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rulerofstars · 3 months ago

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they both (have feelings) reached for the gun

oneshot: chase has always known how to push your buttons back in med school, he loved to get under your skin. but now, working together at princeton-plainsboro, things got a bit. . . different. the rivalry cools, and something warmer takes its place. based on the song we both reached for the gun.

pairing: robert chase x reader

tags: slowburn, enemies to lovers trope, fluff (?)

You were used to coming out on top in med school. For as long as you could remember, your academic achievements defined you, and nobody threatened that more than Robert Chase. He was just as competitive, sharp, and ambitious—always one step ahead or right beside you, depending on the day. But unlike you, Chase seemed to coast on some innate charm, always managing to make his successes seem effortless.

It irritated you to no end.

“Another perfect score, huh?” Chase’s playful voice pulled you from your thoughts as he slid his exam sheet onto the desk next to yours. He flashed that casual, smug grin that you had come to know all too well.

You clenched your jaw. “Looks like it,” you said, glancing at his score. Of course, he had aced it too. “Though, I wouldn’t call it ‘perfect’ just yet.”

“You always have to find a flaw, don’t you?” Chase leaned back in his chair, his Australian accent making his words sound more laid-back than they deserved. “Not everything’s a competition.”

“Only with you,” you shot back before collecting your things and leaving the lecture hall.

You didn’t expect to see him again years later. After graduation, you went your separate ways, and frankly, you were glad to leave him in the past. But fate had other plans.

The first day at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was already nerve-wracking, and when you saw Robert Chase’s familiar figure walking down the hall, your stomach did a flip. He looked older, sharper even, with his blond hair slightly disheveled in a way that made him look more approachable, yet just as infuriating. His eyes landed on you, a flash of surprise crossing his face before it softened into something more unreadable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Chase said, stopping in front of you with a small smirk.

“I could say the same,” you replied, trying to keep your cool. You were not going to let him fluster you. Not now.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You shifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you both waited for the other to say something. Finally, he broke the ice. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Fine. Busy,” you answered vaguely. “Looks like we’ll be working together now.”

“Looks like it,” he echoed. There was a brief pause before his eyes flickered over you. “I’d say it’ll be just like old times, but somehow, I think things might be a little different now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Chase smiled—a softer, less smug one this time. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Working with Chase was exactly what you expected: maddening. He was still brilliant, still effortlessly charming, and still found ways to get under your skin. But this time, something was. . . different. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. There was a strange tension between you, the kind that made your heart race when he stood too close or leaned over your shoulder to point something out during rounds.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Chase said, pulling you from your thoughts as the two of you reviewed a patient file one evening. House, has once again, left his paperworks for the both of you to finish. You glanced up, your eyes meeting his in the low light of the office. He was standing closer than usual, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, you could smell his cologne— God, you could feel him.

“I’m not overthinking,” you protested, though the slight waver in your voice betrayed you.

Chase chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate in the quiet room. “You always do. It’s one of the things I… admire about you,” he said, his voice dipping at the end, almost as if he hadn’t meant to reveal that last part.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Admire?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in your hand before looking back at you. There was something unspoken between you, something that had been building for quite a while now. And in that moment, it felt like everything hung in the balance.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Admire.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to fire back with a sarcastic retort. Instead, the room filled with a quiet tension, one that was as familiar as it was new.

Chase’s eyes lingered on yours a second too long before he cleared his throat and took a step back, the spell broken. “Anyway,” he said, his usual demeanor slipping back into place, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.” He flashed you a quick smile before heading toward the door, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest.

The next day, you found yourself back in the break room, pouring a much-needed cup of coffee. You were still trying to process your feelings about Chase when he walked in, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Look who it is—Miss Perfect,” he teased, leaning against the counter. “You’re up early today.”

“Please, it’s called being responsible,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light. “Not all of us can coast by on charm and good looks.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the person who aced the last exam while I was busy trying to save a patient.”

“Are we really going to do this again?” you sighed, setting your coffee down. “Can’t you ever just let it go?”

He leaned in, his expression turning serious. “Not when you keep insisting on making everything a competition. Maybe it’s time we talk about it instead of arguing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Talk about what? Your inability to accept that I’m better than you?”

“Or your inability to admit that you actually enjoy the challenge,” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You thrive on it, just like I do.”

The tension in the room escalated as you both squared off. “You think I thrive on competition? I’ve worked hard for my grades, Chase. You think it’s just a game to me?”

“No, but you treat it like one,” he retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re so focused on beating me that you forget we’re supposed to be on the same team now.”

“Don’t act like you’re some sort of saint,” you replied, frustration bubbling over. “You’re the one who always wants to one-up me.”

“Maybe because I want you to see that I’m not just some arrogant jerk. I actually want to work with you,” he argued, his voice rising slightly.

“And what makes you think I want that?” you challenged, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Because deep down, you know it would be good for both of us,” he said, his tone softening. “And because I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unresolved tension. You both stood there, hearts racing, the realization of unspoken feelings hanging between you. Finally, you broke the silence. “You know what? This is ridiculous. We’re colleagues now, not rivals.”

Chase stepped closer, his expression earnest. “I don’t want to be just colleagues. . .”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hesitated, the walls you had built around your feelings beginning to crumble.

You knew exactly what Chase meant.

You knew because you both were holding onto a thin thread for quite a while. And neither one of you has ever had the courage to break free and see how everything will unravel.

A smile slowly formed on your lips, Chase won in this one.

Before you could respond, House strolled in, as nonchalant as ever. “What’s this? A soap opera I didn’t get the memo about?” He glanced between you and Chase, a knowing smirk on his face. “Are you two finally admitting your feelings, or are you just going to keep throwing insults at each other like five-year-olds?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “What do you want, House?”

“Oh, just making sure the hospital doesn’t turn into a high school drama,” he replied, clearly enjoying the moment. “I need my team to be functional.”

Chase crossed his arms, unfazed by House’s jabs. “And yet, you’re here, interrupting an important discussion.”

“Important discussion? More like a public service announcement for the clueless,” House shot back. “But fine, carry on. I’ll just be out here, waiting for the inevitable awkwardness that’s sure to follow.”

You shot Chase a glare, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at House’s timing. “Thanks for the support, House,” you said sarcastically.

Chase chuckled, the tension breaking as he leaned back against the counter. “Well, at least he keeps things interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” you replied, shaking your head. “But this doesn’t change the fact that we still need to talk about our work.”

“Fine,” Chase said, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Let’s focus on that, but can I at least take you out for coffee afterward? You know, to celebrate our newfound ‘colleague’ status?”

You chuckled then considered it for a moment, the thought of sharing a casual coffee with him igniting a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Okay, but only if you promise not to let it turn into a competition.”

Chase grinned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “No promises. But I’ll try my best.”

As he leaned closer, a playful banter started anew, the air filled with the kind of electricity that only grew with each exchanged word. In that moment, amid the laughter and jabs, you realized you were finally allowing him in—rivalry and all.

#rulerofstars #gregory house #housemd #robert chase #robert chase x reader #robert chase fanfiction #robert chase fanfic

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ghostlychief · 1 year ago

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tomorrow will be kinder

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

WC: 1900+

Warnings: brief mention of deaths; hurt/comfort; some fluff

Summary: When overly stressed by the calamity of your job, you find yourself pulling away from your teammates and even sometimes, your closest friends. Luckily for you, they don’t go anywhere, and patiently wait for your return. Although one person in particular, never lets you fester alone.

A/N: Hello!!! Feels like I haven't posted in awhile, so here we are. I hope if you stumble across it, you enjoy <3

-*-*-

You look down at the ground, while smoke billows around you, slightly clouding your vision. All you see are bodies caked in mud, lying motionless on the dirt path and you wonder to yourself how many dead bodies you have seen throughout your career.

How many? You couldn’t even count, there’s no point, not when it’s been this many. Maybe this was the tipping point for you. When the cold bodies that once held lives don’t bother you anymore. You no longer feel sonder creeping through your bones, making sure it covers you completely when you witness death. No, you just carry on like nothing happened. Day after day, your capacity to care and feel anything slowly drained out, and now you’re left empty and dry, wishing for relief from the arid cracks forming within you.

It's like you’re on autopilot, and have been for awhile now. After your last mission, you vaguely remember writing up your section of the report and handing it off to Price. You might have gone back to your quarters and spent the remainder of the day in bed. You cannot recall.

The days since then have gone by slowly, not much action going on. You don’t mind the quiet because sooner or later it’s going to get louder and louder until you’re back where you started: with destruction and death surrounding you, once again tipping you over.

You know you have been acting different. This has happened before, and your teammates understand why. They’re not too pushy about it, even though it seems like they ask you out to drinks or dinner more often than usual. You know they’re just worried and want you to feel included and that you are not on your own for this. You appreciate them, you really do. But they eventually get the hint that you just need some time by yourself, and the invitations stop coming. You don’t mind though, now you can finally rest without any external cacophonous noise. You only have to deal with the noise up in your head.

Going back to your quarters, you shut the blinds and lock your door, finally ready to take a fucking nap. You shut your eyes and sleep overcomes you.

-*-*-

When you finally come to, you realize you’ve woken up due to someone knocking (quite loudly) on your door. You briefly glance at the window, and there is no longer sunshine peeking through, so it must be past dinner time. You look at your watch and see that it’s almost 8p.m. You slept for a few good hours.

You rustle your way out of bed, not really caring what you look like. Unlocking your door, you mentally curse at whoever decided to come wake you, and you swing the door open more aggressively than you meant to.

When you glance up, you notice your teammate, Ghost, standing tall in your door frame, his toned arms crossed over his chest. He, for once, isn’t wearing any kind of mask over his face, which allows your eyes to dance across the scars that cover him. He has one in the hollow of his left cheek, a couple on his temple, and finally, one jagged mark near his upper lip, which has come to be your favorite scar of his. You were with him when he got it, after all.

You don’t miss the skip in your heartbeat as you admire the man in front of you, having to crane your neck in the slightest to do so.

You manage to say, “What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds a bit rough and groggy since you just woke up. You’re also pretty sure your hair is a mess too, and of course your t-shirt and shorts are ruffled in that “after nap” look. So basically, you are the spitting image of beauty.

“C’mon now, Dumpling. We both know why I’m here.” He once again makes your heart skip a beat, and you mentally curse him for it. Who is he to come here and make you feel these things? You were once annoyed by the nickname he gave you, but now, you mentally blush whenever he calls you that.

You still remember the day he designated the name for you. It was one of the first times he came to your room. He was fascinated by all of the small trinkets you had, looking around your desk and the shelves on your wall. When he came across your dumpling light, he started laughing. It’s one of the few times you’ve heard him laugh at all.

He turns towards you, a small smile on his lips, “Does that actually provide any light for your room? It’s so tiny.”

You restrain the urge to scowl at your new found friend from work, and say, “Actually, he does light up my room quite well. It’s for the ambiance.” Your tone quirked up at when you said ‘ambiance,’ which had Simon laughing again, but this time at you.

“Here, look.” You walk over and turn off most of your lights, only leaving on the string of lights and a couple other small lights. Low and behold, the dumpling light stood out amongst his companions, illuminating the shelf he was sitting on, casting a warm glow on you and Simon.

He looks so soft in the luminosity, looks so different than the rigid man you see in the field every day. You refrain the urge to trace his scars with the pads of your fingertips, so desperately wanting to trace his lips. You really need to snap out of it.

Simon acquiesced raising his hands up, “Alright, alright. I misspoke.”

You bump your shoulder against his, arms crossed, “Damn right. Never insult my dumpling light again. He’s good at his job.”

Simon turns his head towards you, “This dumpling means a lot to you, huh?”

You know he’s just teasing and you shrug, “I guess. I mean I’ve had him for years, and look how cute he is!” Your nose scrunches up as you smiled at the stupid light, and you didn’t even notice how Simon was looking at you. But if you did notice, you would have seen his smile drop to a warm grin, eyes sparking in the tender light of your room, looking at you with endearment.

When you finally turn back to him, he ruffles your hair and asks, “So, what shall we do on our night off, Dumpling?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your voice cracks, “’Dumpling’?”

Simon leaned toward you, dipping his head down to yours so his lips were at your ear, “That’s your new nickname.”

“Oh hell no. Nope, not happening.”

“I don’t know, seems pretty fitting.” You were going to kill him.

Simon starts walking to your door, with you trailing behind him, arguing with him about his new moniker for you. Unfortunately for you, the name sticks.

You bring yourself back to the present and quip back, “To bug me?”

Ghost huffs, and decides to just bulldoze into your room without even asking. Rude. Although, he makes sure not to bump shoulders with you. Also, it’s not like he doesn’t do it often, so you let it slide and close the door behind you. You plop down on the bed beside him, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Your room on the base isn’t spacious by any means, but it does its job while you’re on call.

You managed to get a full-size bed, which is tucked away in the corner of your room, furthest from the door. Pictures, paintings, and drawings cover the corner, making it into a cozy place for you to hide away in. String lights line your left wall, which gives the room a soft warm glow that shines in Simon’s eyes whenever he’s here. You also have little knickknacks scattered around, each one showing your personality bit by bit, almost like a trail to your soul.

You find solace within the four walls of your room, but you can’t solely give credit to it, you have to save some for the quiet, yet brooding man, sitting beside you. Your best friend.

Your shoulder rests against his sturdy one, and you can feel him breathing. You always seem to gravitate towards him, like planets orbiting a star.

The room is still quiet, and you bring your leg up on the bed and fold it, so you are slightly turned towards Simon. You bring up your other leg so it’s resting over the top of his knee. He’s wearing his favorite black joggers, and there’s a stark contrast between your white socks and his dark pants.

