#i wrote this in like 6 hours instead of sleeping

[nile-the-empathy-cleric]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022), Vampire Chronicles Series - Anne Rice Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy Characters: Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Original Characters, Original Therapist character Additional Tags: Armand goes to therapy, Therapy, Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Autistic Armand (Vampire Chronicles), Mentioned Marius de Romanus, Minor Armand/Marius de Romanus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Abuse, Slavery, Vampire Turning, Devil's Minion Era Happened (Interview with the Vampire TV 2022), POV Alternating Series: Part 1 of Therapy with the Vampire Summary:

Armand goes to therapy. That's it, that's the fic

@mylu @marmarthehatterverse @calipsan @emeraldinerosefaedragon @captainfanoftheceiling @slapjacq as promised, Vampires go to therapy, a work in progress. Thank you for being interested in my idea!

[cuubism]

I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!

you are in luck. i wrote more

--

"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"

He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.

Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."

Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.

He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.

This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.

I

on

ly

want

ed

you

to

see.

God, Dream's shop is weird.

Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."

Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.

Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."

Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No matter. This is what The Library is for."

Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."

Ominous. Great.

"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.

"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.

It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.

"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."

Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."

And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.

--

Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.

But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.

And he knows how.

The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.

The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.

The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:

Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.

Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.

"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.

"You have something you want to answer?"

Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."

It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.

He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"

"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."

Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."

"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.

"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.

"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."

"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.

Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."

Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"

Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."

--

They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.

Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"

"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."

"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."

"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"

Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"

This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.

Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.

Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.

When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.

"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.

"Anything."

"Never take me here ever again."

Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"

This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."

"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."

He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.

[riality-check]

more daisy jones-adjacent things. this time, they're finally starting to hate each other a little less.

parts 1, 2, and 3, for your reading pleasure. less drugs this time around, but way more talk about steve's ptsd. part 5. part 6. part 7.

ao3

Steve has never co-written anything before. All of his songs are his, from start to finish. Every note, every chord, every syllable is his invention, and he takes them all very seriously.

That's not to say that he doesn't accept help. He wouldn't be himself if he wasn't constantly bouncing ideas off of Robin and Dustin and Lucas, and he always has other people look it over and offer suggestions.

But the initial creation? That's all him. Steve likes that kind of control.

Writing with a band is very different. Eddie declares it, the song Steve pissed him off enough into writing, done after they've got lyrics and a lead guitar part.

"They'll write the rest," he says, like it's that simple.

Steve can't imagine letting go that much. In all honesty, he's scared shitless. He's never been good at being nice. Charming, yes. Nice, no. And he doesn't know how he'll be nice if the drum, bass, and rhythm guitar parts suck.

It's his song. Well, his and Eddie's, which is weird to think about, but still.

Steve has never co-written anything before.

And, to make matters worse, he fell asleep last night.

He knew it was coming. He's never made it past seventy-two hours, no matter how hard he tries or how high he gets. He knew it was coming, and he prepped as best as he could.

That didn't stop him from sleeping in three hour bursts, at max. Torn between the nightmares and the exhaustion and the crash, he freaked out, passed out, and repeated the cycle until he had to get up and go to the studio.

At least this time, last night, he was back in the Byers house. Scary as shit, with the initial confusion never fading, but it's the best of the nightmares he gets. Between the dogs and the torture, Steve's brain has plenty of worse things to torment him with.

Maybe he should be grateful, but he's never been good at dealing with what he's given.

This morning, he doesn't need to take anything. He's tired, but not that tired, and he's trying to give himself breaks when he can.

He doesn't want to die. He just wants to stay awake.

He has a coffee, though. That's mostly for the taste. His tolerance is shot to hell, so it's not like caffeine makes a real difference.

Steve walks into the studio, coffee in hand, and sees the band setting up and tuning their instruments. Jeff gives him a little wave, Gareth nods absently as he tightens his snare, and Archie positively beams.

"Steve, you're a saint," he says, a little mischief in his eyes. "Different chords, finally. I could kiss you."

Steve laughs and promptly cuts himself off when he sees Eddie staring at him.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asks once the silence has stretched on for too long.

"Why are you here?" Eddie asks bluntly.

Steve, notably, doesn't flinch back. He doesn't snap. He doesn't do anything that he would regret later.

He just says, steadily, "I can go if you don't want me."

He stands there, and he swallows back his hurt. He thought Eddie was finally warming up to him. He took Eddie's fighting words as an improvement from being ignored. And, as usual, Steve thought wrong.

"Hang on a sec," Jeff says. He sets his guitar down and stands between Steve and Eddie. "I said I wanted Steve on backing vocals for this."

"Is Steve not on backing vocals?" Gareth asks from the other side of the room.

"Far as I know, he is," Archie says with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie turns to look at Jeff instead. Steve watches their intense staring match and thinks about just walking out.

Before he can take the first step, Eddie says, "Fine."

"Fine what?" Steve can't help but ask.

"Stay."

Steve nods, but he turns to Jeff. "Are you sure? It's fine if-"

"I'm sure," Jeff says. "I think you wrote this song more for your register than mine."

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," Jeff says. "I changed everything I can't hit, but I just want a little more support, you know?"

Steve looks around the little studio space, around at all the cables and amps and mics and instruments, and he counts. Then counts again.

"There's only four mics," he says.

Jeff picks his guitar back up and gives it a little strum. "Share with Eddie."

"What?" Eddie says, looking like he would rather walk out than do that.

"Nothing against you, Steve," Jeff explains, ignoring Eddie. "I'm just a big personal space guy. Can't focus otherwise."

Steve looks over at Eddie, still sitting, still scowling.

"Fine," he says, because he'll be professional, even if Eddie won't.

"You guys are fucking killing me," Chrissy says, and Argyle, the audio engineer next to her, nods in agreement. "Can we get this show on the road?"

Gareth gives them a little salute, one that Chrissy rolls her eyes at. "We all ready?"

"As we'll ever be," the rest of the band choruses.

Steve shrugs. "Yeah."

"You warm up?" Eddie asks, walking toward his mic.

Steve follows. "Never do."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but then Chrissy gives them the all-clear, Gareth counts them off, and they start.

And something switches.

Steve knew this would be higher energy. Different genre, different sound, whatever. But there's something fucking electric about playing with a band instead of being by himself in an iso booth, drilling vocals until he has a take he's happy with.

Recording with a band brings a different sort of energy. It creates a feedback loop, getting them higher, playing faster, sounding better.

Steve tells himself to back off. He's not the star of this show. He's been invited, and a quarter of the people in this room don't want him here.

But filling in the gaps has always come easy to him, and he gives the backing vocals his all.

And somewhere between the guitar solo and the end of the song, Eddie smiles at him for the first time.

It's quick, but it's blinding. Steve didn't think Eddie could smile until he does. It's quick as a flash and wide and feral and a little mean, but it's there, and it's directed at him.

But just like that, the first take is over. It was messy and imperfect, and as soon as it ends, Eddie is back to scowling at him.

But it's not as harsh. And that's how Steve knows that he wasn't imagining that little bit of something.

"Holy shit," Archie says, as soon as they're done. "This is gonna be a good song."

"It's gonna be a great song," Jeff says.

"I want more from Steve," Gareth adds, and the rest of the guys agree.

Even Eddie, however begrudgingly.

"Alright, boys," Chrissy says. "You've got the fun out of your systems. Let's focus and make some music."

Steve looks over at Eddie, who nods, however slightly. And he thinks, because he has never been able to kill hope a day in his life, that they could make a good team if Eddie could stop hating his guts.

[sittingbesideyoulikeasilhouette]

Make Things Even

Pairings: Dean x plus size reader

Synopsis: you and Dean had a love hate relationship but what happens when you sneak lust into the equation? What happens when Dean accidentally walks in on you playing with yourself?

Author’s note: I wrote this in 3 hours on my phone instead of going to bed. This is my first SPN fic, please tell me what you think!!! P.S Sammy is the sweetest lil wingman in this lol

You slowly blinked your eyes open and turned to see 10:04 staring back at you on your alarm clock. You stretched out your limbs and your muscles ached in protest - clearing out that vamp nest with the boys a couple of days ago really pushed you to your limits so you all christened today “rest day.” The boys could tell how worn out you were and Sam had been talking non-stop about going to the movies so today you were all officially unplugged and forbidden from going on or looking for cases.

You got up, put on your slippers, and followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen.

“Morning princess,” Dean called out from his place at the table, setting his cup of coffee down and peering up at you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“If anything, I’m a goddess.” You made your way to Sam who was offering you a plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

“Here you go, Goddess,” Sam jokingly said putting the plate in your hands. You smiled and Dean rolled his eyes before going back to eating his breakfast.

As you went to sit at the table, the spot opposite to Dean, you saw him sneak a peak at you. You were sporting some tight, short, velvety black shorts and a tank top and Dean made sure to stare a bit too long at both your ass and your tits before pretending he didn’t spare you a second glance. You knew Dean loved sex but you also knew he sought out sex with thin women and you.. well, you were not. You’d grown somewhat comfortable with your body over the years and you weren’t scared of wearing tight clothing anymore but you’d heard Dean say a few offhanded fat jokes so you knew the chance of you two ever having anything was null. And, you were okay with that, really, because even though Dean was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on you also realized you’d never be fully comfortable with him to have sex. So, you decided that not giving a shit about what you wore around the bunker was the way to go and even though sometimes he’d look at you like he wanted nothing more than to have his way with you, he’d always grab his keys, say goodbye with a “don’t wait up,” and come back with one or two small hickeys on his neck that no doubt a petit brunette gave him.

“Something caught your eye?” You asked Dean with a cheeky smile and he spared a second glance at your tits before looking back up at your face.

“Nope.”

“You sure?” You asked again, looking up at him from under your lashes and making sure your tits bounced a bit as you reached for the syrup. Again, he looked down at your tits but this time you swore there was a slight sparkle in his eye. You knew you’d never have sex with the man but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy torturing him a bit. When he looked back up at you he knew you’d caught him staring so he awkwardly coughed and grabbed his fork.

“Uh yeah, yes. Yes, I’m sure,” he put a piece of bacon into his mouth and you decided to give the guy a break.

“Thank you for breakfast Sam,” You called out to him as he made his way to sit next to Dean.

“No problem, I figured I’d be up before either of you anyway. You two are so similar honestly - you both love sleeping in and are cranky without breakfast. I can expect little scowls every morning before either of you are fed.”

“I don’t scowl,” You and Dean said in unison while scowling at Sam.

“Uh huh, like I said,” Sam laughed and started eating his breakfast. You looked at the boys eating and suddenly got a bit self conscious; they were both well over 6 feet tall and muscular meanwhile you were a chubby and soft 5’7 eating the same breakfast they both were. You knew Sam meant nothing by serving you all the same portions, in fact you loved that he never called any attention or made any distinctions based on your weight, but it didn’t stop your brain from overthinking.

“Everything okay? Are you not hungry?” Sam asked you with a concerned tone. You were about to answer when Dean responded instead.

“Of course she’s hungry.” He said it offhandedly while reading the paper, he probably didn’t even realize what he said or how it sounded but it sent your brain into overdrive and you wanted more than to not be there at all. Sam quickly looked over at Dean, knowing exactly what it sounded like, and you could tell he was about to tell him off but you cut in instead.

“I’m just tired, I think I’ll head back to my room to rest.” You pushed your plate forward. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Dean put the paper down and look up at you.

“But you just woke up?” Dean called out to your retreating form as you made your way across the kitchen. His voice sounded confused and also.. sad?

“I’m going to rest just after waking up kind of like how you keep drinking after downing 7 beers. Not everything makes sense, Dean, it just is,” you called back and you didn’t realize quite how harsh you sounded until you’d already made your way out of the kitchen. Whatever, Dean had thick skin and he’d get over it; you’d get over it too.

* * *

A couple hours later a small knock startled you out of the book you were reading.

“Come in,” You called from your comfortable spot in bed and you looked up to see light, sandy brown hair and a pair of beautiful green eyes peering at you from behind the door. Dean hesitated there before finally taking a couple steps inside your room.

“How’s your book?” Dean making small talk? Sam must have put the fear of God in him.

“You came in here to talk about my book?”

“No, I came here to apologize,” he said, looking at the floor with his hands in his pocket. He looked nervous and a little helpless.

“It’s fine Dean.”

“No it’s not,” he scratched the back of his neck and looked everywhere except at you, “I was a complete ass back there and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out I swear, it’s just Sam and I are always starving after a hard case and I know the vamps were rough so I just meant you were hungry because duh you took down like 6 vamps but then I realized that it sounded like I was talking about you and your body and I would never talk about you like that. Your body is fucking perfect and I opened my mouth and just made a fucking mess. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” Dean finished his apologetic rant but one thing kept ringing in your ears. Your body is fucking perfect.

“You can apologize but you don’t have to lie Dean.”

“I didn’t lie,” he said defensively and finally looked at you. You don’t know why but that just pissed you off even more.

“My body is fucking perfect? C’mon, seriously? it’s probably only just tolerable by your standards,” you shot back and saw his face etched into perfect confusion.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? Tolerable? I know you caught me staring at you earlier, so you know that’s not true”

“Yes fine I have big tits and some ass but I’m still fat”

“Who gives a fuck?” He nearly shouted at you. This conversation was equally confusing and infuriating you. When the hell did Dean Winchester decide he was attracted to bigger women?

“I don’t but you do.” You held your ground.

“What are you talking about?” You could tell he was aggravated too.

“Dean, when is the last time you fucked someone who wasn’t a size zero?”

“I haven’t yet but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to” he responded without skipping a beat. You both stared at each other and you refused to be the first one to break eye contact. Dean gave you an easy out and dropped his gaze down to your body. God, you swear the room went up 20 degrees. Dean Winchester was lusting after you, a size 16? Absolutely not, it couldn’t be. Just as Dean made eye contact with you again Sam came excitedly barging in.

“Okay the movie starts at 4 and it’s 1:12 right now. The movie theater is like 30 minutes away but we should account for traffic and snack time so we should leave at 3, sounds good, right?” Sam looked at you and Dean with a smile on his face, completely oblivious to the situation he’d just diffused.

“Yes Sam, sounds good,” Dean answered in a clipped tone and pat his brother on the shoulder before turning around and walking out of your room. You saw Sam mutter a small ow and clutch his shoulder before he looked over at you.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with us?”

“A French film? No thanks Sammy, I’d rather stay here and read a book or watch trashy American TV,” you giggled holding up your book.

“Okay okay, we’ll bring you back some popcorn, promise” he said turning around to leave.

“Hey, does Dean know it’s a French film?” You’re surprised Dean would ever agree to that.

“He better, I talked to him about it for like an hour,” Sam said as he shut your door. Now that you were alone you actually had time to think about everything that happened in the last 10 minutes. Dean was attracted to bigger women? Dean was attracted to you? You felt like your entire world had shifted and you had no idea which way was up. You didn’t know if this meant that you and Dean would ever become anything but now that you knew your feelings could be requited, there was at least a possibility and that intrigued you and terrified you all at once.

* * *

The beginning of the end came at 2:50.

“Hey I looked it up on the theater’s website and for sure there will be subtitles” Sam confirmed as he made sure he had his phone and wallet in his front right jacket pocket. Dean, who had been previously looking for his keys, immediately stopped and looked at his brother.

“Subtitles, Sam?”

“Yes Dean subtitles. I told you this was a French movie.”

“French? Like a French movie?” Dean asked with a hopeful smile.

“No Dean not a French movie, it’s just a French movie. C’mon dude I talked to you about it for like an hour.”

“Sammy I don’t feel good,” Dean said grabbing his stomach.

“No, you’re not flaking out on me right now. We’re leaving Dean.” Sam said sternly pointing to the door.

“C’mon man, I’m not sitting through a 2 hour French movie that doesn’t even have any porn.”

“You suck man, the worst,” Sam called out to his brother as he grabbed the keys and made his way to the garage.

“Leaving now, bye!” Sam called out after he’d made his way to the top of the stairs and heard your faint little bye in response. He couldn’t see Dean anymore and figured he’d gone to his room to listen to some music. He smiled knowing full well he’d actually told Dean they were going to watch an action movie and telling you they were watching a French film but deciding that what you two need was some quality time to resolve all the tension that had been building over the past few months.

Your little argument with Dean had put you in a mood but you were also .. turned on? You were, decidedly, very confused and your best option was going to take a cold shower. Yes, that’ll help you told yourself as you grabbed your towel and made your way to the bathroom.

While you were in the shower you couldn’t stop thinking about all the new possibilities. Was Dean going to openly check you out now or was he actually going to act on it? Did you even want him to? Oh, who were you kidding, you’d been fantasizing over that man’s fingers and cock being inside of you for months and now that there was a small chance, you felt your body come alive. This shower was supposed to help take your mind off Dean but you hadn’t had sex or touched yourself in months so you decided the best thing to actually clear your mind was making yourself cum. You had the bunker to yourself, right? You could make an hour of it and play with your candles and your vibrating dildo. You were always pretty loud but now there was no reason to be quiet so you made up your mind, shaved everything, and quickly finished showering.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean was 3 doors down to the left, in his room with his head phones on full blast, trying to take a nap. He thought about going back in your room to talk but decided against it. It seemed like you really thought he was turned off by your body and that rubbed him the wrong way. He was pissed off at himself for every making you feel that way and he knows he’s probably made some stupid offhanded comments about weight or size but he’d never ever talked about you. He realizes now the impact of his words on you would be the same regardless of who he was talking about and he truly wishes he could take it all back and start again but he couldn’t and now you were probably still in your room reading your little book and hating his guts.

You skipped over to your room, which was only one door and across the hall on the right, and were about to close the door decided against it. No one is here, why should I close the door?

You decided to let that play into your little voyeurism kink, even though there was no one here to see you, and walked over to your nightstand from which you pulled out a lighter, your dark purple candle, and your 5 inch flesh colored vibrating dildo. You turned it on briefly to make sure it was charged then you set everything on your nightstand and dropped your towel.

You considered turning on some porn on your laptop but decided against it. You were already turned on and fantasizing about Dean would be more than enough.

You laid on your back and the chill of the air came in contact with your warm skin causing you to shiver. You closed your eyes and put your right index and middle fingers in your mouth, you started slow but then you imagined it was Dean’s fingers instead and he wanted to see how well you’d be able to take him so you put your fingers deeper into your mouth and made sure to coat them in spit. You slowly made your way down your chest and then you took your right nipple between your slick fingers and began twisting it. You couldn’t help but moan out loud, imagining it was Dean’s fingers instead of yours. You had only just started playing with yourself but you were already so fucking wet, maybe a minute more and you’ll start dripping on your covers. Knowing how wet you were just imagining Dean made you let go of your right nipple to start playing with your left.

