being this adorable?”

The sheer volume of Mary’s laugh made her jump, drawing the attention of a few people around her. A collection of pirates and Batman are pausing their conversation to look at the pair with a hint of judgment.

The pair of them glared back with equal fervour until they could not contain their giggles any longer. That was when they decided to move along. There were still plenty of things to do, and it would be good to get her mind on a luscious piece of topped flatbread.

Still, she could not help herself. The children were rushing back to their parents, and the humdrum was bound to catch anyone’s attention, really. It had nothing to do with the fact that she felt drawn to the gorgeous, bespectacled man.

There he was, standing next to one of the treasured water points, the water trickling down his chin, his throat bobbing. Her eyes were drinking him in as thirstily as he was. She was unable to keep her eyes off of him.

Then he dealt a killing blow by leaning forward and dipping his head under the hose. The water made his white linen shirt cling to his beautiful tanned skin, showing off the muscles they’d mused about.

Entranced by the sculpted shoulders and the rippling trapezoids. “I need to see something,” Lily mumbled to her friend, letting herself be lured by the siren song of his anatomy.

If she could only get...

SMACK

Something hit her right in her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes were tearing away from the delectable display and from the culprit. One of the unvarnished plywood poles that made up the makeshift fence posts stood right in her path.

Lily stared at it in horror, the realisation dawning on her, while Mary giggled uncontrollably. She was never going to live this down, but hopefully no one but her friend noticed.

The crowd was still trickling by; no one had stopped to laugh at her, and she would count that as a win. She could deal with Mary’s teasing; that was something that could be bought off with a pint. The idea of some stranger, though? No, thanks.

“Ouch,” she complained, rubbing at the sore spot as she fell into Mary’s arms. Stifling a laugh at her own, she soon burst out in rumbustious rolls. A sound died in her throat when her eyes landed on a pair of heavy leather boots.

Her emerald eyes followed them up, only to stall when she noticed a wet white shirt clinging to disgustingly defined abs. She swallowed, her face heating up once more. Curse her pale complexion, she supposed.

“You alright?” The sound of his voice was low, insouciant, and familiar. Making her eyes travel up curiously. She hoped that, maybe, his face would give her a clue as to why his voice stirred more than just something mischievous.

However, before Lily could place it, there was a spark of recognition in his eyes and a smirk curling from his lips. “You’re back! I was starting to think I might lose the bet.”

Both the women now frowned and blinked at him curiously. Mary was poised to speak when the Ren Faire Snack laughed, his strong, calloused fingers carding through his damp locks. “It’s the glasses, isn’t it?” he asked while his hand lingered on the back of his neck. Granting them a nice peak at his bulging deltoids and defined triceps.

The thought crossed Lily’s mind that, with him around, studying for her anatomy exam might have been a lot more fun. Unfortunately, she was not quite as intimately familiar with these specific muscles yet.

“We met a few weeks ago, my lady,” he winked, and it struck her like lightning. “Uhm, James. Sir James. I guess.”

At this revelation, Mary did an amazing re-enactment of the first time he’d approached her on his white mare. She squeezed her arm so tight that it cut off circulation for a moment. “See, I told you he’d remember you,” her friend hissed in her ear.

Lily took a moment to deploy one of her deadliest side-eyes at Mary, who released her Kraken-esque hold on her.

“Sir James? I suppose I remember,” she replied coyly, her eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously in his direction. Her hand deliberately lingered on her neck as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while her eyes slowly drank him in from crown to sole. Making a show of looking.

She bit her lip while her eyes travelled back up, meeting his eyes with a giggle. “I do think I said I’d have a drink with you last time; did I not?”

He laughed, the sound sitting somewhere in the hollow of her chest, glowing warm and bright. “I do believe you said I’d have to win you another crown. So, I suggest you come this afternoon. Be my lucky charm again.”

Mary pushed her forward, her hands landing against his chest right before he caught her at the elbow. The hint rather clear.

“Maybe we can celebrate prematurely,” she proposed, her fingers curling against his wet shirt. The sensation of sparking an idea was a little risque and definitely crazy. But the best ideas always were.

“After you’ve taken off that shirt.”

#jily #james potter #lily evans #jily fic #jple #jily au fic #jily challenge #Muggle May Jily Challenge #shirtless james potter may

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svnflower-writes · 5 months

Text

i wanna find out

part one. ao3 | series masterlist

description: james is confused, but no less confused as he was when he was a high school student and denying his infatuation with his best friend's brother. now, regulus is a regular at the cafe he works in, and james doesn't know what to do.

warnings: none it's fluffy james is so cute

note: (reblog and comment please please please i need the validation) HI HELLO I AM BACK OKAY SO i heard the new gracie song and i went insane bc its so jegulus and wrote this in one hour in english class and its unedited. anyway this is a series, the masterlist is linked at the top. this chapter has been on ao3 since yesterday but i didn't get around to posting it here. lowkey think this is terrible but oh wellll

taglist: (i included the people on my marauders taglist so lmk if you don't wanna be on this one) @thestarslittleking @chaserofstars11 @gu1lty-as-sin @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies @a-beautiful-fool @optimizedchaos @star-ch4ser @qwerty-keysmash @lost-in-reveriie @tulips-best @nqds

Upon his first week at high school, James Potter had come to the conclusion that he would end up with Lily Evans if it was the last thing he did. She was exactly the kind of girl he liked, she was pretty and opinionated and she seemed like the sweetest person he’d ever met. Remus had chuckled at his lovesick pining, not having the heart to tell the messy haired boy that your crush when you’re eleven years old is never your soulmate.

He pined after Lily for two years, with no clear progression other than Lily awkwardly smiling at him each time they passed in the hallways. Safe to say, James’ feelings were not reciprocated, and Marelne had grown a habit of snickering at the way his eyes followed her down the hall.

A few students at school had thought he was overdoing it slightly, but he really wasn’t. He wasn’t overly pushy, and he had only asked her out once or twice. He was clear about his feelings, but wasn't going to make her uncomfortable. James Potter was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel an undeniable feeling of heartache when she walked past and ignored his presence.

Now, however, James was in university. He was as over Lily as he had ever been, and he had escaped the inherent unpleasantries that come with being a teen going through the heartache of growing up. He felt undeniably free, and not to mention his psychology course was helping him understand himself better than ever. He was happier than ever, saying otherwise would be a blatant understatement. He was living in a flat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, which had been his dream since primary school.

Lily was now one of his closest friends, and she worked at the flower shop that had a door into the coffee shop James worked in. Lily’s law degree and James’ psychology one made them a perfect pair, and much to Remus’ surprise, the two studied together regularly. The fact that James’ attention span and motivation had changed since high school was something no one had expected, and although he still struggled, he had his tactics to get back on track.

Some things never change, though, and James still hated quiet, slow paced days more than death itself. He could deal with stressful, busy days, but the mundane was his greatest oppressor, the repetitiveness of a quiet day driving him to the edge of his sanity. Today happened to be one of those days, he sat behind the counter at the small coffee shop he worked in as customers filtered in once every half an hour.

He sat, watching the slow ticking of the clock as the time went by as slow as it possibly could. It was 12:38pm, and 12:20 felt like hours ago. Blankly staring at the wall, the coffee he’d made himself had been discarded on the counter next to him and he didn’t bother picking it up, knowing that after half an hour of it sitting there, it would surely be cold. Each time someone walked past the door of the shop, James perked up—only to sigh as they walked past without a second thought. James’ tendency to romanticise everything that life had to offer often left him disappointed.

Finally, he heard the bell signalling that someone had opened the door sound, and his head snapped up in relief. ‘ My saviour, love of my life, thank god you’re here.’ his brain sung as he sprung up from his seated position, standing at the counter within seconds of the boy walking into the shop. His signature smile appeared on his face, “hi, how’s your day going?”

The boy seemed to falter, as if his carefully planned interaction of simply ordering what he wanted and leaving had been disrupted by a simple question. His dull blue eyes widened, and his lips fell open in a dumbfounded expression before he picked himself up and showed James a tight lipped smile. “Uh, I’m good.”

James noticed that this small interaction had absolutely foiled his carefully planned coffee order, and the boy had entirely forgotten to say what he wanted. James smiled softly, chuckling in his head. He always thought it was interesting how common these interactions seemed to be when you worked in a coffee shop. The psychology major in him couldn’t help but psychoanalyse these interactions, which made working in hospitality both intriguing and perplexing. He found that you could get a pretty good idea of someone’s mindset and what their day to day life is like by doing this, and it almost acted as revision for his upcoming exam.

“What can I get you today?”

Embarrassment flushed over the dark haired boy’s face, and he automatically sent another tight lipped smile to try and compensate for his forgetfulness. A strand of his soft black curls fell over his eyes, and James could tell just by his body language and the look in his eyes that it annoyed him to no end. “A black coffee, please.”

That was fitting, James thought. With the tidy (almost obnoxiously so) outfit and the carefully styled short black hair, a black coffee was the only thing that really made sense for him.

“And can I have a name for that?”

Stupid boy, you know his name.

“Regulus.”

James knew how to spell it.

He knew how to spell it and he hated that. Regulus was his best friend’s brother, and things between Sirius and his younger brother were rough. They got along until they didn’t. Sirius had spent more evenings than James could count frantically ranting about him on evenings at James’ house after school. When Sirius had left for high school, Regulus had distanced himself from Sirius more than he ever had before. Regulus had always been detatched, and James knew this from Sirius’ extensive complaints.

James he knew he shouldn’t have been so enamoured with Regulus in his high school years as he was, but when James fell for someone he fell for them. He fell for them intensly and irreversably and everyone he had ever loved lived in his heart for eternity. It may seem like James was feeling too insensely, but for him to not love so deeply and fully would mean he was not James Potter. He could not be in any sort of relationship without loving them to the end of the earth. His mother had always told him to cherish this, that his way of loving was incredibly pure and a love that many people would give anything to be the recipient of. But based off his past relationships, his love was not something to be cherished.

“Alright, I’ll have that ready for you soon.”

While he was making the coffee, James allowed himself to watch Regulus, noticing the way his hair was slightly more inclined to falling to the right side of his forehead, the way his greyish-blue eyes fixed on one spot of the wall and didn’t seem to move. He watched as his hands anxiously clasped together in his lap and his foot tapped.

James was a master of the art of noticing, and he tended to read into what people did, more so than was probably helpful. But James had always been observant, even as a toddler he had had an integral interest in people. He understood when people said that the human race was done for, but he was compelled to disagree. He had a sense of optimism that many thought was overbearing, but in the same way, James sometimes found their pessimism slightly disheartening.

Regulus intrigued him, although the boy was made of very few words and made him fiddle with his hands behind the counter and cause his eyes to flutter around the room to look anywhere other than his eyes. Regulus was pretty. He was the definition of pretty, with his wavy black hair and his grey eyes that shone with something James couldn’t quite place. James felt an intense urge to sink into the ground and never reappear. Unsure of what this was, he played it off as simply nervousness around someone new—not that it was common for James to ever feel nervous around new people. Regulus had this aura about him, one that James couldn’t figure out. It was undeniable that Regulus made James shy, but James would deny the reason for this nervousness for as long as he possibly could—and longer. This was merely a customer that would show up to the coffee shop once and never again—after all, he hadn’t seen Regulus in the shop at all earlier in the year.