You trace your fingers along his forearm, trailing up and down the length of his arm. Something you don’t even realize you started doing until Simon takes that arm and wraps it around you, pulling you into him.

His voice ruffles your hair as he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug, and mumble, “I don’t know.” You bury your face into his chest. Once again trying to avoid confronting your problems, and instead wanting to hide away.

“Speak up, Dumpling.” There’s a teasing undertone in his request, and it almost makes you crack a grin. Almost.

He tries again, “It’s just me, you know. You can tell me anything.” His hand rests comfortably on your shoulder and his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your arm.

You let out another sigh, “I’m just tired. And overworked, and I think I need a break.” Simon waits a beat to make sure you’re done talking before he offers his opinion on the matter.

“You know, that’s completely normal for the kind of job we have, Y/N. It’s alright to want to get away from all the violence and sadness we see every day. That’s just the human in you.”

“I just feel so disconnected from everything right now, and don’t know how to fix it.” You bring your hand up to Simon’s resting on your shoulder, and intertwine your fingers with his.

Both your hands are calloused and rough, but his hands have always felt perfect in yours, his large fingers encapsulating yours easily.

“We don’t have to do anything right now to fix it. We can just be, okay?”

You manage to murmur out an “Okay.”

Simon pulls you down with him, so now you’re both laying comfortably on your bed. He momentarily sits up to tug the blanket that rests at the foot of your bed, over the you both, then wraps himself around you. You can hear his steady heartbeat in his chest, and it pulls you down like gravity, anchoring you to stay in the orbit of his warm embrace. You can feel his lips on your temple, and he places a delicate kiss there before saying, “Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure of it.” You lay like that for the remainder of the night in the company of Simon.

Simon, who never fails to assuage you, make you feel lighter and like your old self again. Make you feel human. He seemed so sure of himself that you will overcome this, so you finally believe him, that yes, tomorrow will be kinder.

-*-*-

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suzukiblu · 10 months ago

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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @autumnal-dcthings; JayKon soulmates, TimKon datemates, and the wrong Superboy. TW for some very vague nsfw themes/thoughts and a touch of dubcon; cut for length.

“Who says you’re the one who deserves entertained here?” Jason snorts, baring his teeth. Fake Superboy’s smirk turns decidedly dirty, and he rolls his hips up against Jason’s jock. His dick feels at least as hard as the armor.

Like, not in the sense that the guy actually has a hard-on right now. Just in the “his dick is definitely indestructible” sense. Jason’s fucking stupid brain is having a little bit of trouble parsing the difference right now, though.

Also part of him’s kind of wondering how that works in the–for fuck’s sake, he’s going to book two extra therapy sessions this week. Maybe more! Who the fuck knows, at this point!

This whole thing is just such fucking bullshit.

“TTK is like, a passive perception thing, you know,” fake Superboy mentions casually, which seems like an interesting piece of information for a body-hijacker to have, Jason notes to himself, barely resisting the urge to narrow his eyes assessingly. “I can feel everything you’ve got whenever I want.”

“That doesn’t sound very ‘passive’,” Jason observes dubiously. Pretty much the opposite of it, in fact.

“I can feel it when you look at me, too,” fake Superboy hums, tilting his head, then grins wickedly. “Even through the mask.”

Jason, immediately, regrets every time he ever checked out Superboy when he had a mask or helmet on and the opportunity, including the pre-soulmate-realization times. And also, it’s seeming increasingly likely that this asshole might have access to Superboy’s memories, assuming that wasn’t just a lucky guess or a cold read. Definitely not reading his mind, though, or they’d know the jig was already up here.

But if the actual Superboy is actually aware of just how many times Jason’s checked him out, he should maybe just go face-first into another crowbar.

He should definitely do that, actually.

“High opinion of yourself there,” he says, and fake Superboy preens.

“Yeah, you’ve been giving me one,” he says with a sharp grin. Jason longs for those theoretical kryptonite brass knuckles. “Makes a boy feel downright pretty.”

Prick.

“Shut up,” Jason says, and picks the least annoying option of several very annoying options and kisses him again. Fake Superboy makes a surprised little sound, barely discernible, and then a performatively smug one, and kisses him back.

This sucks. And not because fake Superboy is such a lousy kisser.

. . . mostly not, anyway.

Sue him, Jason would rather the stupid presumably-evil doppelganger he's making out with right now knew how to kiss no matter who they looked like.

God, his life is fucking pathetic and weird and his priorities are absolutely fucked. He seriously needs to get a fuckbuddy with complementary psychological issues to his own. Meet a nice vengeful bastard and work out some stress or whatever.

His therapist would not agree, but his therapist isn’t getting hit on by a fake version of the soulmate who’s dating her brother, is she, Denise.

This whole situation is actually even more stupid than telling a woman named “Denise” all his issues translated for civilian ears, but such is his fucking life.

Why didn’t he just stay dead again? Because he definitely could’ve just stayed dead. Like, there were multiple opportunities for that. He was in fact spoiled for opportunities for that.

“I like it when you look at me, Hood,” fake Superboy murmurs between their mouths, his voice low and throaty and sounding just like all of Jason’s dirtiest daydreams. Jason, again, thinks longingly of kryptonite. This asshole can’t kiss, no, but he sure as shit can talk. “Gets me kinda . . . excited, you know?”

Jason wants to blow up this entire fucking building. Or block.

Or city, maybe.

Where the fuck is his backup? Is there an all-hands going that nobody thought to mention to him? An apocalypse he somehow didn’t notice? For fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be a goddamn panic button, not a “hey, if you’ve got a sec” kind of thing!

Not that he has any personal trauma about anybody showing up too late to do him any good or anything like that, of course. Definitely not.

Maybe it’s gonna have to just be daily sessions this week.

“Did I tell you to shut up or not?” Jason says, baring his teeth again and internally promising himself he’s going to read Bruce for filth after the bastard’s fucked up the response time here so phenomenally, whenever said bastard can actually be bothered to show up. He doesn’t care if his fucking spine’s broken again, at this point.

Fake Superboy laughs, and kisses him again.

#dc-autumnalthings #wip: jaykon soulmates and timkon datemates #dubcon

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idk6123 · 5 months ago

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Man Of The Past (Kaidan Alenko X Male Reader)

The mission didn’t need to become as drastic as it did. Shepard’s crew just needed to collect some equipment at a human colony. Out of nowhere, some rogue bandits ambushed them and thought they could defeat them. Luckily, Shepard and his allies saved the colony and all of its people. However, it isn’t only Shepard’s crew who saved them, as a third party helped them. The commander notices the biotic man and his abilities and decided to talk with him. Together with his crew, Kaidan and Garrus, they greet the stranger at the side of the town.

“Nice work out there. You live here?”

As the stranger turns around to greet the man, he notices the other man. Both of them locks eyes to each other, recognizing the other person instantly. “Long time not seen.”

“Not long enough.” Kaidan responds back with some snark.

Shepard raises an eyebrow towards his teammate. “You know him?”

“Sadly.” Kaidan says back with some snark.

“Don’t mind him. He’s still salty he lost to me so many times.”

“Do any of you mind giving us some context?” Garrus requests, done with their vagueness rather quick.

“He’s Y/N.” Kaidan introduces him. “We met at Brain Camp.”

“Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training. BAaT for short.” Y/N says with a smirky smile. “Though after that got shut down thanks to a certain someone.” He looks back at Kaidan, who frowns at him. “I studied with different Asari camps and now I’m known as just a humble merc. Whether it’s for protection, an extra hand or committing war crimes, I’m your guy.”

“Sounds like you got experience.” Shepard is intrigued by the mercenary.

“I wouldn’t get excited.” Kaidan stops his friend. “This is a guy who throws his morality away if he gets money… or just some fun.” He gives a cold gaze at him.

“You say that, but let the guy say his offer.” Y/N looks back at the commander. “I heard of you, ya know? I know your cause, and whatever alignment I have, humanities, as well everyone’s sake, can’t be allowed to cease to exist. And since you need every men, I doubt it can’t hurt to have an experienced biotic soldier join you on the field.”

Shepard thinks about it. Kaidan notices this but doesn’t raise his voice. If anything, how could he give an argument to decline Y/N’s slimy offer.

“Let’s discuss the price.”

And so, Shepard’s squad got filled with one more member. With another biotic on the team, their strength greatly increases. He manages to fit well with the team. He often chats with Garrus, EDI and Tali. Workout with Liara and James. And because of his powers, often got picked as a squad member by Shepard. The only person who doesn’t like him is Kaidan, who keeps his distance to him. Being observant as he is, Shepard notices this and decided to confront him about it.

“You alright?” They’re sitting at living area, where Kaidan is eating his lunch.

“Yes.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” Shepard responds. “You’ve been quieter ever since Y/N joined.”

“Does it matter what I think? Whatever I feel towards him, he’s still a valuable ally and a strong squad member. I can’t demand to you he gets kicked out.”

“Kaidan, you know me. You’re free to talk to me.” Shepard assures.

The man sighs. “We’ve been both at Brain Camp. Conatix was quick to notices Y/N’s natural abilities, despite him joining later then me and many others. And so, he got treated favorable. With his quick learning, he manages to beat the rest of us. He was a quiet kid at first. Shy, modest, never having the guts to speak up. We were friends… at first. And then Vyrnnus came. He saw his talent quick to the point he offered some kind of high station where he works at.” He let out a sad chuckle. “I remember how happy he was. He was so proud of himself he managed to get recognition from his work.”

“You two sounded close.” Shepard comments. “How did it all fall apart?”

“My friend Rahna… once disobeyed an order from Vyrnnus. That’s when he tried to break her arm. Things escalate, and I lost control of my power… That’s when BAaT shut down, thanks to me. And so there goes Y/N chance for what he considered a better life. He blamed me for it, and like you can see, he still does.” Although still looking down at Kaidan, he wished things could’ve went different. “I have no regret protecting a friend, Shepard. And he doesn’t have any regrets of wanting to walk the path he wanted.”

Shepard hums. “Sounds like a rough past.”

“You could say that again.” Kaidan frowns, remembering the past all too well. “I won’t let my grudge take a hold on me. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I won’t.”

Seeing his new recruit working out at the hangar, Shepard decided to join him.

“Want a sparring partner?”

Y/N looks up from his sit-ups. “Sure.” He stands up. “Gotta earns some respect from the boss.”

And so, they face each other and spar with each other. While doing so, the commander hopes he can learn a thing or two about him.

“I talked to Kaidan.”

“Did you now? Did he talked about us?”

“Yes.” Shepard responds.

“Figured. Was only a matter of time.” Y/N sounds like he doesn’t care. “Anything else you wanted to know?”

“Not that I think of it.” They continue to talk as they share some punches. “I respect your decisions. I just want to know there won’t be any problem between you two.”

“Nothing unprofessional, no. Personal though, can’t promise. It’s not easy to see your ex.”

“Ex?” Shepard is surprised to hear that. He thought Kaidan was talking about an old friend, not a boyfriend.

“Yeah, ex.” Y/N says. “We two used to be a thing back at BAaT. …Until we didn’t.”

Shepard hums. “Do you miss him?”

“Nope.” Shepard thinks he can hear some doubt in his answer. “He thought I was being ridiculous. I thought he was an asshole from ruining my chances. I doubt we get together any chance soon.”

“If you say so…”

“I really think we should stay out of it.”

“Nonsense.” Tali says with a hiccup. “This could be the love story we needed.”

While having a little R&R at the apartment Shepard got, the entire team is relaxing around the place. While at the bar, Shepard is chatting with Tali, Garrus and Liara.

“We only will be involved with business we aren’t even a part of.” Garrus continues sharing his doubt. “Besides, we all enjoy when the two roast each other.”

“Do I?” Liara questions. “I don’t think they have to be a couple, but they can at least bury the hatchet.”

“With looove.” Tali sounds cheery. “We just have them realize their true feelings. Aah, I know! This is the time for a drinking game!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to that.” Although still doubting in Tali’s intention, Garrus is more than happy to watch some fools drinking their asses off. “You two in?”

“I think I pass.” Liara respectively declines.

That’s when Garrus looks at Shepard, who can’t help but smirk. “Let’s get those idiots get back together.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tali cheers.

“What are we? High schoolers?” James asked, as he and the others sit around the living room. In the middle, there is a bottle.

“I saw this in a human made movie a long time ago.” Tali explains. “Such strange customs… but it seems fun!”

“Who even thought spinning a bottle and kissing someone else is a good idea?” Garrus asks.

“Who thought spinning a bottle and barely having any girls is a good idea?” James notes, as he just sees Tali. “Let’s me get some.” He stands up and walks around.

While waiting, the group chat with each other. Tali, however, who sits next to Shepard, whispers his name. “Shepard… Shepard…”

“Yes?”

“I rigged the bottle.” She shows off her system that is on her arm. “I can make it stop. Don’t tell anyone.”

Shepard chuckles. “I won’t.”

Soon, James came back with EDI, Jack and Miranda.

“Seems familiar, cheerleader?” Jack taunts Miranda.

“This seems more something you’re up to.”

“Girls, girls, chill.” James assures. “Let’s leave the passion for the game.”

Jack frowns. “Can’t we make it to punch each other?”

And so, the crew sit around the living room. It takes some time to until it’s Kaidan’s turn. Meanwhile, the remaining group members spin the bottle, with the one landing on it taking a shot. Tali manages to land on Garrus, though they kiss barely, since the lack of lips and an helmet. Shepard manage to land on Miranda. Jack lands on James, who opted for a punch instead and takes the shot. Then it’s finally Kaidan’s turn, who spins the bottle. Tali, despite really drunk, manage to time it right and lands it on Y/N, who smirks.

“Looks like fate decided for us.”

“And a dreadful one that is.” Kaidan frowns. “Can’t I take the shot?”