“Oh fuck yes” you moaned out loud and felt yourself dripping down your thighs. God you weren’t a fucking teenager anymore, you were 27 years old, but you knew you weren’t going to last very long. You let go of your nipple and turned over to grab your candle. It was dark purple with sparkles and you knew when the wax hardened, it would look like little galaxies were all over your body. You lit the candle and closed your eyes. You partially liked wax play because of the surprise of the hot wax splattering on your body so you imagined Dean was holding the candle over you saying if you wanted him to make you cum then you’d be a good girl for him while he painted your body. The first blob of wax hit your right upper rib age near your tit and it felt exhilarating. You let out a loud and languid moan as you felt the wax hit your skin then quickly harden you slowly moved the candle a bit more up and center until you felt the next bit of wax fall onto your sternum. “Fuck, yes. Oh fuck, thank you,” you moaned with your eyes closed and the Dean in your mind smirked and called you a good girl for thanking him. You kept moving the candle around your torso and your thighs with your eyes closed and moaning at all the utter ecstasy. You were soaked and teasing yourself, working yourself up until you couldn’t take it anymore; you weren’t going to stop until you felt like you had to stuff yourself with your dildo.

Meanwhile, Dean was still in his bedroom with no idea of what you were imagining him doing to you just a few doors down. He couldn’t fall asleep so just as he decided to change the CDs in his Walkman, he took his earphones off and faintly heard your voice. He looked at his closed door waiting to hear you again. Did you call out to him? Probably not, you were pissed and the undefeated champ of holding a grudge so he knew you wouldn’t be talking to him for a few days at lea—

“Oh fuck, oh fuck”

Okay that was definitely your voice, loud and clear. And it kind of sounded like you were in pain? He wasn’t sure but he wasn’t taking any chances. He jumped up from his bed, grabbed his handgun, and slowly and quietly opened his door. He started making his way down the hallway to your room. Your door was open so all he had to do was aim and then he’d be able to kill whatever was harming you. Dean briefly leaned by your door frame, gun raised and ready, then he turned to look in your room and —

“Oh yes, right there oh fuck” You moaned loudly. Your right index and middle fingers were fingering your pussy and your hand and covers looked soaked. The way you had both of your feet for purchase on the bed and your knees open and bent perfectly framed the scene as you quickly fucked yourself with your fingers. Dean dropped his arm, gun in hand, but he couldn’t look away. He knows he should leave and pretend he never saw this, but he was mesmerized. Your skin was painted purple and in that moment he swore that became his new favorite color. He could hear the wetness of your pussy clenching around your fingers and very quickly felt his jeans were too tight.

You blindly started searching for something on the bed and when Dean saw you grab a dildo that looked very similar to himself, albeit a couple of inches shorter, he couldn’t help but imagine he was about to fuck you and he nearly moaned.

“Oh fuck, I’m not going to last long” you moaned and the Dean in your mind only looked at you and smirked, telling you you’d take whatever he gave you while the actual Dean looked down and saw himself tenting in his jeans. He should leave, he thought, but when you lined up the dildo with your hole and practically shouted out how fucking good it felt to finally be filled as you stretched yourself out, he knew there was no earthly or godly force that could take him out of that room. The slick sounds of you fucking yourself hard and fast coupled with the loud and dirty moans falling from your lips were making Dean dizzy. He lightly palmed himself over his jeans for slight relief but then you turned on the vibration and the way your moans got higher and airier, he knew you’d be cumming soon and his cock only stiffened in his pants.

“I’m gonna cum, oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you called out and Dean swears his brain stopped functioning for a second. All he could see, hear, or think about was you. Your face slightly scrunched as you came and your moans were nothing short of pornographic. Porn was now ruined, Dean knew that you were the only thing that could ever satisfy his desires now. You slowly stopped fucking yourself with the dildo, turned off the vibrator, and threw it on your bed. You looked completely and utterly relaxed. Your breathing was quick, there was a slight sheen of sweat mingled with purple all over your body, and your chest was falling up and down up and down but you looked pretty? No that didn’t do the scene before him justice, you were “beautiful”

Your eyes sprung open the second you heard the word. You saw Dean standing there and you screamed while grabbing at anything and everything to cover yourself.

“No, no I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dean yelled as he ran out of your room and into his. He quickly locked the door and ran to his bed while you ran up from your bed to lock your door. Your reprieve from all the madness was very short lived when you discovered you weren’t alone. You wanted to be mad that Dean was there and you almost allowed yourself to be self conscious about your body but you recall seeing the large tent in Dean’s pants and decided against it. Who knows how long he’d been watching you for, it doesn’t matter, because he was massively turned on regardless. You were filled with a confidence you’d never known before so you grabbed your black robe, tied it around your body, fully covering yourself and made your way to Dean’s room.

Your loud knock made Dean jump in his bed, he was trying to think how he was going to apologize himself out of this one but now you were at his door and you were probably going to kick his ass all while he still had a boner. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry” he yelled hoping that was enough to deter you for now but you kept incessantly knocking.

“Open the door Dean.”

“Can we please please talk later. Later, I promise” no woman had ever terrified or turned him on like you did. Here he was suffering the consequences of his actions while he was the most turned on he’s ever been in his life.

“Open the door, right now Dean Winchester.”

Dean was getting up to obey your order before he even realized what he was doing. He unlocked his door, ran back to his bed, and grabbed a pillow to cover his cock. You heard the click of the door unlocking and then a small shuffle. You opened the door and saw Dean sitting on his bed with a pillow covering his massive erection. When Dean saw you in that robe, imagining you were still naked underneath, he felt his cock throb and had to look away. You walked into the room like you owned it and closed the door. You walked over to Dean’s desk and sat at the comfy chair he had there.

“I’m so sorr—”

“Stop apologizing Dean. Get up,” You ordered and you saw Dean struggle with staying seated or obeying you.

“Why?” He questioned in a small voice. Here was a 6’3 hunter who was scared of nothing, looking terrified of you.

“Because we’re going to make things even”

“What do you mean? Uh I don’t think -” he began but you cut him off.

“I’m not telling you to think, I’m telling you to obey. Now get up.” You stared into his beautiful green eyes and he knew better than to test you.

“Now. As I said, we’re going to make things even. I’m going to walk you through getting undressed and then you’re going to touch yourself until you make a mess all over yourself. Got it?”

Dean immediately stood up straight and knew he would do everything and anything you asked of him.

“Yes ma’am”

“No that’s no way of addressing me. Do better.” You saw Dean’s eyes slightly glaze with what you could only describe as submission and desire.

“Yes Goddess.”

Who wants part 2?!?!?? Leave a comment if you do pleaseeeeeee <3

[keysorsomething]

Before the Sun Rises / Caught

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7

The double feature chapters I wrote :) Just wanna say thanks to everyone who's supported these fics, it makes me very happy to see all the likes and reblogs !!

Cross-posted on ao3

Before the Sun Rises

You awake the next morning with no pressure on your chest and nothing in your arms. Still half-asleep, you look around the room. You’re disoriented, like when you take a three-hour nap in the middle of a weekday and wake up covered in sweat and unaware of the concept of time. One thing you catch is that the room is still dark, but you would guess that it’s always dark in here. You haven’t seen a window, after all. You start to rub the sleep from your eyes, fighting a yawn as you try to find the man who seems to have disappeared into the night. Melting into the darkness, as he had each time before.

“Nikto?” You ask, sitting up. Or at least you try, before strong hands meet your shoulders and shove you back into the pillow. You spot his blue eyes staring down at you almost ridiculing, clearly not pleased with your attempt to get out of bed. It’s almost startling, the speed and force with which you’re slammed back, not the hardest you had been slammed into something, but it was sure lacking any form of gentle grace you would expect from the motion. In this context at least. But you’re too tired to really think about the strength in him like you had before or to think about how he had seemingly teleported into your sight and personal space with no sign of where he was prior.

“Stay,” Nikto’s voice growls out. You look up at him, confused and groggy. He lowers himself back on the bed, and then back onto your chest. “I was not done,” He huffs, taking the sleeve of your shirt between two fingers. He pulls on the fabric, turning it over in his hand. His eyes narrow at it, as if your sleeve had offended him.

“Okay,” You mumble, letting your eyes fall back shut. You spend a while like that, enjoying it. Laying on your back with him on your chest, feeling the gentle pull of his hand as he busies himself with your shirt sleeve. It’s a moment of peace, expanded when he stops pulling at your sleeve - it was actually kind of annoying - and instead, his hand rests on your bicep, unmoving. He lets out a soft sigh, and you assume he closed his eyes too. Your breathing synchronizes, as your hand goes back to rubbing his shoulders like you had been doing the night before.

“You will come back tonight,” He states firmly, breaking the shared moment of silence. Your eyes shoot open and your hands pause, unsure how exactly to respond. You did want to come back again. Hell, you wanted to move in with him. You dare to even think you want the world to melt away, for time to be this moment and this moment alone, always and forever, but should you really let him boss you around like that? Should you just agree? Should you agree enthusiastically, with a ‘yes, sir!’? Or do you say no on principle?

“Can you ask nicely?” In a patronizing tone is what comes out of your mouth instead. Like a mom talking to a toddler who just demanded ice cream or something. You don’t have many references for modern-day parenting in the army. Maybe you shouldn’t compare those two things, that was kind of weird. But it wasn’t mansplaining patronizing - and you knew mansplaining, since that was the only thing that came out of Graves’ mouth - it was the other kind. You had no other words for it.

Nikto groans, presumably rolling his eyes, “You will please visit us again tonight,” He corrects, but he doesn’t seem all too happy about it. “пожалуйста?” He breaks out the big guns. How do you deny a masked man who’s speaking in his mother tongue? It may be your biggest weakness.

You sigh, conceding, “Okay. I will,” And he lets out a pleased rumble. A sound you could very much get used to.

“Now go back to sleep,” He huffs grumpily. “пожалуйста..?” You almost listen instantly, but then another thought pops into your head.

“What time is it?” You ask, the thought of being caught once more nagging at the very back of your psyche. He lets out another less-than-pleased huff of a breath at you, this time through his nose. But, hey, is he really blaming you for worrying about both your careers? His head shifts so his eyes meet yours better, and you see a small smudge of eye black left over from him watching it on his right eyelid, hugging the lash line. It almost looks like eyeliner. You also see the curve of his nose. That is skin that is clearly scarred, looking like it would be rough to touch. Healed burns, probably. Chemical burns that stretch over from the right of his face. You aren’t too sure how the mask is doing that, as all of the points where it attaches to the blast plate seem intact, and it’s only a small dip from where it normally sits. You decide not to comment on it, however.

“Early. Four-fifty or so,” He replies firmly. “I would not let you overstay your welcome,” His words are aggressive in phrasing but soft in tone. An odd combo he seems to use often, which you can’t be sure if that is just him or because he isn’t a native English speaker. But, his brows soften too, his hand sliding up but hesitating to make contact with your face or hair. It retreats away. When you look into his eyes, you feel like he wants nothing more than to touch you, and you feel he agrees that this moment is ever so precious. But he doesn’t want to touch you. Perhaps he’s afraid, or perhaps he doesn’t like his face being touched, so he won’t touch yours. The Golden Rule and all that. But you still smile softly down at him, gently rubbing his back. A silent encouragement to do as he pleases, one that is not listened too. After just a beat, you speak again. There’s no point in making the fleeting movement a whole ordeal.

“Well, wake me up when I have,” You tell him, trying to keep your voice low and comforting, the way he likes. He nods in response, eyes staring up at you warily. You both share for a moment the fear of being found out, but you don’t voice it to him. And he does not voice it back.

“Of course,” Nitko mumbles, sliding back into the position he was before your question. You chuckle, wrapping your arms tight around him as he matches the gesture, and lean your head into his. You take a deep breath, letting the whole moment sink into you. The warmth and weight of the man on your chest, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of the cold, hard blast plate against your cheek. It’s all the best thing to ever happen in this place, and you have a feeling it’s the best thing to have ever happened to him.

You sigh, it's nice to share this moment with him. Every moment over the past few days had been precious. You let your head fall back - you had been keeping it up to look at him - but keep your eyes on him as best you can. You still your hand on his back, letting your arm fall limp. He shifts his head slightly on your chest, fully committed to using you as a pillow. The image of him and his peacefully rising chest is wiped away by your eyes falling back shut.

---

Caught

You reawaken to a soft patting of a gloved hand on your cheek. Your eyes open to Nikto just a few inches from his face, his hand gently twapping your cheek to wake you up. You groan, your muscles stretching as best you can under the weight.

“It is time you leave,” He mumbles, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes. “You do not have much time to get back to the barracks before the rest wake up.”

You pout, blinking up at him, “…How come you get a room all to yourself? It’s not fair,” You mumble, closing your eyes. His bed was so much more comfortable than your cot. And it was so much better than sleeping in a room with multiple other people. Just you and him. There’s a moment where you desire much more of this. So much more of this, in a much more domestic manner, but that fantasy is short-lived by a second round of pats on your cheek that don’t relent until your eyes open back up.

“It was a specific request,” Nikto replied, eyes narrowed on you as he tries to keep you from falling back asleep. As always, they are an icy blue that doesn’t match the feeling of having them on you at all. But by now they feel so much cooler than before, like a warm hug or a heated blanket instead of a hot iron. “I told them I would not take the job if they did not accommodate me.”

You nod, rubbing your eyes with a huff. That makes sense, you think. He seems like the guy to do that. Your eye opens now that your hand isn’t over it, and he hasn’t moved. Something a part of you deep inside is grateful for. You don’t know how well you could cope if he was gone just like that. Like how he had appeared earlier. That thought doesn’t last long, none of them do. He was just so much to think about. His eyes are wide, wild as they look down at you. He seems to think that you’re a lot to think about too. Or perhaps you’re assigning that to him, like when people speak for dogs and cats. You’ve been doing that with him a lot more often since that night in the armory. His eyes get a little less wide, and then even less wide. Until his eyes look closed, but you can tell they’re still partly open. God, he has pretty eyelashes.

He then, all at once, presses his still-masked face into yours. The fabric of the mask covering his mouth is rough against your lips. There’s no movement under it, almost as if he’s just smooshing his lips into yours like he isn’t sure how to do it. You feel the cold metal of the blast plate pushing into your forehead like a headache. It almost hurts, but there’s no way it’s enough. Somehow being too much and too little, but not just right. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek, but you don’t get the chance too. You didn’t even get the chance to close your eyes or lean into the kiss. It’s gone all at once, the same way it came. The pressure on your chest where he was laying there, on your forehead where the protruding parts of the metal dug into your skull, the rough fabric almost painfully hot on the skin of your lips, all of it. He pulls away before you can fully process it, before you can take it in for all of its glory. He rolls off of you, laying on the bed next to you facing away, partly curled up. You have to take a moment before you can do anything. You just kissed the Nikto. No, you were just kissed by The Nikto.

“Nikto?” You ask, voice soft and wavering, like if you speak too loud you’ll create a rip in space-time and it will have never happened. He cuts you off before you get any more in.

“Go,” He responds gruffly, and you nod, pulling off the bed. You’re a little stunned, and you do have places to be. You’d be worried that he was upset with you, but you have a feeling he’s just processing it, the same as you. Maybe he’s worried you’re upset with him? You almost feel like you need to cover up, and are subconsciously pulling the covers with you as you try to. You notice when you almost trip, but you catch yourself and throw them back on the bed. You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself before speaking. And before leaving. You had appearances to keep up once you got back to the barracks and you had the three musketeers riding your dick.

“Okay,” You squeak, backing away. Your voice sounds so much more pathetic than you wanted it too, and you really can’t be having that. “See you tonight,” You say very quickly, hoping he’ll know you aren’t upset with him. You then promptly spin on your heels, and swing the door open. You go to step out of the room when you come face to face with a chest. You look up with a soft curse, only to find judging blue eyes staring back at yours from under a makeshift mask. The eyes are hard, angry. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, good morning, Colonel,” You manage to get out through a panicked breath. His arm is raised, you had interrupted him mid-knock. He lowers it, and it’s easy to tell his scowling down at you, eyes narrowing further. He bends slightly at the waist, and you hear the fabric shift and Nikto starts to speak when the room behind you goes silent. König looks behind you, and then back down at you, inching ever closer.

Then, you hear your voice hissed through teeth, a heavy Austrian accent filling your ears.

[heavenlycloud]

dream a little dream: yunjin x fem! reader ✧°🍒‧｡°

request: hi! It says that soft hours are open and I just had a thought from watching the LE SSERAFIM x Dream Academy Video where the fimmies surprised the contestants. Imagine being the 6th member of LE SSERAFIM and being in a relationship with yunjin and you both are smiling happily and holding hands while greeting the contestants, and then once you all leave some of the contestants are like “omg the way they look at each other, they’re definitely dating” or something of that sort LOL 🩷

a/n: ok so funny story i read this and then wrote it all whilst being sleep deprived and slightly delirious…so i lowkey mixed up the details but i can go back and rewrite it if you’re not satisfied (this is why i need sleep and why i need to stop trying to write from memory cuz i can’t do it).

Becoming an idol had been your dream since you were 14 years old as a freshman in high school. one of your friends showed you their favorite girl groups and you were immediately sucked into the world of kpop. as you went through high school and entered university your hope of making your dream come true slowly dwindled. companies were starting to debut girls younger and younger which you didn’t think gave you much of a chance at 18 years old. that was until you got an email from someone about submitting an audition for a new girl group that would form under HYBE in the next year. at first you thought it was a scam, but after doing a deep dive on the internet you realized it was more real than fake. you submitted the audition with little hope knowing that you’d practically ‘aged out’ of the trainee age range, on top of the fact that you hadn’t been singing or dancing since infancy like every idol seemed to have done. so it was a huge surprise when you got an email back 8 weeks later confirming that you passed the audition. by some miracle you’d convinced your parents to let you go to Korea to become a trainee under HYBE with the hopes of debut. truthfully, they only said yes knowing that you’d probably be sent back home after 6 months…and your university credits were valid for the next 10 years so you could pick up where you left off. 