For a reason James couldn’t quite place, there was a hint of awkwardness between him and Regulus. They respected each other, sure, but when they were alone, without Sirius or Remus, James felt an intense urge to sink into the ground and never reappear. He played it off as simply nervousness around someone new—not that it was common for James to ever feel nervous around new people. Regulus had this aura about him, one that James couldn’t quite place. It was undeniable that Regulus made James nervous, but James would deny the reason for this nervousness for as long as he possibly could—and longer. Regulus didn’t speak much, and James tried but failed to match this. The silence felt awkward, and he couldn’t go for long sitting in silence with him until he overshared, making the situation more awkward than it had been beforehand.

“Long black for Regulus?”

He says his name, although there is no one else in the shop to mistake the coffee as their own. But James likes the way his name sounds on his lips, as horrifically cheesy as that may sound.

Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He’s off-limits and you know that.

Looking up, Regulus looked up and flashed a small, awkward smile, walking to the counter and reaching for the coffee. As his fingers wrapped around the cup, they brushed James’ fingers, and his grey eyes flickered up to meet James’ deep brown ones. “Thank you,” he looked away quickly and was out of the shop before James could even respond.

Okay, James thought, okay, this is okay. He just has to make it out of the shop and then I’ll never see him again.

But then Regulus stops halfway out of the door, sending James a wonky smile and a soft “I’ll see you around.” His eyes are twinkling with something unrecognisable, and once he leaves James allows himself to breathe and forces the dorky smile off his face as he swears under his breath.

Stupid, stupid boy.

#series: you're the risk i'm gonna take it #luc writes #luc posts #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #james potter #regulus black #james and regulus #james x regulus #coffee shop au #university au #no magic au

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mariamariquinha · 2 months

Text

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Ten

Nine

Summary: Benny's pov (my boy is so stressed).

Word count: 7.482.

Warnings: Bad words, slightly talks about cop corruption, violence, crime, talks about mental/physical health, mention of use of pills, hospital environment and police work.

Author’s Note: I like my men like how I visualize myself: stressed and in need of a fucking break.

I'm also on AO3 now!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

If someone asked any woman who was involved with Benny at some point in their life about him, there would always be a universal phrase: he's complicated. Not 'complicated' in a 'he has a difficult and unstable life' way, because he did, but in a 'he hasn't known how to be a nice guy for a long time' way.

Daddy issues. Classic.

He was committed to the Major Crimes guys, especially Nick, because there was a part of him that hated to disappoint. Aside from ego or personal compensation, Benny saw a lot of his own father in Big Nick, so despite the two being almost the same age, the position of power gave O'Brien a very complex image of a patriarch – flaws and all. When Debbie left, it was clear that Nick would follow the same path as that father, with the difference that he would at least try to spend weekends with the children; Benny wouldn't be able to recognize what the 'head of his family' should be if he had to.

It had been years since he was just Benicio Ramirez Magalon and not Benicio Ramirez Garcia Magalon, as if he erased every particle of his father from his own history in an arbitrary way, but still having that ghost on his shoulders with O’Brien.

He didn't think much that night, but he knew it would be natural for him to walk away. It must have been the most genuinely decent thing Benny did for any woman under those circumstances. Maybe it was the fact that you knew how to set limits, that you recognized your weaknesses with an ease that Benny couldn't.

In conclusion, he was disappointed to not find you more resilient than finding out Nick slept with informants, which soon enough he caught himself being a fucking asshole. Maybe that's why, because of this lack of cynicism on your part and the excess of the same feeling on his part, Benny concluded that you were destined for good guys. Some who, at least, didn't make the decisions he made.

****

“And we have a fireplace.”

Yeah, indeed, they had a fireplace – one that was basically turning into dust. You stood there with your arms crossed, letting your mother inspect the apartment and make comments about it. While she and the realtor (a small woman named Eidra) went back to one of the bedrooms, you sat on the small bench left behind on the miniscule living room by the last residents, watching your father look through the window.

When you two shared a glance, the answer was all over the place: a huge and big and extreme and frustrated and disappointed no.

****

Listen, it could always get worse. That was life, you know? And you should know better than to expect that the divorce and the whole Isla stuff would pass by you. Well, it passed through you. With a delay, but still.

Some of this was your fault, you could admit. Your brother had already advised you to negotiate the sale of the house as soon as the divorce procedures were in progress and you were so catatonic, in a way, that you didn't want to add more to what already seemed too complicated. After months, you found the buyers – good price, you made a profit.

During Christmas, you ended up tripping over the closed moving boxes and spraining your foot, so on New Year's Eve you didn’t enjoy the trip as much as you could. A bad start to the year, but not the worst thing that happened to you in a long time.

They were organizing a farewell party for Emma; by March, she would be at DEA headquarters leading their forensic team. You had to act surprised, and politely refused to help with the details ('I'm busy with this moving thing'), which she probably took as a bitter departure. Well, it was what it seemed to be. You didn’t call her off with that, but some part of you was feeling that pit of disgust. There was a murmur about whether or not to invite Major Crimes (even though they never attended that kind of thing), which everyone ended up looking at you for clarification. You didn't know, and that's what you said, accompanied by a modest shrug of the shoulders.

“Send an invitation by email, it's less work if they say no.”

Even because you had time to rethink the unfortunate occasions with O'Brien. You felt offended but you also felt guilty, which was a rather cruel conclusion that Nick was indirectly manipulating you. When you told Gina this, she just gave a genuine shrug and sighed.

“It isn’t like he wasn’t that kind of person before, you know.”

You felt bad – you felt used again. Doubted, discredited. And the fact that you thought you wouldn't care if it happened, that you would be as strong as you had been through the divorce, just showed that you had an ability to lie to yourself. Benny left that night and you knew he had the same realization too; you found yourself believing that the opinion of someone who still followed such strict orders from someone like Nick had no opinion value in your life.

You no longer fit into LASD.

****

“You have insomnia and lack of nutrients. I'll prescribe you some pills and vitamins for both, but I need you to pump the brakes. Burnout has been killing people lately.”

Perhaps, deep down, you knew that this distancing also came with your need to hide that your physical health had worsened. It wasn't that bad, but you had barely been eating and… yeah, you really didn't need another surprise with so much going on.

The doctor pondered something, eyeing the papers and you with a serenity that was closer to reticence. You waited, shoulders slumped and eyes heavy, lacking energy to ask anything else.

“... This seems like a pattern. The lack of sleep, your headaches… Have you considered another type of approach?”

Long short story, no. And he probably knew that too, since you were there and not in a therapist's office, so you saw him lean over the desk and give you one of those scolding looks.

“It’s very normal for people in your profession to have this type of behavior. Considering what has happened in your personal life, I would advise a psychological reevaluation.”

“I’m not depressed.”

But he hadn't hinted at it, or said anything like that out loud, which only made it all make more sense. He sighed in defeat, then signed the recipe and, alongside with it, put a flier about mental health just in case.

The medicines would be an unforeseen additional expense, but it should give you some peace of mind. At least you hoped so.

****

“Yes.”

“Bad time?” Gina sounded quite confused on the other end of the line, so you frowned at her tone and stuffed the pills into your bag irritably, the breeze not doing much to cheer up your mood. It wasn't even summer anymore, but the day still felt unbearably hot.

“I’m not on my peak, no.”

Gina went quiet for a bit. In the background, you could hear the noise of people coming and going, as if she were in a crowded place. Calmly, you backed up the sidewalk until you were under the awning of the pharmacy you had just left, switching your phone from ear to ear to hear her better.

“... What was it? Did someone die?”

“Where are you right now?”

“I am…” You looked over your shoulder, then at the sign of the pharmacy printed right above your head. “Had to run some errands.”

“How far are you from the Good Samaritan?”

“Good Samar-Gina, I was joking about-”

“You won't believe who's here.”

****

He had been quiet since he arrived and it was understandable. Apart from the answers he gave to the police, there was not much interest in having any type of social interaction, which was respected: it was not as if he was or should have been accustomed to the context in which he was placed.

It was different from the other cases they had been following, Z mentioned. Maybe a slip, but no one could be sure because they weren't experts in psychological profiles and the idea of involving the feds was out of the question. For a lot, there was intuition, experiences on the streets, informants… Murph had already checked, there was a strong lead and they were almost there.

No one wanted to mention the damn coincidences that led them to that hospital and, more precisely, the crime scene. Gina, perhaps, had reacted in some way that revealed a truth that no one wanted to verbalize, and Nick asked them to keep an eye on her – Emma’s leaving, until further notice these people would be a bit of a smartass.

But what would Gina do, anyway? If she could? Would she call you of all people and ask you to pray for your ex's life?

Still, Benny stood guard at the hospital until Gina finished work and kept an eye on the news, or at least Twitter. If you had known about it, there would already have been news on the internet and, if you had appeared, taken by an immaculate concern towards the tragedy, you would’ve already done so. All in all, the reason why everyone was on their last strings was how you going there could be harmful to the case.

Maybe that was the problem, after all: he didn't know that side of you. What kind of wife you were, what kind of friend you could be. Everything was too casual, limited to observations he made and the things he remembered when you talked. There was no more karaoke, nor costume parties or Cosmopolitans in your cards or a brother to rely on; he knew these things, but none of them were valid at that moment.

So when he saw you peeking down the hall right after Gina had left (when he himself was already determined to get out of there), Benny didn't feel so surprised because he had tested the odds. Cautiously, he stood nearby, watching your diminished, secretive posture pass by the nurses' table and take slow steps to where Theodore was at. He was frustrated, in fact, and maybe a little stressed by everything, because he certainly didn't expect you to make the dumbest decision possible.

You stopped at a safe distance from the room and didn't come any closer. With a bag slung over your shoulder, you gripped the strap tightly, standing still there as you saw what was left of a guy after getting his ass beaten up, perhaps processing things that Benny would never know about.

The girlfriend appeared: Aileen. She also hesitated when she noticed you, holding a cup of coffee in her hand as she came up from behind. At this point, Benny became more alert, ready to intervene. Interestingly, Henderson was also returning from somewhere, certainly to pick him up, and his louder voice calling your attention caused a beautiful disaster, like an announced tragedy.

You turned around too quickly, right when she was already on your trail, and hit your arm on the coffee cup that seemed hotter than expected. It hurt, of course. You screamed as the liquid burned the skin of your hand, leaning down just in time for one of the nurses to come to your aid. Aileen stood there in confusion as the liquid hit her clothes, and before Benny could take any further steps to take action, the reality that everyone was in a hospital dawned on him and he stopped.

He exchanged a glance with you as one of the nurses took you to the emergency room.

“What the fuck, is she out of her fucking mind?” Henderson asked eventually, even if they both knew he would apologize later.

Benny didn't answer him, however; he doubted the answer even though he thought he was aware enough of your behavior. He just watched you go in silence, both fists clenched in anger.

****

You had your head down, your eyes still wet from the tears from the pain you had felt. The nurse had been delicate and, considering it was relatively calm, was going through the entire process in a well-rehearsed way. The emergency room was still lively, with people going from one side to the other. When you weren't watching her clean the burn, you looked up at the other patients waiting: broken arms, bloody noses.

Last time, you saw Benny with his arms crossed near the curtain that separated your space, even though it was the only one far from the others.

You knew at that moment that you were fucked.

“Boyfriend?” The nurse asked, making you eye her then him rapidly.