“Nooo, you have to kiss him!” Tali pleads.

Kaidan raises an eyebrow. “And Jack didn’t?”

“She gets a pass.” Tali answers.

“Why does she-?”

“C’mon, kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Tali chants by herself, with the rest awkwardly looking at the scene. Kaidan merely frowns, not wanting to do it, causing Y/N to roll his eyes.

“You’re such a pussy.” Y/N stands up to walk towards his ex, causing him to look surprised.

“Wait, you’re seriously-?” That’s when he shuts up when he gets the other man’s lips on his.

“YAY!” Tali cheers. “I did it!”

After kissing, Y/N pulls back. Kaidan, however, looks back at the Quarian. “What did you do?”

“I put you back together.” Tali sounds proud of herself.

Garrus shushed her. “You aren’t supposed to say that.”

“Oh…” Tali then realizes she screwed up. “…Oops.”

“You set us up?” Y/N questions. He then looks at her equipment and then the bottle. “You screwed with the bottle, huh?”

“…Maybe.”

“You got to be kidding me…” Kaidan sighs. He then stands up and walks away.

Y/N, however, doesn’t look upset and merely sit down. Shepard though is the one who follows Kaidan. Once upstairs in the bathroom, the commander sees his friend putting some water on his face.

“You alright?”

“Try kissing your ex after being set up. Then you know the answer.” Kaidan says with some snark.

Shepard leans against the wall. “She had good intentions. We all thought it was good for you two to settle things.”

Kaidan looks back at him. “You knew about it?”

“Yes. Sorry.” Shepard says with honesty. “But we thought it was better you two figure things out, because right now, you aren’t. Despite what you two say to each other, I can tell there is something there. Something that tells me you two care for each other.”

Kaidan let out a sigh. “You think the same applies to Y/N?”

“Yes. He just shows it… more like an asshole.”

Kaidan chuckles. “He sure became one. And for whatever reason, I feel like he’s still the same guy.” He stays quiet for some seconds, thinking off what to do. “I talk to him.”

Eventually, Kaidan gets back downstairs. There, he sees Y/N talking with Garrus and Wrex. After requesting they can speak with just them two, and some teasing, they go upstairs and back in the large bedroom.

“So? Whaddaya want?”

“I think it’s time we talk things out.” Kaidan sits down on the side of the bed. “We both grow up and had plenty of time to think about it all.”

Y/N hums. He remains standing, standing against the wall. “What’s there to talk about? We’re both unhappy how things went.”

“Yes, but I’m also unhappy to lost someone I loved.” Kaidan says, with Y/N remaining quiet. “I can respect your decision for wanting to get a better life. You understand what I did and why, right?”

“…Yeah.” Y/N responds. “You wanted to protect a friend… even then at the time, you didn’t realized it was the end of my chances to become one of the upper biotic soldiers.”

“And yet, that chance didn’t end.” Kaidan points out. “Your with Shepard, the guy who will defeat the reapers. Our names will be set in stone as heroes for the rest of entirety.”

Y/N remains quiet. He walks over to Kaidan and sits down next to him. “I guess that makes things alright… It just seems stupid to think about, us breaking up after what happened.”

“You know what it’s even more stupid? Realizing what happened, but stubborn enough to not fix it.” Kaidan comments, with his voice sounding assuring. “But now, we have the chance to fix things.”

“You want us to be together again? After all what happened?”

“Yes.” Kaidan grabs Y/N’s hand. He gives his old lover a smile. “We worked so well years ago. And now we’re alright, we might as well catch up and be together.”

Y/N hums. “You’re such a weirdo.” He then smiles. “Fine then. Let’s be a couple. That way, you always have a boyfriend by your side who’s willing to beat anyone in the way.”

“I didn’t expect anything less.”

#mass effect #mass effect x male reader #mass effect kaidan #kaidan alenko #kaidan alenko x male reader #kaidan alenko x reader #mass effect x reader

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atwingeofcringe · 1 year ago

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Enough

A/N: hello everyone! this is my first fic on this account! ive written 3 parts to this but ive written them in a way where they could all be standalones and there are time gaps between them but ive left it up for you to decide how much time! ive seen people say different time spans for how long it takes for him to warm up to an S/O and i wanted to keep it vague! even though i have the other 2 written im not sure when i'll post them because i have a lot going on right now but we'll see! i also tried to write these in a way so that you can imagine which ever version of Michael you like most or the version you think best fits! all my writing is done on my phone btw so sorry if there are mistakes i didnt catch! sometimes my phone likes to think it knows more than me lmao! Summary: Michael feels conflicted feelings as you patch up his wounds. Pairing: Michael Myers x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,344

🔪

The sound of your back door opening and then closing broke your attention away from your tv for a split second, then you faced the tv again. Heavy footsteps made their way over to you but you remained watching your show, unconcerned. A dark figure emerged from around the corner and stood there silently, knife in hand, and staring right at you. Anyone else would have been frightened by this but, for you, this is a normal occurrence.

“Hey, Michael!” you greeted, looking up from your show.

Of course, you got no greeting in return, but that’s normal too. He stepped more into view, letting you see him more clearly and you gasped at the sight. He was covered in blood and clearly injured. You knew most of the blood wasn’t his but you were still worried.

You shot up out of your seat on the couch and quickly ushered Michael into your kitchen, where you kept your medical supplies, and sat him down at the table. His bloodied knife was taken to the sink for washing later. He didn’t think his injuries were that bad and why you fussed over him so much, he just wanted to come by to check on you. Still, he let you do what you wanted.

“Can you take this off?” You asked, pointing to his blood soaked coveralls.

He pulled the zipper down pushed the top of the coveralls down until it rested around waist, exposing plain black t-shirt that was also soaked with blood. You thanked him and carefully started tending to any fresh and exposed wounds you could see, all the while trying to keep skin to skin contact to a minimal. He’s not a fan of being touched and you didn’t want to make him angry.

While you did this, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. You’re used to it, though. His eyes constantly followed your every movement. In the beginning, this used to make you uncomfortable. Now, you paid it no mind and sometimes even forgot about it.

“There.” You sighed, carefully pushing his shirt sleeve back down over his shoulder after taking care of a cut. He stared as you stood over him, looking him over to make sure you got everything. Your eyes scanned him until you got this masked face, seeing more blood on the mask itself and also some parts of his exposed skin from under the mask. You’ve never seen him without it on and you never wanted to ask in case it upset him, but you’re worried.

“Um, do you mind if this comes off too?” Unintentionally, your voice came out small and your throat felt a little dry. You didn’t mean to sound so nervous but you couldn’t help it.

He didn’t make any moves that indicated a yes or a no, only staring up at you. You slightly shuffled uncomfortably before deciding ‘fuck it’ and slowly lift your hand towards the mask. Your finger tips barely made contact with the bottom of before his own hand shot up at light speed and grabbing yours, making you nearly jump out of your skin. His hand gripped yours tightly and it was a little painful but ignored it and swallowed hard before opening your mouth to say something else.

“I-I just want to see if you need stitches or something.” Your voice was shaky and the sound of your heart pounding from the jumpscare was loud in your ears. “I don’t want you to get infected.”

He sat there, staring up at you from his seat and clenching your hand for a few more seconds before letting go. A quiet, relived sigh left your lips as the pain dissipated from your poor hand and you wiggled your fingers a little, trying to get out any lingering pain. Michael looked down as his hands came up and gripped the mask, slowly taking it off.

When the mask was fully off he didn’t look back up at you, letting his gaze linger down at the mask in his hands. For some reason, this made you nervous again but you swallowed your fear and spoke up. “Can I see?”

He was still. Is he afraid of something? Is he nervous too? Most likely, you’ll never know the thoughts swimming through his mind. He’s never been an easy person read, which is how he likes it. Honestly though, he was a little scared. He does’t want to be perceived as just a man and that’s all he felt like without his mask. With it on, he felt powerful and people feared him. Now, here he is risking that reputation and for what? A few cuts and bruises? He knows he doesn’t have to do this but something about your good nature towards him compelled him and it was leaving him feeling conflicted.

“Michael?”

Your voice interrupted his thoughts and he huffed, acknowledging that he heard you.

“Can I see?” You asked one more time. Michael sighed and lifted his head, locking eyes with you once more. You had to stop yourself from gasping at the man in front of you. You’ve thought about what he might look like before but you never expected him to be so… pretty. A smile formed on your face as you tried to fight the blush that threatens to light up your cheeks. “There you are!” You said cheerfully.

He isn’t sure what you meant by that but he sat up straight to let you examine the cuts on his face. You leaned in closer to get a good look but not too close so you didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Just a couple scratches.” You said, mostly to yourself. “These don’t look bad at all. You’ve got quite the bruise here, though-“ without thinking your hand came up to lightly trace the dark spot that formed near his eye but before you could, his hand came up once again squeezing yours and making squeak in surprise. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” You winced.

Micheal stared up at you with a dangerous expression. How could you be so absent minded? Have you forgotten who he is? Did taking of his mask actually ruin your image of him? The thought of his dangerous reputation being ruined angered him and he absent mindedly squeezed your hand harder just thinking about it.

“Michael, your hurting me!” You were nearly on the verge of tears from the pain and trying to pull your hand away.

Michael started thinking about how much you’ve done for him over the time he’s known you. Always worrying about him, giving him a place to hide and rest, feeding him. Would letting down his walls be so bad if it was just you? He knows he’d be just fine without you but thinking of you not existing in his life made him disappointed.

His grip on your hand softened but he didn’t let go. He was still holding on firmly, keeping you from pulling away. You gave up and watched him as he watched you. His eyes pierced yours in a way you feel like you hadn’t seen before. You gulped and asked “are you okay?”

Micheal slowly blinked up at you and loosened his grip on you a little more. You could pull away now if you wanted to but made no attempt. What happened next made butterflies erupt your stomach and you know your face was bright red. Micheal slightly turned his head, now facing your hand, keeping his eyes on you, and placed a gentle kiss to the middle of your palm. Your heart was pounding so hard the sound was nearly deafening in your ears. As his lips left your hand, he softly pressed it against his cheek. You weren’t sure what caused his sudden change in mood, but, honestly, you weren’t complaining.

Your eyes flicked to his lips for a split second before looking back into his eyes. He noticed but made no moves and you were fine with it. Just being close like this was enough.

#Halloween #Michael Myers #Michael Myers x Reader #Slasher x Reader #Slashers x Reader #im so nervous about posting omg 😩

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fayedartmouth · 21 days ago

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Is this part three or four of the car accident fic? I'm gonna need a working title here at some point as this gets longer.

Also I didn't intend to whump JB so much but I guess my muse had other ideas. The Pogues are all in for it here, and John B is not well.

As a note, these are not necessarily posted in order? I'm not sure how to organize this all well, but I'm just going with it for now. If I come up with a working title, I can tag them all that way.

John B couldn’t remember passing out.

It was a strange thing. The way time skipped on him. Sometimes, when he was drunk enough. Sometimes, when he was high enough. Things got hazy. He lost moments. Entire nights could feel like dreams.

But this was different.

This was like blackness swallowing him. The strange numbness, a terrible void that had been stalking him. Like it might still pull him back down at any second.

“Do you know your name?” someone asked. There was a light – too bright, too close – and the voice spoke again. “Can you tell me your name?”

His mind reeled at the audacity of the question. Someone had just pulled him from the utter dark and wanted an ID check? Was he supposed to supply an ID? Was this roll call at school? Was DCS finally catching up with him? Maybe they wanted him to sign the papers to declare his dad dead once and for all.

That was the kind of blackness this was. The yawning depth of it, deep and endless and–

Someone took him by the shoulder, fingers firm. “I need you to tell me your name.”

He inhaled. It was an odd sensation, like his lungs weren’t sure. Everything – hurt. But vague and fuzzy. Like someone had wrapped his head with gauze.

But the light shifted, and suddenly faces came into view. He didn’t recognize them, but they were all wearing masks. So–

“Do you know where you are?” the voice asked again. “Do you remember what happened?

And then, he did.

He was John B Routledge. And he had been in the Twinkie with his three best friends. He’d lost control when a deer scampered into the road, and they’d flipped. Kiara and Pope had been still and silent and bloody in the back. And JJ–

Just that fast, the blackness abated. He found the thought of JJ galvanized him. It grounded him.

Ever since his dad had gone missing, JJ had pulled him from the darkness.

He still was.

Even now.

“I was in a car accident,” he said, and he was surprised by the way his voice sounded. Weak – and pained and–

He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. He was aware now – even dimly – that there were a lot of people in that room. They were moving around him, working on him. Someone had cut his clothes away, and the chill passed over his exposed skin. He could feel pain like fire up and down his body, and someone moved his leg and he stifled a cry as the agony ratcheted up a notch.

“You’ve been hurt pretty badly,” the voice informed him, and he traced it to the person standing above him. A man wearing a surgical mask. “But we’re taking care of you, so you don’t have to worry.”

Somehow that only made him worry more.

He could hear more sounds now – a beeping sound of a heart monitor. Too fast. Something pinged.

“His oxygen levels are low,” someone said above him.

“I’m worried about his pressure.”

“I think we have a bleed?”

And he convulsed slightly, unable to stop himself from shivering. When he blinked, there were tears, and he could feel the pressure building at the back of his throat. “My friends,” he said, even as it was harder and harder to muster the words. “How are my friends?”

“They’re both being cared for,” the man above him said with confidence. “Right now, we’re just worried about you. You hit your head pretty hard, and your abdomen is starting to look distended.”

He didn’t know what that meant.

He didn’t understand.

He just–

Gasped and shuddered. “There were – four of us,” he said, short and halting. Something pricked his arm, and someone pressed leads down on his chest – hard. He looked down, trying to understand. There was a large bandage on his side, but the bruising was extensive – already mottled and purple. Something else pinged – and then blared.