Much like your parents assumed, you were sent back home, but instead of after 6 months, it was after 2 years. you gave everything you could to the trainee program but in the end you didn’t make the final cut due to “not having the look the group needed”. you were heartbroken to leave your new friends, the seven girls who were supposed to make HYBE’s new girl group. the three younger girls that had become like your little sisters, the two older girls that were like your older sisters, and the one same aged girl who was your best friend…maybe a little more. on your last day in the company you laughed while saying your final goodbyes, clinging onto your girls in a huddle as you tried to have a positive outlook on a shitty situation. when you got back home you were devastated to say the least. for the first few weeks you only cried and wished things had worked in your favor, until one day you refused to wallow in your sorrows any longer. 

you made a promise that you’d see them again, that you’d see her again and laying around crying all day wasn’t going to make that happen. so, you began practicing again using the techniques and lessons you’d learned over your 2 year long trainee experience. when the audition announcement came out this time around you didn’t hesitate to apply to the same company that let you go a year ago. given how hard you worked, it was absolutely no surprise when you found out HYBE wanted you back in their trainee program. at this point your parents didn’t bother refusing once again knowing university would be there if you ended up coming back home again. however, with the way you’d been training yourself it wasn’t looking like that would be an option. honestly you didn’t know if your driving force was to prove to yourself or to the people that sent you home that you had what it takes, but regardless you were ready this time. by the end of the first mission it was clear to the judges, trainers, and other contestants that you were certainly a force to be reckoned with. you’d only ever heard praises and slight critiques that could be fixed immediately from your trainers and judges. 

the eighteen of you all filed into the practice room and filled the seats as you sat in front of the screen that was presumably going to show your second mission. you sat between lara and sophia holding both of their hands as you anxiously watched the screen in front of you. their grips on your hand tightened when they saw the members of le sserafim appear, reacting to the Dream Academy trailer. squeals and screams filled the room as everyone shared their shock but you only laughed, finding it funny that this was the way they were seeing you again for the first time since you left. lara shook your hand and told you, “i swear if we ever meet them, i’m asking them to dance fearless with you.” a bunch of the other girls around you oohed and agreed before putting their attention back on the monitor. at some point you completely zoned out, only coming back to when you heard eunchae say, “the second ANTIFRAGILE team members are “Iliya, Karlee, Samara, Megan, and Y/N.” you leaned forward and looked at them with a big smile, nodding in agreement over your excitement to be teamed together. 

the five of you sat on the floor of the practice room and started talking about the song choice, karlee starting off with explaining how she wanted this song more. you all nodded in agreement and the other girls chimed in talking about their worries and what they were most excited for. after a moment the conversation stopped and all eyes were on you, “what?” your teammates laughed at you and you admitted, “i mean like…i’m not that nervous guys. i’ve done this performance in the shower a bunch so i meannnn…plus if i flop yunjin called me pretty so-” the girls around you fell over laughing and karlee pointed out, “dude she literally knows you.” in return you playfully glared and held your hand out, “can you let me have my moment?” megan and samara laughed even harder while iliya covered her face though her giggles. you all divided up your parts evenly, you getting kazhua’s part because of the leg extension, and megan insisting yours looked better when you couldn’t tell much of a difference. 

Throughout the practices you were given the dance leadership role which you tried to avoid but it was inevitable given your trainee history. there were little to no breaks, an incredible amount of jet lag, and a time crunch of only a few days before your performance. the pressure was certainly there and you could feel it especially with the weight of being an ex- HYBE trainee and the leader of your group. hours passed with you all in the practice room, your trainer comforting iliya as she cried out of stress and exhaustion combined with her own self doubt. you patted her shoulder and told her, “it’s okay…i cried yesterday in the shower and almost drowned in my tears and the shower water because i breathed through my nose.” the younger girl couldn’t help but laugh and you did too seeing the smile return to her face. 

*meanwhile*

“We’re watching them react to us watching their trailer and mission announcement.” chaewon and yunjin explained to their members in their van. the girls huddled around the ipad and a smile tugged at all of their faces when they saw you amongst your teammates. they watched closely, listening to all of your members speak their worries until it was your turn to talk which caused all of them to laugh, especially your banter with karlee. yunjin murmured, “i didn’t know i missed her this much.” chaewon side eyed her discreetly while eunchae and kazuha stifled a laugh. they then sent chaewon inside the practice room to pose as a staff member to record a tiktok for you and the rest of the contestants. when you all were in line you noticed how she was more covered than the rest of the staff members in the room. you narrowed your eyes, and then it was your turn aside Manon. when you made it to the front you just knew, but you only smiled and danced, the only person who also knew was chaewon herself when you winked. 

chaewon pulled off her mask and hood, “surprise!” the other girls screamed in excitement, only getting louder when the other idols walked in soon after. you ended up with marquise clinging to your side with her hands over her face. yunjin then started speaking in english, “we heard you all were practicing our songs right?” they all nodded and she added, “we’re so excited to see you guys, it’s crazy that we’re meeting you in this practice room. yunjin asked the contestants, “did you all expect it?” the girls overlapped one another with refusing responses to which the black haired girl responded, “we thought it’d be obvious…so we were like we should prank you.” the girls once again reacted with laughing and squeals which yunjin took the opportunity to make louder, “wait i think i know all of your names though.” 

Everyone straightened out into a more clear line and yunjin looked down the line and asked, “Iliya, right?” your teammate nodded and yunjin continued, “and Ezrela. Sophia, Emily, Celeste, Karlee, Marquise, Y/N-” there was a difference in her tone when she said your name, a different smile on her face, until you deadpanned, “No.” there was a second of complete silence before you burst out laughing and said, “no i’m kidding i’m sorry. do your thing.” yunjin and her members all laughed too, chaewon immediately mimicking you quietly, “no.” the black haired girl then said, “she always does this.” your teammates all laughed and nodded in agreement earning a satisfied smile from you. yunjin continued, “sorry ok- um Y/N, Megan, Brooklyn, Lara, Lexie, Samara, Daniela, Manon, Mei, aaaand Ua. Aaaand Nayoung, Yoonchae. Right?”   everyone cheered and clapped and she explained, “because i see you guys so much on like TikTok, YouTube, and everything!” you all turned into each other giggling and smiling until it was time to perform for the girls with your mission teams. 

Your team went first, you gathering your girls into a small huddle and telling them quietly, “just relax. we got this. alright come on, eat it up?” your teammates said in unison, “no dinner!” you laughed at the phrase you taught them on the first day, still using it now. while performing you had your nerves, especially knowing that the idols in front of you had seen your practice videos, one of which included you crying, something they’d never seen in the two years they knew you. while performing you kept your eyes on your old friends, primarily the one who still held a piece of your heart. the hours of practicing and endless stretching to get kazuha’s leg extension perfect paid off when you saw the look on all five of their faces when you did the move. 

Iliya stood beside you as you were between her and samara while le sserafim gave you all feedback as two teams. chaewon pointed out samara, praising her for the eye contact she made opposed to looking into the mirror, a common mistake amongst trainees during evaluations. kazuha looked at you and said, “y/n, your leg extension was so good! honestly you could just take my place next time we perform because you were that good.” you laughed and thanked her, sending a fond smile her way, the same one that always brought her comfort after long practices. samara tickled your leg and you playfully swatted her hand away, making her giggle quietly. when you thought one of the girls would now talk to the two teams as a whole, yunjin turned her attention to you. yunjin looked you dead in the eye, pulling a smile onto your previously stoic face. she told you, “y/n. i know from the practice videos you were worried about being leader, looking at everything to the smallest detail. but everything you did for your teammates paid off because you’re perfe- your team was perfect.” everyone in the room ouuuuu-ed which made you cover your face in slight embarrassment, yunjin doing the same. she then added, “and karlee i know you weren’t feeling well but you literally killed it…and team A, you guys chose your name right because you slayed.” the four girls burst into laughter and you all thanked the girls for their feedback before heading back to your seats, not before you sent a wink yunjin’s way which she instinctively made a heart with her hands back to you. when you sat back down you were sandwiched between lara and megan, both of whom whispered together, “you’re perfecttttt” then made the same hearts with their hands to you that yunjin did. you playfully scoffed and hoped they couldn’t feel your body getting hot with embarrassment as they teased you. 

after everyone finished their performances you all had the chance to ask the girls for anything you wanted to know. you were the first to raise your hand, “i think a big worry of us, as in all 19 of us is that we are now in a place where this is competition. all of us want to do well individually but even more than that we want one another to succeed so we can make it to the end together. it’s a given that the group won’t be 19 members. so knowing that eventually we will be sending home many of our best friends, sisters, soulmates… or whatever- like what can we do or tell ourselves so we don’t end up just dwelling on that fact? how can we keep going after dealing with that over and over?”  yunjin nodded in understanding and responded genuinely,  “wow that is a big question. there is like a motto that i live by where i just try my best to believe that everything happens for a reason. you all met for a reason, and you’re together for a reason…and i think goodbyes are unfortunately inevitable-” it was at this point that you realized she was staring directly at you. yunjin caught herself staring and looked away as she continued, “ but i think that is part of growing. and just the fact that you all collectively have this kind of worry is very touching and i kind of like teared up a little inside because it’s very hard to meet people who both support you while also maintaining your own individual driving force. i think it’s just kind of making every experience and opportunity…it’s important to continue rooting each other on. i think that’s the best way to keep going forward just knowing you know-” again her eyes found yours, “just knowing that even if you’re not together one day you will end up seeing each other again.” now there was a smile on her face as she looked at you, looking away to make it less obvious, “that’s what happened to me actually. I had practiced for quite a few years but after debuting and working my best in the end we came full circle and they were also doing their best so in the end we met.” she looked back at only you, “just take this time and make as many memories and relationships as you can. don’t be afraid of the pain that comes with having to let someone go because you can use that to get to where you want to be.” she paused then spoke as if you were the only other one in the room, “because look where we are now y/n.” you nodded and the four idols around yunjin ouuuu-ed making the rest of the contestants giggle. eunchae quietly remarked, “this just got really personal…” everyone laughed as yunjin slapped her leg lightly and brooklyn beside you started poking your side. 

a few seats down from you sophia spoke up, “i should have went before y/n because my question is gonna sound unserious…chaewon, how do you like blink on the beat in Antifragile because every time i do it i look like i got a bug in my eye?” everyone erupted into laughter and sophia added, “i’m so serious guys i look so dumb doing it!” which only made everyone laugh harder. chaewon stood up and danced the specific part before motioning for sophia do to it with her, then by herself. the idol praised your friend, “yes! you got it!” everyone clapped and sophia ran happily back to her seat with her face a light shade of pink. ezrela raised her hand, “so in your choreographies you all do a lot of like hand holding, and so like…how do you all not miss each others hands?” the idols in front of you all laughed and eunchae explained, we just have to trust each other like you go up i go down. we talk about it like that in advance and you have to hold the hands tight. even if one hand slips off, the others should hold them tight to prevent the accident.” ezrela nodded in understanding and laughed while thanking eunchae for her reply. 

right when you thought everyone was going to be done asking questions, lara raised her hand, “i have a request but you all can say no.” all five idols looked at her intently and your friend asked, “can you dance to fearless with y/n?” all of your teammates immediately cheered and your old friends looked at each other with smiles. they agreed and despite you refusing, yunjin stood up and pulled you over, engulfing you in a hug first. kazuha took off her heels and joined you her members on the floor. your friends were all giggling along, especially when they noticed yunjin had her hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwined. meanwhile the idols looked at you and you asked, “second chorus to the end? the debut formations?” they nodded and chaewon said, “from 겁이 난 없지, 없지” you nodded and found your place and let the music play. from this part of the song you were in the center, a smile on your face nobody had seen on you thus far. during the refrain everyone of your teammates saw the way yunjin looked up at you while she faced them, like you were the only girl in the world. the six of you danced to the end and when the song stopped everyone clapped and the five girls pulled you into a long and tight hug. when you all parted each of them hugged you individually, sakura first. 

the eldest told you with a fond smile, “i’m so proud of you y/n. i can’t wait for your debut.” kazuha spoke up next, “i’m wishing for your debut, unnie.” chaewon squeezed you tightly, “i’m so happy to know you didn’t give up. i’m so proud of you y/n.” eunchae pulled you into a hug, “i missed you so much unnie. i’m happy we got to see each other like this.” yunjin was last, and she mumbled into your shoulder, “come see me tonight?” you murmured back quietly, “mhm.” she grinned as she pulled away while you tried to hide the look of joy from your face. everyone thanked le sserafim and said their goodbyes before you all got a quick break, mostly for cameras to be moved and reset. the second you were alone with manon, your closest friend, she asked all knowing, “so when are you seeing her?” you tried to play it off but she knew you too well already, so you caved, “tonight.”

[blueberryarchive]

"Baby, don't make me spell it out for you...you know i want you"

Something i wrote in an ungodly hour instead of sleeping.

♡Pairing: Profesor!Jimin x Student!Reader

♡Word Count: 1.2k

♡Warnings: PARK JIMIN WITH GLASSES.

A dragon devouring paper after paper. His eyes like two marbles gobbled up every word you had written, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth every time his hand dropped a sheet on his desk. 

Jimin looked at you for a second, less maybe, but you knew that meant one of two things: either your writing sucked or you could go get your diploma, you didn't need to pay to learn creative writing. You settled on the sofa intertwining your hands. You knew it was the first. 

His brows went from furrowed to surprised in just three lines, almost unnoticed. It was a talent of Jimin's, that of not reacting or in such a subtle way that it went unnoticed by the human eye. So what the hell did you write on a night that had your teacher on the brink of a nervous breakdown? 

Another sheet is arranged with the others on top of the desk. Only the last one is missing. 

You closed your eyes and let the carbon-furred cat approach you. You let Mr. Jazz purr by your side, knowing you were in for an extra class on top of the previous 6 you had this morning. 

Jimin lifted his glasses from the bridge of his nose and then looked at you, his movements always fluid and slow. As if they had been choreographed. He never moved his hair without first thinking about it or lighting another cigarette until the one between his slender fingers warmed his knuckles. 

He and Mr. Jazz were an extension of the same stream. Little trickles of water that fall at the same time. Jimin clucked at him calling his cat to his lap and he responded instantly, leaving you alone on that huge, rough piece of furniture on the other side of the office. 

"So," you began the conversation desperately, his silence and fixations had you on the verge of burning every piece of paper in the fireplace.

"So," he repeated, pulling a pen from his jacket, firm scratches on an open notebook. That scared you, you knew you should have turned in the job you had half finished. It was better than a hasty piece of writing after four glasses of wine and a sleepless night. 

"Fuck, Jimin. Even in purgatory, they would judge me less." A nervous laugh came out of you. 

Jimin looked at the words he had jotted down in his notebook, the cigarette went to his lips with a chuckle. You didn't understand. 

"Am I a comedian now?" Before you could grab your writing, Jimin snatched it from you. Your chest contracted when you felt his warm hands touching yours, as if it were fire you took it away. Your eyes studying the floor instead of the dragon's eyes. 

"May I?" Jimin grabbed the notebook and got up from his desk. With flushed cheeks and a mindset for the lecture that was coming, you nodded. 

"Animalistic. Want. Lascivious. Velvet. Hungry. Burn. Frantically." Jimin began to say walking slowly to the office door to let Mr. Jazz out. 

"I don't understand-" 

"Open." he continued "Appetite. Divine. Tease... Jimin." Your eyes went to your professor's devilish grin, small and tight-lipped. 

You crossed your arms and walked in his direction stealing the notebook from his hands. He did not object. 

"What are you trying to tell me?" 

"What are you trying to tell me?" Jimin stubbed out his cigarette and cocked his head "All those words were on the last page." 

"Sorry?" 

"You don't have to apologize. It just seems strange to me, even knowing that you wrote this less than twenty-four hours ago," he glanced at the watch on his wrist, of course he knew you wrote it overnight. "I find it incredible how...notorious your piece is" 

"Notorious?" 

"Evident" 

"Yes, I know what it means." you were talking over him. Your hand squeezed the notebook in your hands. 

"Well, then you understand how erotic your piece becomes in the end."

"Yes." 

"It was on purpose?" Jimin raised his eyebrows resting his hands on the edge of his chair vehemently. 

"Yeah." You don't really remember much of the last few pages. Your teacher sighed after looking at you for a long time, the fire was crackling in the fireplace and your hands tingled with the desire to throw the entire writing into the flames. 

"Was it on purpose that instead of your main character, um...," he grabbed the paper on the table, "Jack. You wrote my name several times in the dialogue between his wife and him?" You don't remember anything from the last few pages you wrote, the wine had erased part of your memory and the protocol of reading everything twice before delivering. 

You swallowed hard, looking for where to put your gaze without seeming you wanted to sink into your shame. "I wrote it on my cell phone and sometimes it changed to your name." You stuttered. 

"Don't try, lovely. I can see how red you are even in the dim light from the window," he said grabbing the notebook from your hand, his chest was so close to yours. His fingers took their time as he brushed the material and the ring on your ring finger. 

You breathed out looking into his eyes, the flames reflecting in his pupils making it look like all hell had broken loose on him. Who knew that reading his name a couple of times on a piece of paper could make a man's ego grow so big? 

"I don't understand what you want me to tell you." His flirtatious smile made you want to slap him, his cheekbones looked like two apples you wanted to bite into. 

"Implore. That's my favorite word." 

"I already told you, Mr. Park. It was an incident, nothing good that my drunken brain came up with last night." Your gaze fell to his lips as he licked the corners of his. 

"You know what they say about writers and alcohol." 

"That they make a romanticized, disastrous mix?"

"That too. But also about honesty."

Jimin nodded, his free hand moving slowly to your neck brushing his fingertips behind your ear. Your legs trembled, wetness suddenly pooling in your cotton panties. 

"Park," you muttered. "Really, I'm sorry." You started trying to keep your composure. "I don't know why I left that writing for last, I've been concentrating too much on my thesis and-" 

"Baby, don't make me spell it out for you... you know I want you." Jimin whispered longingly, pushing his glasses up into his hair. 

"What?" the notebook fell to the ground when his hands slipped to your ass squeezing hard until you got closer. You could only gasp grabbing the collar of his shirt. 

"I. Want. You." He grabbed harder, looking deeply into your eyes. Raspy voice.

You were in shock, still not understanding.

"You're so clueless when I least want you to be." he whispered while giving pecks to your jaw.

"Park, I don't know what you're talking about." Your eyes did not stop analyzing his lips tinted pink, shining with his saliva. Hungry. 

"Baby, you didn't write my name on your piece." His left hand went up to your waist caressing your side with his thumb. 

"Then why-?" 

"Because I would have loved to see it written in that sweet glossary." You searched his eyes under his dark hair. 

"So it's good?" 

"No, you can do better than that. I don't think you want me grading an overnight paper." 

"No." you interrupted him, drunk on his perfume. 

"Good." he interrupted back, lifting your legs off the ground and making you pin them around his waist. "Now, if you let me, I wish to recreate part of your piece." 

Your mouth was watering. The craving you didn't know was about to change your palate.

[phantom-dc]

Dad Hood - part 10

After a couple hours of screaming and yelling, Tim was very grateful that he put Danny to bed before Jason began his tirade. The kid didn’t need to see his dad and his uncle fighting like this. As he got back to the living room, he wished he’d stayed with Danny.

‘WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, LETTING THAT CLOWN ANYWHERE NEAR MY DANNY!’

Jason was almost as red as his helmet. Tim was worried he’d pop a vein!

‘WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THE KID’S A META! I WAS SO EXHAUSTED I COULDN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT!’

Dick was yelling right back. Seems like Danny made it difficult for him.

‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I GAVE YOU THE NOTEBOOK WITH ALL THE POWERS I KNOW OFF AND EVERYTHING!’

Jason pointed at the black notebook. Tim had a feeling Dick hadn’t read it.

‘YOU SHOULD’VE- wait, you wrote it down?’

Dick was feeling a bit sheepish. He really should’ve read that stupid thing. As Jason was starting another tirade, Tim decided to intervene.

‘GUYS! I know you’re tired and upset, but can you stop yelling? You’re going to wake up Danny!’

Jason and Dick calmed down. Dick apologized for putting Danny in harms way, but he made sure that Danny was ok. The kid had been more upset that he had to leave the cat behind then about what happened. Jason apologized for not being clearer about Danny and his abilities. He thought the book would be enough, but he should’ve told Dick what information was in it. Sitting down on the couch, Dick asked how their investigation went. Did they get some answers?

‘Well, yes and no. It’s complicated. We did find Talia and she was willing to talk to us. Turns out, she did have a kid about 6 years ago. She had him with Jason when he was recovering from his dip in the Lazarus Pit.’