“No,” You two answered in unison, to which you ended up averting your gaze in embarrassment.

“I'd like to talk to her privately, anyway. If you don't mind,” He pressed a little, not minding the rude tone he was using.

She eyed him, then you. With a small nod of yours, she sighed in tiredness and rolled her eyes, tidying up the bandage before leaving.

A silence hung in the air, tense and with a hint of the impatience he was clearly feeling. You ignored this, however, glancing at your injured hand here and there before adjusting yourself better on the stretcher.

“You know, when I was a rookie I used to get quite excited with the prospect of being heard just showing my badge,” He commented, so you couldn’t help but scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, perhaps the biggest problem in America is men with damaged egos because no one cares about the size of their dicks anymore.”

“You always seem to have a metaphor for dicks.”

“It’s a talent.”

“As is your ability to put yourself in shitty situations.”

You looked into his face for a few seconds and found an anger that, in general, seemed to be the only thing available to you from him. No more smiles or sympathy: Benny had chosen his side of the story and, really, that was fine. Still, you couldn't help but miss the other version of him as much as you did at that moment.

“I'm not going to ask who told you because that would be a really stupid question,” He took one, two steps closer to the curtain, slightly pushing it to cover the both of you. “Let's be adults and then you tell me why you came.”

Good question. Great question, actually. Why were you there? Why did you make the fucking dumb decision to be the bigger person and show up? And, by all intends, to end up with a coffee burn from…

Yeah, it wasn’t your prime, you could give him that.

“He wasn't just my ex husband. And I didn't want to come, but I thought I would be an asshole if I didn’t do anything.”

Benny stared at you for a long moment then; he stood there, still, eyeing you as if he was looking for something – to the point of discomfort. You averted your gaze to the floor.

“I've read your file, did you know that? As soon as you came in and became the talk of the team, I went to find out who you were,” It made you raise your head to him, taken aback by his sudden change of subject. “First in your class, completed a specialization while still graduating. You're kind of a genius, and honestly, you had every right to be a bit of an asshole to people.”

“... You don’t need to say this,” You said.

“What should I say then?”

“I can work with nothing,” And then you snapped at him, seeing his expression shift from serenity to full annoyance. “We’ve been doing this dance very well over the last few months.”

When he didn't offer any further comment, sighing in impatience from your stubbornness.

“What I mean is, you're a fucking smart scientist and everything, but you still insist on being naive like that.”

“I know,” You mumbled in defeat.

“Do you now?”

In other times, there would be a cunning answer on the tip of your tongue; hell, in other times, you wouldn't even let him or anyone talk to you like that. The point was that you were so tired of putting yourself in this position, of facing things that weren't even your business because you had been in that defensive and combative mode since things started to get out of control.

You sighed and ran your good hand over your face, rubbing away the melancholy expression.

“Do you still like him?” You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise at his question, watching the way he was so serious about it.

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”

He shrugged.

“Means whatever.”

“I don’t like him.”

“It wasn't what it seemed.”

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “You don't know anything about my life to insinuate that kind of thing about me.”

“So answer me without sounding like I'm accusing you of something.”

“Well, then ask questions that don't sound like you're accusing me of something.”

And that seemed to have ended the argument (not the conversation), but Benny didn't move or seem willing to do anything to end the topic.

“... What?” You asked with impatience.

“The girl who spill the coffee on you, she-”

“Aileen,” Your interruption came with a huff, while wiggling the fingers of your bad hand. “Yes, she’s a stunning woman my ex cheated me with, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“I’m not trying to ask anything,” Benny frowned. “You're the one on the defensive. I don't want to know the details, I just need to make sure you don't put yourself in the front line of something that’s none of your business.”

“He’s someone I know!”

“Are you serious right now?”

“No,” You used a firm tone, watching him go from stern to doubtful in a beat. “I’m a human being and unfortunately I’m sensitive enough to visit my ex who was beaten by a gang of robbers. Do I wish I had done something to her for what happened? Of course, but unfortunately I also like my job. And my ethics, if that matters.”

“I just don't want to have to clean up any messes again.”

Deep down, if you really cared, you would’ve been more outraged by what he had said to you. In the end, you just became even more pissed off, so it probably meant that you were mad. The audacity, the… That seemed like the kind of thing that put him closer to what Major Crimes really was.

“... You're quite an asshole, you know that?”

He sighed, looking away and probably reevaluating a route.

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“Sure. How lucky would I be to endure two public humiliations without having provoked them? I really must be a saint.”

“Then I’ll be the bitch. I meant exactly what I meant,” You both shared a stare.

In fact, he was right: you were complicating everything. If you had just done what you meant to do, maybe you wouldn't have acted so immature, but there you were, holding your ground because you were an idiot. This was so frustrating, so stupid. You didn't need to do that, you didn't need to try to be something you weren't. No one ever imposed this type of behavior on you, there was no gun in your head telling you that things should be that way.

You felt defeated. Your physicality, your face, everything exuded the reflections of a woman well out of orbit.

“I'm going to tell you something very honest,” He took a few steps closer, searching the eyes you’d been avoiding until you could be looking at each other again. “I want you away from this case. Not because I think you're gonna mess something up, but at this point it's clear that your judgment can prevail over the evidence.”

It wasn't like he was wrong, so you stayed quiet.

“Nick is going to end up being pretty scathing about what happened here today, so believe me when I say that this time I'm really going to let you off the hook. You'll owe me one.”

Again, you remained silent, which was a bit surprising since you almost always had something to say. He was there, stern, giving you a well-deserved scolding, pointing a finger in your face, and it was as embarrassing as it was incredibly satisfying. It wasn't like what happened in your kitchen or anything like that, because he was truly mad at you, not the circumstances. Without Nick, Isla, Emma; it was you and him. You were the target.

His eyes were focused on yours, because he wanted to say it in all words. They seemed even darker, more powerful compared to yours, and that made you move in shyness. It was a side of Benny you didn't know yet.

“And please wake up. That girl isn’t half the woman you are,” This shocked you even more, since he hadn't stopped looking visibly irritated while passing his eyes over your body. “Nor half-experienced.”

Okay, well, that was… Well…

He shouldn’t have that right, did he? Why were you blinking several times and not saying anything then?

You stayed quiet – you didn’t want to embarrass yourself somehow. And with your silence, Benny just nodded while averting his gaze for a beat too long, passing a palm over his mouth with a tense sigh.

“She's going to discharge you and I want you away from here, understand?” He murmured, both hands placed on the mattress to cage you.

If he asked (which he clearly wouldn't), you would explain the details of your drunken confession from that first date. Benny was very intense, definitive; that was his version a little beyond what happened in your kitchen, and if you pushed a little harder, you'd notice that his eyes were darker than normal, putting you in an instant trance, whether out of fear, regret or… something else.

His eyes, at that moment when you just didn't say anything, went from your eyes to your eyebrows and then to your nose and mouth, agitated about how to actually look at you.

“Am I understood?” Benny pressed with a growl.

You nodded.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

He walked away with some hesitation, but opened the curtain to leave with a brutality that made you jump instantly. You let out a heavy breath, bringing your injured and closed hand to your chest in a somewhat unconscious act of protection, but not necessarily because of him. Benny was right; reactive, but right.

What the fuck were you doing in that place?

****

“Why did you do that?”

Henderson was driving back to the station when he asked. The car remained silent, with no answer for a long time, and Benny continued to stare at what he had written down of what Theodore said.

“She’s a partner. Big Nick would do the same.”

“I don't think so,” Henderson snorted. “You like her.”

Benny didn't comment on that either, because there wasn’t anything to add. In any case, the lack of a reply said everything his friend needed to know.

****

Okay, Benny did like you a little. Amicably. At first it was purely sexual, and he even thought about bragging to Connors that he had managed to fuck you first, because he was sure he wasn't going to make it past the first date. But even with all the other interesting women he did the same thing with, the indifference you had made it for him. If it was just that, if you had drunk a little less and gone to bed with him that night, that would be fine to you; maybe you even expected the other guys would know about it.

Then you two kissed and he didn’t mention anything to anyone. You became funnier and prettier and he noticed the things about you. Benny found out he liked the idea of it being a secretive thing, to remember how you sounded, the texture of your skin and the smell of your hair and keep it to himself. You were an irredeemable nerd, but you were rebellious: you clashed with Big Nick, you had a beautiful, huge tattoo on your leg, you smoked marijuana, you messed with other girls.

He enjoyed your closeness, whether as a friend or as a lover. It was advantageous to have you around.

Since what happened at the hospital, Benny thought about apologizing and saying that he was just upset. They were really close to get that guys, there was a lot of pressure from above after the debacle with the DEA, no one was in the thick of the fucking around. He didn't apologize despite wanting to, though, because he knew things didn't feel easy for you either.

Well, he couldn’t be sure of it, if he liked you as if in a crush or just as a person who he got along with. You made him hesitate to make some kind of mistake towards you, so what Benny could say for certain was that he liked you. Just a little.

****

“Do you know anything about this?”

You and your dad were in the kitchen washing the dishes when he asked. His tone was low, almost discreet to be heard only by you and, hopefully, distant enough for your mother to take note of the question. The room was small, very different from your old house, and the walls provided good coverage so that she, who was on the emergency stairs smoking a cigarette, was at an even safer distance.

Still, you peeked out the small window above the sink and could see the smoke rising from the exact place you saw her climbing.

Earlier, they arrived talking about how the newspapers and Twitter had reported what had happened to Theodore. You did no more than say that Gina brought it up, but you weren't on the case and it was ethically (as well as judicially) wrong for you to get too close. Still, you tried hard to say that you knew he was okay – which your father clearly managed to see as a half-truth.

“... I went to see him at the hospital,” You mumbled, eyes fixed on the dishes in front of you, not daring to find out how he was looking at you.

“You two talked?”

“No,” You paused. “But I saw Aileen.”

He didn't say anything; the tap was still on, but the noise of dishes being moved had stopped. You pretended you hadn't noticed, going to the cupboard and putting away the already dry glasses, trying to stay away from the excruciating gaze you felt on the back of your head.

That silence had meaning; your father could go days without bringing up the subject waiting for you to talk about it. Like it or not, you could let him use this strategy, and you would have more time to decide how to talk about it, but your mother knew this habit better than you and, well, there was a reason why you were talking away from her.

You closed the cabinet and turned around, moving closer to him before leaning the small of your back against the table, defensively crossing your arms. He turned off the tap, dried his hands; the worried expression never left his face.

“I was in the hallway and one of the detectives in charge called me. I turned around without realizing she was behind me, so she accidentally spilled hot coffee on my hand,” You held up your hand wrapped in the bandage.

“So you two didn’t interact? Aside from this?”

“Like in an indian soap opera, yeah,” Your answer made him hiss. “She apologized, I think. I don’t remember a lot.”

Well, it was a lie – one he could catch from a mile away. You remembered each piece of moment you could grab from that mess: the way her eyes widened at the sight of the coffee being spilled on your skin, the way she raised her hands to reach out, the pain, the step back you gave to make sure she wouldn’t get any closer and, specially, the way Benny and Henderson were watching the whole scene.

The reason why you didn’t go into a spiral of remorse was this fact, that amongst Z or Nick, the ones who were there were the least worse. Gus was nice, polite and Benny was… Benny. And for days you expected for something, for Emma to give you one last penitence or for O’Brien to spill some shit on your face; God knew you deserved it all. It was a bad feeling. You didn't like the idea of feeling embarrassed, the exposure or even your lack of reaction, but more than that, you felt torn by the idea that you hadn't felt as sorry for Theodore as you thought you would.