“Doctor?” someone said. He blinked as everything went dark for a moment, the expanse threatening to consume him again despite his best efforts. “His oxygen–”

And just like that, someone slipped a mask over his face, strapping it around the back of his head. There was a moment of stillness before the cold air filled his lungs. Once. And again.

When he blinked again, his eyes cleared. The doctor above him was working now, looking studious as he did something to John B’s abdomen. Things were going numb, and he could see the IV as it was hung, a blood red bag next to the clear one.

“JJ,” he said, because they needed to know. JJ hadn’t been in the car. Kiara and Pope had been in the back. But JJ had been in the front and the windshield was gone and the seatbelt in the passenger’s seat wasn’t legal anymore. “JJ–”

The doctor looked at him again . “Is that your name? Are you JJ?”

He shook his head a little, panting for air as the numbness started to overtake him. “I had – three friends – in the car,” he said, slow and careful.

The doctor’s brow furrowed behind his mask. He looked at someone on the other side of John B. “We just got the three MVAs, right?”

“Yeah, the medics said they picked up the three kids. Just three.”

John B’s body was failing him. His limbs were heavy. His mind was fuzzy as his ears rang and his vision got soft around the edges. Suddenly, the pain was receding again, but its absence felt cold and dark and–

He shook his head, desperate. “JJ,” he said, voice faltering. “You have to find JJ.”

The doctor looked across the way again. “Is one of them named JJ?”

“No,” the voice replied. “This is John B. And we have Kiara and Pope.”

John B’s chest constricted. JJ had been neglected and forgotten and overlooked his entire life.

Not now.

Not this time.

Not when his life was on the line.

“JJ was in – the passenger’s – seat,” he said, gasping the words out as best he could. His vision was going dark now, the blackness creeping back in bit by bit. “You have to – find – JJ.”

Now, an alarm blared. Sudden and strong. He could feel it, the way his heart stuttered. “Doctor, we need to get him to an OR.”

“Please,” John B said, begging as the darkness became too much for him to fight, too much altogether. “He’s my – best friend.”

“John B, we’re taking you to surgery now,” the doctor said instead.

And John B wanted to scream. He wanted to thrash and cry and jump right off the gurney. They weren’t listening. They weren’t <i>listening</i>.

“JJ,” he said, with one last breath. “You have – to find – JJ.”

And the darkness won again.

#my fics #my snippets #fic snippets #OBX snippets

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writtenontheport · 1 year ago

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The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend

Pt. 1: Finding Common Ground in Communication!!

(Prologue) (pt. 2)

Anthony Lockwood x fem Reader

Warnings/Tags: A bit of a story-building instalment, Slow (?) burn, Meet cute, Reader is literally a ghost 💀, Whenever Reader’s mute basically story wise because it’s from Lockwood’s POV, No use of (y/n), Vague descriptions of reader being a jewel and a gem, this part is plot relevant I promise 😭, pulling some of this out of my ass IM SORRYYYY, I had to make it work somehow…, not much rom or com in this one, more plot and lore and scheming

Notes: I’ll have you know I literally was cross referencing stuff from the wiki, the books, and then the show to try and figure out how tf to write this 😭 There are FOUR drafts of what this scene could have looked like and this is what I had to settle on 😭 Please suspend your disbelief!!

Summary: Lockwood and co. make an astounding discovery about their newest friend, and they are all happy about this for completely different reasons. Lockwood’s reason? Well, he just heard the voice of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Word Count: 1.4k+

“Lucy? George? I think I found her,” Lockwood calls down the hatch, leaning on the pushed up door with a wrist resting on the hilt of his rapier. He sends you a charming smile, and revels in the small one you return. Underneath you both, you hear Lucy and George scramble up the ladder.

Lockwood found you in the house’s attic surrounded by haphazard stacks of sideways furniture, old mirrors, and dated portraits. There was the odd box or few sprawled about; big and small and gigantic, but just about everything was covered in cobwebs except for the window. Moonlight filters in and passes through you from the drawn curtains, framing you a sparkling jewel amongst the mess and clutter of the attic. Lockwood found it hard to tear his eyes away from you, but not out of fear, no.

Like a jewel glimmering in the darkness, you were beautiful and ethereal in all the ways Lockwood hadn’t imagined people could be; dead or alive. Sat on the windowsill with a weariness gleaming in your eyes, you didn’t quite scare Lockwood as much as you enchanted him.

“Lockwood? Did you—“ Lucy says, popping her head up through the open hatch. Her breath catches when she sees you, and you send her a wary smile as she climbs into the attic.

“Is she there, Lucy?” George calls from the ladder, a supply bag on his shoulder. Your eyes drop to the open hatch, but focus back on Lockwood when he leans down to take the bag from George and help him up.

“Yeah, she’s… right here.” Lucy whispers, sounding like she just ran a marathon. Lockwood resonates with that feeling. He looks back up at you and wills his heart to quiet down where it’s beating against his ribcage and slamming into the bones.

George turns around slowly, eyes finding you where you’re laying along the windowsill. You look tired and defeated, a deepness about your eyes that screams of exhaustion. It makes Lockwood’s heart seize as George whispers to him and Lucy, “Have you found her source yet?”

Before anyone can answer, your mouth opens and you soundlessly begin to speak; Lucy perks up and her eyes light. “Where is it?”

Your ghostly hand points to a corner near the window, mimicking a small box as you soundlessly explain to Lucy where and what it was. She nods, determined, as she steps over a few relics and cobwebs along the floor.

“A necklace in an ornate box,” She says aloud, using her rapier to cut away some of the cobwebs. “Definitely over here, but it’s been a few years since you’ve seen it?”

You nod and say something only Lucy can hear, but George follows along and begins helping her dig about. Lockwood steps forward to face you, feeling more and more breathless with every step. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he instead says the first thing that comes to mind when you peer at him curiously.

“When we find it, we’ll have to secure it for a bit while we bring you home. You won’t be able to do anything while we have your source contained, but it won’t be long, I promise,” He tries to say reassuringly.

You give him a wary frown with your brows furrowed and lips pursed thin. You open your mouth to say something, but pause to think about it further. From here, Lockwood can see even stray strands of your hair and the bat of your lashes, so lifelike even in the blur of ectoplasm. Weakly, you shrug, not meeting his eyes.

“I promise you, we won’t keep you there forever. We just need to transfer your source.”

From behind him, Lockwood can hear George and Lucy whispering before Lucy comes up beside him. She’s got her hand on the hilt of her rapier out of instinct, but it’s rested and loose.

“We just want to keep you company while Pepper’s away,” Lucy explains, eyes flitting between you, Lockwood, and George. “She asked us to keep you company, and it’s easier to take you home with your source contained.”

You seem to say something in argument, but Lucy’s smile doesn’t falter so Lockwood takes it as a good sign. Somehow even with your face scrunched up, you looked absolutely enchanting in the moonlight. Lockwood was starting to wonder if this was a type three ability.

“If we were caught out in the night with you, someone else might try to take your source. They might hide you away or destroy it if they catch you,” Lucy says gently, nodding out to the street visible from the window. Somewhere along the sidewalk, a ghostlamp is flickering in the distance. In the light of it, a stray agent or two was walking along the street. You seemed to think it over, frown ever present.

“You have my word as agency head; we won’t just keep you locked away.” Lockwood steps closer to the window as you squeeze yourself into one side far from them. He felt touched a bit at how you avoided them; likely you knew it was dangerous and didn’t want them hurt. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a lie, before you slump back into the window and look down onto the street.

Lucy seems to light up at whatever you say next, and gives Lockwood a discreet thumbs-up and impressed smirk. She turns to you, even though you aren’t looking at her, and says, “You won’t regret it.”

A silence settles between you as Lucy steps back to help George look for your source, sending Lockwood a significant look before she too disappears behind a few stacks of antiques. The room is filled with their whispering and bickering, as Lockwood tries not to let his eyes linger on you for too long.

You turn to him, and his heart stops when your lips upturn into a tiny smile. It’s terribly heartwarming how cozy you look in this cold air, and he almost wants to peel off his coat to give to you before realising you were what made it cold. You catch the aborted action with a grateful nod, tucking your lips in to hold a laugh. Not like he would have heard it (a damn shame it was) but he still found himself grinning.

“Almost forgot you probably don’t mind the cold,” He says cooly, watching you shrug. Your hand motions something in the air, before you give up and instead mime pulling a rapier from your hip.

“This old thing?” Lockwood asks, standing up to unsheathe it away from you. You nod and gesture to it again, miming a stab before a thumbs-up and a thumbs-down with (this is important to Lockwood) playful expressions that make his chest warm.

“I’m quite good, if that’s what you’re asking.” He makes a quick, but precise swing at a nearby cobweb and revels in the amusement shining on your face. “I have some newspaper clippings you can see once we bring you home.”

If you giggled there, he’s truly sad he couldn’t hear it. He goes to voice this befote George steps out from the corner with what looked to be a necklace in his hand. His jaw was slack in surprise, and he looked frozen to the spot with his eyes as wide as saucers. Behind him, Lucy was softly calling his name in concern with a hand on his shoulder.

Before Lockwood could ask him what was wrong, George says to you, “I think I heard you just now.”

Your eyes widen, as you sit straight up on the window and ask him a question Lockwood can’t hear. George’s eyes widen, and Lockwood feels his blood pounding in his ears in the silence.

“Lucy, did you hear them ask that?” George doesn’t turn around to face her, but she nods and gives a murmured reply. A glimmering jewel and chain shine in the same moonlight framing you— a gem in every which way.

The next thing that happens comes as a blur to Lockwood, who asks, as if in a trance, to borrow the necklace to hold. Your eyes follow the jewel as George passes it to him, everyone still bewildered and the air tense and cold.

“I don’t think it’ll work for you, Lockwood. You don’t have the talent to listen,” Lucy murmurs to him with a scrunched frown. Still, George passes it over.

“I have to at least try.” Lockwood gently wraps his fingers around the necklace, a bit of chain loose as he turns to you with a soft smile.

He fumbles for words like they’re caught on his tongue, before he simply settles on, “Hi.”

Even without being able to hear you, somewhere in his bones he can feel your words like a kind and fuzzy thought reply to him. It’s enough to have him grinning ear to ear, even if it doesn’t exactly help him understand what you’re saying. Your gaze grows a bit fond at that, and you say something Lucy catches that causes her to smile wide.

On the sidelines, George murmurs, “I can run so many tests.” Lucy smacks his shoulder at his tactlessness, but her smile is unfaltering. She pulls a small, glass case out and pops it open.

“Any last questions, Lockwood? I won’t ask you George because we’ll be here all night otherwise,” She hums, holding out the box.

Anthony’s grin widens and he asks elatedly, “What’s your name?”

Like all the things you will share with him in the future, your name etches itself into his memory, right beside where he will always hold dear your glittering smile.

A/N: I DON’T LIKE THIS PARTTT 😭 It had to be written though… I needed this piece to focus on the plot so I up the romcom in the next part UGH I JUST,,, I just wanna write the slice of life ok,,,, LIKE,,, Lockwood taking his ghost gf out on a mission and she has to save his self-destructive ass like… HELLO. I NEED THAT. My brain though is like “Nooooo… set up plot first bae 🥰☝️” LIKE THIS IS SO MEAN AND NECESSARY BUT SO MEANNNNN

ALSO!! I already posted this, but I went back, read the ending, and was like “No… :((( It no good fo me…” and retconned it AFTER I already posted it…. Yes I am silly, Yes I am incredibly nit-picky with my own writing 😞

Taglist 🏷️

@tangledinlove

@naive-daydreamer (thank you for the ideas!! and the original request!!)

#portie writes fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you

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mortwig · 2 years ago

Text

Sparks Fly

Entry for the amazing’s @withahappyrefrain “Dicked Down December”. Written for the loveliest and kindest person ever born: @ouralcohol

18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker fanfic

Words: 5,2k

Pairing: fem!reader* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)

Summary: Friends/Co-workers to Lovers, Christmas vibes

Tags: 18+ explicit, strangers to work besties to lovers, so much fluff, smut (only in the Epilogue though), nudity, vaginal sex, oral sex (both F receiving), all characters are 18+.

Song inspo: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

Moodboard: here

“I hadn’t realised we needed a new PE teacher?” you mentioned casually, while taking a bite of your sandwich. You and your work bestie, Kayla, were sitting under the shade of some trees, hiding from the hot late summer sun. Children were running around playing tag, sometimes even using you as cover.

Kayla looked up quickly, mild panic on her face. The principal was with a tall, dark-haired man, pointing to the different facilities from the other end of the playground. “Tan pronto?” she whispered under her breath.

You looked at her quizzingly. Kayla always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was never good at hiding emotions, and right now was no exception. She took a deep breath and, looking down at her shoes, said:

“I’ve been offered to be vice-principal in a different school… And I’ve said yes. I guess that guy must be my replacement.”

“Kayla, that is amazing! Enhorabuena!” You went to hug her, but she turned, tears welling up in her eyes.

“The job is in Florida.”

Your face dropped, and your arms did too, now hanging uselessly at your sides. The tears were also making an appearance on your face.

“I’m sorry.” She managed before the sobs overtook her.

You looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug.

“I’m not. You’ve needed a change for a long time and this sounds like an amazing opportunity. I’m proud of you for taking this step. And I’ll be visiting. Often. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

It turned out that Kayla’s replacement as a science teacher was a guy from New York called Peter Parker. Rumour had it he was running away from something, or someone, back home. But when you asked, he just gave a vague response about him “also needing a change”. You didn’t press any further. After all, we all have our demons.