Tim still felt weird about that. Jason had been way too young then, and it didn’t sit well with him.

‘Don’t give me that look. I was totally out of it at the time, I barely remember it!’ Jason misunderstood Tim’s look, thinking he was judging him, instead of Talia.

‘Since he wasn’t Bruce’s kid, she gave him up for adoption so he could have a normal life. She thought he had a good life, but didn’t keep an eye on him. She has no clue how he ended up in Jason’s care.’

Tim saw how surprised Talia had looked that they even knew of the child.

‘So what else did she say? How do Danny’s powers tie in all this?’

Dick was still curious. Surely they had all the answers now, and with he weekend he had he deserved answers!

‘That’s the part that gave us only more questions. She has no clue.’

Tim had been very disappointed that she had no answers. Talia had even gotten angry, suspecting her father of hunting the child down and experimenting on him.

‘And then there’s the age issue.’

Jason sighed. Damian had been aged up by artificial means, but that needed to be tested. Her father had forbidden her from wasting any of Batman's 'sample' on a test, but Talia had been desperate to make sure her Beloved’s son would be safe. That night she seeked Jason out, she hadn’t actually wanted him, but she needed a sample and he was there and still out of it. So the child had been aged up as well. He should look like a 14-year-old now, not 5!

‘So in short, Danny is Talia’s and mine’s kid. But he is far younger than he should be, has powers with no origin and still no clue as to how he got in my appartement!’

Jason was frustrated. He had hoped for answers, but came home with more questions.

‘I’m not even sure it’s the same kid. According to Talia, he had black hair and blue eyes. It might be a result of his powers, but there is a change we’re talking about a completely different kid here.’

Tim was worried. There were so many things that didn’t add up. What if they were getting 2 different kids mixed up?

As the brothers are talking, the bedroom door opens. Danny walks to the couch and crawls up, snuggling up to Jason.

‘Daddy, I can’t sleep. Will you read me a bedtime story?’

Jason pets Danny’s head. He wonders why the kid always has trouble sleeping. Maybe he wasn’t used to sleeping full nights?

‘In a minute, kiddo. Me and your uncles are almost done.’

Dick has an idea. With the amount of powers Danny tormented him with, maybe he could…

‘Hey Danny? Do you know anything about another Danny? With black hair?’

Danny looks up, sleepy. He thinks for a bit, before a ring of light appears. It splits in 2 and travel up and down his body, turning his hair black and eyes blue. His glow disappears and he looks like a normal kid.

‘Like this, uncle?’

The brothers were looking at the now black-haired boy, still snuggled up to Jason in his Martian Manhunter pajamas and his Wonder Woman blanket. At least one mystery was solved rather quickly. Jason rubbed his temple, before asking for the notebook:

Invisibility

Cryokinesis

Flight

Soul-pulling-out-powers???

Destructive scream

Super strength

(Flying) Superspeed

Photokineses

Shields

Doesn't need to breath (as often)?

Color changing (Camouflage? Different form?)

As Jason came to terms with another power, Dick decided it was the perfect time for a poor joke:

‘I mean, at least we know there aren’t 2 Danny’s going around?’

Jason gave Dick a look that said enough. But before he could tell Dick to buzz off, Danny decided to drop another bombshell.

‘But there are 2 of me! Dani is the best!’

The room immediately went silent. The brothers just looked at Danny. Jason gently shook Danny, praying he didn’t just fall asleep on them after that. He needed answers. NOW.

‘Danny, kiddo. What do you mean. Why are there 2 of you?’

Danny was beginning to doze off. He yawned and answered a bit groggily.

‘I was cloned. Dani is my clone. She is so cool. I’m so happy that she exists. Sometimes I wish that he cloned me sooner.’

Tim immediately followed up on that. Who cloned him?

‘Danny, who is this ‘he’? Who cloned you and made the other Danny?’

Danny puts on his thinking face. He still has trouble remembering things. But he knew exactly how to describe the guy.

‘I forgot his name. But he’s a rich, billionaire frootloop with adoption issues and a creepy lair underneath his mansion. He dresses like a vampire and he wants to get with my mom. I hate him.’

Hearing this, Tim and Dick looked up slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Sure enough, Jason’s eyes were no longer blueish. They were glowing full, Lazarus green.

5 minutes later, Jason was calmy going around his appartement, Dick and Tim following in a panic.

‘Jason, please think about this!’

‘I just want to go talk to him.’

Jason was packing his weapons. Dick was trying to convince him to stop doing that, while also trying not to panic.

‘Seriously Jason, we don’t yet have all the info. There might be a good reason for this?’

‘I just want to go talk to him.’

Tim was very glad he had quickly put Danny to bed. The boy didn’t need to see what was going on with his dad.

‘Jason, please stop packing- Is that a bazooka!?!’

‘I just want to talk to him.’

Dick and Tim were at their wits end. They had expected screaming, anger, violence. The calm way that Jason was preparing a murder was unsettling to say the least. Especially since they knew who Jason was going to kill.

‘Dick’s right, Jason. What if it’s a mistake? Maybe it’s someone else-’

‘ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TRYING TO TELL ME THERE ARE 2 OF THAT FUCKER OUT THERE!?!’

Jason was livid. Tim admitted things didn’t seem good, but things had just been too strange. Nothing made sense anymore!

‘Look Jason, think about it. How could Bruce clone Danny? He didn’t even know about him!’

Dick was trying to reason with his brother. He couldn’t let Jason just try and kill their dad.

‘I don’t care how he did it! He knew I had a kid and he didn’t say anything about it! No, not only that, HE CLONED MY KID AND DIDN’T SAY SHIT! Oh, I knew that things had been going too well, I KNEW IT! I knew he didn’t trust me, that’s why he kept it from me! He didn’t trust me with my own kid, and now my kid has DIED AND BEEN REVIVED JUST LIKE ME! IM GOING TO KILL THAT-’

‘JASON!’ Tim actually slapped Jason across the face. ‘I know you’re furious, and you have every right to be! But we have no idea if Bruce really did all that! And before you start, when has ANYTHING about Danny been straight-forward?’

Jason actually put down his weapons, though his eyes didn’t change. Taking advantage of the calm, Tim kept pleading his case.

‘Look Jason. Things are really weird right now, and I admit, it does sound like Bruce did something he shouldn’t have. So, me and Dick are going back to the Manor. Give us a week to get to the bottom of this, ok? In the meantime, you can take Danny to all sorts of places now that he looks like a normal kid. How’s that for a plan?’

Jason calmed down a bit, the green finally receding. He knows Tim is right. He needs more information. And he can’t interrogate Bruce without strangling him right now. He relents:

‘Fine, one week. You investigate the Manor and I’ll try to get more information out of Danny. But if he did know-’

‘Then he’s all yours, Jason. We promise. Just, stay here and we’ll go. Ok? Bye!’

As Dick and Tim rush back to the Manor, they are worried. What the heck had Bruce done?

First - Previous - Next - AO3

[idunnoficsorsumthing]

Virtue

Bobby Nash x Reader

Warnings: 18+ do not read if you are a minor.

Summary: you are done being friends with benefits.

The noises the neighbors must have heard a couple of minutes before should have made you feel embarrassed. When you first started sleeping with your captain the both of you agreed strictly to let go of some steam. A secret. You were his dirty little secret. You agreed with it because you had been pining for him for months. His charisma, his ability to have snarky remarks towards completely incapable people on the job. His eyes were filled with pain, and hurt. While he put on a smile, and spent time with his found family. You knew why he was just screwing your brains out instead of taking you out on dates. Athena left him in shambles, and now the honorable captain was screwing the rookie. He wouldn’t be able to face the team if he did. You stare at his ceiling while you let your thoughts infiltrate your mind. You knew you should get up, take your clothes and leave. “Your neighbors must hate us.” You chuckle as you get up from the bed, you didn’t bother covering up, hoping he’d look up from his phone and see you and beg you to stay. “Well, next time I will have to take it easy on you then.” He said, you look at him, and he was looking at you for a response. You just stick out your tongue as you throw on his shirt.

You get home from Bobby’s house late, and you had a shift early in the morning. You saw the hickey Bobby left on the base of your throat. It wasn’t even red anymore, it was turning purple. You signed, you once heard Hen say that she thought Bobby drank respecting women juice in the morning. The thoughts of that joke lingered through your mind as you crawled into your own bed, still wearing the captain’s shirt. He might miss his LAFD shirt. however, as long as he was not asking for it back you weren’t going to remind him who has it. You heard your phone buzz, as you reached for it. A text from a detective you met when you gave s testimony about a case at court last week. Want to have dinner with me friday? Detective Greg Howard, he was good looking with broad shoulders. You answered back agreeing to it. Not like Bobby and you were exclusive. He almost immediately texted back. Great, I’ll pick you up at 7. You read the words. You were on shift till 6:30, and you wouldn’t have time to get home. You told him to just swing by the station to pick you up.

The days from Tuesday evening till Friday felt long. Starting from Wednesday evening you were on duty, and starting from that it felt extremely long. Just looking forward to the weekend. Bobby and you had the unspoken rule where you would flirt with him and he would ignore it. Everyone wrote you off as being flirty because of your playful personality. You were flirty with everyone, Hen would get noticeably flustered whenever you made a flirty comment. “Anyone want to go out tonight?” Buck asked when all of you were on the way to an emergency call. The sirens blaring in the background. The others were chattering in the background about how Buck needed to shut up, and that after a 72 hour shift nobody wanted to spend any more time with Buck. “Y/n?” Buck asked seeing as you were the only person who hadn’t responded. “Oh no, I’ve got a date.” You said, you looked over to the front to see Bobby’s reaction. There was none however. “Come on, afterwards we’ll hit the club?” Buck asked. You were hesitant. “Buck, what makes you think her date will end after dinner?” Eddie teased him. The others laughed. “Actually I bet 50 dollars that Y/n won’t go to the club with you.” He said, this erupted chatter from everyone betting money on how well they expect your date to go. “You shouldn’t go betting on a woman’s virtue.” Bobby said, resulting in the others being shut up. “I bet 20 dollars on getting laid tonight boys.” You said, mainly you just said it to piss off Bobby. You were outraged at him saying something about your virtue when he was the one fucking you whenever he wanted. The others laughed at you. Bobby clearly wasn’t. “Well, can’t see how we can’t both be right.” Buck flirted. Referring to the money he betted on you joining him tonight at the club. You were cut off before you could say anything to Buck as you arrived at the scene.

The call ran late, and you quickly showered, and got ready. Your mind went hauled over the thoughts of Bobby being mad at you, even if he didn’t say anything specifically you could tell his demeanor changed. Guess he didn’t like you making that joke. You shouldn’t care, you don’t care what he thinks of this. “You’re looking nice.” Hen said, stepping into the dressing room. “You’re not gone yet?” You asked. She shook her head. “You know if it bothers you. Just say so and we won’t make jokes about your love life.” She said, after a moment of hesitation. “It’s all good, Bobby just got on my nerves.” You said, Hen adjusted her glasses. “Bobby was the problem?” She asked, visibly confused. You shrug as you adjust your short cocktail dress. “It looks nice, very sexy.” She said, You look in the small mirror above the sink. “ All for you, hot mama.” You said, turning around, giving her a smile. She chuckled. “I wanted to look not slutty for the dinner but slutty enough to hit the club afterwards.” You tell her. She nods. “One thing is for certain, you’ll definitely get some tonight.” She hummed. That’s what you were hoping for. You walk out of the dressing room, and decide to quickly get something from the kitchen area really quickly. Bobby was standing by the kitchen island pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You’re still here.” You said, he nodded. “You look gorgeous.” He said, he had a certain look on his face. A mix between stoic, and the face he made before he’d kiss you. You stepped closer, taking his mug from his hand, raising it to your lips, taking a sip. “Don’t go.” He said, you looked at him. You had been hoping for a while he’d ask you to stay. All the late nights at his apartment. “So it is okay for you to ruin my virtue but can’t let anyone else touch me?” You asked, your tone stern. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. The word virtue were like poison in your mouth. “Okay, I shouldn’t have said that.” He said, you nod. You put his mug down in front of him. “You know when we started sleeping together I hoped we’d become more.” You said: “but it’s clear you don’t want that.” He didn’t look at you directly. He just stared at your hands. It was clear he was trying to formulate what he wanted to say. But, you heard your name being called from down the stairs. “Well, Captain unless you have something to say to me I’d better get going.” You said you didn’t give him time to respond,almost running down the stairs. You were greeted by Greg who looked nice in a casual button up, and blazer. “Hi, you look amazing.” He said, you thank him as you walk out with him.

Greg was nice, he took you to a nice restaurant, and got an entire bottle of nice wine for just the two of you. Conversation flowed between the two of you, as the two of you were swapping stories. After dinner he brought you home, and you were about to invite him in when he kissed you. It took you by surprise. You follow his lips movement. “I’m sorry.” He apologized when he was catching his breath. You give him a smile. Instead of saying anything you press your lips against his again. Kissing Greg was new and enticing. Nothing like Bobby at all. You had to take charge here, arguing with yourself as you missed the taste of peaches. You broke off the kiss realizing that you didn’t want to invite him in tonight. You hurried up inside of your apartment complex. You check your phone for the first time since the start of your date. You didn’t think Bobby would have sent you something. But, the wave of disappointment hit immediately when you saw he didn’t text anything. You saw the dozen texts Buck sent asking you to join him and some of the others from the team. It was only ten thirty right now, you open the door again, and walk out trying to flag down a taxi.

When you finally got to the bar Buck had sent you the address of. Chimney, Eddie, Hen, Buck and Bobby were sitting at a corner table. Beer bottles and multiple shot glasses covered the table. “Oh my god, y/n you’re here” Chimney cheered when he saw you. You sat down next to Buck who quickly put his arm over your shoulder to whisper something in your ear. “Bobby has been in a mood.” He slurred. You take one of the shots in front of Buck, and down it. Letting the burning sensation trickle down your throat. You didn’t realize what a bad choice of alcohol Buck made, and you desperately needed a chaser. You take the Coke in front of Bobby and take a big gulp. “Jezus Buck what was in that.” You hissed. The others were laughing about a joke made by Bobby about your inability to just drink alcohol. “So Y/n, your attendance means you did not get lucky?” Eddie asked. You shook your head. “Well, the night is still young.” Hen interrupted. It wasn’t clear to you what she bet on but now you knew. You let out a laugh. “Want to double it then?” Eddie said, Hen looked towards you. Then she looked over from Buck, and then to Bobby. “I’ll take that action.” Hen said, grabbing some money from her pocket and putting it on the table. “A Ben Franklin?” You gasped as your eyes widened. “You just love losing money huh, Hen.” Chim said: “ I’ll go against it.” You were starting to feel uncomfortable. “I’m getting another drink.” You said,pulling Buck off his seat to help you carry more drinks. You move across the dance floor. “So what did you bet on?” You ask him, as you lean on the bar waiting to be served. “That you don’t have sex.” He said, you laugh. “I was counting on you to help me win.” You whined. He chuckled, he really was one of your best friends. “I thought the same. Until I noticed how Bobby has been depressed since he heard you went out on a date.” He said, you look over at the table to see Bobby chuckling about something Chim said.

When you go to the bathroom a while later you didn’t realize you were followed in. “I want to explain.” he said, you continued washing your hands while he locked the door behind him. “Well, I don’t want to listen.” You murmured. You refused the urge to look up at him. “John said I’d lose you like weeks ago.” he said: “ and I still let it happen.” John was his friend from AA. He didn’t attend daily anymore but still kept in touch, sometimes he’d tell you things you weren’t sure he told anyone else. He stood close enough now. You could feel his breath on your exposed back. You look up, looking him in the eyes through the mirror. “ He also said I need to stop punishing myself by sleeping with you.” He said, you turn around, he stepped back to give you more room. “So now sleeping with me is a punishment?” You ask him. He got visibly annoyed by how difficult you were being. “I am always seeking atonement for my sins.” You were going to speak, asking him what the hell that had to do with you, he got to it first. “I couldn’t resist you, and I knew it was wrong, you're younger, and i’m your captain.” He said, your expression changed, it got just a little softer and you couldn’t let that happen. “So I'm just a young piece of ass then. Great” you said sarcastically. The look on his face said he was just about to shut you up. “Stop being a brat.” He snapped. You looked furious. “Let me make things easy for you. I'm leaving.” You said, trying to push past him. He pushed you against the wall instead. You loved it when he was taking charge; it came so naturally to him. He pressed his lips against yours, the two of you let passion take over. You moaned softly as his fingers found their way to your dress straps, letting the straps fall down your arms. You knew you shouldn't give in, but the feel of his lips on yours reminded you of peaches. The dress was bunching at your waist, he looked at your breasts as you were not wearing a bra. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He said as he touched your sensitive breasts. A moan escaped your mouth, as he peppered kisses along your neck.

You could see the desire in his eyes, and it only made you want him more. He smiled as he had your right where he wanted you, moving his hand from your breast to under your dress, moving your panty to the side as he started touching your clit. You nestled your face in his blouse to hide the moan you let out. You had your arms around his neck, however you moved them to his belt to help him out of it. “I need your cock, please.” You whined, the tension already getting too much from him playing with your clit. “I need you too. But, listen. Are you listening?” he asked, applying a little more pressure. He started adding two fingers inside you. You moan as a response. “I don’t allow myself to love anything.” he said: “haven’t for years. I thought if I allowed myself to fuck you but not love you. I was seeking atonement.” You nodded. It was hard to pay attention when he was touching you like that. You whimpered his name as you started to cum around his fingers. The grip you had around his shoulders tightened. “I love this.” he said, you wish you had the energy to argue with him. Instead he loosened his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear to expose his cock. “I love it when you are so cock hungry that you’ll do anything for me.” He said, he picked you up, pushing you against the wall as he inserted his cock inside of you he gasped at the tight feeling. You let out a moan still sensitive from your previous orgasm. “ The others are going to wonder” you said, he started moving. The two of you tried to keep quiet. He held your chin tightly. “Don’t think of the others when my cock is inside you.” he warned. It turned you on when he gave orders like that. He noticed that you liked it. “You always get turned on when I give orders?” he asked. When you said something completely inaudible. He started playing with your nipple. While he repeated the motion of fucking you. “Be a good girl and answer.” he said, you nodded. “yes” you moan. He pressed his lips against yours, as he entered his tongue into yours. He started to become sloppy signifying he was about to cum. “I’m gonna cum. Please just let me cum” you asked him. Your ask made him pick up his pace a little and quickly you felt your wall tighten around his cock, as you moaned his name repeatedly till you felt your legs tremble. The tightening of your walls caused him to cum inside you. He didn’t pull out of you immediately instead he was trying to catch his breath while holding you up. He carefully pulls out and sets you down on the ground. He was making himself decent. While you pull the straps over your shoulders again. You looked in the mirror, and it clearly looks like you’ve had sex. You tried to fix your hair by raking your fingers through it.