“It’s just… I’ve been punching myself for even going there in the first place,” You sighed in defeat, your good hand passing all over your face.

“Maybe we raised you way too well.”

“That’s not entirely true… But not because of you, that is.”

And you knew you shouldn't have said that, at least not in those words, because then he would come with more arguments about how you should let your mother in, about how she wanted to be part of your life and how it would be better to have her as a support – as a woman-to-woman conversation would be more enlightening.

He didn’t even need to point that out, in fact; you already slipped in before he could open his mouth.

“I think it's better not to.”

“Because she could be too harsh?”

“Because she could be too honest. I love her, dad, I really do, but I had a hell of a moment with a coworker that makes me ashamed to even look at his direction because of it. I…”

I don’t want to disappoint her again. I don’t want to be a burden.

It was always much easier for your brother when it came to your mother: she welcomed him and they just understood each other. With you it was always a problem. She said you spent a lot of time with your dad, that you must be like this or that, that, honey, Theodore is a great kid but I don't think he'll come back after college. He returned. You got married. You got divorced and, during all the crises, you were also embarrassed to come back with your tail between your legs to say that she was right in a way. You made your brother swear under professional secrecy that he wouldn't tell her anything, but you still contained details just in case.

So no, it was better not to. It would be another shame, another thing that she would look at you with great pity, and you were tired of putting yourself in that position.

“I'm off the case anyway. Gina doesn't report to me, just like she gave the tests to the person on the other shift. There's no risk of me getting closer to Theodore again.”

“But you were looking for something when you went there. Did you find it?”

You stared straight at his eyes for a long, beating moment.

“... I did.”

“And what was it?”

For a brief second, you could still feel the sensation of seeing Theodore beaten up, the dried blood and lowered eyes. Could see the way he seemed fine, injured but not unstable, able to still be operative, essential to the industry.

“Relief.”

****

“I know you.”

You didn't expect it to come out so full of doubt, but you expected him to have some memory lapse in the time you had seen him.

Dr. Cillian Byrne was a professor you had at university just before you changed your major. It was in your first year, at the end of the first semester, and with the changes in the curriculum for your audiovisual expertise, you only had the chance to attend, roughly, three or four of his classes. He was a bit young for the position, people said, and when your academic psychopathy caught other people's attention, they told you the same thing. Unlike him, you never went that far. After you graduated, you joined the LASD and managed to pass the evaluation for field CSI, but with so much bureaucracy in the way, you ended up stationed in the laboratory for good.

Looking at him there, it felt like a full circle moment. You didn't connect the dots until that last name took place and you exchanged glances with Emma from afar, who just shook her head lightly as if to say you shouldn’t mention Ballard.

“I took some classes with you in college,” You mentioned after saying your name, watching his eyebrows raise in recognition.

“Right, I remember you. The girl who ran to the second boring stuff in CSI.”

“The second?”

“It's the rule. First come the academics, then the laboratory rats, then the coroners and only then the self-centered field ones.”

Emma was walking towards you when he said that, so when she got closer and saw that the two of you were sharing friendly laughs with each other, she went from confused to pleased in seconds.

“It isn’t that usual to see a successor at a faraway party, but I feel like it’s going well,” She said.

The hotel ballroom was full (exaggeratedly, but fair enough) and judging by the amount of times you saw Dr. Byrne going from group to group with smiles, you could agree that he was breaking the awkwardness of being there under these circumstances. Maybe it was the mood itself. Everyone was well dressed, sipping expensive drinks they could only have on special occasions, laughing at whoever was on duty and taking photos for Facebook; the boring part could wait until the next day.

“I was telling her she’s the first familiar face I've seen here, which is a surprise,” Dr. Byrne lied, so you sipped on your soda to avoid giving that away.

“... Oh,” Emma frowned, a confused smile fighting for its life to not make her discomfort so evident. “You do know each other, then.”

“He was one of my professors in college.”

“Almost,” He teased, eyes swiping from you to her. “I found out just after two weeks that she fled to the computers.”

“You seem to have been upset about this,” She was the one teasing now, on the verge of embarrassment to be honest.

“Well, when you start hearing how much this student who changed majors became one of the bests… It’s hard not to feel at least jealous, right?”

And perhaps Emma and you would talk about this in the future if it hadn't been in that sensitive context, because it was clear that Dr. Byrne had looked into everyone in the department and was perhaps doing background checks as if he were doing his homework. It was the first time in months that you and Emma exchanged a similar look, raising your eyebrows and understanding the situation right away, sharing glances with an inside joke that you hadn't told each other for a long time.

“She’s really great, I have to admit. Hurts me to leave this whole amazing team, to be honest,” She went the easy and polite way, one hand tapping on your arm. “I'm sure you'll get along great on a daily basis.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Who else would give me a better report on what’s up with the infamous Major Crimes’s gang?”

This time, the discomfort that had been eating away at the edges and that you were able to overcome came to the surface, which made you step back with confusion close to indignation. Dr. Byrne seemed neutral despite this, smiling from ear to ear as he watched Emma unsure of what to say and then you, coming to the inevitable conclusion that he was an idiot.

“... I’m afraid that I’m not the best person to expect that. Perhaps the sheriff?” You gave one more chance to get away with the topic, but he shook his head and insisted, keeping that smile that started to scare you off a little.

“Why wouldn't it be you? Emma told me that you all have an extensive professional partnership. Not to mention the quality of your reports on Ballard's cases.”

“Oh.”

“I just told him that you could explore more of your expertise with the complex cases they work with,” She rushed to add, the glare on your face now clear as the day.

“I see.”

“But I believe, Dr. Byrne, that I also added that she knows how to limit herself to technical reports, all personalized for each context. You saw it yourself, as she was an expert on a case with one of our most senior detectives.”

Only then, perhaps added to the way you were no longer so interested in being friendly around the subject, did Dr. Byrne step back and nod, praising your ability to remain professional in the work environment or something. You honestly stopped paying attention, eyes swiping over your drink in hand to avoid any signs of clear embarrassment.

“I’m really excited to start this new journey with you all. See you on Monday?” He turned to you, giving just enough time for your reaction to snap your head up and force a smile.

“Of course. Welcome to LASD.”

You two shook hands, then he left.

But Emma stayed.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Did you also mention your friendship with Walsh?” You couldn’t help the venom on your voice, which made her sigh. “Very professional, Emma. Very professional.”

“He just did the research, okay? I wasn’t intending to share everything about you guys, but he just came by with a fucking folder with all your names on it. Not to mention what the sheriff told me…”

Not that you were in a position to speculate, much less to sympathize with whatever she had faced, but Emma lost her neutral posture as soon as he walked away, that you lost some of your irritation and eyed at her suspiciously, seeing her looking around and making sure no one would hear.

“I made a list of recommendations, but he didn't even read them and said that Byrne had already been chosen. Nick came up to me and said that-”

“You talked with Nick about it?”

“See how weird things are,” She rolled her eyes. “I think he feels threatened. Byrne is close to the sheriff, this could undermine O’Brien's freedoms.”

“And is it bad?”

“I don’t know… I mean, when you know how someone operates, it can be easy to guess, but I’ve never been around him enough to be sure of anything.”

“So you’re suspicious because of this,” You concluded and she agreed. With a deep breath, you looked around just as she did minutes before, catching sight of Cillian and Lennon talking.

“He’s… an academic.”

“He’s a brat,” You shook your head, biting your lower lip while still staring at him from afar. “Older men, high IQs... Just the smell of testosterone bothers me.”

“It's not like my feminine presence made any difference.”

When you looked at her again, surprised by her condescending tone, Emma was sipping her own drink with some embarrassment. You didn't know if you should give any approval, if you even had the right to do that, but you knew that it was just her trying to have a clearer conscience about what happened. Byrne was going to take over, and she admitted she had misgivings about the guy – it was noble, like a last shred of ethics in the middle of what seemed like a specifically planned transition.

“... You made it easier for Walsh to take over the case once and for all, didn't you?”

Emma kept quiet, which was enough of an answer. Not knowing what to say, you nodded along in that silence, unsure if you were shocked or just… relieved.

“I can understand your disbelief in Nick's methods. Take it from me, I had some problems because of it,” You conceded, so she raised her eyes at you sheepishly. “It's hypocritical to say that in parting, but I was upset that you did that knowing that Walsh would somehow throw me into the fire.”

“You better than anyone could understand that it was an inevitable consequence.”

“I do, that’s why I never tried to make it a big deal all these months. God knows we have a lot to be forgiven for, so… Be careful with Mathias, ‘kay? Just as you’re telling me to be careful with Byrne.”

It was the closest you and she could get to resolving the problems. In the future, perhaps, you could look at it more coldly and understand that it was too dramatic, but it wasn't the time; at the moment, the two of you have reached a consensus for the greater good.

The kind that included men with a lot of midlife crises.

****

Benny had seen the whole scene, from Byrne approaching you, the jokes he made you laugh at and even the moment he made you throw a look of disgust at him. He shouldn't even be there anymore: he had a date that night, one that would probably result in a good fuck and none of Emma's rascality. Still, as he watched you interact with those people, Benny ended up traveling in thought again.

He thought he missed what you had risked before. You were more relaxed, determined; you had no way of deciding what he was because the two of you barely knew each other. The dress you wore there was similar to the one on your first date, but not the same. If he tried, he could still feel your awkward drunken ways or, with more effort, visualize the result of an alcohol-free night like the one you were having at that party.

Deep down, Benny wanted to feel like a good guy because, for some reason, he didn't want to put you in that trophy position like he did or would do with other women. This comforted him; encouraged him. If he got closer again, if you started a relationship again, he was afraid that he would succumb to the boredom of not being able to hold on to that heroic feeling of having spared you from something toxic, that would soon hurt you or he would hurt himself.

“Are you going?” Connors asked as soon as he felt Benny shift beside him. “She’s gonna say some words.”

So he stayed, both feet firmly planted on the floor as long as he could, watching each other as Emma went up on the small improvised stage to test the microphone and you, who remained in the same place, one arm resting on the bar counter as you looked at the scene with a blank expression.

“You know, I never thought I would go through this before I was 60, but I think destiny is something impressive,” Emma said. “Having to say goodbye to you all is painful, but I know that this new phase will be transformative for all of us. In a positive way, that is.”

You passed your hand (the injured one) over your mouth, as if you were hiding a reaction even though no one other than him was paying attention to you.

“Since I'm not much of a talker and since I know I said my private goodbyes to everyone here, I'd like to recite one of the emails I received from my mentor once I got my position at LASD.”

Everyone got quiet.

“True peace is only truly achieved when we realize that we cannot be all good and, therefore, we will be villains for some and heroes for others. It’s an unfair and cruel measure, but despite being protagonists of our own stories, our moral compass will not always point in the right direction. It’s up to us, as human beings, to embrace our weaknesses and ensure that, within our obligations, we can do our best. Therefore, our sacrifices will soon be seen as choices, which will or will not shape who we’ll be as people.”

It was only for a second, a thousandth of a second, when Emma finished that corny speech and everyone applauded, that Benny looked at you again and saw that you looked back. It shouldn't have meant anything to you, just like it did to him, but he knew that, perhaps, that adventure should’ve ended before it began.