He caught on pretty quickly to the bond you and Kayla had, and it was as though he could feel your pain. Every time you felt the sadness creeping in, he would pop by with a question about school protocols or class locations.

Some petty part of you wanted to dislike him. He would never replace Kayla. He was just some guy. And the truth was, he didn’t replace her. But instead, he filled a void you didn’t know you had. You and Kayla had bonded over good food, Top Gun, and fanfiction of some superhero or other. You’d cook and then be lazy together, laughing and fawning over hot fictional guys and celebrities. Peter was different, he was intent on learning Spanish and he convinced you to go on runs together so he could practice his pronunciation. After endless conversations about anything ranging from soccer to Taylor Swift lyrics, by Thanksgiving you were essentially inseparable.

“Listen up, team! This year, it’s the music department’s turn to organize the staff Christmas party.”

You saw at least four people near you stifle a disappointed groan. The music department was composed of three very extra teachers who were known for the most extravagant ideas and an obsession with glitter for some reason. You wondered if they’d magically found each other or if joining the group implied a transformation into whatever they had going on.

Diana, the oldest of the three, stepped up, hands clasped in an effort to hide her excitement.

“We have a very special evening prepared for all of you. Unfortunately, the PE department wasn’t okay with us using the gym because, I quote ‘it’s a bitch to clean up, and you’ll be too hangover to do it’. So we’ve had to move the location to the old Victorian house at the end of the road that turns out is owned by Michael’s great aunt and which has been recently renovated in an effort to rent it out to tourists next summer.”

Diana’s gossiping and oversharing was nothing new, and most of the staff were only half listening by this point.

“The theme is Christmas fairytale. You must adhere to the theme. If you do not, you will be banned from the bar area. You have been warned.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered. “They did it. They figured out how to get people to put in some effort. Threaten them with an alcohol-free Christmas party.”

Peter giggled under his breath next to you. It didn’t matter how many times you heard that stupid laugh of his, it still made your heart skip a beat. It was like hearing a song you loved as a child that you’d forgotten about. Like the gasp of excitement at the arrivals lounge of an airport on the 24th of December, when someone sees that person they’ve been missing for ages. Like the pop of a champagne cork celebrating a long-awaited pregnancy over Christmas dinner. Like the crinkle of wrapping paper around a perfectly chosen present. It was a simple sound, but it filled you with pure, soul-warming joy.

You didn’t dare look his way though, because he might notice a slight red tinge to your cheeks, a vague indication of a simmering feeling trying to find its way out of your chest, one way or another.

“Kayla, I don’t want to go…”

“You’ve said that seven times in the last hour. I’ve been counting.” Kayla had her phone up by her stove and was making something that, you assumed, smelled as delicious as it looked. Her hands were on her hips, in a proper scolding teacher pose.

“But it’s true…” You pouted, sitting back on the mattress. The numerous layers of fabric of the dress you were trying on covered most of the bed.

“What exactly is the problem? We’ve already decided that the dress is beautiful and on theme, you’ll get enough alcohol to endure Sarah’s incessant bickering, you can watch Jerry make a fool of himself on the dancefloor after four tequilas, and most importantly: you can collect intel on all the new flings that form under the glittery mistletoe that these guys have undoubtedly hung in every dark corner.”

“But it won’t be any fun without you…”

“You have a new friend now!”

“He’s no you.”

“No, he’s way hotter.” Kayla raised her eyebrows and smirked at you through the phone screen.

“Shut up.” you replied, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not though?”

“Because… I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Come on… You’ve ‘not been looking for anything’ for years now. Isn’t it time to have some fun? Or at the very least, some drama to entertain your best friend?”

“You’re the worst. Peter and I are on track to become good friends. If I lose him over a silly infatuation, I’ll be even lonelier without either of you. Not worth it.”

“HA! I knew it! I knew you liked him.”

You instantly regretted your wording, but there was no time to discuss it further. The doorbell rang and with a quick “Gotta go, bye!” the call was over and you were clumsily slipping out of the dress.

“Coming!!” you shouted as you slipped on an oversized hoodie. Hopefully it was the delivery guy with that cute light-up Christmas jumper you’d ordered two weeks ago.

But when you opened the door, Peter was standing there, looking absolutely dashing. Because the truth was, what you told Kayla was a “silly infatuation” was in fact a full-on raging crush. And it had been going on for weeks now.

The way you thought about him switched in your brain right after Thanksgiving. You had a very bad brain day. You didn’t mean for things to escalate, and you certainly didn’t mean to cry in front of him, but all the emotions you had been bottling up exploded and all sorts of negative thoughts appeared all at once.

And he’d said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. You didn’t want to hear another “it’ll be okay” or another “it’ll pass”, and he didn’t say those words. Instead, he hugged you and held you for a minute, five, half an hour, forty-five minutes. While you just cried and cried and cried. And then when you stopped sobbing, he took your hand, took you to the nice bar down the road, bought you a smoothie and told you about the movies that he and his aunt May and uncle Ben used to watch every single Christmas.

Since then, every one of his smiles held a different meaning and every one of his light touches to your arm stung like an electrical discharge. And while you knew nothing could happen -should happen- between you, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining a life with him, your mind racing with images of picket fences and golden retrievers and children running around the living room.

“Hello…” Peter was still standing in front of you, his eyes wide in both confusion and worry. How long had you been standing there, staring into the void, thinking about how in love you were?

“Peter!” You blurted out.

“That’s me…”

You continued to stare blankly at him, your brain refusing to cooperate as your heart raced at the sight of his unruly hair sticking out in twenty different directions.

“I’m not one to judge anyone’s fashion sense, but I have to say I’m surprised that you chose the mustard stain look to go to Taylor Swift karaoke.”

“Wasn’t that Thursday?”

“Darling, today’s Thursday…” If your brain was short-circuiting before, his use of the endearing term sent it into overdrive and you felt light-headed for a second. You recovered quickly though, you’d had enough breakdowns in front of him for what was left of the year.

“Fuck.”

Despite the facts finally falling into place in your brain, you still didn’t move. So, Peter gently placed his hands on your shoulders and moved you to the side, stepping into your hall.

“You go get changed, I’ll grab the tickets. Where can I find them?”

“Yes, right, sorry.” You shook your head, coming back to Earth. “I think they’re stuck to the fridge. Otherwise… Somewhere on the counter, I guess. I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”

You ran upstairs to your bedroom, your ballgown still covering most of your floor space. You didn’t really have the time to curate an outfit so you took the most basic black dress and the first pair of nice shoes you could find. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were back by the front door, keys in hand, coat on.

“Okay, I’m ready. Sorry about that.”

“You have a very messy place.”

“Not usually, I don’t… It’s just been a messy few weeks.” Messy in your head, you meant. Because it had been a long time since your heart had been in such a fit of emotion that it neglected all responsibilities. Like the night before, when you’d ignored the pile of dirty dishes and instead opened a bottle of wine and wrote self-indulging friends-to-lovers fanfiction that was definitely not a vivid daydream of Peter and you.

“I like your wall art, by the way…” You felt him looking at you from the corner of his eye as you locked the door and headed towards your car. “Spiders, huh…?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, spiders…”

“What’s so funny about spiders?” Did he sound almost… offended?

“Nothing actually. I used to be very scared of them. I sometimes am, still. But that wall art is part of my journey of getting over my fears, and it’s also a reminder of what I’m capable of if I get my mind to it.”

You glanced his way. He looked equal parts confused and in awe.

“Sorry, that was way too deep.” You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit overwhelmed and ashamed of your oversharing. “What do you want to sing first? I say we start with a classic, something from Speak Now maybe?”

Peter was still just staring at you. He didn’t laugh though, he didn’t even look uncomfortable. He seemed just… curious. After what seemed like an eternity in your over-thinking brain, he finally spoke slowly:

“Perhaps ‘Sparks Fly’.” He didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying you, your reaction, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly before you could put on your best neutral expression.

“A bop. Sounds good.”

You tossed and turned in bed, running through the events of the evening in your mind. Aside from the rocky start, it had been generally uneventful. Or so you tried to tell yourself. Because really, was there much to pinpoint that would make it different from any other meet-up with friends? There had been his hand gently touching your waist on your way into the bar. How he twirled you on your way to get a drink because someone was singing Lover. How he’d made his way to the bartender and winked at you when he got your order right within the first guess. And a million other tiny things. But above all, more than every other little gesture of kindness and every other possible indication of flirting, there had been Sparks Fly. How he’d held your hands throughout the chorus, and how he’d stared deep into your eyes and ran your hands through your hair at the start of the bridge. You’d expected him to laugh it off, to say he was just joking. Anything, any indication that there was not something weird going on between you. But he hadn’t. And now you were left wondering if maybe it was reciprocal. If he also felt the butterflies, the tension, the tug at his heart to kiss you when he leaned in to help you open your front door that always gets a bit stuck in the evenings. He said nothing. You said nothing. And you supposed life went on, same same but different.

As usual, you’d miscalculated how much time you would need to get ready and you were running late. You still had to do hair and make-up and you were supposed to meet Peter in ten minutes. You sighed heavily as you sat down in front of your mirror, phone in hand.

> Running late

> I’ll meet you there

> You sure?

> I don’t mind waiting

> Yeah sure

> You’ll just stress me out

> I would never

You giggled at the glassy-eyed cat sticker on your screen.

You hated – hated – getting to events alone. It was so awkward. Even if you knew everyone there, and you got along well with most of them. That feeling of having to find a conversation to engage in, those first few minutes. They were awful.

The hall was empty when you arrived so you sneaked a selfie in the huge vintage mirror that decorated one of the walls. You sent it to Kayla. After all, the outfit had been chosen with her. You were wearing a huge puffy white and ice-blue dress that shimmered magically under the light. A delicate mistletoe wreath on your head and some angel wings completed the look. “A Christmas angel-fairy”, Kayla called it.

You followed the noise to what must have been the dining room, but which had been turned into a ballroom. You gasped at how magical it looked. The renovated ceiling had been decorated with thousands of tiny lights that gave the room a warm glow and made everything look ethereal. The heavy red velvet courtains were drawn, and two fireplaces were lit. Christmas trees stood in every corner, decorated with classic red ornaments and gold tinsel. A bar had been set up at the end of the room, by a band that was playing a cover of Ayo Technology. They had several big bowls full of smoking drinks, and a guy dressed as an elf was mixing drinks for a very happy-looking admin team.

You looked around for Peter, in hopes of going straight to talk to him instead of having to engage in small talk with colleagues you weren’t nearly drunk enough to deal with. It might have worked, had he not been standing at the opposite end of the room. He was wearing black suit and trousers, a flowery midnight blue vest and a beautiful matching cape that brushed the floor with his every move. And… was that an eye patch? What even was that costume?

It took you close to half an hour to make your way to him, which included, amongst others: four compliments on your dress, one joke about the mistletoe on your head by Olivia from admin, and several questions about how Kayla was doing in Florida.

“What is that supposed to be? Santa’s ocean affairs delegate, pirate Parker?”

Peter scoffed, and even before he turned, he already shot back:

“Excuse you, you uncultured ignorant. I’m uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker. And this cape took a week to make, so be nice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. He’d never mentioned an interest in ballet, let alone in sewing.

When he finally took a look at you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look stunning.” He took your hand and twirled you slowly, admiring the outfit from all angles. “I didn’t know you vibed with long gowns and angelical accessories.” His cheeks were slightly redder than usual, and you couldn’t tell if he’d already had a couple of drinks or if he was somewhat flustered.

“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other.” You muttered under your breath.

You really thought you’d said it quietly. The room was loud enough that you had to speak up to hear and be heard. Yet Peter leaned in closer, your cheeks almost touching, and whispered just loud enough that you almost weren’t sure if it had been your imagination:

“I can’t wait.”

You took a step back in surprise, but he’d already turned to one of the arts and crafts teachers to compliment her elaborate hairdo with little golden bells sticking out of it. People really went all out when alcohol was on the line. You were no exception. You headed right to the bar.

You danced, you talked, you drank, you laughed. You even cried once in the bathroom after you saw Kayla’s supportive messages in response to your picture from earlier.

It was almost midnight and you were positively drunk. The kind of happy drunk that gives you just a little too much confidence and a lot of courage. So when the band’s guitar player started playing the first few notes of Love Story, you ran to Peter so you could sing it together at the top of your lungs.

His eyepatch long gone and his hair messier than ever, you could tell he was also drunk. His casual touches were becoming more frequent. His eyes lingered in yours for longer. His smile was cheekier. His whispers more intimate. And, in your inebriation, you felt that spark between you stronger than ever. As if you could almost see it if you focused on the narrowing space between you.

It still came as a surprise when the band got to the outro and he put both his hands on your waist and pulled you close.

“Let’s go outside for a minute.”

He must have been exploring the house earlier because, instead of taking you out through the front door, he led you upstairs through the beautiful staircase in the hall, his hand firmly around yours. You looked around dreamily, your eyes hazy. Whatever the music department had done with the party, you had to give them that it truly felt like a Christmas fairytale. Through a few doors, you were out on a balcony, overlooking the backyard of the house which was also decorated and lit with a range of Christmas decorations.

You stood there, looking out at the beautiful scenery around you. For a minute, you forgot you were there with Peter, you were just drunk and happy and content.

But then Peter let go of your hand. And, as if he was the anchor keeping you from slipping out of your daydream, you looked back at him, concern drawn on your features. Your heart started beating, it felt loud enough that if Peter started talking, you weren’t sure you’d hear him.

“Y/N…”

He searched your face for something, but you were too scared to say anything.

“Listen, I’ll probably regret this when I wake up sober and hungover tomorrow morning…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, maybe trying to gather enough courage to carry on. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t form a single word, let alone a full sentence. Seeing how you had been left speechless, Peter continued, trying to fix whatever might have been broken with those few words.