After cleaning yourself up a little, you and Bobby made your way back to the table with the others. The team started loudly cheering when the two of you sat down receiving stares from others who were enjoying their evening. “ What the fuck?” Eddie said he was so certain he was going to win that bet. Bobby noticed Buck was going to open his mouth but he was quicker. “One remark about my age and I will punch you.” Bobby told him. It didn’t stop Buck from saying something stupid. “I was just going to ask if she gets special treatment, old man.” Buck asked. Bobby punched Buck in the arm. This time Bobby placed his arm protectively over your shoulder. You leaned into him, as you overlooked some very sore losers throwing money on the table from their lost bet.

[ukulelevillainwrites]

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x she/her reader

word count : 7.3k

content : fluff scenes where i was kicking my feet as i wrote them, angst too with another fight, the plot thickens

taglist : @cassiopeiia24 @archiveoftara

note : it's like i blinked and suddenly 3 weeks had passed, i have no idea where the time went but i certainly did not want to post this so late thank you everyone for your patience i really hope you like this part (i like it a lot let me know what you think)

“What do you mean?” She asked with round eyes.

“There’s been a sudden increase in missing sources in the past two weeks. This happens at the same time you see Dufour selling a source she stole from a client. That’s too big to be a coincidence.”

“Well, that’s my cue.” Lockwood said as he was heading for the door.  “You should watch out, y/n, he’s going to be rambling for the next two hours.”

“Actually, I kind of want to hear this.”

She settled on the couch next to George, pulling a blanket over her legs. In this moment, there was nothing other than the light shining in George’s eyes as he went into further details and the softness of the blanket underneath her fingertips. About a week ago she thought she had seen him for the last time. That the last image she would have ever had of him was carrying his stuff in a cardboard box so damaged it was a miracle nothing was falling everywhere. Now here she was, listening intently as he told her about the operating system of an industrial-sized source-burning oven used at the furnaces and how time-wasting and inefficient it was to turn them on late. Her anxiety had made itself silent, her tears were dry, her breathing had slowed down. Maybe it was thanks to Lockwood’s comforting peace. Maybe it was thanks to her determination to see the positive even on the darkest days. Maybe she was lying to herself, drawing way out of proportion her ability to keep her emotions in check. Either way, she felt peaceful and warmth flooded her as she realized she got to listen to George’s crazy theories once more. She hoped many more evenings like these were to come. Her career plan may be out the window, but here she had found something she never got close to having at Fittes. She had found her home.

Lockwood left the room without a sound, smiling at his best friend’s enthusiastic tone and energetic hand gestures. She was too caught up in George’s explanation to notice him exiting the room and throwing her one last glance, relieved to see her smiling again. They stayed up well into the first hours of the following day, not paying attention to how late it was actually getting. They hadn’t realized how tired they were either apparently.

A ray of sunshine shone directly into her face. She reluctantly opened an eye to see the sofa in disarray and her blanket on the floor. She was exhausted. Her limbs were heavy, her clothes seemed to be made of lead. She turned her face away from the light, drifting back into peaceful slumber. She heard some light rustling and thought it was another one of her dreams. She was too tired to confront that girl again. But to her surprise she never came. Instead, she felt a cover being draped delicately over her. It was soft and smelled faintly of cinnamon. It was enough to put her back to sleep. As she was drifting in and out of consciousness she could have sworn she felt something brushing her cheek. She must have been dreaming.

She woke up crouched into the sofa, her legs resting on something harder than cushions and covered with a queen-sized blanket she thought she had dreamed of. Light was shining through the windows, the sun already high. She went to get up, but as she tried to move her legs a groan came out of the opposite side of the sofa. George was sleeping on the couch too, his legs underneath hers as well as a part of his torso. They were tangled up in one of the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever. Seeing them like this triggered her laugh which made George pull up the blanket over his head. She got up as delicately as she could so as not to disturb him. She stumbled into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and unaware of her surroundings.

“I was starting to worry you two might be in a coma.”

She jumped, bumping into the foot of the closest chair.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What time is it?”

Lockwood told her it was almost one, laughing as he poured himself a cup of tea.

“I thought you’d be sleeping all day.”

“It would have been nice but we have a case tonight, right?” She mumbled. She wasn’t entirely up quite yet.

He smiled and handed her his cup. She warmed her hands on the mug, feeling more awake already. He went to pour himself another one but winced as he picked up the kettle.

“Your arm is still hurting?”

“Just a little, it’s nothing really…” He said, struggling to pour the hot water.

She got up to help him out but had to battle him to take hold of the kettle. She looked him straight in the eyes to silently convince him of letting her do this. He reluctantly let go, and she noticed his tie was undone.

“When did you wake up?” She asked as she poured him a cup.

“About two hours ago.” He said, taking a sip.

“And you didn’t tie your tie because…?”

“I didn’t have to go out yet.”

She might have only been living with them for a week, but during her time here she only saw him without a tie late at night once they had gotten home from a case.

She sighed and went to tie it for him. She raised her hands towards his collar. Before she could take hold of the blue fabric, he reached for them.

“I can do it myself, I swear-”

But his fingers had barely brushed her skin that he had to take hold of his arm. She looked back at him with a disapproving stare. He lowered his hands. She smiled with a triumphant grin, satisfied. He stood straighter with a sigh to allow her to focus on the knot. Slowly, she passed one band over the other.

“How did you manage to button your shirt in that state?”

“It… took longer than expected…” he admitted hesitantly, his eyes looking up at the ceiling.

She passed the larger band around the thinner one, passing it inside the forming knot.

“You need to learn how to ask for help.”

He looked down at her work and scoffed.

“You need to learn how to tie a tie.”

At that she tightened the knot around his neck, enough to startle him. His breath caught and for a moment he looked into her eyes with surprise. After a few seconds, she figured she had taught him a well-deserved lesson and loosened the knot carefully, maintaining eye contact. He still seemed to be holding his breath when she finally let go after neatly replacing his collar and making a few adjustments to the knot. Maybe she’d scared him. That would teach him to criticize her necktie expertise in the morning.

She sat back down, taking a sip of her tea before asking him if he was going to be okay on the case tonight.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“That probably means I should keep an eye on you. It could have been a very close call yesterday.”

“If you’re gonna keep an eye on me you’ll have to work on your rapier technique.”

“You’re so unfair! First of all, I saved your life. And second, I’m excellent with a rapier, Kipps mentored me every day when I was on his team.”

He let out what was probably the most honest laugh she had ever heard. She crossed her arms, vexed. He could be so infuriating.

“Kipps is mediocre at best.”

“Yeah right, like you could take him in a fight.”

“I could actually. I even brought back a trophy.” He winked at her. “Poor Quill never got over it.”

“Is that seriously the sole reason for your stupid rivalry?”

He nodded, smiling into his cup. He looked so proud. It was rather funny, but she was really close to slapping the grin off his face.

“That, and the fact you humiliated him.” George chimed in, coming through the door barely awake.

“Lockwood! I thought you were better than this.” She acted shocked, but they were all laughing.

“He’s the fully grown man holding a grudge.”

“Oh, right. And you’re just an idiot.” She teased.

He put a hand to his chest, like his feelings were hurt. George interrupted their banter to remind them of the case they had that night and what they were getting into. They organized the rest of their day, Lockwood insisting on training her this afternoon.

---

“Your stance is all wrong and the fight hasn’t even begun.” He left his position and took a step closer to her. “You’re already standing back in defense when nothing has happened yet. You have to look more confident otherwise you’ll lose the upper hand right away.”

“Sure, because confidence is a famous ward against ghosts.”

He wasn’t amused. Right then he looked like a strict fencing teacher bothered by his student’s lack of progress. She hadn’t realized placing her feet improperly could upset him so much.

“Just show me then.”

He came to stand right behind her, telling her to place her right foot a few inches farther from her left. He got closer, a serious look on his face. He really wasn’t joking anymore. He turned slightly around her and lifted her chin to make her look right in front of her. His eyes were sharp and focused. They didn’t linger on her face and he didn’t seem to notice hers getting rounder at the sudden contact of his fingers with her jaw. His other hand was on her waist, adjusting her position a few inches. He then came closer, mimicking her stance like he was her shadow, and took hold of her arms. She felt his breath in her hair. He strengthened her grasp on her rapier and lifted her right arm at the correct angle. It must have triggered his pain because he lost his balance, leaning against her before staggering backwards.

“Are you okay?”

“My arm’s a little sore, that’s all.” He was already trying to get her back into position.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this today.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll cover you for tonight, I’ve done it before I can do it again.” She said, leaving her position to look at him. “No matter how skilled you are you’re not in the right state today, Lockwood. It’s okay to rely on others, you know?”

He didn’t even acknowledge what she just said before adding

“Just try to hold your arm lower than you usually do so you don’t cramp up. It’ll allow you to gain stamina and it could save us some time.”

George called them from the kitchen, he needed help with the bags.

“How did you know-”

Lockwood was already climbing the iron stairs. She shook off the feeling that he could see right through her. It was good advice. She focused on that part and made a mental note to remember it tonight.

---

The case had gone even better than the night before. Sure, it was just a Type One so it wasn’t as dangerous. But they were more coordinated, more organized and more methodical. Lockwood hadn’t gotten into a near death situation, which was a significant improvement. He had been in the last two cases they had been on together, it was enough for her to think it was a common occurrence.

She felt like she was part of a proper team again. However, now she didn’t feel the need to impress anyone. She wasn’t craving the praise and admiration of her team leader. It was liberating. She was free to do her job without worry. It made her feel more confident in her abilities too. She didn’t need to prove anything and she didn’t feel watched all the time. She had found a team that helped her grow.

They established a rotation of their roles, alternating who had to dispose of the source, who had to oil the chains and who had to give the keys back to the client the following day. The guys made her feel instantly like she was an essential member of the team.

The following day, two new clients made appointments. Then two others called. It was like she had blinked and then it had been a week since she’d been officially hired. The cases kept coming but she didn’t mind. Before all the drama of her professional life, she had loved her job and being part of an agency. It was risky, most of the time it sucked. But it was rewarding. And in the end she felt like she had a purpose, like she was making the most of the circumstances and helping out in her own way. The clients kept calling and the cases kept piling up, as if there was an outburst of paranormal activity. It wasn’t unusual to see an increase in hauntings nearing November, but she had hardly seen anything like this. Though Fittes had a lot more resources and maybe it hadn’t affected her team as much. With just them three they had a lot more work on their hands. It could get overwhelming at times but it kept her mind busy and she was thankful for that. It helped keep her dreams under control too. She hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat since she had seen the girl at the foot of her bed. And whatever she wanted from her, she was too busy to even think about it.

Another week passed. Time was flying and she had really gotten used to Portland Row. After a case she threw her rapier in the broken flower pot that stood as an umbrella stand with the others, smiled at the smell of toast coming from the kitchen, she was home. She knew what steps to avoid on a late night or an early morning, she started to know the names of the books in the library, she was even familiar with George’s filing system for their cases and his research, something even Lockwood found hard to follow.

She was grateful for George. He had brought her here. Well, she had followed him here but he was the reason she had stayed. And ever since he had made his best to make her feel at home. They had grown closer, they were actual friends now. Sometimes she assisted him on research, but mostly during the few moments of rest they had she sat at the kitchen table while he was cooking. Listening to him rambling was probably one of her main activities. But it kept her mind off her future, her responsibilities, her family who still thought she worked at Fittes. And she got to learn about random things that could always be useful someday. Once, she managed to find a source that had been hidden in a compartment inside a fireplace thanks to George’s detailed description of their nineteenth century construction technique.

Lockwood would sometimes join them, but it was rare. When they were home, he either had errands to run or paperwork to fill out. Late at night if they had a moment of rest he mostly sat in the comforting silence of the library with a magazine. He was still somewhat of a question mark. She hadn’t figured him out quite yet, but they got along. Training had become a regular thing. Once his arm had healed he had turned into the fencing teacher he aspired to be. He helped her improve her technique, her reflexes and stamina. She immediately saw the difference with the way Kipps used to train her. Kipps followed the rules, he’d always been behaving according to a script and every single one of his movements had been rehearsed. Because of him she had always thought that using her rapier was something that had been decided upon. There were rules and if she wanted to be good she had to stick to them. Anthony Lockwood was different. He was an artist with a weapon in his hand. He knew all the rules, sure. But he was creative, resourceful. Everything she had been taught so far was just a blank canvas to him and he used it to paint the most beautiful pictures. During their fights, he always found a way to gain the upper hand even when she thought her maneuver couldn’t be overpowered. He was so imaginative it was impossible to beat him. And he always looked elegant, no matter how long they fought he remained graceful until the end. It annoyed her every time. She always ended their sessions drenched in sweat and out of breath, her hair a mess. He looked slightly disheveled but overall unaffected. He didn’t even have the decency to act like she was a worthy opponent. His lessons were formative but also a great source of frustration. But it was all in good fun. It had helped them get along better. Though she didn’t feel like she had made much progress since the night he hired her. They would tease each other every now and then but aside from their training they didn’t spend that much time just the two of them. She didn’t know if he kept his distance intentionally or if it was just the normal relationship they should be having as colleagues. The night he comforted her was still very clear in her mind. She remembered vividly the gentleness of his tone and the warmth of his smile. She thought after that it would feel like they were actual friends but something was missing. She still considered that night to be special. It held a meaningful place in her mind, she hoped she would feel closer to him at some point. If she got George to come out of his shell, anything was possible.

Though, her optimism slightly faded the more she saw his behavior with others. She’d quickly learned that he had a natural charisma he used quite often, with clients, DEPRAC or anyone that might get in the way of what he wanted. He had different tricks he’d combine to make the best impression: listening intently to the requests, or sometimes orders, to seem polite and respectful, shine a wolf like smile to seem convinced and reasonable, then start a great speech with a serious tone and a hint of compassion, to end with that same grin she had soon learned was hard to say no to. What bugged her was that when she listened to those seemingly understanding tirades and saw him subtly smile, she got flashbacks from the night he hired her. It seemed a bit too familiar. It particularly disturbed her one night when the client they had been working for joined them right after they finished clearing her house. She had gone away during their inspection but was too preoccupied to sleep and had decided to stay nearby. When they debriefed the case and told her the ghost was very aggressive and was in fact her mother like she had suspected, she got emotional. Even more so when she was told the source was her own childhood stuffed animal. She was overcome with grief and the team tried to comfort her the best they could. She was on the steps in front of the house, too devastated to come in. She was barely older than them. y/n had felt much pain for her. Yet her attention was drawn to Lockwood, and how he comforted her. She was angry at herself for thinking about this. That girl was going through a lot and all her mind could focus on was how her colleague was behaving with her. She didn’t know what to say to ease her pain so she decided to make her tea. When she brought it to her she found out Lockwood was much more at ease than she was. As she reached the doorstep, she saw him sitting with their client.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you. I guess we’ve got that in common. How fun.” Their client tried to sound sarcastic but she was still sobbing.

“It gets better, I promise.” Lockwood put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to let people in, you might be pleasantly surprised.” He gave her a warm smile that, from afar, looked terribly similar to the one he had given her. It was like she was watching the scene from a few weeks ago, replaying here in front of her. Only this time she wasn’t part of it. And that smile wasn’t for her. She slowly closed the door, went back to the kitchen to pour a new cup of tea for Lockwood. She went back out and handed them their cup. He thanked her and smiled the same way he had a few moments ago, but it didn’t mean as much now.

She had tried not to pay too much attention to it yet she couldn’t help but feel like Lockwood had been lying to her somehow. She thought he had cared about her, since he had acted like a close friend would have. But every time she saw him shine his smile to someone else she realized it hadn’t really meant anything to him. Maybe getting close like she and George were would be harder than expected. Every time she thought she was close to figuring him out she went back to square one. It wouldn’t be the only thing that had made her notice how wrong she could be about him. His whole rivalry with Kipps and overall pride he made no effort to hide instinctively indicated that he was someone who would understand why she needed to clear her name, but apparently not.

After two weeks of late nights and intense work, they finally caught a breath. The phone had stopped ringing and they could finally enjoy a day off. They woke up late, George cooked a breakfast so big it could only be described as a feast. They had all planned to relax but George being George he intended to go to the Archives anyway.

“But you spend all your days there already!” y/n told him.

“Yes, but today I can research stuff I never have time to look into. Like that whole Dufour thing.”

“You’re not still into that, are you?” Lockwood lifted his eyes from his magazine.

“I just want to see if I was right!” He said, exiting the room.

“Of course you’re right. You are every time.” Lockwood mumbled, going back to his reading.

There was silence after he had gone. It was the first time in weeks that she was alone with Lockwood and they didn’t have to talk about work.

“You really think that he’s right?”

“From experience I’d say so, yeah.”

“Then I think I’m gonna go with him if you don’t need help with anything.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“If that bitch is involved in something big I have to find out!” She meant it as a joke, but part of it was true.

She got up to join George, but Lockwood caught her hand.

“You should let go of that whole thing, y/n. It’s not healthy to dwell on it.”

It took her a minute to answer. Her mind had gone blank the instant his fingers had brushed against her wrist.

“That woman fired me and is selling stolen sources. I want bad stuff to happen to her.”

He laughed lightly.

“I get it but… just be careful.”

“I will… I am.”

He nodded slightly, releasing her hand. His eyes didn’t leave her as she went to find George. Her hand still tingled as she stepped through the front door.

When they got to the Archives, the streets were buzzing with activity. They reached the inside of the building and the noise fell silent, everyone inside focused on their task. Despite the crowd, they managed to find an open spot. George was happy to have her with him that afternoon. Mostly because he wanted to go through the news coverage over the last month and had selected not one but four different newspapers for the task. With a hundred and twenty papers to read, he was glad he had extra help.

“What are we looking for exactly?”

“Anything that could be relevant to Dufour or relic-men. Something that could be part of a bigger operation linking them to the furnaces.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down…” But he didn’t even notice what she said, he had already started reading.

They had two newspapers each, covering every day of the past month. She picked up the first one on her pile and started looking through the pages for any useful information. There wasn’t anything addressing relic-men or a dealing of sources. The columns dedicated to the Problem were focusing mainly on the advances made by the Rotwell Institute or the donations Fittes had provided to the victims of ghost-lock. One more death by ghost-touch wouldn’t make the headlines. She closed the first newspaper and reached for another one. George was scribbling at high speed in his notebook.

“Did you find something interesting?”

“Yes, about 3 and a half weeks ago there was a short article that mentioned the death of a man the police assumed to be a relic-man. Usually newspapers love this kind of story because relic-men really apply themselves when they kill a rival. It’s the kind of gruesome tale that boosts their sales. But here it’s very brief, talks succinctly of a settling of scores but nothing more. It’s a little surprising, maybe there’s more to it.”

His imagination paired with his attention to detail led to impressive discoveries in seemingly random information.

“Maybe you should double check mine when you’re done…”

She kept reading, the pile of newspapers decreasing slowly. She didn’t manage to find any groundbreaking piece of information, but she did notice the repetition of burglaries in different neighborhoods. It had been mentioned five or six times over the last few weeks. The stolen objects where the usual type of thing: jewelry, money and anything worth selling. But some objects stood out in the list made by the reporter because they were all antiques. The articles suggested that the culprit or culprits might be collectors, but George would certainly find another explanation. She pitched him her theory and he started to write even faster. She didn’t think that was possible. She was glad she could finally help, they had been here for two hours and she hadn’t contributed at all until now.