That was the choice you two made.

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

#benny borracho magalon #maurice compte #benny magalon #benny magalon x reader #female reader #reader insert #den of thieves fic #den of thieves

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sumiink · 9 months

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Sumi's Fic Recs

I've been saving a list of fan fiction I like for years now and thought I should share it!

Fandoms include Danny Phantom, DPxDC, Batman, DCMK, BNHA, and Miraculous Ladybug, Legend of Zelda (Linked Universe), Mob Psycho 100, and Genshin Impact. Links, summaries, and comments under the cut.

Danny Phantom

Phantom of Truth by Haiju

NOTE: An edited/updated version of the sequel (Shadow of a Doubt) is also on AO3, but not finished. The finished, unedited version can be found on FF.net here.

Summary: Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her sole object of study, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth... except, perhaps, herself.

Review: You can’t talk about Danny Phantom fanfic without bringing up Phantom of Truth. This one defines the vivisection genre. It’s written in Maddie’s perspective and you can see her character in every little detail of the writing.

Treading Water by TheFullCatastrophe

Summary: "This is the story of why we had to start calling Danny Fenton, Danny FINton. Get it, Danny? 'Cause you have FINS? Oh, I kill me." - a summary by Tucker Foley.

Review: Mermaid AU! Another classic fandom fic, this one with great worldbuilding and some dark, realistic vibes that make the ghosts (well, mermaids) really feel dangerous.

Modern Day Ghost Girl by MemoryWriter

Summary: Wendy Manson, 14-year old freshman in Casper High. Recently she's been able to sense ghosts, and on the day Wendy's paranormal curiosity gets the best of her, her project partner and ex-best friend Shane happens to follow her. When she meets a mysterious ghost in the abandoned apartment, what of her identity will she be discovering?

Review: One of the first fics I ever read, so it holds a special place in my heart.

Outside Looking In by Ellen_Brand

Summary: Casper High's new psychiatrist has some interesting interviews ahead of him.

Review: A great outside perspective into Danny. Also I just like Cade!

Phantom’s Sketchbook by AkoyaMizuno

Summary: Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom.

Review: Another fandom classic! A must read for the student/teacher relationship between Mr. Lancer and Danny.

You Should Be Dead by SapphireDragon11

Summary: Dash and Kwan are horrified to discover they've accidentally killed their classmate, but perhaps even more so when he shows up at school the next day. With his secret on the line, Danny soon discovers Dash and Kwan are the least of his worries.

Review: An epic story of Danny going up against incredible odds! One of my absolute favorites!

DPxDC

But I Want to Be Let In, Not Out by TheWritingOwl

NOTE: Actually a series of one-shots!

Summary: Growing up with the Fentons, Danny resigned himself to the fact that he would never see Damian again. However, when he gets summoned to Gotham after becoming the Ghost King, he finds himself reuniting with his long lost twin.

Review: Some nice demon twins au with batfam elements- all the stuff I like in a DPxDC fic.

close enough to be whole again by hailsatanacab

Summary: “If you ever find yourself in danger, go to Bruce Wayne. He will help you.” His mother had loved him, in her own way. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have helped him escape. If she hadn’t, she would have dragged him back to the League of Assassins, to Grandfather. If she hadn’t, he’d be dead. She loved him, but she loved the League more. Jack and Maddie Fenton loved him too, they did, but they loved their work more. They loved their work more. -- After his parents react poorly to his reveal, Danny escapes to the only person he thinks can help him - Bruce Wayne. He doesn't know what to expect when he gets there, but it has to be better than where he is, surely? He certainly doesn't expect to be reunited with his long lost twin brother Damian. It's funny how things work out that way. Danny is 16 years old, not Phantom Planet compliant

Review: More angsty demon twins AU with secret identity shenanigans, what’s no to love?

Recognized by AgentIanLegend

Summary: When they heard the fateful words "Recognized: Robin - B01," nothing could have prepared them for the web of secrets which would unravel as Daniel Fenton and Richard Grayson search for answers.

Review: An epic story will all kinds of twists and turns. Very will written with great pacing and tight storytelling!

Batman

hand in unloveable hand (a chokehold) by britishparty

Summary: Tim Drake is eleven years old when he’s grabbed off the streets of Bristol while he’s on his way home. It will be okay, he tells himself: they’ll call his parents, and they’ll pay the ransom, and he’ll get to go home.

There are pictures of Batman and Robin on the camera he was carrying. A lot of pictures.

They don’t call his parents. They call Black Mask.

- or: the one where Black Mask kidnaps Tim and tries to groom him into a ruthless heir, and Tim tries to figure out how to destroy him from the inside out.

Review: Tim is great in this. This one is full of scheming and mind games and all that good stuff.

From When He Sprang by WereDog15

Summary: January 2012. For the last four years, Jason Todd has been living on the streets of Gotham, doing whatever he can in order to survive on his own. But one night, as he emerges from his dwelling in Gotham’s underground tunnels, he encounters the legendary dynamic duo of Batman and Robin.A little bit of help can go a long way, but Jason's world is ripped apart as he is unintentionally put in the path of one of the deadliest secret societies that the world has ever known.Discover the story of the event that changed their lives forever, and put Jason on the path to becoming the second Robin.

Review: THIS FIC. It’s creative, it’s dark, it’s gory - this one makes me feel like I’m back in middle school reading The Hunger Games for the first time. This fic does not pull any punches.

Liminal Spaces by Calamityjim

NOTE: A multi-part series with some extra one-shots too

Summary: Bruce's habit of collecting strays is not limited by dimension. Or When Young Justice Batman comes across an angsty, seemingly abandoned by his Batman Tim Drake, he decides to step up to the plate and parent the crap out of him.

Review: Oh this one is a long, epic story with all kinds of twists and turns. And lots and lots of emotional batfam moments.

A Gentlekid Thief by Blazonix

Summary: Tim didn't mean to become the notorious thief Red X; it just sort of happened. Just like how he somehow wound up being Batman’s greatest nemesis - his therapist. He would like to remind whatever higher forces are out there that he is still only 12.

Review: Funny and clever!

From the Shadows by Wolfsbanesparks

NOTE: Shazam crossover

Summary: All Billy Batson wanted was to survive a particularly rough week living on the streets of Fawcett City. The last thing he was looking for was a new family. All Bruce Wayne wanted was to learn a bit more about his upbeat teammate under the guise of official Wayne Enterprises business. But he could never turn his back on a child in need. Especially one as surrounded by mystery as Billy. OR Billy gets adopted by the Batfamily while trying to deal with a strong magical enemy.

Review: I’m always a fan of gen fic that also has an overarching story and great villain!

Shutterbye by katiesparks

Summary: The more I research it, the more I know it has to be true. Dick Grayson is Robin. And that means Bruce Wayne is Batman. All the pieces fit. I move my Dick and Bruce Wayne things into the Batman and Robin box and buy an extra lock for it.

Review: One-shot written from a young Tim’s perspective. The writing style really brings his character to life.

Surveillance by smilebackwards

NOTE: A multi part series

Summary: Tim knows antagonizing Lex Luthor wasn’t exactly his safest move but the point is really driven home by the bullet to the shoulder. Or: The AU where Jason never died and Tim is a civilian who contributes to crime fighting by taking surveillance photos and leaving them on the desktop of the Batcomputer.

Review: Gotta love some ‘stalker Tim gets involved in hero stuff without actually wearing a cape’ stuff.

Detective Conan & Magic Kaito

(Don’t) Believe What You Know by discordiansamba

NOTE: This fic is actually a rewrite, buuuuuut I saved the older, longer version if you want to read that one instead. Available here (I just copy and pasted it, so formatting may be a little weird)

Summary: For as long as he's known him, Hattori Heiji has always seemed to gotten mixed up in cases with a sort of... supernatural touch. Honestly, Conan's never thought much of it- it's not as if the things that go bump in the night are actually real, and they've got countless cases behind them to prove just that.But after getting mixed up in a strange case in Osaka and learning a disturbing secret from Heiji's past, its left Conan wondering if there's more his friend isn't telling him. So he does what any good detective would- investigate.He's just... not sure he was ready for the answers.

Review: I am a huge of discordiansamba’s writing! It very descriptive and the stories tend to have a lot of interesting moving parts. This fic in particular is great for its worldbuilding and the magical, dangerous adventures Heiji gets involved in. And Heiji trying to hide stuff from Conan always makes for some good tension.

Blood and Snow by discordiansamba

Summary: Heiji Hattori has never believed in the supernatural. Things like vampires have always been a bunch of nonsense to him. But the supernatural is about to prove itself very real.

Review: If you like the last one, you’ll like this one too – another supernatural adventure focusing on Heiji!

Unprofessional Opinion by Ellen_Brand

Summary: A series of psychologicalpersonality profiles of our boys... with guest shrink Cade Maboroshi!

Review: I just like Cade! And an outsider’s perspective is always fun, especially in this writing style.

The Case of the Magic Bullet Murder by MirrorandImage

NOTE: Technically a sequel, but I didn’t read the first one and wasn’t lost. There’s also a third fic that’s good too!

Summary: As always Conan stumbles across another body; and this time the prime suspect is this high school kid named Kuroba Kaito. Sequel to The Case of the Hidden Epidemic.

Review: We get to see Conan interact with Kaito, and that always makes for fun secret identity shenanigans. And we even get to see Kaito get involved in solving a case!

Insanity, Apparently by Taliya

NOTE: A series of one shots

Summary: Takagi Wataru would like to register a complaint to whichever deity thought it would be hilarious to toss him into odd situations with Kaitou KID. Repeatedly. Because this was far beyond his pay grade.

Review: A fun story with a mix of characters you don’t see very often.

Be a Better Me by Lisa_Telramor

Summary: Kaito thought that the Robot Incident ended with the destruction of his copycat robot. He couldn't have guessed how wrong that assumption was when he is injured months later.

Review: Wonderfully angsty and doesn’t shy away from the horror of Kaito’s new reality.

Guide you home by Tobina

NOTE: Uses Guide & Sentinel tropes, which I’d never heard of before but I guess it used to be popular in fanfic in the 90’s? Basically Sentinels have superpowers and Guides help them control it. The two tend to be lifelong partners, but it can be romantic or familial or platonic.

Summary: As a Level 5s Sentinel and skillful detective, Kudou Shinichi helps the Tokyo Police Department whenever they get stuck with a case, his Guide Ran at his side to ground him when needed. After a KID heist, it becomes clear that Guides are dissapearing and Shinichi and his western counterpart Hattori Heiji are knee-deep into the case, especially because this one hits far too close to home for comfort. When then even phantom thief Kaitou KID gets involved, things are bound to get... interesting.

Review: A GREAT story that does a good job with worldbuilding and characters’ relationships. While it focuses on Conan, my favorite part of this fic is the arc the Kaito goes through and the way this story takes a look at his motivations and moral compass.

It's Raining Men, Hallelujah by Asuka Kureru

Summary: Conan already has some kind of corpse magnet power, but when Heiji is in his orbit the corpses actively come to them. From above. Witness.

Review: A fandom classic! Short and hilarious.

Inconceivable by joisbishmyoga

Summary: In the face of a DNA analysis Kaito can't deny, he begins uncovering the rest of his family's secrets. Too bad he's not the only one looking.