“But I promise I won’t let it affect our friendship. I have a lot of fun with you, I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve made in years.”

You continued to stare at him, your mind racing but your tongue tied. Ten seconds passed, twenty, maybe thirty, and you said nothing. It must have looked terrible from his perspective. But you couldn’t work out what to say, you were frozen in place.

“I’m so sorry.” He turned and walked back inside, while your hand covered your mouth and you tried to work out what to do. Would you risk the friendship you felt in your bones could be one of the most important ones in your life? Would you risk the awkwardness at work if it didn’t work out? Would you, for a relationship life you always claimed you didn’t want? You already knew what your heart would respond to all those questions: yes, yes, yes. You searched your reason, your cold, calculating brain, for a different answer. But again: yes, yes, yes. How could you not?

Your heels were comfortable but it was still a struggle to run with the voluminous dress.

“Peter wait!” You yelled when you got to the top of the staircase. He was almost downstairs, his cape flowing behind him with every step he took. “I’m sorry!”

He looked back, caution written all over his face.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated as you rushed down. “I don’t want to lose you either, but…” panic replaced every emotion that was rushing through your veins, as you felt one of the silky underlayers of the dress get caught under your toes. In slow motion, you realized Peter was too far down to catch you, but at least you wouldn’t take him down with you. Your wreath went flying off your head as you braced yourself for impact. But the crash against the cold steps never came, only two warm arms holding you firmly.

“But what?”

You looked around in shock, trying to work out how he’d made it up half the staircase in less than a second. “How…?”

“But what?” he insisted, interrupting you. You looked back at him.

“But I’ll risk it all.” You inhaled deeply. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”

Peter’s relief was obvious, from the way his body relaxed noticeably, and from the smile he flashed at you. He helped you upright so you could gather yourself. You were checking the damage to your dress, partly hiding from the sudden elephant in the room, partly to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself again.

Once it was obvious you were stalling, Peter cleared his throat. When you looked up, he had an eyebrow raised, and gently nodded up. Hanging about a feet over your heads was your mistletoe wreath. It seemed to be floating mid air but upon closer inspection you realized it was dangling from what seemed to be a spider web.

“How…?” again, it was all you could think to say. But this time, Peter wasn’t so patient. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

EPILOGUE

There hadn’t been much time, Peter left to spend Christmas with his Aunt May in New York. You would also be visiting family.

As for New Year’s… Let’s just say things had worked out nicely and Peter was now running his hands through your hair and kissing your neck and up towards the back of your ear. And oh if he didn’t stop whispering sweet nothings against your skin, you were certain you would melt into goo and dissolve right there on the sofa.

“You are absolutely stunning.”

“Mmh…” You hadn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in the last ten minutes. You just hummed and whimpered while your body reacted to what you could have sworn was electricity passing to and from between the two of you.

Peter reached further down, caressing your back and waist tentatively. He was taking his sweet time and, as much as adored it, you felt a need building up in your core that needed to be met, and it needed to be met soon.

“Let’s move to the bed.” As much of a people pleaser as you usually were, the suggestion came out as a demand, firm and confident. In return, Peter didn’t hesitate, he simply looked into your eyes and picked you up bridal style.

You were impressed by how easily he carried you up the stairs, reminding you that you still hadn’t worked out how he’d managed the sprint up the stairs at the party. But that was a conversation for another moment because Peter was putting you down on the bed and seeking confirmation in your eye as his fingers trailed circles on your thighs. You nodded and he proceeded to run his hands up under your skirt, pulling down the hem of your tights. His hands ran back up your legs to pull your panties to the side. His fingers ran up and down the inside of your thighs as his lips met your clit, giving it a soft kiss before licking up and down and getting to work.

You lost track of time, and you were pretty sure you ascended to an alternate reality at some point, and were only brought back by the tightening coil in your abdomen. Peter switched perfectly between licking, sucking, kneading your thighs and humming against you in satisfaction. It was as if he could hear your heartbeat accelerate and relax with every wave of pleasure, giving him privileged information as to how to act at every precise moment.

But it was only after he put in his index finger inside you that you felt the orgasm incoming.

“Oh, fuck, Peter.”

You felt him smile cheekily against your clit, and you wanted to smack his head. You probably would have if he hadn’t been in charge of your pleasure at the time.

A second finger quickly followed, hitting your G spot at just the right time while your clit remained at his tongue’s mercy.

“Peter!” you whimpered, your right hand gripping his messy hair, while your left hand held onto the sheets for dear life. Your moans filled the room as you rode your high, his fingers maintaining a constant speed throughout your orgasm.

You were panting, still trying to catch your breath, as Peter undid his shirt buttons and helped you out of your dress.

“I cannot stress this enough; you are gorgeous.”

You peeked through your half-closed eyelids only to find him standing there, admiring your body.

“Beautiful enough to make love to?” Peter’s eyes went dark with desire at the question and you smirked at him.

The remaining clothes that still clung to your bodies were quickly removed and discarded. Peter kneeled between your legs, his hands combing his hair back. He was hard and leaking precum already. The awareness of him being this aroused just from making out with you and eating you out hit you like a train and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“So ready.” You winked at him and his cheeks turned just a tiny bit redder.

He didn’t rush it, he took his time, letting you adjust to his size. He only started pumping once you nodded at him. Slow, long strokes had you whimpering and squirming as you hid your head in the pillow, self-conscious of all the noises you were making.

“Hey, look at me. Those sounds you’re making are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard but I want to see you too.”

You were flustered, it was as if he could read your mind. But you made an effort and kept looking at him. And oh, was it worth it. He sped up his pace and lowered himself down to his elbows, close enough to kiss you and for you to grab his hair again. God, he had such amazing hair. He was panting, he seemed to be struggling.

“Tired, Parker?” You giggled in his ear.

“No, not at all. I’m just trying very hard not to cum because it would be embarrassing to last literally five minutes and also I want to make you cum at least once more.”

You were taken aback by this display of honesty. You had to admit you’d never been with any straight guy who felt so comfortable admitting stuff like that.

“I can help with that.”

You pushed him back a little, just enough that you could reach into your nightstand drawer and squirt some lube onto your hand.

Peter wasn’t moving, just looking at you in fascination. You reached between your bodies and circled your clit just like you did when you were alone. When your first moan hit his ears, Peter was brought back to Earth and he started pumping into you again. Tentatively at first, but deeper and faster as he gauged your positive reactions.

“I’m so close”, is what you said, but it took you so much effort to string the sentence together that when it came out, you were actually extremely close. So close that the next thrust from Peter’s hips sent you into orbit and you could do nothing but clench around him and hold his arms as if they were your anchors. You were just riding the last few waves of pleasure when you felt his consistent rhythm failing and his face contort. He soon crashed on top of you, both of you panting, completely blissed out.

A sound coming from the outside caught your attention before you could fully relax into each other. You frowned.

“Are those fireworks?” Peter asked. You turned towards your window and, sure enough, you could see colourful lights through the thin courtains.

“It looks like it.” You responded.

“I would have sworn it was 10 pm just ten minutes ago.” He sounded positively confused. You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those laughs that come from the belly, that makes you feel like a child again. And it must have been contagious because Peter started shaking on top of you, laughing quietly into the pillow next to you.

“Happy New Year, Peter.”

“Happy New Year, darling.”

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved for her cameo as Y/N’s best friend ❤️

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker x f!reader #dicked down december

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blushsani · 3 months ago

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sunny | c.j

in which jongho finally gets to feel those little kicks.

𓏲ּ genre : fluff 𓏲ּ details : husband!jongho . fem!reader . expecting reader . 𓏲ּ wc : 0.8k 𓏲ּ notes : idk what went wrong but i've had to repost this bc it wasn't popping up under ANY of the tags? a little bit upset about this and i just hope it doesn't happen again :< if any of you guys may know what might've caused it then pls do comment and let me know! | would just like to mention again that i have opened a kofi account! if you'd like to give anything, that would be super appreciated. it goes further than you'd think ♡

“sunny’s kicking!”

considering it was coming up to half seven in the evening, you probably should’ve lowered your voice down a notch. you are only a few doors away from other guests in the resort. however, that was the very last thing on your mind as you feel the familiar sensation of faint fluttering in your stomach.

it’s happening–it’s happening.

there’s a sudden pause that couldn’t have lasted more than four seconds, and then the flutter-like feeling returns in full force. your smile widens.

your smiling turns into laughter as you watch your husband spin around to look at you, damn near cracking his neck in the process.

“are you—r-right now?” you’re not sure you’ve ever heard jongho sound so raw with disbelief.

“baby come!” you say through laughter, one hand lingering on your stomach.

within seconds, jongho is dropping whatever was in his hold, stopping whatever he had been occupying himself with near the bathroom sink and dropping to his knees where you’re sitting in the bathtub.

as soon as he kneels down beside you, you hastily grab his hand and place it over your stomach.

feeling and watching your stomach develop as time went by was a journey to say the least.

the itchiness you’d feel around your tummy as you grew was one of your least favourite things about being pregnant. you would genuinely take the heartburn over the itchiness any day. you’ve generally never been able to stand the insufferable need to itch something, so you suppose you were doomed from the beginning.

maneuvering your husband’s hand to find the spot the kicking is coming from, you take notice of the tiny gasp you hear come from jongho once you do find it.

finally.

it’s been simultaneously hilarious and unbelievable to you how until now, jongho was still yet to feel your baby’s kicks. mind you, you’re twenty-eight weeks along. you can’t wrap your head around it.

there’s been far too many instances where the kicking has started up and somehow, jongho just hasn’t managed to reach you in time. before you and jongho know it, the kicking has once again halted to a stop. you always end up feeling both pleased about the pressure on your bladder going away and bummed for your partner, leaning further towards the latter of course.

it makes you think of a memory you shared with jongho a couple weeks ago.

“maybe sun just doesn’t like you, baby,” is what you had jokingly said to him, letting out a laugh. you recall trying to lift the mood, and you were successful in doing so, hearing jongho join you with laughter of his own after shooting a flatly pointed look at you.

but here you are now…jongho’s eyes glistening with tears as his hand lays above your belly with a different kind of spark in both his smile and his eyes. you couldn’t miss the vague shaking of his hand even if you tried.

you let the comfortable silence grow, knowing jongho just needs time to take everything in.

more time than jongho is happy with to say the least has passed and there’s been so much growth he’s been watching happen. to at last have some interaction with his baby–the baby you’re gifting into the world–means more than everything to him.

“that’s our baby y/n…our baby.” the man before you looks up at you, misty eyed with the most fond smile you’ve ever seen pinned against his lips.

perhaps you’ve just fallen in love all over again.

you slide your hand further on top of jongho’s, giving a soft squeeze before picking up and holding his hand.

you comfortably slide your fingers in between his.

“i’m gonna glue my hand to your stomach–why have i only thought of that now–i’m gluing my hand to you.”

he sounds so determined.

he’s so silly, you think to yourself.

he’s your silly, you also think to yourself.

you throw your head back slightly with laughter. “i would let you jjong. promise.”

he takes a moment to simply look at you, really look at you. to simply admire you.

it’s nothing he hasn’t done before; it’s something he will forever do.

“i love you. thank you for giving us this gift.” for the umpteenth time, jongho shows you his utter love and appreciation for you. you never knew someone could love so deeply until you met him.

you’re smiling like a fool in love (which you are).

you lean forwards to reach your hands up to cup jongho’s face in your palms. your hands are pruny and only slightly wet, the air doing its job in drying them. jongho doesn’t seem to mind however, only holding your hands closer to his cheeks.

“thank you for loving me.”

his forehead ever so gently connects with yours.

- yours sincerely, qei .

#𐙚 — blushsani #qeiwrites !#choi jongho #ateez jongho #ateez choi jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez jongho x reader #choi jongho x reader #choi jongho fluff

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fanfic-scribbles · 2 years ago

Text

Safe Keeping

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Sometimes, pushing your boundaries can lead to something good.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Agoraphobic!Reader, a bucket o’ fluff

MCU Timeline: Set at some point post-Avengers

Words: 4268

A/N: I was actually writing a different agoraphobic-focused Bucky/Reader slice-of-life fic but that became too long and too much of a slow burn for me to be able to focus on right now, sadly, so I tried something different. I might go back to it later (I definitely have no problem writing the same concept more than once) but I like how this came out :]

It’s early. It’s (relatively) quiet. You’re restless. The conditions are perfect for a walk; all you have to do is…leave. The apartment. Easy.

Right.

You sigh and check your pockets for the tenth time. You have all the essentials, you aren’t going far, you don’t have to go for long, or even further than the block if you decide you really aren’t up for it; all you have to do is…try.

And yet all you can do is stand in front of your door. Do you have to do this? One walk isn’t going to set your life right–

No; this is important. You haven’t left in days, and walking is good and healthy and maybe you can get a coffee or something else nice after you’ve been outside for a little while. As long as the shop isn’t too crowded, but it’s so early that odds are good.

Okay, you have a plan: attempt a short walk, and after the timer goes off you can beeline to a nice quiet coffee shop for a little treat.

You put your hand on the doorknob before you can second-guess yourself (maybe sixth or seventh-guess at this point, probably) and open the door–

–right as someone’s walking by.

You blink and jerk at the brief jump scare but the guy actually jumps and spins towards you. You can’t help it– you let out a little snort. The guy is huge and looks like he wouldn’t be afraid of anything, so seeing him look mildly alarmed and then blush is…funny. He also looks vaguely familiar but you chalk that up to having seen him around before. You don’t like leaving the apartment, but you do (unfortunately) have to do it on occasion.