George got right back to his research but y/n needed a break. She told him she was going to get them some tea but he was already deep into another newspaper.

She got up and started to make her way outside. She climbed down the stairs, putting her jacket on. She headed for the door, but someone caught up with her and grabbed her arm. She turned around to see Quill Kipps with an uncomfortable look on his face.

“y/n, hello… I’m glad I ran into you…”

“I really don’t have time, George is waiting for me.” She dismissed him. She wasn’t over the comments he had made and she lacked the patience to have an entire conversation.

“Oh, some work to do for Lockwood & Co?” He said with an uneasy laugh. That kind of small talk didn’t seem to be his forte.

“Yeah.” She looked at the door, trying to send a message.

“I-I didn’t know you were… um… working there.”

She pressed her lips into a thin smile. She was actually curious to see what he was going to say next.

“You should watch out, Lockwood’s an idiot.”

Unbelievable. For arch nemeses they were behaving awfully similar. Though it would be unfair to say that his comment wasn’t accurate sometimes.

“That’s funny because I hear similar things about you back home.”

“Oh, it’s your home now?”

“Kipps, seriously what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job!” She pushed the door and rushed outside. She didn’t know if it was Lockwood’s loathing of the guy that had rubbed off on her or if it was simply this conversation but she had had enough of him. Unfortunately for her he was persistent. He ran after her, telling her to slow down.

“What?” Her tone was cold and menacing.

He took a step back.

“y/n… I’m really sorry about what happened at the furnaces. It was insensitive and really dumb of me and I’m sorry.”

He seemed honest enough. She looked up.

“I’m worried about you. You were one of the best agents I’ve worked with but now there are some pretty bad rumors going around Fittes…”

“What rumors?”

Something shifted in his attitude. He was worried but he also seemed afraid of something she couldn’t pinpoint. He tried to put the next part delicately but it had the opposite effect.

“Many agents have been saying things about you going… bad? Like… on the wrong side of psychical work…”

Her stomach twisted and the fact that he spoke in riddles didn’t help. Was he afraid of her?

“Just spit it out, Kipps.”

“According to some probably unreliable sources, you’d be working closely with… relic-men.”

“You can’t be serious.” The blood left her cheeks.

“George too…”

She felt light-headed.

“Given your reaction I’m guessing I was right not to believe them.”

“How gracious of you.”

“y/n I’m serious. I may have only worked with you for a month but I know how seriously you took your job. And given the proportions this is taking I just wanted to offer my help.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t seen today’s paper?”

“No… why?”

He pulled out a newspaper. On the front page the head title read “Rogue agents: should we be doing more?”. She looked up at him, a million questions flooding her mind. That article couldn’t be about her, right? He gave her an apologetic smile and asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee. He didn’t wait for her answer and led her to the coffee shop next door. Her eyes hadn’t left the article as they sat down. The reporter was explaining in great details that agents, after seeing so many traumatic things, needed to be eased back into society before returning to a normal life. He invoked psychological explanations that remained unclear. He advocated for the creation of a rehabilitation program to keep ex-agents under control so they didn’t end up on the wrong side of the law. He went as far as offering a mandatory two-month long camp of sorts for troublesome young people. He justified his remarks with murky reasons. Having worked in the field for many years, she knew this was all bullshit. But to someone who had never been in her shoes, it would be convincing without a doubt. But the worst part was yet to come. To emphasize the urgency of this issue, the reporter used examples of agents who had apparently gone wrong, citing several supervisors as his source. Apparently, a certain Fittes supervisor had been the witness to concerning behaviors coming from two young people, now ex agents, who had been caught committing several felonies, including maintaining business relations with known relic-men. Right there, on the following line, appeared her name. The reporter ended his piece in a dramatic tone, underlying the fact that those wrong doers hadn’t been apprehended by DEPRAC and remained at large.

She threw the newspaper back on the table.

“It wouldn’t have surprised me that much to hear that Karim was part of this. But you… It seemed impossible. And I really wanted to check up on you.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her name was being dragged through the mud. And what, she was going to be forced in a rehabilitation program made up by some trashy reporter and all  because of the same person who fired her? Like ending her career hadn’t been enough. She was taking the blame for the crimes she had seen Dufour commit.

“I need to… get out of there.”

Kipps got up as she stood up.

“Can I keep this?”

“Yes, whatever you need.”

She smiled, or at least tried, and pushed the door of the coffee shop. Before she left Kipps called her.

“y/n, I’m on your side okay? You can count on me.”

“Thank you.” She answered faintly. She was still shaken. She couldn’t believe the proportions this was taking. She had finally started to let go of her time at Fittes and all her efforts were reduced to nothing with just one page in a newspaper.

She rushed back to the Archives, desperate to show the article to George. He hadn’t noticed how long she had been gone, he didn’t even say anything about the tea she didn’t bring back. His notebook was filled with new facts and arrows linking some of them together. She sat down next to him. He didn’t look up, he just started talking, saying something about repetitive power outages. She pushed the newspaper Kipps gave her in front of his notes.

“What’s this?”

“Today’s newspaper. We made the front page.”

“What do you-”

His eyes were fleeting across the paper. They grew wider as he went further.

“This is a joke, right?”

“I wish it was. Maybe it’s just a nightmare and I’ll wake up on the couch with your feet in my face.” She tried to ease the tension she was feeling but none of them laughed. She was self-conscious about being in a place filled with agents. Did they read the paper too? Did they know who they were? She heard two people whispering on her left, she turned to look, George did the same.

“Maybe we’ll be better home.”

“Yeah let’s get out of here.”

No one had said a thing the whole way home. They were both lost in thought. George opened the front door. They took off their jacket and instinctively went down to the kitchen. She put the kettle on while he got some biscuits. They sat facing each other, seeking comfort in the sweetness of cookies and the warmth of their tea. Lockwood entered the room and was taken aback by the look on their face.

“What happened to you both? You look like you’ve seen a ghost in broad daylight.”

“We ran into Kipps.” George said without elaborating.

“I can understand how this could ruin someone’s day.” He smiled broadly.

“It’s not about him.” y/n snapped. “It’s about this.” She handed him the newspaper.

Lockwood skimmed through the article, still smiling. He didn’t look affected at all.

“Well, this is obviously ridiculous. But there’s no need to panic over a badly written article.”

“Lockwood this is on the front page!” George exclaimed.

“Rumors are starting to spread at Fittes.” y/n said in a monotone voice.

“I understand that this is an uncomfortable position to be in but it’ll blow over. There’s no need to overreact, juts keep a low profile.”

“I’m not gonna sit still while Dufour is out there ruining our reputation after already ruining our careers.” She stood up. “We’ve got enough dirt to bury her with what we found today.”

Lockwood gave her an exasperated look. George didn’t notice and began going over his notes, explaining the connections he had made.

“There’s clearly a link there and we can act on it!”

“Absolutely not!”

The temperature had dropped several degrees. The tension in the room was palpable. At least y/n felt it. But George had kept on going, starting to come up with a plan to follow Dufour and see what she was up to from up close.

“George.” Lockwood interrupted. “You’re reaching. It’s a coincidence at best and you know it. It wouldn’t be the first time relic dealing affects other industries.”

“Come on! Don’t you think that-”

“No. I don’t. Please try to focus on the real cases this business needs and don’t get stuck on another obsession.”

“You’re so unfair! You’re the one who keeps telling me that George is always right and that we should listen to his instincts!” y/n cut in.

“And I also told you that you shouldn’t do what he does. The last time you did, it got you fired.” Lockwood turned to her, his arms crossed. How often was he going to go into that well?

“Because you’re always so good at following made up rules…”

“I’m being rational and grounded, which in this case makes me exemplary.”

“Right, and that’s coming from the guy who disregards his own safety most of the time and doesn’t acknowledge that the risks he takes are completely unnecessary.”

“You’re the one who wants to play right into her game! Can’t you see that she’s waiting for one of you to slip up so you can take the blame for everything she’s done?” He gave both of them a warning look. He made a good point, but he was much too aware of it and she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“I’m serious when I say do not act on it. Dragging Lockwood&Co into this mess would be the last thing we need.”

His last words ignited the flame already burning inside her.

“This is all this is about, isn’t it? If your name was the one being tied to crimes you didn’t commit you’d be the first to convince us to do something about this. But when it’s the other way around you have to think of business first.”

“This company is all you have left!”

“Rather you’re all we have left, right? The great Anthony Lockwood rescuing us and being a hero. How glorious of you!”

He scoffed and closed exasperated eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You need to keep your ego in check, Lockwood. You need us as much as we need you!”

“If you want to cut your safety net then you can go! But as long as you work in my company, you’ll have to listen to what I have to say. It’s my name on the door and it’s my decision.”

She stormed out of the room and went up to the attic. His lack of understanding was too much to bear. She wished he had listened. Was it really too much to ask? She really thought that he would see why she needed to do something instead of laying low. Him of all people should understand. She guessed she didn’t know him as well as she thought.

She spent the rest of the day in her room, brooding, thinking about Dufour. The nerve she had to blame her for everything she did. All of this because she offered a different solution than hers to a client? Sure she broke into her office after that but it still seemed extreme.

She didn’t feel like going downstairs for dinner. She wasn’t really hungry anyway. But even if she had been, she didn’t want to face the obvious tension that would follow. She had gotten used to Lockwood’s warm brown eyes, but today they had been cold when he looked at her. She hadn’t been arguing with a friend or roommate or whatever they were, he had been her employer and she was expected to follow his orders.

There was a knock on her door. It was George, bringing her some food. He put the plate on her nightstand and sat next to her on her bed.

“Thought you could use something to eat.”

“That’s sweet of you, thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Upset. And overwhelmed. But I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot you know?”

“Yeah… I still tried to convince Lockwood over dinner. You were right not to come down, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. He’s dead set on burying this whole thing.”

At least she had one ally in this house.

“I don’t understand his reaction. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t overthink it. He’s just… like that sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, lost in thought. George went to get the plate he had brought up and put it in her hands.

“You should eat. Don’t worry, you’ll be back to teasing each other in no time.” She froze. After a second, she looked up and saw him look so proud of himself.

“That’s not what this is about! What are you even getting at?”

He laughed and put a hand over her shoulder, rolling his eyes. She wanted to push him off her bed, but one bite and she surrendered, forced to compliment him yet again on his cooking.

The following morning y/n was the first one up. Sleep had cleared her mind. If Lockwood wasn’t going to help them, then she would take matter into her own hands. The plan George had started to elaborate the night before had grown into her mind. Following Dufour would really help her know what she was up against. George’s theory was a good start, but to take action she needed to know more about her operation, her clients, her associates. What was she in charge of exactly? How did she cover her tracks?

She walked into the kitchen with purpose. Today, she was taking her life back. She brewed some tea, poured herself a cup and ate toasts as she started to devise her plan on the Thinking Cloth. She remained vague on purpose. If Lockwood saw it, he would think it was just theoretical, like one of George’s ideas. She was so focused that she didn’t hear him coming in. He poured himself a cup of tea, but it was only when he spat it out that she noticed he was there.

“Why do you always make your tea so bitter?” he asked way too loudly for this hour of the morning.

“I think it suits you…” She mumbled, her eyes still set on the table.

He poured more water in his cup but still groaned when he tried it again. Desperate for silence, she got up and grabbed the sugar.

“Here, maybe it’ll soften your mood too.”

“No!” he exclaimed too late. She was already adding sugar to his cup. The opposition only made her pour more of it.

She felt him glaring at her. She tried not to smile, knowing it would infuriate him further and make her morning even less enjoyable. She sat back down and grabbed licorice from the bag that rested on the table. As she went to take a bite he slapped her wrist, making her drop it.

“Ow! What was that for?”

He didn’t bother to answer. He simply took the bag of licorice and left the room. She thought many things of Anthony Lockwood. He was a prick and an idiot, hot headed and impulsive, stubborn, but she didn’t know petty was also part of the list. He quickly said something about meeting an old friend before slamming the front door on his way out. It must have woken up George since he stumbled into the kitchen sleepy-eyed just a few minutes later. She didn’t intend on filling him in about her plan just yet. She wanted to have tangible result before dragging him into it.

She took a while longer to get all the details of her plan. She had tried to plan an itinerary that checked all the important places she needed to stake out. She would try to do as much as possible in one day. Once she had a clear idea where to start, she went up to the attic to finish getting ready. In the hall, she told George she had some errands to run. She put on her shoes, grabbed her coat and was about to open the door when the bell rang. She looked through the peephole. A tall thin man and a woman where standing in front of the door, a DEPRAC van parked right outside the house. She hesitantly opened the door.

“Good morning. I’m inspector Barnes, this is inspector Wade. Is George Karim here?”

“Um… Yes. Yes, he’s here. Should I go and get him?”

He ignored her question.

“Are you miss (y/n)?”

“Yes… I am…”

“I’m gonna have to ask you both to come with us.”

———

PS : I'm probably gonna open the next part with a couple of scenes from lockwood's pov ;))

[prettyboybuckley]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @saybiwithme @bi-buckrights @zainclaw

How many works do you have on ao3?

160

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,070,239

What fandoms do you write for?

I've mostly written for 9-1-1, though I started off with Shameless (6 fics) and I have written some for Teen Wolf (5 fics). There's one 9-1-1 crossover with Schitt's Creek.

Top five fics by kudos:

parents always yelling (telling us to get our acts together)

i just want something to hold on to (and a little of that human touch)

I will come to you (even in my sleep)

open up again (i believe in second chances)

exes and the oh's

Do you respond to comments?

Always, even if it takes me months. I actually just caught up again (there's still a bunch to go, but right now the oldest is 17 days ago instead of 250 days...). It's just a rule I have for myself, and even with the backlog I've kept it up so far, so I'm not going to stop doing it now.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm not a big fan of angsty endings, I generally try to at least make it a hopeful ending or, in the case of the college au, use an epilogue to fix things.

But I guess sunny skies & summer highs qualifies as an angsty ending simply because of the cliffhanger (and yes, there is still going to be a continuation, I'm working on it 🙈).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Choosing one out of 160 is really hard, but I think tell me, will you stay or will you run away is definitely one that deserves a mention here, because it already has a happy ending and then the epilogue just makes it even better 🥰

Do you get hate on fics?

Not commented on the fic itself, no. I've had some people talk shit about my fics on twitter, though, and not even vaguely but calling me by (user)name.

Do you write smut?

Is grass green? Yeah, I write smut 🤭 Thanks to two times kinktober, I have 95 explicit fics, by far the most used rating for my fics.

Craziest crossover:

let's have some fun tonight is my 9-1-1/Schitt's Creek crossover fic for 9-1-1 Rarepair Week, and my only crossover fic

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

My head over feet Buddie valentine's two-parter got posted as one chapter in Wattpad work with over 30 fics once. Filed a DMCA and Wattpad took it down within two hours.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Two of my fics have been translated into Russian afaik, one on ao3 and one on Ficbook

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope. It may be a nice challenge for the future? Not sure who I'd do it with.

All time favourite ship?

Gotta go for Buddie on that one, lol. Especially if you look at my writing history. But I often tend to hyperfixate on one ship at a time (current reading obsession is McDanno)

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Buck's POV of if love is art then you might be my masterpiece. I really want to, but at this point it's been two years since the original so I don't know if it'd be worth it either. (I know not everyone was happy about how I ended it, but I doubt any of them are still waiting for more). Writing a different POV of the same fic takes an amount of planning that my brain just really struggles with. And I could pick up where the last chapter (before the epilogue) picks up, but I think that way there would be some crucial information about Buck missing.

What are your writing strengths?

I've been told quite a lot of times that I am good at keeping characters, well, in character, even when putting them in partial or complete AU's. Of course, what is in character or not is subjective, but I do always challenge myself to work as much of the canon backstory and personality into who they are in the AU as possible.

And I like to think I'm pretty good at writing smut.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm terrible at pacing, which multiple of my long fics prove. It'll be drawn out first and then suddenly rushing. And being ESL I do struggle with things like sentence structure and grammar pretty regularly still.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

As long as there is some kind of translation provided somewhere I like it, but I'm not so quick to use it myself. Not beyond a few Spanish words here and there (generally pet names between Eddie and his family we've seen on the show or the occasional curse word when I feel it fits better than an English one, but I usually need to employ help from Spanish-speaking friends for those).

First fandom you wrote in?

Shameless! I binged that right before I started 9-1-1 and combined with the creative writing minor I was doing, it was actually what got me back into writing in general and what made me write my first ever fic.

Favorite fic you've written?

My in your arms i feel safe-series (which I always lovingly refer to as the ace kink fic) is definitely one of my favorites simply because of how personal it is to me and for the reason behind me writing it in the first place.

Other strong contenders are i would've loved you forever (it's never enough but i wanted it to be) and i'm begging you, come home to me (Teen Wolf, Thiam)

tagging @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck

[bettyfrommars]

Squirrel (a Gutterballs story)

Eddie Munson x betty!Reader

A jump from modern day to the early 1990's when we meet a young, aspiring rockstar Eddie Munson at the heart of the Seattle grunge scene. I had the huge honor of being included in the Tattoo Cover-up Valentine's Day Special episode of Gutterballs by @dr-aculaaa and I'm still emotional about it, to be honest. This wee contribution is dedicated to Drac, as well as all of the Gutterballs friends I'm proud to know because of this fandom (coming for you, Daria.)

word count: 1.4k

18+, smoking weed, the term 'bitches' used affectionally, mention of heartbreak, allusions to mental illness, a supposed one-night stand that became more, mention of addiction, that one friend who can find anyone online, hurt/comfort. Reader (Betty) has a good friend named Shelby, which is actually my cat in real life.

------

You picked at the label of your beer, waiting impatiently for your friend to pull up something on her laptop.

It was the recent episode of Gutterballs that had spurred your Sherlock Holmes friend into action. You said something in passing about how it’d be impossible to find the rest of Eddie Munson’s lost loves that were mentioned on the infamous podcast, and then she’d lost sleep wanting to prove you wrong.  

“So. Here’s Abi and Chelsea,” Shelby motioned for you to come and look over her shoulder. She clicked on search tabs one at a time, including one for Ashley, causing a melancholy smile to quiver at the side of your mouth.  “Pretty,” you nodded. “Eddie always knew how to pick ‘em.”

“This one looks dangerous,” she pointed to Jo, adjusting her glasses. “They all seem totally cool, actually.” 

You scanned the various results from her internet sleuthing.  “Which one is that?”

“Oh, that’s Meg,” Shelby clicked on a social media profile, and then pulled up a video of a chef with purple hair preparing something on the morning show.

“Fuckin, Meg,” you said under your breath in your best Eddie voice.  

“Doesn’t she own that restaurant in Chicago we couldn’t afford to go to?” Shelby pinched her joint from the ashtray and took a drag, enlarging photos from their menu, concentrating.  “I wonder if they accept Groupon.”