Review: An epic story that has a takedown of the Black Org AND twin AU, what’s not to love?

Secrets in Indigo by Sinnatious

Summary: A throwaway comment about Kaitou KID’s eye colour sets Kaito on an uncomfortable path of discovery.

Review: I can’t give too many spoilers! An overall great story with great writing as Kaito discovers secrets and also tries to keep them hidden.

The Young Royals of Deduction by joisbishmyoga

NOTE: One shot

Summary: The Exclusive Interview with Four Children Taking the Investigative World by Storm

Review: Short but fun!

My Hero Academia

The Thin Gray Line by A_ToastToTheOutcasts

Summary: The beauty of the era of quirks wasn't the amazing abilities; it was that nobody sane would even entertain the thought that Kuroko, the most wanted vigilante in all of Japan, was Quirkless.

Review: A vigilante AU with a badass Deku (or, in this case, Kuroko) who puts the whole Hero Commisison to shame. The rivalry between Deku and Bakugou is so intense in this fic, I love it.

Yesterday Upon the Stair by PitViperOfDoom

Notes: When you’re done with this, there’s also a fun related one-shot by another author called U.A. Unsolved by kabukichou (ameliafromafairytale)

Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it's not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weird quirkless weakling on top of it. But truthfully, the "weird" part is the only part that's accurate. He's determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he's not actually quirkless. Even before meeting All-Might and taking on the power of One For All, Izuku isn't quirkless. Not that anyone would believe it if he told them.

Review: An epic story full of secrets and ghosts!

Hero Class Civil Warfare by RogueDruid (Icarius51)

Summary: Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

Review: Badass Deku going all out and scaring his classmates. This one uses nearly every character from class 1-A and 1-B and manages to make everyone have an impact on the story!

Tales of the Jade Mantis by Chess_Blackfyre

NOTE: A multi-part series

Summary: The adventures of Inko Midoriya, Number One Vigilante in all of Japan, and her complicated relationship with the Number One Hero, All Might. However, it's not all about kicking butt and taking names, watch as the telekinetic in the leather jacket struggles with things like brutal mentors, working in customer service, and trying to be a good single parent.

Review: The only fic I’ve found with Inko as a vigilante! Quite the journey, this one goes over her career as a vigilante and what comes after when Izuku suddenly has a quirk. I love the weird adventures Inko gets up to and the interesting people she meets. One of my all time favorites!

Monochrome Skies by QuantumPoint

Summary: Midoriya Izuku died four years ago. Midoriya Izuku dead in a housefire when his mother didn’t notice him come home early. Midoriya Izuku dead because heroes failed to hear the screams of a scared child. Midoriya Izuku dead alone and scared.His mother mourned him but went on with her life. The heroes swore to be better, but still made the same mistakes. And for four years, everyone believed he was until Aizawa caught sight of a well-known vigilante and decided to investigate. Everyone believed it until Yagi bumped into a kind child on the street and tried to give him hope.

Review: I can’t say much because spoilers, but if you’re an artist, read this.

brilliant lights will cease to burn (by my hands i’ll reignite them) by novalotypo

NOTE: It’s a Card Captor Sakura crossover, but honestly I’ve never seen that and as far as I can tell this doesn’t have much to so with that show. It’s BNHA characters and world with some Card Captor magic elements.

Summary: Midoriya Izuku is quirkless. This, he knows very well.This is also what he knows:Weekends and vacations are reserved for walking neighborhood dogs. The elderly are the most powerful people on Earth. Local gods are picky eaters. Trust is a feeble, feeble thing. Magic cards are incredibly difficult to seal, especially when the world thinks you're a vigilante. Heroes are not magicians, but magicians can be heroes.Becoming a cardcaptor wasn't on Izuku's bucket list, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make the best out of it.

Review: Deku doesn’t have a quirk, so he gets sucked up into some magical card captor responsibilities and goes all out, as he does. This one has an analytical Deku, otherworldly magic, creepy villains, and some tension between a vigilante Deku and hero society as a whole. One of my absolute favorites!

Quirk: Knife! by brightredwings

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is unlucky, to say the least and life hasn't exactly been kind. Things weren't so bad in the beginning, but once he was diagnosed quirkless, well, it all went to shit. Everyone grew to hate him, even his best friend and own father.Was it really that impossible to become a hero without a quirk? It doesn't really matter because to Izuku, the term hero is flexible. He'll be his own hero because he's learnt from his own experience, people are selfish and the only one he can rely on is himself.Left alone to fend for himself in the world, Izuku goes out to change things on his own terms, despite his methods being slightly illegal. Keyword, slightly. It's only illegal if he gets caught, right?

Review: A long story with great arcs for a lot of League of Villains character, and a beautiful ending. Some pretty intense angst with happy endings for everyone.

Roses are red and they taste like shit by Unbreakable_Red_Riot

Summary: Katsuki was really fucking sick of the smell of flowers.

Review: Ah, yes, KiriBaku with hanhaki disease. Mostly from Bakugou’s point of view, so you get to see all his frustration and a ton of drama. Also looks into some other characters like Midoriya and Todoroki, which is a nice touch.

The Beauty of a Beast by starofgems

Summary: Once upon a time a lonely beast lived in a manor deep in the forest. He dreamed of the day his true love appeared to break his curse... When a beauty finally appears in his life, it is not quite as he imagined. For who could have thought a beauty would be more of a beast. Or The beauty and the beast AU nobody asked for but here it is.

Review: A very sweet love story. (KiriBaku)

The Deaf Hero: Deku by BeyondTheClouds777

Summary: His whole life, Izuku was told that he couldn’t do it. That he should give up while he still had the chance. That someone like him—Deaf, Quirkless—could never become a hero.But Izuku wasn’t going to give up. Not now and not ever. (OR, the one where nearly everything's the same, but Izuku is Deaf.)

Review: Right what it says on the tin. Deku’s added deafness creates more tension between Deku and Bakugou, his classmates, and even other heroes. Things get angsty but Deku always stays determined, which I love.

Miraculous Ladybug

Where Have All The Heroes Gone and Where Are All The Gods? by Anthemyst

NOTE: This is actually part 5 of a series, but I just started with this one and didn’t feel lost. Just know that in this story, Gabirel isn’t Hawkmoth. Most of this was written before Season 1 ended, I think.

Summary: On their fourteenth birthday, the Agreste triplets' world is turned upside down. Their government has been overthrown, their city taken, and superheroes all over Europe have suddenly and mysteriously vanished-including, to their shock, their parents. They'll need to work together, and become the heroes Paris needs, if they're going to save both their parents and their country.

Review: A next-gen fic that got me into ML fanfic in general! It’s got a fun dystopian vibe and the Agreste kids are all fleshed out very nicely. One of my absolute favorites!

Not A Bit by CaptainOzone

Summary: "Sometimes, being a brother is even better than being a superhero," says author Marc Brown. Félix Agreste has been both, and he can't have said it better himself. (AKA The Brothers AU I wanted to read but had to write myself when I realized this AU has a depressing lack of fic to its name)

Review: I’m always a fan of fic that has Marinette and Adrien AND Felix and Bridgette.

Legend of Zelda (Linked Universe)

Looking for Group by Tashilover

Summary: People want to be a Hero so badly, they're willing to bribe, lie, cheat, and beg. Twilight knows there's a Hero amongst the people in this college town. It's just a matter of finding them.

Review: The modern setting keeps things fresh, yet this story is still full of legends, danger, and a fight of good vs evil!

Mob Psycho 100

tomorrow isn’t always another day by suitablyskippy

NOTE: One shot

Summary: It’s like Reigen’s been waiting for the question. He stops dead on the pavement, grips Mob by the shoulders, and stares down into his eyes with an expression as haunted as though every ghost the pair of them has ever exorcised has taken up residence behind it. “Mob,” he says. “Mob,” he says again. “Tell me, Mob. Look at me and tell me. Tell me truthfully. Do I look cursed to you?”Mob looks at him, and tells him truthfully. “No.”“Well, you didn’t look very long,” says Reigen. “Let’s just stand here for a moment, like so, and you can have another look, a nice long look, and really think about it...” (There's nothing strange about being called back to exorcise the same haunted photocopier six days in a row. It must just be a very haunted photocopier.)

Review: THIS WHOLE CONEPT IS HILARIOUS

Genshin Impact

Traveler’s search for Scaramouche by Scuriel

NOTE: A choose your own adventure story!

Summary: Ei wants Traveler to search for Scaramouche and get back her gnosis. They have many decisions to make along the way.

Review: Don’t see something like this very often! There are actually a lot of different outcomes.

#fic rec #fanfic #danny phantom #dpxdc #batman #Dcmk #bnha #miraculous ladybug #linked universe #mp100 #genshin impact #can you tell i like angst #and tim drake #and twin stuff apparently #and gen fic in general

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charmsandtealeaves · 9 months

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2023 Year In Review

I first did this post last year after getting back into the swing of fandom and thought it would be cool to see what a difference another year has made. This year saw the creation of the @jilymicrofics & @jilymicro-oops blogs respectively, which will have their own review post in due course. Looking back I once again managed more than I thought I did this year.

Let's start with some AO3 Stats:

User Subscriptions: 103 Kudos: 2,732 Comment Threads: 781 Bookmarks: 594 Subscriptions: 315 Word Count: 267,425

All of which had a significant increase compared to last year which makes me a little giddy!

Now it's time for an AO3/Tumblr Breakdown:

Jilychallenges: My goal for this year was to complete every @jilychallenge month this year, and I did! (I'll link a proper master post here later.)

January, Firsts & New Beginnings: One and One is Two February, Butterfly Moments: Feelings Keep Running the Red March, Soul Mates: Ties That Bind April, Letters, Notes & Texting: Meet Me At The River May, Mothers Day: Mothers Day Mix-up June, Winter: Ice Breaker (@jamesunderwater collaboration!) July, Summer: Midnight Dip August, Movies & TV Quotes: A Reason To Fight September, Back To School: Sugar Quills November, Nostalgic Tropes: The Exchange Principle December, Holiday Calendar: Mistletoe Mishaps

@jilytoberfest: I didn't contribute to this as much as I wanted to this year 😢

Discord G & M Jilyexpress Trains, M Tumblr Jilyexpress Train Masquerade Event: Laundry Day Romcom Event: Love Birds

Jilymicrofics Prompted Fics:

Snap One Time Thing (and its sequel: No Such Thing) Runner's Stitch Summer Rain How Times Have Changed The Entire February Prompt List Behind The Tapestries Gift Exchange Event, for @startanewdream: The Owl and the Pussy Cat Mystery Microfic May Event: Darkest Before Dawn Early Mornings

@mppmaraudergirl's Blackevans BFF Week

Detention With a Difference Padfoot's Nose Knows Something Black and Blue

Collaborative Projects:

Stripped Back To Basics, with @athenasparrow Ice Breaker, with @jamesunderwater

Completed One-Shots:

Supreme Pizza With Extra Mushrooms Rose Tinted Glasses Lily Evans Doesn't Believe In I Love You's Evans Guide To Quidditch (and Seducing James Potter)

Completed Multi-Chapters:

Brown Boots & Breakfast Bagels Revenge Tastes Sweeter, a gift for @joyseuphoria Call Me By Name & Incoming (The CMBN Universe)

Ongoing Multi- Chapters:

Wake Me Up (When September Ends) A big thank you to @annabtg for helping me edit this fic!