“Um…sorry,” you say. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“No, it’s fine, you just…startled me.” He smiles weakly, looking tired. Maybe he was on shift all night. After a brief exchange of “good morning” he keeps on and you…well it’s stupid but you can’t go back inside now, when he’s still down the hall. That would be weird, to open the door and just shut it again.

You knock your head against the side of the door and step outside, and curse your bright ideas as you slip your key in to finish locking up. However, you feel…odd. When you look, you see the guy you scared, staring at you from a few doors down.

“Sorry.” His smile curls a little more, skewing more towards ‘amused’ right out of ‘forced.’ “Do you have a doctor’s appointment or something?”

“Uh…” This is way more human interaction than you were hoping for. This morning is off the rails and the sun isn’t even fully up yet. “No? Why?”

“You just sound like you really don’t want to be out,” he says and turns the key in his lock.

You make a mental note to watch your volume. You’re both fairly quiet even now, but you didn’t think you were that loud just muttering to yourself. “No, no appointment. I mean, I don’t really want to go, but I’m just…taking a walk.”

You brace yourself, for a weird look at the very least, but he still smiles like that isn’t the lamest thing he’s ever heard. “Good for you,” he says, unexpectedly sincere and warm, and opens his door. For a moment you dare to hope that’s it, but he stops and looks at you again. “I moved in a couple months ago but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Steve.”

He probably has and just doesn’t know it; you’re not exactly memorable. But you introduce yourself, and after a pleasant goodbye he finally goes inside and shuts the door.

You hit your head on yours. Again. But you make yourself lock the deadbolt and turn away. Yes, it is good for you, and so you’re going to get outside, take your stupid walk, get your stupid treat, and come right back home where it’s safe and you can be alone again.

Leaving the apartment every single day seems a little much. You’re trying to get out more, but baby steps are necessary lest you give in to the desire to crawl under the covers for the rest of your life. So you take it easy.

Still, even days later you’re surprised when you run into Steve again. People come and go so much and you don’t really see neighbors all that often as it is (by design, of course), so it nearly brings you to a stop when you enter the laundromat so late it’s technically early and see him there, in a stupidly tight t-shirt, stuffing his clothes into a dryer. He glances over and does a little double-take, but he smiles and nods politely and that– that’s easy to replicate, so that’s what you do, before you go find a washer.

The bench by your chosen machine is broken. The next one is…kind of gross. You look around but, naturally, the only decent one is partially occupied. And, wouldn’t you know it, Steve sees you coming and smiles knowingly, before gesturing at the open half.

“Sorry,” you say as you sit down.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says with a light chuckle, and goes back to his book. That’s a relief, and you settle in with a slight turn to keep a line of sight on your clothes as you pull out your own book.

“Do you work night shift?”

Apparently he can multitask. Well, he was nice enough to share his seat. “Not exactly,” you say, then just admit, “Shitty sleep schedule.”

“Oh.” He smiles a little more crookedly and says, “I get that.”

It sounds sincere, and after that you both settle into comfortable quiet.

It’s good to have a nice neighbor.

You’re trying to take another walk.

You have been spending all that energy pacing in front of your door just trying to get out. Nothing’s going to happen. But what if it does. You don’t have to go far. But then what’s the point.

And now you just feel bad again, because it’s just a short walk, this should be easy. Okay, step one: open the door.

You open the door.

And you…stand there.

A door opens down the hall and in a panic you shut yours again and put your back against it. You hold your face. “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” you mutter, but the words feel empty, and you drop your hands and let them hit against the wood.

This is so stupid. Why do you have to leave for an aimless walk that doesn’t even do anything. Why can’t you just leave for a measly half hour? Or ten minutes? The odds of getting stuck, or something bad happening, is all so miniscule, so why can’t you just stop thinking about it, why can’t you pull yourself together, why–…why…

…Why is there a piece of paper on your floor.

You squint at it. It doesn’t look like any of the paper you have at hand. It’s way too small to be a flier. God, did you pace so much that whoever lives downstairs has come to bitch you out in writing? With a sense of dread you reach down, pick it up, and, after a few seconds to steel your nonexistent nerves, unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You stare. The little smiley drawn next to the pretty cursive makes a small smile form on your face. It’s…cute. Not a passive-aggressive complaint. Again, you wonder just how loud you were being that someone could hear you just walking down the hall, but the thought flits away. You bite your lip. You don’t want to leave still, but…the person is gone already. No one is around to see if you step outside the building and decide you really, really can’t do this. …And if there is, well, you can just pat your pockets and run back inside like you forgot something. Not like it would be the first time.

You take a deep breath, and look at the note one more time before you fold it back up and put it inside your pocket.

You can do this.

It’s a week later you get some unexpected company on your walk.

You glance over as someone comes up on your side, a little closer than most, and when you see it’s Steve you pull down your headphones and exchange polite greetings.

“How’s the walk?” he asks with a bit of cheer in his voice it still feels too early for.

“Not the worst,” you say and look over his well-appointed but heavily breathing self. “How was the…marathon?”

He smiles, and it’s surprisingly beautiful. It might be the first real expression you’ve seen him make, you think. “Refreshing,” he says and rolls his shoulders. His watch starts beeping and he glances at it before sighing heavily. “One more,” he murmurs to himself and silences the alarm before his eyes narrow at the path ahead.

“You can do this,” you say, perhaps a little too quietly. But he actually jolts in surprise, then flashes you an outright grin– before he takes off fast enough to put racecars to shame.

You watch him, and feel a little bloom of…contentment. Maybe coming outside today wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

You keep the note in your wallet. Its stupid, maybe– Steve’s just a neighbor you know very little about, (aside from the realization about his heroic extra curriculars that had made you overthink every interaction with him for a good two days), but his scrawled cursive becomes a little lodestone, a way to focus when things feel like too much. When things actually are too much the words don’t matter, and you can return home without too much guilt. But sometimes…sometimes they help you keep moving forward.

Right now you want to keep moving forward. There’s a record shop by your apartment you’ve noticed from your walks and you really, really want to go inside and check it out. However, it is also small, and so it is also easily crowded almost all open hours. You’ve used three walks already just going past it, looking longingly inside and unable to handle the way you can hear the person behind the counter greeting everyone who comes in.

But today. You left the house without hesitation, you have your note and have checked it five times, your resolve has strengthened with each read, and you have no urge to run back and hide behind your door. Today is the day you are going to go in, and the person is going to say hi, and you are going to say hi back, and you are going to browse to your heart’s content, and nothing bad is going to happen.

(Also you checked all the photos available on the internet and you have a good idea of the layout and where you want to go. Because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

Anyway, the point is– you can do this.

…Eventually. You still have a good five hours before it closes at least, so there’s no rush. However, standing, pacing, and just generally being outside of it wanting to go in is starting to get a little boring, if nothing else. Either you’re going in or you’re going home.

You take out the note and read it again.

“Oh.”

You jolt and turn, and there’s Steve, looking mildly startled. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling, and puts his hands up. “I was walking by and saw you and I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi.” You slip the note away. His eyes glance to it and you swallow. Is it stupid, that you like the note so much? Is he going to think you’re a creep? “You did…that was from you, wasn’t it?”

He ducks his head and looks a little embarrassed. “I heard you saying it to yourself when I was passing by and thought you might…need a pick-me-up. I’m sorry if that’s weird; my hearing’s really good and I don’t listen on purpose.”

“It’s okay. I…I really like it. Thank you,” you say.

His smile returns, and he looks at you. “You really don’t like leaving the apartment, do you?”

Understatement. But a polite one. “I don’t,” you say. “But I also don’t…I don’t want to be stuck. Either outside or in.” You glance at the shop and sigh. “It’s a weird catch-22.”

“Sounds tough,” Steve says, and his sympathy, as ever, seems sincere and not forced. “I’ve been in there before; the owner’s really nice. If I go in first, I can talk to him, and you can come in after me.”

It’s hard not to look at him like he was sent from heaven. Hero, sure, maybe, but this…this is kindness you’d never be able to ask of anyone. “Really?”

His smile grows, and he nods. “You can do this,” he says.

Well, when you have a handy distraction, sure. But you just nod and walk across the street with him. You stop and pretend to fiddle with your phone while he goes in, and when you hear him and the store owner greet each other you take the chance and slip in. Aside from a quick “hello!” you’re left to wander the aisles of records, CDs, tapes, and memorabilia all on your own.

It’s not often you’re actively glad you left the relative safety of your own home, but today is one of them.

It’s still probably not normal, how much effort it takes you to get outside, and how easy it is to make you run for safety, but you’re more or less able to make walks a regular thing– at least three times a week, if you're having a good one. Early in the morning, so that you don’t have to deal with as many people. And Steve starts joining you for portions of them. He still likes to zoom past on his runs, but on cool-downs he doesn’t seem to mind keeping pace with you. Both of you are fairly quiet but the silence is as easy as the occasional chatter, and sometimes you can even make him laugh. It’s strange to be comfortable like this, to have someone comfortable with you like this, but you try not to think about it too much.

“Do you…want to get a coffee?” he asks abruptly one day.

That is an excellent opportunity. “I found a place I’ve been wanting to try,” you say, trying not to be too excited, but by the grin on Steve’s face you fail a little. “If you don’t mind. It’s…harder to run away when other people are involved.”

“All right,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Steve is nice to have around. He stops by sometimes to ask if you feel like coming out, and doesn’t take offense when you say no. Then for a week it’s…quiet. And the week after that. You go out for a couple of walks at a time you definitely know he likes to run, but he is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate by his door once wondering if he’s all right, but knocking gets you nothing. It’s probably for the best– you don’t know what you’d say– but as you slink back into your apartment you’re left with a feeling of unease.

“Hey.”

You jump at the sudden voice by your shoulder but Steve doesn’t get a word in before you gasp his name. “Are you okay?” you ask and look him over. There’s some scraping on his cheek but it looks nearly healed. “Were you in an accident?”

“Um…” He looks nearly sheepish as he smiles and says, “Not exactly?”

Oh, right– ‘Avenger’ and whatnot. Naturally it only now occurs to you that maybe you should have checked the news, but…maybe it’s better that you hadn’t. Absently you reach out to gently touch around the scrape. His eyes flutter, going a little wide, but then he settles again and almost leans into your hand.

Still, it’s probably inappropriate, so when he’s looking at you with amusement you take your hand back and fight the urge to run back home. “I’m sorry,” you say. “That definitely burst a personal bubble.” Yours, his, common decency’s…

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s the nicest touch I’ve had in a long time.”

That strikes a chord in you. Something that reverberates and aches, because the joke was poorly disguised, and now he looks a little uncomfortable. You could pretend to ignore it.

Or…

You reach out again, slow and light, making sure not to aggravate or hurt anything as your fingers ghost over his skin. When the base of your palm comes close enough to brush the edge of his cheek, he does lean in. And this time you leave your hand there.

Until you hear someone suddenly shout from a distance away and both of you jerk back. He lifts his head to listen, but when laughter follows, and then fades, you both sigh in unison.

You clear your throat. “Would you…like to take a walk with me?”

He smiles slowly. “I can do that.”

You hold out your hand, and without hesitation, he takes it, wrapping long, strong fingers that seem to surround your skin. It’s probably the nicest touch you’ve had in a long time, too.

It’s good you live in the same building, because you have a string of bad days. When he first comes over to check on you, he stands shyly at the door until you, with only a sliver of hesitation, invite him in. Your apartment is nothing special, nothing that really should make you want to stay in it all the time, but it is home and safe and Steve seems happy enough to come by frequently, sometimes to check on you, sometimes to stay so you can enjoy each other’s company. You watch movies, and sit and talk, and order dinner in, and nights end with polite kisses, and then with arms wrapped around each other on the couch, and then with limbs tangled so thoroughly in bed that morning becomes an exercise in finding where one ends and the other begins.

But you’re not sure how long you can expect him to be happy with this. Steve is truly restless; eager to be out and about. He’s fine to do it on his own, but the day comes when he asks, again, if you would like to join him, and even though the gut feeling is ‘no,’ you nod your head ‘yes,’ and get ready to join him outside. It’s just a walk, and he’s excited enough that it pulls you outside your door, outside the building, outside…outside…

You…can’t do this.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks and laces his fingers with yours.

It’s ridiculous. It’s your own fucking neighborhood, and Steve is right there, patient and sweet as he always is; it’s just a walk, it’s just…it’s just…

“I can’t.” Walk, lift your head, feel anything but shame– that little phrase covers a lot, right now. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you want me to come back with you?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. Go out. I know you wanted to.”

He frowns, but he lets you go. It sucks, but having him stay in would feel so much worse. You attempt some half-hearted cleaning and give up to go sit on the couch in comfy clothes and just be miserable. Why not.

There’s a knock at the door. You cringe and get up, wondering what you're going to say for yourself (what can you say for yourself?) but when you answer, Steve is there and smiling like he’s…pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he says, like nothing happened at all.

“Hey,” you say. “Good run?”

“It was,” he said. “I picked up coffee and breakfast, but I left it at my apartment. Can you come down and stand in the threshold for five seconds while I grab it? We can come back to your apartment and eat.”

You stare at him.

Then you laugh. It’s ridiculous but…hey, this whole fucking thing is ridiculous, most of the time. “Very subtle,” you say, and he grins. Then his smile lessens, but doesn’t fade, and he reaches out. You take his hand in yours.

“If you truly can’t do it, I’ll bring it back, no strings,” he says sincerely. “But…five seconds?”

You think about it for a moment, then poke your head in the hall. Everything is so quiet. “Five seconds,” you say, and allow him to pull you down the hall, leaving your door cracked just a smidge. His apartment is dark and, honestly, a bit of a mess, but you stand obediently in the threshold while he brings over food and drink, and by the time those five seconds pass he’s already herding you back into the hall and locking the door behind himself.