You stealthily followed Abby on social media from your private account and planned to buy some of her watercolor paintings.  Funny enough, you already knew Emily. The two of you had been part of a mutual friend group for years, and so when Eddie mentioned them being a bitch you had to snort a laugh because…yeah.    

“Nice work, Columbo,” you patted Shelby’s shoulder.  “You found all of them in under 24 hours. I shall make you a commemorative plaque out of dry macaroni.”

Checking her phone, your sleuth friend mumbled to herself as she went down a rabbit hole of social media comments.

“Not all,” she slipped her bottom lip through her teeth a few times.  “Took me a while to find Rose, they go by a different name on social media.  The drawings they do are badass, and they like that same actor you do, the one with the Minecraft head.”

“So, I’m the only one out of all of them who didn’t do anything with my life? Nice.”

“Hey,” she said in mock scorn.  “I bet none of these bitches can say they’ve had absolutely every career that’s ever existed. It takes a special kind of ingenuity to change jobs every 6 months. Plus, you wrote and published a whole-ass novel.”

“It only sold 37 copies,” you muttered. “Ten of which were to you and mom.”

You held your breath after that, watching the screen, waiting for the one name you hadn’t been able to connect a face to yet, but instead, Shelby slumped on the barstool with a defeated sigh.  “Daria might be the one that got away.  Haven’t found even a crumb for who or where they might be.”

“Damn,” you said softly.   …where are you, Strigoi? 

“How does Eddie even pull partners this hot?” Shelby asked, turning to dig for her Visine.  “Wasn’t he the one who bragged about being able to burp the alphabet?”

Laughter bubbled in your throat at the memory; the type of laugh that immediately made tears burst from your eyes. You wiped your face in a way that was more of a slap and turned to stare at the gloom settling into the pines outside the window. 

“He has a way about him I suppose.”

“I think you should call him,” she blurted, offering you a hit off the purple kush, but you waved her off. “If only to figure out the Daria mystery.”

“Oh yeah? Just call him? Just like that? Oh, hey Eddie I know it’s been almost three decades, but what’s new?”

“I mean, sounds legit to me.”

Remember those rainy days, Squirrel? Remember…

You tossed and turned early the next morning, reaching for your phone to scroll and help push away intrusive thoughts.  How many things you’d fucked up, how many friends you’d lost to time and death and sloppy choices.

Maybe not all was lost…

Seattle, early 1990’s

“My lady is here with us tonight,” Eddie rumbled into the mic, gesturing to you from where he stood on that rickety old stage in front of a rowdy crowd at The Crocodile Cafe. Alice in Chains had played there, as well as Mother Love Bone and Mudhoney, back before they were household names. “This next one's for her.”

From your seat at the bar, you locked eyes with him, beaming with pride, but also shaking your head. “I hate you,” mouthing the words made his dimpled grin grow wider.

“Betty Spaghetti…. My beautiful Aquarius twin.”

The ink on your matching Aquarius glyph tattoos were still covered in Aquaphor that night.  You’d spent the past two weeks trying to figure out how this chatty Indiana boy had managed to become a permanent fixture in your life. 

“I don’t want anything serious,” you’d said into his mouth while your hands were all over each other in the dive bar bathroom the first time you met. Bonding over booze, blow, and the shared trauma of losing a parent, you recognized that emptiness mirrored in each other and wanted to fill it.  

“Cool, neither do I,” he mumbled, shoving his jeans down his hips.  

But he’d been lying through his teeth, and he confessed that to you a month later down on the wharf, handing over a little squirrel made of shells from the pocket of his leather jacket. He’d been sneaky and bought it at Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, a place the two of you liked to go to visit the mummified remains of a dude named Sylvester. 

There was no major foundation for giving him the nickname Squirrel, one day it just happened.  He was on the couch in his boxers, stoned out of his gourd, shoveling pretzels into his mouth at such a manic rate that his cheeks looked like they were about to burst.  

“So, you knew I was the one back then? In a dark bar after 8 shots?” 

He looped his arm with yours as you walked. “Uh-huh, still do,” he leaned in closer. “Still do.”

At that moment, during those days, you worried that you wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. You were both so young, too young to fully comprehend the impact of that time in your life in later years, or what a trauma bond even was.

But then the day came that you’d come to realize would always arrive for you eventually, and that was the time to move on: to other experiences, other people. 

You didn’t know at the time that it could be done any other way, and so you made a real mess of things. 

He made several attempts to get in touch with you, including the time years later when he found out from your mom that you were in rehab.  He wrote to you, but you never wrote back, never returned his calls.  

He wasn’t trying to stir up the old flames or get back together; by then, that ship had sailed, and the Eddie Munson you knew never stayed single for long.  But he did want you to know that you weren’t alone, that you would always have a friend in him. That he’d meant it when he said he’d always care about you.

Returning to the current reality, you chewed at your thumbnail, staring at the phone number Shelby had written down for you on a yellow legal pad.  How she’d managed to get a hold of Eddie Munson’s private cell number, you’d never know.  

You were about to end the call after the second ring, flustered, thinking it would be better to send a text, when just then—- he answered. 

Eddie recognized the area code, but never thought in a million years that it would be…

“H-hey Squirrel, it’s me.”

Dead silence made your heart flop.  Maybe you should say it’s a wrong number, maybe this was a mistake.  What if he considered you a lost love, but he no longer wanted anything to do with you? He did cover up the tattoo, after all.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t my Betty Fuckin’ Spaghetti,” you could hear the joy in his voice, could hear his wide smile cracking into seasoned laugh lines.  “I’ve missed the shit outta you.” 

[vinelark]

fic writer meme

thank you [checks notes] @megafaunatic, @cairoscene, @englishsub, @yuebings, and @cafecliche for the tags ilu

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 15! which is solidly 14 more than i ever expected to have on there when i made the account

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 277,844

3. What fandoms do you write for? on ao3: mdzs/cql, tgcf, shl, and dc. in groupchats/dms/my own head i’m running wild all over the place

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 🐉 this river runs to you 💍 i’ll have you and you’ll have me 🪐 i will be chasing a starlight ⚔️ you’re the trouble that i always find 🌊 a wave crashes to shore

5. Do you respond to comments? not often; i have made multiple attempts to start replying regularly but all have eventually failed in the face of me desperately wanting to show my earnest and genuine appreciation for each comment vs. wanting to hide my blushing face under a pillow every time. also, because of who i am as a person, each time i sat down to do it i ended up spending hours making little progress and eventually decided that i will make an effort to spend those hours writing or commenting on other fics instead. i am honored by each and every one though!!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? while i tend to write angst it is always firmly of the “with a happy ending” sort. the one exception is my shortest fic (originally posted on twitter) never been away so long, which is more of an ambiguous/open ending with implied angst. i dooooo outline the eventual happy ending in the endnotes, though. also as it CURRENTLY stands buy back the secrets ends on one hell of an angsty note, but there are two more chapters in the works to fix that.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? despite the wangxian star trek au having like 20k of deliriously happy post-misunderstanding sex, i think trrty has to have the happiest ending because not only does the fic end happily, but there are also multiple very happy codas in which wwx gets a good night’s sleep, finally gets to bang his dragon boyfriend, and, my personal fav, one by aubreyli where wangxian go flying in a thunderstorm.

8. Do you get hate on fics? not so far, for which i am grateful but mostly lucky.

9. Do you write smut? occasionally; on ao3 there’s the aforementioned trrty coda, plus the aforementioned cowritten wangxian pon farr sequence 💪

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written? hmm, i’m not opposed to crossovers—i’ve read some really fun ones (recent fav crossover read here)—but i’d have to be really compelled by both source materials and have a very clear vision for how they interact to want to write one myself. i’ve written a few fandom fusions (aforementioned wangxian star trek au; i also started a wangxian dragon age au but again, no dragon age characters were going to show up, just the world/setting) but no full-on crossovers. i did have one partially drafted wangxian fic that was going to have a hua cheng deus ex machina, alas.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i’m aware of! it’s not something i really go looking for/concern myself with, but so far, like with fandom hate, i’m grateful to not have encountered it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes! my wangxian wedding fic was translated to russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? i co-wrote seventy thousand words of published fic with @feyburner! and probably two hundred thousand words of unpublished fic and outlines and story ideas just for fun. even when we aren’t co-writing we tend to talk through our individual fics with each other so we’re pretty in sync when it comes to writing. i also spent like a year in @cairoscene’s DMs concocting whole outlines/zerodrafts for batfam fics together that i still cherish and reread (notable favs: tim drake ella enchanted au, concept where the waynes are cursed to suddenly feel nothing but apathy about tim and he has to deal with that, story where robin!tim gets de-aged and oops red hood is the first one to show up…). i’d say the OCBFEU is fic-adjacent and cowritten by a group of us. also shoutout to the mdzs threadfic @cafecliche and i brainstormed/zerodrafted where lan qiren gets cursed into an owl and post-cql wei wuxian is the one who unknowingly saves him.

14. What's your all time favorite ship? oh yeah it’s [loud truck goes by]

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? cyborg!wwx…i still think of you fondly. the only ao3 fic i’ve ever posted knowing i probably wouldn’t finish it but wanted to share just for fun.

16. What are your writing strengths? pangs… mining little character details for humor (or, more often, for more pangs)… i also think i’ve really improved my action writing/pacing over the last few years.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? i write actual drafts/prose fairly slowly, which can be frustrating for me. also like @yuebings i often get very caught up in trying to perfect one small part of a draft before moving on. ummmm describing outfits/settings for reasons other than immediate plot-relevant details, i’m terrible at that + remembering to do it—i literally make myself do a What Are We Looking At Here Pass while revising sometimes.

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics? i’m not totally sure what this question is asking tbh, but it’s something i think can be done incredibly well—and, like with many things in storytelling, it’s the sort of thing where if you don’t actually speak the second language you need to be willing to put in work beyond a cursory google to try to achieve what you’re doing, and be willing to admit if it’s beyond your capabilities. i really like how the portuguese dialogue in bbts ended up and that’s 100% because @tigerjpg translated it for me and also already understood the scene/concept/characters; without them i would have found a different way to approach that scene. also, stylistically, i personally like when dialogue in other languages isn’t italicized unless there’s a real reason for it to be.

19. First fandom you wrote for? oh it was [a second loud truck whooshes by]

20. Favorite fic you have written? right now it’s bbts, because i think it’s also the fic i’ve had the most fun writing. trrty, though, will always hold a special place in my heart.

and i tag! @tlumeti, @burins, @smilebackwards, @bonesbuckleup, @hearteyeshayley, @sonosvegliato

[whatisamildopinion]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @actual-sleeping-beauty! Ask and ye shall receive. Have some Aasimar AU. This is from chapter 6, so it won't be up for a couple weeks, but this part was so good when I wrote it and still lives rent-free in my head. Have some Fig on tour, everyone, because no one can tell me that experience was entirely healthy for her.

---

She steps up to the mic, and laughs, “Well, hey there, Crest Harbor. You know, this is our first real full house. Sold-out venue. How are we feeling about that?” And the stadium roars, noise like an earthquake. 

Fig laughs, the sun, bright and burning and untouchable, and she thinks that this is probably what it feels like to be a god. 

That night, she throws up alone in a hotel bathroom, drops her head on the lip of the toilet seat, her horns tugging her neck down, sick on expensive vodka and cheap fame, her body like an open wound. She misses her mom. She misses her friends. She even misses school, going just to skip class and spend all day bouncing between every class but the bard one. She’s never been this brilliant or this beloved or this lonely. 

Every day is a party. Every day is a celebration. Every day is bigger and brighter and better than the last, and all Fig wants to do is lay on the floor of her home and watch her friends tear each other apart with Just Dance. She wants to fill up on whatever baked good Adaine has churned out this week (she sent photos earlier, of strawberry cupcakes with messy little swirls of neon icing) and she wants to wrestle with Kristen for the TV remote and she wants to listen to her friends chatter about nothing.

Instead, she’s in the bathroom of a hotel room, puking up vodka, knuckles split from punching some asshole who thought that just because she kissed some people, she would want to kiss him. His nose has crunched under her fist; gods know Fig has broken more for less. It had felt righteous in the moment, but now she just feels nauseous and homesick. 

The tiles are cool under her knees, skirt hiked up around the places where she has scraped herself and tacked on band-aids. The toilet seat rests against her forehead. Her spine feels heavy, her skin scraped raw. Gorgug and Gorthalax went to bed hours ago. She doesn’t want to wake them up, not for something as silly as making her feel less homesick. She won’t bother them, not for that. 

Her crystal, discarded on the floor, winks up at her, taunting and reassuring, a mockery and a lifeline all at once. Fig considers muscling through, sitting all night long with the toilet and the whispers in her head. But then she caves. 

It’s four-thirty in the morning, and she calls the only person in the world she knows is still awake. He picks up on the first ring.

---

No idea who has already been tagged, but I'm tagging @rrat-king because I always always want to see what you're working on. No idea if you'll see this tonight, but if not hopefully we'll get some WIP Thursday!

[rossellini-tyrell]

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Ch. 2 - Limitless Undying Love (shines around me like a million suns)

Chapter 1  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Word Count: 4,339

Warnings: Attemped SA/kidnapping, Reader’s trauma from that event, a minor character dies of cancer

Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader also found on AO3 and Wattpad. tagging @aiko-oba ---------- Preface: This story takes place several years after the events of Across the Spiderverse, Pavitr and the reader are somewhere in their 20s at this point in time. This story involves a reader who survives an attempted SA, there will be brief description of the rescue from the event, and extensive discussion of the emotional impact of the event on the reader. There will be no graphic descriptions of the event itself. The contents of this story may be triggering for some to read, for that reason. ------------ The nightmares start on the second night. Pavitr's sense yanks him out of a dead sleep by clawing across his face, the acidic sting raising the downy hairs on the nape of his neck. "I said NO! I don't w-wanna go with you, let GO of me!" Oh no. Pavitr tunes his ear to the upstairs apartment. There's no signs of footsteps, no tip-offs of a struggle. Only the gentle groans of a wood bedframe, the frum-frum of bedsheets rustling, thrashing limbs. Exasperated, he flops back onto the pillows with a sigh and gives his temples a good rub, catching the neon glint of his watch that read 03:17. He figured there's nothing that can be done until- "help help h-h-HELP me help me" His head feels crispy and cold, full of TV static so itchy and sharp, like ice shards thawing. The vague voice of his sense says listen listen listen and he does but he can't- "spiderman help ME help m-me help spiderman help me help spiderman please no" The shards go crack, crack, crack from all of the pain and it hurts hurts hurts him in his chest. You're hurting and the hurt is dribbling onto him drip, drip, drip through the floorboards. Pavitr hurts too, he wants to tear out his hair, and he wants to do nothing more but follow your voice through your window and help you, but he can't and the pain keeps drip-drip-dripping and- "spiderman PLEASE!" The sandal collides with the ceiling, leaves a footprint in the sheet rock that Pavitr knows will come out of his security deposit. He catches his breath, feels his pulse slow against his sweaty palm. He casts his hearing out once more, and hears only labored breathing. The drip slows, and you rouse, your sock feet sinking into the carpet. He tracks your steps across his ceiling, towards what must be your bathroom, and listens for the hiss of the tap. Technically he helped, right? Pavitr stifles a snort, and calls it a win in his book. He's fucking Spiderman, he always wins. He rolls over onto his stomach, taking his pillow with him. Hopefully, tomorrow is a better night. ---- Tomorrow was not a better night. Nor was the next one, the night after, or any of the other nights that followed. It was the same damn show every night - you have nightmare, you scream, Pavitr wakes up, Pavitr either finds a way to wake you up or waits it out, Pavitr feels like shit at work the next morning, which is a problem because then he has to try, and he hates trying. After the seventh day in a row, Pavitr resolves to engage in a little neighborly intervention. He pops down to the shops and lets his conscience be his guide. After 2 hours of meandering, he lands on a tin of Valerian root tea, two cozy-looking pairs of fuzzy socks (they make them with moisturizer now, apparently?), and almost grabs an admittedly adorable stuffed dog in a Spider-man costume, but decides it's a bit too on the nose, and instead selects one with a bandana next to it. Pavitr writes out what he hopes is a nice, supportive note that doesn't tip you off to who wrote it, and leaves all of this at your front door. He raises his hand to knock, and considers if he should introduce himself, but sadly concludes it's better that you don't meet him as Pavitr. You come home from work to find a conspicuously placed package hanging from your doorknob. You warily bring the plastic bag inside and open the unaddressed envelope, finding a handwritten note in bold, loopy script inside that reads: "Hey there neighbor, It sounds like you're going through a tough time right now. Don't worry, I'm not one to judge, I'm not mad, but I can tell whatever it is that's giving you such awful nightmares must be making you very stressed. Let's be clear, I'm not doing this to be passive-aggressive. That wouldn't help anything. But I do want you to know that whatever it is that's messing with your sleep, you're not alone. No one is alone, and people like you, dammit. I leave you with these in hopes that they help you find better dreams. And know that whatever it is you're fighting, we're rooting for you." You don't know what to think. Whether to be embarrassed your neighbors heard your screaming, worried that you were disturbing their sleep, scared that they really were mad, or grateful for their understanding. Your cheeks burn, and you douse them in the soft fur of the stuffed dog. That was a pretty nice touch. ----