Goals for 2024:

Finish Wake Me Up (When September Ends)

Another year of jilymicrofics + their events

As many jilychallenges as I can feasibly manage

Work on + publish some other backburner WIPs

~ Ray

#Ray rambles #ray on writing #Charms year in review

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autumnwoodsdreamer · 3 months

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20 Questions for Writers

(Thanks for the tag @katebishopofearth 💛)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

452,721

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Avengers, Mandalorian, Star Wars Rebels, The Bad Batch, HTTYD, and I really want to write something for Prospect

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lift a Sail

Head Above Water

Anchors

Black & Red I: The Early Days Chapter (okay, I was surprised this one made the top five)

The Lighthouse Keeper

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I appreciate comments so much and I know I love it when writers respond to my comments on fics and give me DVD special features behind-the-scenes commentary and I love giving lore and insights and explaining things. (I feel crushingly stupid with everything I say, though… 🫣)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t know… I tend to cram the angst in the start and middle of a story but I compulsively aim for happy endings.

Maybe Lift a Sail? It ended with everything in the worst state (even though it was in the process of getting put right and I did put it right in the sequel! But. Yeah. It ended the angstiest.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It’s a tie between The Lighthouse Keeper and Shadows Dancing on the Walls. They’re my happiest endings ☺️ everyone together, reunited, safe and sound

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I’ve been really fortunate. I’ve gotten some but not too much, mostly just a few nasty comments but it was from ones who I think just didn’t understand what my endgame for the story was or they misunderstood something and thought I meant something I really didn’t. (Hence why I preface my stories now with so many warnings and notes. They seem ridiculous but I have had people get upset at me for not following canon in a story explicitly tagged “not canon compliant” so… yeah.)

This very memorable time, I had someone tell me to stop writing from Grogu’s POV because it’s not interesting and they get disappointed every time they see a new chapter and find out it’s his POV (may the record reflect that out of literally over a hundred chapters in the series, I have written from his POV less than 10 times and this comment was on the third). What surprised me (and continues to warm my heart) were the other people who jumped into the comment thread and they didn’t bash the person (I wouldn’t want that) but they assured me that they enjoyed these chapters and encouraged me to keep writing what I wanted to write. I’m so grateful for that because I take everything to heart and I seriously considered deleting that chapter (even though I really loved it and was so proud of it).

9. Do you write smut?

No.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Oh, yeah. A lot of in-universe crossovers (I mean, Avengers is itself a crossover, technically, and what I write for Star Wars counts as crossovers because I take characters from various shows who haven’t met in canon and I put them in situations together.)

I have loads of ideas for actual crossovers. My sister and I are always creating these convoluted meetings between totally different universes (you should see our HTTYD/The Mandalorian crossover. It’s wild)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I believe some of my early stuff wound up on Wattpad.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

The aforementioned stuff got translated into Spanish, I believe. (Which… I can’t really argue with. I think that’s awesome; I can’t translate my stuff into Spanish, so I think it’s great that someone could and then more can enjoy it. But I just wish whoever did it had asked me first.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I help my sister with her fics sometimes. She’s a fantastic writer—her comedy is exquisite!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh, don’t make me choose. Ironwidow (Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov) is so precious to me, but I’ve gotten swept up by Djarwren (Din Djarin/Sabine Wren) and (the actual canon ships) TechPhee (Tech/Phee Genoa) and Kanera (Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla) have my heart in a vice.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Probably the Black & Red series. And the Tough Act to Follow story. And The Face of the Lost. And…

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve developed a penchant for descriptions. I love painting scenes with words. Anne of Green Gables was my favourite book growing up and the way Montgomery describes the places always carried me away.

I also really love writing dialogue and capturing individual voices.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with making characters do or say things that I don’t agree with. Sometimes they have to do or say something (for the plot or that’s just what that character would do in that situation or interaction) but I don’t like it or don’t want them to do it because I’m a marshmallow and I want everyone to be friends

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

One word: italicise. That’s what I was taught in school and I love seeing it when others do it because it helps me see that it’s in a different language (I’m dyslexic. I once read a whole sentence and only figured out a few paragraphs later that it was in French. I thought I was just having a bad day).

(Of course, there’s always exceptions to the rule)

But, yeah, I think it’s great seeing other languages in a fic (real world ones or made-up ones like Mando’a, my beloved). It adds a lovely richness to a story, especially when the writer knows the language. I grew up in a multi-lingual community so reading something with characters coming in with different languages feels like home to me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who (like, fifteen years ago. It’s squirrelled safely away in a notebook, never to see the light of day)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Anchors.

No pressure tagging: @seleneisrising @desertbeskar @sytortuga @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @quicksilvermad @the-kittylorian-writes @heatherthetiredwriter @visitbespin (and I swear there were more I thought of just a minute ago but my mind has blanked so, please, if you see this and you want to do a round yourself, go right ahead, you can say I tagged you)

#writing #writer #writers #ask game #tag game #20 questions for writers #ask autumn #my writing

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underacalicosky · 11 months

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20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Yayyy! Thanks for tagging me @grapenehifics 😁 And thanks to @ineffable-snowman for tagging me too! ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

I only have six Obikin fics on AO3, which isn’t a lot, but I’m hoping to write more! I’ve posted fics for a different fandom that I’m no longer active in, but that was a lifetime ago and I don’t monitor those fics anymore.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

AO3 says 107,086. I know that’s not a lot compared to some folks, but it’s more than I thought I’d get to when I started writing again a few months ago.

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, only Prequels/Clone Wars Star Wars, and only Obikin because they’ve taken over my brain. And mainly modern AUs, but I have couple ideas that are in the Star Wars universe.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cruel Summer (Intern AU) - 175

Edge of Greatness (Figure skating AU) - 132

The Next Model (Top Model AU) - 125

Heartbreak Prince (Same age HS AU) - 70

In Good Hands (Hairstylist AU) - 69

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, I always respond to comments! I try to respond within a few days. But yes, I love comments. I’m grateful that someone would take the time to not only read my fics, but to also leave a note or an emoji or wall of text 😭 so I try to show my appreciation by responding. Sometimes I’ll get a comment that’s really touching and I’ll reread it when I’m having a bad day. I love when I get into little side convos or hearing about headcanons in the comments!

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m incapable of writing anything but a happy ending for Obikin. I want so badly for them to find peace and joy together, whether that’s through lots of cuddles and sex or a platonic life-long friendship.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? 😁 I like to end my fics in a way where they’re at a good place, and afterward they run off and have more adventures and I might not know exactly what they’re up to, but I know they’re happy.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not since I’ve written for the SW and Obikin fandom. Everyone here has been wonderful and encouraging and kind of feral in the most amazing way. I can’t tell you how much I love love love the positive vibes.

It wasn’t always like that in my previous fandom and I eventually left. Although, it wasn’t really hate. I started getting comments about how I wasn’t incorporating certain extreme kinks (which I didn’t know how to write), sort of suggesting that what I wrote wasn’t interesting. And there were plenty of writers who did write those kinks so it was a little baffling. I’m a firm believer that everyone should be able to read or write whatever they like without judgment or shame, but it got to the point where my confidence took a huge hit and I wasn’t having fun anymore.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write smut! Soft, fluffy, vanilla smut where they look at each other with hearts in their eyes. If my smut were a cake, it would be funfetti.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I like putting them modern AUs so maybe the Top Model fic is kind of a crossover?

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I didn’t realize this was a thing. How do I know if a fic has been stolen?

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple years after I left my previous fandom, someone reached out and asked if they could translate one of my fics into a different language. It was really heartwarming and humbling to hear that something I wrote resonated with someone enough to make them want to translate it and share it. I said yes, but I’m not sure I ever got the link to the translated version.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I co-wrote a big bang with another author for my previous fandom. It was a lot of fun and someone made a playlist to go with our fic. We had similar writing styles, to the point that our betas got confused over who wrote which chapters.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Probably Obikin. Their dynamic is so intriguing to me. There’s endless possibilities. Plus, the authors in this fandom are so freaking talented and creative and that fuels my love for them.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don’t have too many WIP at the moment. I only have two that have actual words, the rest are ideas that haven’t solidified yet. But I plan to finish the ones I’ve started writing.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I’m terrible at self-assessments. I like to think that I can create a feeling of longing or pining. I love a slow burn, especially a friends to lovers type relationship, and that’s where I like to live with the things I write. There’s that phase where they’re both too afraid to tell the other how they feel. But they stare longingly and wonder if the other’s thinking of them too. And maybe there’s miscommunication or an ill-conceived reason for why they can’t be together that leads to some mild angst before they confess their love and fuck all gentle and sweet.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing anything that has a complex plot or interwoven side plots. I’m very linear and simplistic. I’m always so impressed when I read something and the plot has been intricately planned and the little details tie together in the end. These are truly talented writers. Like, you should be publishing novels and getting paid. If I had more time and brain space, I’d love to try planning something more complex someday.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’m not against it, but I can barely post anything without typos in English so I wouldn’t trust myself to include dialogue in another language.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

X-files, Mulder/Scully. I didn’t post it to gossamer. I just had it on my computer and was too scared to show it to anyone.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

This is tough, and it’s going to be a long and rambly answer.

Definitely the fics I’ve written for Obikin are my favorites. And if I had to pick one of them, it would probably be Edge of Greatness, only because it was the first thing I posted to AO3 in about 12 years.

I started writing fics again a few months ago as a way to do something for myself because most of my life revolves around taking care of my family. I had the idea in my head for about a month before I finally dusted off my old 2008 Macbook and wrote the whole thing in about three weeks. It was such a freeing feeling to be writing again, but I still had that criticism in my head. At that time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it once I finished it, but I also was trying to challenge myself.

I took baby steps. I got a new AO3 account and sat on it for a week before I began uploading the first few chapters. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. My hands were shaking when I posted the first four chapters knowing that they would be out there in the world. I was convinced that no one would read them and I was okay with that because the goal I set for myself was to post and not care what other people thought. But the next morning I saw that I had kudos and comments and had a nice little cry. Some people, like @grapenehifics left comments in every chapter and I can’t put into words what that meant to me. So I’m not sure that it’s my best fic, but it holds special meaning to me and I’ll always love it for that reason.

I’m tagging anyone who writes fics and wants to share! I love reading these types of responses! ❤️

#thanks for the tag!

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m0rbidmacabre · 10 months

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One For Eternity - Chapter 2

Summary:

Dracopia returns home to his mansion, greeted by his loyal ghouls. He contemplates using a companionship locket to find love and companionship. However, his fire ghoul friend, Dew, advises against it, expressing concerns about free will. Dracopia understands and appreciates Dew's loyalty. Later, Dracopia performs a ritual with the locket, hoping for a faithful companion. Weeks pass with no results, and Dracopia sinks deeper into depression.

Notes:

Hey loves - Just a pre-warning this does get dark at points. so please do look at the trigger warnings, before reading and make sure you take care of yourself. The whole idea for this fic was to push it more horror focused... its one of my other favourite things and i hope you enjoy the build. Please remember that if you have any comments or things that you think might be interesting to add, you can message me here or at any of my other social media pages which are listed at the end. Id love to know your thoughts.