Pavitr doesn't always dream of Spider-Man. When he does, it's usually mindless swinging, mental rehearsal of web tricks and acrobatics. A few physically impossible yo-yo tricks in mid-air with his bangles to change things up. Once in a blue moon, he gets a bad one. The kind where he's visited by a girl with helix pierces and kajal-lined eyes, eyes that shut forever. Tonight they're on the rooftop, that rooftop over by the club, and she's wearing a party dress that he knows he's seen before. She's crying, the kajal smearing into an inky mess on her lower lids. He reaches out to comfort her, wraps his tongue around her name the way he used to in the waking world, but she wheels around on her stilletto and wails- "please please spiderman no please don't go don't go don't leave me here" Immediately, Pavitr feels the icy creep of his sense along his jawline. That's not her voice. That's not her dress, either. Her tears are stained black, they are falling from her cut cheekbones with a drip, drip, drip, and she begs- "spiderman help help please don't leave don't go help me help don't leave me with him" His sense grabs, tugs, pulls him into the waking world. He's alone in his apartment again, alone with the baleful protests coming from the upstairs unit. Pavitr could cope with his neighbor's nightmares. But nightmares about him? With that, he could not abide. "Ah, fuck it." he declares, and hoists himself from bed to find his suit. Within seconds, he's cleaned up his flyaways, pulled up his mask, and is scaling your building to your living room window. Hesitantly, he raps on the pane, hoping the other neighbors don't hear. The pained screaming comes to an abrupt stop, and he does a little victory dance in his head. "(You)?" Pavitr whisper-shouts, one hand cupped over the glass. He hears, feels you gasp, head snapping to and fro looking for the sound, and he winces because he knows he's frightened you even more. "(You), you're okay, you're not in danger. Come to your window," he instructs. After a few seconds, he hears the squeak of the floorboards as you come over to draw back your curtains. There you are, gobsmacked and wide-eyed, looking sleepy-soft in your fluffy bathrobe. Pavitr gives a little wave and pantomimes opening the window, a request that you quickly grant. "May I come in?" he asks. "Spider-Man, what are you doing here? It's five forty-five in the morning?" you blearily inquire, exhaustion plainly evident in the puffiness of the space below your eyes. Beneath that, Pavitr detects relief in your features. "I was at my friend's place, I heard the shouting, I came over to check it out because I'm Spider-Man, that's my job, and it looks like you could use a friend right now. Please let me in?" he finishes with a cock of his head. You sigh and step aside, and he slips through the window frame, shutting the window gently behind him. His heart warms seeing the fuzzy socks from earlier on your feet. You end up on the couch, knees tucked against your chest. "I wish I could tell you I was doing well," you begin. "Clearly, I'm not. My neighbors are starting to call me out on it, too." "How long have the nightmares been going on?" Pavitr gently asks, even though he knows the answer. "Every night since...that," you confirm. "Don't get me wrong, I've tried everything I can think of. Guided relaxation, face masks, my neighbor even gave me this tea that's supposed to help with sleeping. Nothing's working. I'm falling behind at work now because I can't stop looking for him around every corner," The last sentence is particularly telling for Pavitr, as it's public knowledge that the creep who instigated all this is currently in jail, being held without bail until trial. "Trauma's not quite that simple, I'm afraid," he commiserates. "Personally, I found it helpful to talk to someone about it." "I'd imagine you've probably seen some shit that stayed with you," you agree. "It was...after my girlfriend passed away a few years ago," admits Pavitr, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. "Oh...I'm so sorry to hear that," you offer. You're not quite sure what to do with that information. "Nah, it's alright," he waves it off. "As much as I like to think otherwise, I hit a point where I realized I needed help. So I got it. Talking to someone about it helped me get past the guilt I was feeling, and I've made my peace with what happened. Here and there I have some tough days, but therapy was really helpful in letting me move forward." "I'm just trying to wrap my head around the idea of Spider-Man of all people going to therapy," you think out loud, an outlandish image coming to mind of a superhero laid out on a couch, spouting feelings to no one in particular. "Really, it wasn't any different than any other grieving widow going," explains Pavitr. "I didn't have to bring being Spider-Man into it at all. I just had to be me, and be honestly me. It wasn't easy, 'yanno, but I'm very glad I did." "I guess I'll have to set something up then," you acquiesce. "I just feel like I should be better by now. Nothing actually happened. I'm just being a huge wimp about it-" "Uh-uh, don't start that shit with me," Pavitr interrupts. "Everyone needs help at some point in life, including me, as much as I like to pretend I don't." You watch as his hand clasps your knee, the skin buzzing where he touches. It's intimate, it should be uncomfortable, but you find it's simply not so. "You are strong. I know you might not believe that right now, but you are. Strong people are allowed to have feelings, bad days, bad nights," his hand squeezes, and you look up to see hints of rich brown irides trained on you through pale gossamer lenses. "None of that changes anything. No one is alone. Heck, when you let people in, you're stronger for it." You sigh, defeated. "You're right. I'm running out of people to lean on though. I had gone to the club with some friends that night, and for the most part, they've been...shitty about it." "Then lean on me," Pavitr declares, causing you to lift your head in surprise. "I know, it sounds ridiculous to suggest that. It probably is. But for now, let me bring you some peace, if you'll let me," and then he's standing, offering you his hand. A hand which you warily take and allow to pull you from the couch. "Where are you taking me?" you wonder, noticing that he's leading you to the window he came in through. Through his mask, you think you catch a fleeting sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "Do you trust me?" he asks, stepping out onto your fire escape. You answer that question by giving yourself over, letting him help you step onto the metal walkway outside. Pavitr's arm rounds your waist, and you're floating, slowly, up, up, up, like a lazy bubble of soap . You find your footing on the ledge of the rooftop, where he's holding your hands so you don't fall (you know he'd catch you). He guides your shoulders to orient you facing east, and carefully eases you into sitting. "(You), look up," he murmurs. You follow his pointing finger, and oh your tired heart smiles. It's sunrise now, the cityscape dusky purple against a noon chai sky, warm and milk-sweet. The sun is just cresting the horizon now, a tiny strip of bright, the light that you wish you could reach out and touch, pour it into a jar and tuck underneath your pillow to ward the nightmares away. The morning air is thick with marine layer, wet and cool on your tongue. You turn to look at your companion, and for the first time, you can really make out the detailing on his mask. Lenses outlined cerulean, black, and white, with stripes on his jawline like an elephant's tusks. Thick, well-kept black hair that shines in the orange dawn. bright, bright, bright "I've never been up here...it's beautiful, thank you for showing me this," you tell him. "You're very welcome," acknowledges Pavitr. "This is one of the ways I find peace when my head feels full. It's nice like this, to find the quiet when the world wakes." You don't miss the way his fingertips brush yours against the concrete ledge you're sitting on. Yes, it's nice like this, to welcome the new dawn, letting the sun's warmth seep into your bones. It's nice like this to watch with him. He floats you down to your fire escape later, after the first horns of the ever-present traffic echo off the buildings. Helps you back into your apartment window, like a true gentleman. Waves farewell, and promises he'll see you around. Now he's crawling back up to the rooftop, about to swing away and melt into the skyline, and your heart speaks for you, calls out: "Wait!" He ducks his head down from where he's perched on his web, wavy hair streaming below him. That's the moment when you take his face in hand, flip his mask down just so, and brush a kiss onto Pavitr's surprised mouth. It's soft, like a butterfly landing on a primrose petal, but it's deliciously hot, the warmth unfurling like a young fiddlehead frond, shivers traversing from your ears to your toes. Pavitr freezes, but his sense is singing in a way it hasn't for years. Just as quickly as it started, it finishes, and you flip his mask back up and tell him "Thank you." Your curtains are drawn, your window snaps shut, and Pavitr is literally left hanging, unable to do anything more then bring one hand to his lips where they still tingle. ---- It's a carton of fried chicken that ruins everything. "Yes, I'd like an explanation as to why my food hasn't arrived after 90 minutes? I was told to expect delivery within an hour," says Pavitr into his cell phone. He's in his building's lobby pacing up a storm, he's hungry and there's a cricket test on he's missing. "Sir, your driver appears to be experiencing some heavy traffic. It will be another 10 minutes, we apologize for any inconvenience this causes," is the reply of the dispatcher. "Heavy traffic? There's always heavy traffic, bro!" he hollers into the receiver. "Why is it now a problem today, and not any of the other days I've ordered from here?" "Sir, we do apologize, we're doing everything we can to get your order there, but is there any way I can interest you in a discount coupon for a future order?" the dispatcher appeases. Pavitr groans internally. "Fine, I'll take your coupon and go away." He doesn't notice the clicking of heels on the tile behind him. He doesn't hear the jingle of a keyring, the clunk of a lock, the grating whine of a mailbox hinge that desperately needs some WD-40. "Name on the order?" "Pavitr Prabhakar" The mailbox's owner pricks up their ears as they close the box, their mail in hand. "It looks like we have your building address, what unit are you in?" "Apartment 406" There's a gasp behind him, the keys hit the floor with a sharp shlink, the mail goes in a haphazard pile next to them. Pavitr turns on his heel to assess the damage, and nearly drops his phone himself when he sees you there. You, who has clearly put two and two together. You know his voice anywhere, and the mop of wavy black hair is unmistakably his, the build matches up just so. You, who lives in the apartment one floor up from Apartment 406. You, who kissed him yesterday morning and ran away. "(You), I can- I can explain-" he attempts, his throat full of nails and glass, his heart skipping between time signatures. There's nothing he can do but watch with feet cemented to the spot as you hurriedly gather up your things from the floor, looking like you're about to cry, and make a mad dash to the stairwell.It's cold comfort when the delivery man arrives eight minutes ahead of schedule. ---- "I think I'm ready," announces Pavitr, to no one in particular from an outsider's perspective. Pavitr knows otherwise. He's got his nicest henley on, he's fixed his hair for the umpteenth time, and he's at your front door, again. He swallows down his nerves before he goes for it this time, and knocks one, two three times. Time stops when you open the door, and he gets a chance to take in your state. Your eyes are puffy, the whites of them pink and raw from obvious crying. The exhaustion in your countenance is even moreso than before, he thinks a gentle breath might cause you to crumble into dust in the wind. Moreover, he sees the fear, the shame and embarrassment hiding beneath. He hates knowing he did that with his lies and half-truths. "May I come in?" Pavitr gently asks, voice soft, an apology unspoken on his lips. "I...sure," you give in, and stand aside to let him pass. In minutes, you're both at the kitchen table, mugs of the Valerian root tea in hand. It gives some small part of him relief to know you're getting some comfort from it. "I'm sorry I kissed you without asking," you start off, outright refusing to make eye contact, lest you start catching any more feelings. Pavitr sets his mug down, sets his hand palm up on the table as a gesture of peace. "I'm not," he replies simply. The answer causes you to whip your head around, the most incredulous expression painted on your features. Pavitr's face is nonplussed across from you. "How can you possibly be okay with that?" you ask in disbelief. "You were just trying to be nice to me, because it's your job to be, and I just- I went in and- you know..." you gesticulate a bit, searching for the words, as if you could pluck them from the heavy air and pop them on your tongue. "Felt the tension building between us, correctly picked up on some of my own signals, and then allowed yourself to be confident and make your move," Pavitr finishes your thought for you. "There's no denying I was flirting, and I don't think you have anything to be sorry for. I think you should be proud of yourself, if anything. Giving Spider-Man the upside-down kiss without him expecting it is a pretty slick move, 'yanno?" he quirks an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood. "But we're neighbors," you stress to him. "You and whoever else has had to listen to me screaming in my sleep for the past week. We have to deal with each other whether we like it or not. I ran away because I didn't want to make things awkward for you," you explain. "You're not making anything awkward, (You)," Pavitr assures. "I think I'm the one who needs to apologize here. I lied to you, flirted, and lied some more, I'm a little surprised you're embarrassed and not angry with me." "You only did all that because you have to," you counter. "I only did all that because I like you, (You)," he admits, allowing his hand to fold over yours on the table. The skin of his palms is soft and warm, and makes your hair stand on end to feel. The smile he gives you is warmer, brighter, like you knew it'd be under that mask. "Talking with you, showing you the sunrise, getting you the stuffed dog-" "That was you?" you interrupt. "Yes, all me, but anyways-" he sighs. "You're right, in some ways. I can't be responsible for everything and everyone. I thought I could be, once. And then..." he trails off. "And then...?" you prod, gently urging him to continue. Pavitr takes a deep breath, from the belly. "And then...I lost Gayatri," he breathes, the statement no more than a whisper on the breeze. "That's your girlfriend?" you clarify. "She was, yes," he affirms. "She had leukemia. Tried every doctor she could get to, but there was nothing anyone could do for her, not in this universe, nor any other," he allows himself to reminisce. "She died three years ago. Gayatri fought and fought but she was so tired. I held her at the end, kissed her anywhere I could reach and told her she could go, that she'd earned rest." He pauses, feeling the frog crawling in his throat. "Gayatri fell asleep on my chest and never woke up. And for a long time, I blamed myself for that," he finishes, voice wavering as the shine of unshed tears forms in his eyes. "I'm...I'm so sorry that you went through that, that's terrible," you respond, not knowing where to begin. "It sounds like you were a wonderful boyfriend to her, and that she left this world knowing she was so loved. I truly don't know how anyone could have possibly done better." "And that's exactly the point. I couldn't have saved her. There was no universe where I could have, nor anyone else, for that matter," Pavitr says, pausing to dab at the moisture on his eyelids. "I carried around that guilt, that shame because I felt like I was the hero, that I had to save her. With some hard work, I was able to put that down, and acknowledge that it happened, that I did all the right things and that was okay. I may have superpowers, but I'm still a human with limits, and feeling obligated to do anything won't get anywhere productive. I'm imperfect and I'm okay with that now." "So...if you didn't do what you did out of obligation...why did you?" you ask. Pavitr sniffs, smiling fondly. "Well, if you have to ask, at first I just didn't want you to pass out. But then you calmed down and I got you to laugh and smile a little, and I realized that for the first time in a few years, I wanted you to keep smiling and never stop, I couldn't stand letting you cry or have bad dreams," he takes your other hand now, brings them between you just like he did on the roof, after the third or fourth time he called you darling. "In short, you stole my heart. Please be gentle with it, I've always been a bit of a softie," he confesses, calf brown eyes sparkling with gentle affection, enough to tempt you to melt into a puddle on the spot. "I..." you splutter, brain short circuiting as you try to process Spider-Man confessing his crush on you in your kitchen. "Would it help if I told you that I spent all of yesterday thinking of reasons I could come back to kiss you myself?" Pavitr smugly asked, knowing very well what he was doing. "I think you helped me a little too well yesterday, because I have to be sleeping, still. There's no way Spider-Man is confessing to me right now in real life," you protest, brain still refusing to compute. "He's not. But I am, he replies, coming around the table to kneel beside you. "My name is Pavitr. Pavitr Prabhakar, your downstairs neighbor in Apartment 406, who is very proud of you, thinks highly of you, and happens to also be very fond of you. And if you'll let me..." he strums his thumbs along the back of your joined hands, and gives a gentle tug, cuing you to stand up with him. "I'll be careful with your heart from now on, if you promise to be careful of mine?" he proposes, anxiously awaiting your answer (although he'd die denying the anxious part). "There's...no way you want that..." you stammer out, still trapped in denial. Your face is burning at this point, palms sweating in Pavitr's hold. "You're Spider-Man, dammit, there's no way in hell you would want to be with a crybaby like mph-" He doesn't let you finish, because he's just pressed two fingers against your lips, and cradled your jaw with his other hand. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, darling," he purrs. He removes his fingers and immediately melts a kiss onto your surprised mouth. It's slow, unhurried, warm. Pavitr takes your face in both hands and holds you there, until your walls crumble and you relax into him. You part, happy tears tracking down your cheeks, which he quickly wipes away with  the pads of his thumbs. He knows you don't believe he'd want you, so he chases your lips and shows you how much he does. He kisses you like the way he honeys his words, milk-sweet like noon chai, like a sunrise- bright, bright, bright ---- (You fall asleep on his shoulder after a night of laughing so hard your tea comes out of your nose.) (You vaguely remember him carrying you from the couch to your bed, tucking you snugly under the covers, and pressing a long kiss to your forehead.) (You don't remember him sitting beside you, petting your head for a good half-hour to be sure you've fallen into a deep sleep, but you wake up alone the next morning, feeling refreshed after dreaming only the sweetest dreams.) 

[lonesome-witching]

Venice

Another rich Robin, poor Nancy story. Previous parts are here: Part 1 here, Part 2 here, Part 3 here, Part 4 here , and Part 5 here and Part 6 here. This apparently should be part 7 already. Damn. Also some minor implied sexual content at the very end.

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin stared at Nancy’s wonder filled eyes. She herself had been to Venice a few times during her relatively short life. It wasn’t her favorite destination. She preferred the grand openness of Rome or the culture of Firenze. But Venice had its perks, and the main one was the Nancy really wanted to see it.

“I keep wondering if we should have taken my boat?” Robin smiled brightly as Nancy whipped her head around.

“You have a boat? In Italy?” Nancy was already shaking her head in astonishment.

“I do not. But I wanted some of your attention, even if you are peering over my shoulder right now.”

“It’s just so beautiful.”

“And I’m not?”

Nancy laughed. “You are, but I have seen you before.” But she leaned forward and pecked Robin’s lips. And that was a win in her book if she ever saw one.

They were staying in her mom’s favorite hotel. It was an overpriced, arrogant piece of brick, but it was the best hotel in the city. And her mom had insisted they’d stay there. Robin didn’t really like to fight with her parents, so she gave in. Just like she gave in when her father told her she was going to work at his company. She gave in and now she was living the same gray 9 to 5 life as all of her father’s employees.

But at least she had the greatest wife. And enough money to have a good life. She didn’t have to work if she really didn’t want to, and she’d still have enough to spoil Nancy. But she knew Nancy would never want that.

Nancy wanted to be a journalist, she wanted to work hard to get on top. She hated loopholes and cheating. She fought for what she believed in. She wanted freedom and respect. The last thing she would want was to be locked up in Robin’s golden cage. So instead, Robin would force a gap and crawl out.

“What are you thinking about?” Nancy asked, her sunglasses now positioned over her deep blue eyes.

“Our hotel.” Robin forced the smile back on her face.

“Oh, me too. I’m sorry to say this, but I need at least 12 hours of sleep… no, make that 15.”

“Jetlag?”

The boat was slowing down, the hotel coming into view. Nancy nodded. “Is this it?” she asked as the boat positioned itself in front of their destination.

“Yes, it is. Allow me?” Robin jumped out of the boat and held out her hand for Nancy who took it gratefully. Their chauffeur unloaded their suitcases, and Robin pressed some more money into the palm of his hand.

They did spend the first day of their trip in their hotel room. After a short nap, Robin picked up one of the books she’d bought at the airport. The words barely registered as she watched Nancy sleep out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth slightly agape to let the air out, her hair hanging over her face. Robin wasn’t sure she ever wanted to leave this hotel room anymore. She wasn’t sure she wanted to live in the trap her parents bought for her. The condictiones had started piling up days after the wedding. She hadn’t even told Nancy about them.

“You’re worrying again. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to be upset the whole trip long?” Nancy pushed herself up, still clearly sleepy.

“It’s— I’m not worrying.”

Nancy cocked her head. “Okay, then. Think we can get room service?”

“It’s my parents,” Robin spilled.

“What’s wrong with your parents?”

“They made me drop out of college to work at dad’s company.”

Nancy’s eyes widened. “What? You said no, right?”

“I didn’t say no because they said we wouldn’t get the house if I didn’t. That if I wanted to get married and settle down, I should get a cushy job and make my own money. I start the first Monday after we get back.”

“No, you are not. I’ll hand back the keys. The house wasn’t even that special anyway.”

Robin could see that Nancy was lying. It was even more obvious because Robin had watched her expression as they walked around their new home. “You love that house.”

“I love you more. And I don’t want any gifts that come with conditions. I want us to have our own life, the way we want to live it. You don’t want to work for your dad’s company, and I want you to be happy. So, we’ll move back into our old apartment, you’ll continue your degree, and we’ll say a big fuck you to Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.”

“I don’t know how to do that, say fuck you to my parents.”

“It’s very easy.” Nancy turned further towards Robin. “Next time you say, ‘I don’t want your fucking bribes. I will decide what I do in my life’ and then you throw the keys at them and walk away.”

Robin leaned in to kiss her wife. “You are amazing, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Nancy smiled against her lips, pulling her closer. “But you can always show me again.”

“How would I do that?” Robin asked, pulling back ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you do what you did on our wedding night?”

Robin laughed brightly. “I think I can do that.”

The sun was rising outside of their window and fell perfectly on their naked bodies as they got lost in each other. As Robin sucked on Nancy’s lips, she decided she’d do what Nancy asked. She’d save up some money to buy her the house she deserves and until then she’d vow to never cross her own morals again. And as Nancy moaned under her body, she knew that she could never be happier than when she was with the woman she loved.