WARNINGS: Vampires, Vampire Bites, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human/Vampire Relationship, Human/Monster Romance, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide

READ ON AO3

Chapter 2

Dracopia moved through the woods thick and fast, silently, the rain and thunder beating down around him with every swift movement he took leading him closer to home. Darkness beginning to veil everything in sight, the loneliness of the darkness taking his very essence as he moved. He was tired, the fatigue beginning to take its hold on him, the travel had been long and made even longer by only being able to travel under cover of nightfall. He knew the closer he got to home the safer he would be, these mountains held nothing for miles... Just animals, maybe a few witches, more vampires, and weary travellers.

Arriving, he pushed open the heavy gates. The glow of the candles from the mansion lighting the grand gothic entranceway. The ghouls must be home he thought to himself. Most of the remaining ghouls that had stayed by his side were the ones that he was bonded to as a Papa, most ghouls lived for centuries, and he was happy to at least have some familiar scents around him. Since he became a vampire, having their company and knowledge had been invaluable to his survival and he was forever grateful to them for staying by his side. Still as loyal as the first day they had met when they were summoned from the depths of hell. His most loyal friend being Dew, a fire ghoul. Dew had been aging faster the last couple of years, but he was still full of his serious wit and stomping feet. There had been times gone by after his reign as Papa that Dew had saved his life. After his brothers had passed, it was unsafe to stay in the clergy. Vultures had destroyed it, picking at the bones of what they had left of the emeritus bloodline. Like all religions, his beloved church had moved into a money-making scheme that sucked the life out of its worshipers. Gone were the days when the dark lord was the true meaning of light and in had rolled an age of greed and gluttony. They had long put church behind them, although Dracopia still kept true to his faith. He was still a servant of the dark lord and that would never change, he followed his same old ways of ritual practice.

Opening the door, he saw a ghoul stood next to the glowing fireplace. The ghoul’s tail whipping around the flames in the darkness of its glow.

“Welcome Home, you look tired” Dew looked over at Dracopia and gave him a warm smile.

“Si, Si, thank you for reminding me of that Dew” he said running his hands through his sodden wet hair.

“I trust you found what you went looking for?” Dew asked.

“Si, I did.” he replied.

“You should rest, we can set up the ritual when you feel better, you should eat... You look like shit. There are some supplies in the kitchen, I went hunting for you.”

“Ah Dew, you do look after me.” Dracopia smiled a warm glow at the fire ghoul, his fangs appearing over his lower lip.

Dracopia walked into the kitchen and saw a skinned deer hanging from its rafters, before finding the blood Dew had stored for him. He poured it into a crystal glass and walked back through to the fireplace and sat down. The fire glow lighting the room they both stood in.

“So, tell me about your travels? I trust the witch was accommodating.”

“Si, she was.”

He pulled the package from his pocket. “She suggested trying a companionship locket.”

Dews eyes widened. “You do know that once you use that thing that the person it calls. They will lose all free will?”

“Si, she did mention it. But what choice do I have Dew? My life is bleak.”

“You have me Dracopia, you have us... The ghouls, we are here for you.”

He swills the blood around in his glass... His eyes staring deep into the fire. “That is true my old friend, but you will not be around forever. The depths of hell will call you home one day, just like it has everyone else, I am doomed to an eternity of darkness.” He sighed, taking a sip from his glass. He could feel his body rejuvenating, healing itself as he consumed the blood of the animal.

The fire ghoul stood glaring at him, shaking his head as if he were having an ongoing internal fight with himself.

“I do not think I can help you Dracopia, I don’t think I can help do that to another living being. What are we without are free will? Meer puppets unable to control what happens to our souls.”

Dracopia looked up and met Dews gaze, tugging a small smile to his lips “It is fine old friend, you don’t have too... your soul is clean and will be kept so. You have done so very much for me since we first met, I could not ask you to do something you do not want to do.”

Dews eyes lowered, Dracopia could tell he was feeling bad about his confession. He pulled himself to his feet and walked towards Dew, cupping his hand softly in his cheek... making Dew meet his gaze. “I said it’s fine, don’t beat yourself up.”

Dew sighed, retreating out of Dracopias embrace, leaving Dracopia alone to his thoughts. Dew never liked to think of what will happen when he passes on, but what Dracopia was saying was the truth. he would not be around forever, but he would not be involved in such dangerous magic... not even for his loyal friend who was so desperate to feel some kind of love and life again. There was a line he firmly did not want to cross.

Dracopia sat with his glass, savouring the taste of the blood he was drinking. He sat into the night watching the embers glow into ashes in the old fireplace, thinking about what he was about to do. The memories of his former life flickering in and out of his mind. He thought about a time when he had met a sweet sister of sin in the church, and the times in the autumn they spent laying in the leaves making love as the seasons changed. He could almost smell her now, lavender... Her curly blonde hair wrapping its way around his fingers as he ran his hands through it. He thought for a moment just how soft her skin was when he tended to it and how soft her lips where when he kissed them. He thought about her often, even now, but their love was doomed before it even had chance to grow, it had not been the right time for love, even though he had wanted it more than anything… His role in the church took centre stage and he ended up breaking her heart. Pulling away from her to make his role as Papa the most successful yet. Spending months and years away from the abbey would not have been good for them both anyway. No, she deserved a normal life... Not a life of loneliness like him. A life Dracopia could not have given her. What did he have to show for it now? Nothing. She was dead now, a life that had been fully lived, with a loving partner and children, recalling her sweet smile when he saw her walking hand in hand with her small children, her glow, her laugh as they she played with them though the abbey. He kept his distance after he had called it quits with her but seeing her like that always made him think… what if? And how it broke his heart. It was just another opportunity missed for him, all he had was his own darkness.

He pulled himself out of his memories and looked across the room at the package on the table. It was time he got this finished. He could not take anymore. Once Dracopias ritual was over, he could relax... and wait. His love would show themselves in time.

He walked over to his alter space in the living room and lit the candles, saying the dark lord’s prayer as each one sprung to life. Lighting a sprig of sage and placing it into a golden bowl in the centre of his alter, he went and retrieved the package, unwrapping it from its confines; the beautiful wood carvings brought back to life by the light of the glowing candles. He thumbed the wood in circles as he whispered “Dark Lord, I ask you to give me strength, I ask you to guide me, I ask you to take this locket and help it fulfil its purpose… I ask you to grant me a faithful companion” a small tear forming in the corner of his eye. he stood in silence with his eyes closed, taking in the smells of the sage and the candles, rubbing his fingers over the locket. He hoped this would be the turning point for him, that the dark lord would send him someone that would not need free will anyway, because all they wanted to do was be by his side for eternity. He wrapped the leather string of the locket around his wrist, making it into a bracelet and held the locket tightly in his hand.

—————————————

It had been a few weeks since Dracopia had done the ritual, he was starting to think that the witch had sold him an item that just did not work, or maybe he was just being impatient. His days dragged by in his own sombre lull, his depression deepening. He had thought about ending his life a few times since that night, starving himself into madness, denying his body the blood it craves, but his animalistic nature always took over and he would wake finding that he had lost control and wandered into the woods, killing an animal or human just to get what his body needed. He had woken on the floor of the mansion with Dew nursing him multiple times. His obsession had only deepened since he bought the locket, it was a constant reminder hanging from his wrist and that is what he wanted it for in the first place. To remind himself, to will this being in existence. Even if turning back now was an option, his mind would not have let him.

Dracopia had given himself some time out in the woods just to feel at peace around nature, to clear his head and often it worked for him even though all the scents of the forest often became overpowering to him and his need to hunt would grow the longer he was there, but he enjoyed the thrill of chasing down his prey in the darkness. So much time had passed now since he had been human, he wasn’t that anymore. He was an animalistic being, one that would hunt for blood, a need to survive and thrive in the darkness of time.

Finding peace for him is being in the wild... it’s quietness, it’s freedom. He lives for the moments that make him feel. This night was no different... he pushed through the woods at speed, weaving in and out of the trees in the darkness. His demons pushing him forward as at high speed. No sounds could be heard other than the call of wolves in the distance, until he heard it, A high-pitched wailing, the sound sending chills down his spine. He stopped moving instantly, His sensitive ears trying to focus on where the sound came from. Trying to home in on the sound before he makes the choice to move. He can hear the heartbeat and the fear in whatever it was this hellish sound had just come from and that was it, he was off.

The sound grows louder the closer he darts towards it, dread and tension filling his cold heart. He stops just before he reaches the source, hiding in the distance, in cover of darkness, trying to make out what was happening before he saw her. It was her! The one he had saved in Brasov. She looked different; something was wrong...

Her eyes were blank, those big brown eyes that were once filled with so much life and fear were now saturated with malevolence and evil. Her eyes dart about in the dark, she seemed to be alone. He takes a step closer, a twig snapping at his feet. He looks at the twig and then back to the girl. Her eyes had already found him. She knew he was there; she had known the whole time.

Their gazes met and Dracopia came out of the darkness.

“Are you ok? I heard you, I’ve come to help” he said in a hushed low voice as if he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be afraid of him, to let her know she wasn’t at risk of harm.

She just looked at him, blankness in her stare and she took a few steps towards him. Dracopia took a step back, letting out a low rumble from his chest. The look in her eyes was something he hadn’t seen before, it didn’t seem human, but she was human right? He saved her from those brutes. She needed him then, but right now she looked like she could take him out with a single swipe, and it scared him.

She took another step closer, eyeing him... her gaze and grin looking like a lioness stalking her prey. Dracopia took off, his speed no match for hers as she rumbles through the woods behind him. He tries to lose her, but she was somehow adept at seeing his moves in the dark and she continued to mimic him.

Another moment longer and she would have had him, if it wasn’t for the sudden arrival of Dew, who pounced on her from the dark, she didn’t see or hear him coming. His ghoul nature gave him the upper hand. Dew bared his teeth and let out a growl and letting her know his strength. He whipped around her, thick and fast, his tail hitting the dip in back of her legs with force sending her to her knees and with one quick punch to her face, sending her into unconsciousness.

“What the fuck was that Dracopia? Who is she? Where did she come from?”

“I’m not sure, I just heard a scream, and I went to investigate. She sounded like she was in pain, that she needed help. I sensed her fear.”

Dracopia leaving out the fact that he had met her before, that he had saved her.

“We should take her back to the mansion, tie her up and find out who she is. It doesn’t seem safe to leave her out here like this… the look in her eyes when she looked at you Dracopia. She looked like she wanted to kill you”.

Dracopia agreed and the two of them set about securing her and moving her back to the mansion. Her dead weight was nothing for the two of them to move; she was small, and it took little to no effort for a ghoul and a vampire. Luckily their chase had led them closer to the mansion than Dracopia had thought which meant them moving her didn’t take long.

They tied her to a chair near the fireplace. Her hair draped down her face, blood dripping from the busted lip that Dew has given her. She looked like something out of a horror movie. She was scrawny, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Covered in mud and dirt, her dress ripped and ragged. She looked like she had been out in the woods for a while with no protection at all from the elements.

Dracopia watched her with great intrigue as she sat in the chair, unaware of what was going on around her. She was beautiful, even in her current state. He wondered if this was the work of the locket or if she had just happened to find herself here. He wondered what had happened to her after he left her in the bar. She looked like she had been through a rough time, that she needed some care, but he was mostly concerned by her actions in the woods. She appeared to be out for blood, like she hungered for him.

“Should we wake her?” Dew asked a low growl coming from his stomach.

“No, no... Let her rest. She looks like she needs it” Dracopia hushed.

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