“Five seconds was probably too long for how dirty my place is,” he says when you’re back in your apartment and squished side-by-side at the tiny table you have tucked against the wall. “But hey– you went somewhere new today.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “You’re too good to me, sometimes.”

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh. “I like you,” he says.

You put the breakfast sandwich down, and slide into him. He meets you more than halfway.

The next day you show up at his place with some cleaning supplies. He’s mortified, but he lets you stay and help.

A week later you’re in the waiting room of a doctor’s appointment when the world feels like it starts closing in on you. You want to leave but you can’t, you won’t, it took forever to get this slot and you’ve already canceled three times. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, but that doesn’t help. Neither does breathing slowly. The clock ticks, the receptionists chatter quietly and answer phones, and the few other people here look very bored.

You pull out your wallet– maybe you’ll reorganize your cards or do something else that can take some focus off this rising panic– and see a corner of paper. You pull it out and unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You smile slightly. There’s still a pressure, an urge to run even though you know you’d be frozen in place if you even tried, but you look at the paper and think about Steve’s strong hands holding a calligraphy pen with gentle grace; how those fingers feel as they ghost along behind your back and curl around your other shoulder. A body memory of him leaning into you as you rest against him.

Your name is called and you get up, a little steadier, and that much closer to home.

It has been a long day, much of it spent doing things, and you’re ready to settle in with a book and your phone and try not to obsessively check for new messages. Steve has been gone for a few days (not doing anything terribly dangerous, thankfully) and you miss having him physically present. It’s probably a little pathetic but…well, who cares; you like having him around, and isn’t the point of being with another person being with another person?

So you’re fine with being a little needy. Maybe when you hear him get home you’ll go visit. He’s still overly willing to come to your apartment all the time, and while it’s a nice gesture, his place is becoming safe all on its own.

A jingle of keys outside is all the alert you get before someone knocks on the door. You get up to go see, and smile at the sight of the figure standing expectantly outside. A few quick flips later, and you open up to Steve leaning against the frame.

“So I had a plan,” he says casually.

“You did, hm?” You mirror his slouch against the wall. “What kind of plan?”

“A good plan,” he says. “I was going to go to the ice cream place a few blocks over and get a couple of scoops and bring them back real fast before they melted. As a nice surprise.”

“That does sound like a nice surprise,” you say, lips starting to curl as you find yourself unable to hold the casual act. “What happened?”

He blushes. “I forgot,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but laugh. He shrugs lightly but the pink flush is already fading and he lifts his head to show you his smile. “I thought I could still go get them, but then I was walking by and I thought…I didn’t want to go before seeing you.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to go without seeing me too.” And at that you stop pretending and reach out, meeting him with a hug and a kiss. It feels good to have him back and he’s just as hesitant to let you go when you part to breathe.

“I definitely see the appeal in staying in right now,” he murmurs, still so close to your face and his arms light but still very present around you. “I’ll be right back?”

That’s an option. Or…

“Can I come with you?” you ask without even thinking, but when you do, it seems…fine.

“Really?” Steve says, blinking, but his smile spreads. “I’d like that. If you’re up to it.”

“Yeah,” you say, and after you grab a few necessary things, you slip your hand into his. “Let’s do this.”

#steve rogers x reader #avengers fanfic #captain america fanfic #avengers reader insert #captain america reader insert #fluff #getting together

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lipglossanon · 11 months ago

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Hey lip, do you have any tips on how to start writing other than just starting? Like I have ideas and all but when I try to write them down I feel like I don't know the words that I want to describe the scenes and all, and thanks for sharing you work!

Yello anon! 👋

Hmm 🤔 I can try my best to explain so if it’s confusing or you need clarification just let me know!

So how I approach writing is a lot like daydreaming. I’m not a writer who can storyboard too far in advance cause that’s stifling to my creativity. Kinda like boxing myself in a corner.

With that said, I have this hazy picture of moments that I want to write down. So I start typing what I’m thinking to get started, like:

“You woke up late, a splitting headache making your vision double and stomach roil with nausea.”

Then, I let my mind wander and my hands try to keep up. I use the visual in my brain as a guiding point on how I want the scene to look like/go.

“You squint at the bright light seeping in from your blinds, dust motes drift into your line of vision as you slowly sit up in bed. Glancing at your watch, you see it’s still early morning. You slowly climb out of bed and make your way to the dresser, pulling out some loungewear to change into after your shower.”

Now I’m someone who doesn’t spend too much time on details in certain areas. Mainly cause I’m writing from a reader POV so I try to keep vague so people can plug in their own things. For me personally, unless it’s necessary in the story, I leave it pretty bare bones. Like who cares if the reader wears Nike shoes and Ray ban sunglasses? Or that Leon drives a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee and wears Dior suits?

Sometimes those details are so jarring it will pull me out of the story cause it’s like why are these things specifically brought to my attention? Less is more in a lot of cases.

And then I also try to make up for it in other ways, like describing feelings or smutty scenarios taking place. You kinda have to just find your own voice when writing and that may take time and lots of drafts until you feel like you’ve hit the sweet spot.

And all else fails, just write what’s in your brain and then go back and clean it up. I’ve done that a bunch too; just sort of a stream of consciousness writing that I’ll go back and pick apart until I have what I like.

As cliche as it sounds, there’s no right way to writing (it would be so much easier if there was! 🤣).

I have a hard time with finding the right words and phrases all the time which leads me to misusing them cause I have the wrong meaning for it. So usually just make a note to go back and rework it til I have what I like. And sometimes the words I pick are what I end up using anyway cause it gets what I want across.

Here’s an example of a WIP I started today:

“Blinking back the sudden tears, you reach over and grab her hand giving it a squeeze.

Love from the eldest daughter is rife (DIFFERENT WORD??) with resentment.”

So all I can truly say is take a chance on yourself; read books and fics of things you like, listen to music and watch movies for inspiration. You’ll get the hang of it and come into your own! 💜 I’m rooting for ya!

#ask box #anon #lipglossanon #lipglossanswers #lipgloss talks writing #writing tips?

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no1ryomafan · 1 year ago

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Yknow for most of my tumblr rants I like to keep stuff vague even when it’s apparent what thing I’m aiming at because I don’t like to trash talk people openly who I don’t know or formally knew especially on the most mundane subjects but there’s one particular thing that has been bothering me about fandom culture that I’ve noticed as of late that I gotta rant about:

And that’s the whole ordeal of “you need to consume this series in a certain way” mindset as apart from leading into general bad traits fandom culture has-toxicity and gatekeeping-I feel this is just another reason why some people get easily scared off by getting into certain things.

To further elaborate I wanna first say there’s nothing particularly wrong with advising a set order of things to consume in a series under the context of either:

<someone asked to begin with what order to watch/read/play something <a series has multiple sequels that are connected in some capacity so advising the correct order because sometimes it’s not the “chronological” that’s the correct way

Those cases you are making sure the person gets into a series by following the story the way it’s intended, that’s fine, I’m more so talking about how a handful of certain fandoms are centered a series with multiple canons and they don’t really overlap yet fans try to act authority over how you should consume the media when at that point it’s just a matter of “which series looks the most interesting too you”.

I’ve seen this behavior pop up a bit in getter fandom and while it’s not anything toxic-thankfully-I really don’t agree to the notion of you need to read all of the mangas JUST to understand the Animes when they’re ALL in their own canon. But this post isn’t actually about Getter because the general atmosphere I’ve seen in my own circle is “we really don’t care where you start as long as you’ve seen Getter” which I appreciate and can’t really get too upset over the series discourse, I’m more so noticing this happening in a different older anime fandom I was kinda apart of being Soul Eater.

Now I’ve only seen this said by two people so I’m not gonna claim this is a general thing by the fandom-fuck knows how many soul eater fans there are anymore even if it’s more recognizable than getter-however I get the vibe this is something fans when newbies get into the series advise: To not get super into SE as it be unnecessary, for those who don’t know it’s one of those animes that was unfortunately cursed with “starting off a solid adaption for the first half but by the second half it completely diverted from the manga and the anime content is not only different but inferior from its source” which from what I seen, had a lot of old SE fans advise newer fans to watch the anime up to a certain point aka right where it changes from the manga and than going to read the manga with the stuff the anime didn’t adapt, and than after you finish the manga you can go back to watch the anime if you so choose.

I really, really, REALLY do not like this approach and despite what I said early about “different iterations” this one even worse given the context SE doesn’t have that many canons outside of these and a spin off series.

Literally this entire process could be avoided if someone just said “don’t watch the anime because it’s not a good adaption, read the manga” because even if that sounds gatekeepy it’s at least not a unnecessary back and forth process with the anime being CLEARLY redundant. Sure, SE like 100+ or so chapters but even if watching the anime adapt the first half is faster than reading it, it just makes things needlessly complicated to newer fans.

It’s also not the end of the world if someone watches the show and never reads the manga because guess what? We all like stuff that is FUNDAMENTALLY flawed. People are too worried about their media being perfect when no series is and there’s nothing wrong with liking something that’s a bit messy because people still keep up with series that are hella fucking messy. If they complain about the anime sucking but refuse to read the manga that’s on them, not your issue because they knew what they were getting themselves into if someone was warning them. We also just gotta deal with people not giving stuff we like a second chance after the first time because needlessly shoving a “order” in their face isn’t gonna make them feel inclined to check it out again.

My only advice I can give from this long messy rant of a post that went too far on tangent about something I don’t even know is said by many fans-and if anyone finds this and is active in the SE circles please feel free to correct me-is NEVER advise someone a order of getting into a thing unless there IS canons that do connect with each other by being direct follow ups. Don't get mad at someone for getting into a series from the most confusing or hated iteration, because if they are actually interested they'll want to consume more of it even if they have a weak first impression.

Never force anything onto ANYONE and just welcome new fans with open arms, thats a way to make a safe space even in some of the worst fandoms.

#meg text #im not tagging the two series I mentioned here lol #I would’ve mentioned more like TF or Gundam but I haven’t experienced enough of them only been more of a outsider #I would’ve mentioned mega man but I try to distance myself from fandom talk (also that be more bias then me slightly mentioning getter lol)#I do stand by tho you don’t need to play every classic or x game to get zero/zx/legends though #or that you need to play all of battle network to get starforce bc the latter hardly references the former #but if anyone has any other fandom shit like this they can relate too feel free to share because I’m worried if I was too mean 💀#(if my assumption about soul eater was hella off I’m sorry but I got the vibes hard)

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agentdumortain · 2 years ago

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AN INTERVIEW WITH JACKIE COHEN by Isaiah Mock for WHIPLASH MAGAZINE

(Top row: cover art from Jackie Cohen’s solo EPs About Yesterday and Give It Time. Bottom row: cover art of one of Stunts’ EPs “Leaning Backward” and their most recent release, “Didn’t See That Coming”.)

Jackson Cohen, better known as Jackie, is the frontwoman of one of alternative’s underdog up-and-coming bands Stunts. She tells me before she’s even sat down that she never expected to be where she is today. “I know a lot of people say that kind of thing under these circumstances, but I mean it in every sense.”

We discuss the obvious first; how the element of surprise, virality, and speed affects the path and struggles of becoming a public figure. But the singer feels that the "unexpected" sentiment she holds is even more relevant to her and the band's evolution since highschool. "I don't think our music is what we imagined it'd be at all, but we're pretty in love with it. That's a good thing!"

Cohen’s earliest works, both solo and collaborative with various members of Stunts, (past and present) are a far cry from what you’ve most likely heard from her today. Psychedelic pop, sweet and swooning, are accurate descriptors—sometimes even synthesized.

All of those elements are still found in Stunts’ recent projects, but the trajectory of their music has undoubtedly shifted into something heavier. Not darker, but in the literal way, with more weight. Post-punk and rock influences are obvious, especially in lyricism. There’s an air of confidence and lived experience that wasn’t present before. The singer names Jeff Buckley, Slowdive, The Smashing Pumpkins, and The Cure, as just a snippet of her and her bandmate's inspirations. “Y’know, I think—doesn’t everybody want to be someone else a little bit?” She smiles with some humor at the thought, but it’s clear she believes it.

“About Yesterday”, Cohen’s first EP, can be found scattered in many corners of the internet, (not on any formal streaming platforms, as it is rife with uncleared samples) where it’s often named as a favorite by indie popheads from all backgrounds. She made it in her basement with the help of her older brother and a few of his musician friends. “Realizing your older siblings are cool is a tough pill to swallow,” she jokes. “But at some point or another, they realize you’re kind of cool too, and that opens up a whole new world of opportunity. He [Jackie's brother] definitely encouraged my, um, my—penchant for music? That feels dorky to say."

“Artists like Imogen Heap, TV Girl, Mazzy Star; I looked up to them for sure while making that, [About Yesterday] and most of my other stuff too, to be honest. I think it was comfortable and fun to work in that style. I was able to express myself how I needed to at that time, and I still am, it just sounds hugely different from when I was 16.”

I ask her how that change in sound, as vague as that is, came to be. Does she attribute it to anything specific, or feel like it was a natural progression?

"Working as a team, probably? That will always yield different results and force you to "evolve" in some way or another. I was doing the band and my own thing at the same time, [in highschool] though, so if I came up with something I knew wouldn’t fit with Stunts, I could still take it somewhere else if I really wanted to. But I think meeting my friends, my bandmates, that was a really big part of the shift. Probably the biggest. They all have their own unique tastes and styles in what they consume and create. I grew up going to shows, but they have taken me to probably hundreds more at this point, and shown me stuff I wouldn't find on my own. They’re so versatile as musicians and artists, they’re always open to trying all these different things, but they don’t lose their standards or vision in the process. Ever. Um, they’re the best. Sorry—I’m rambling," she laughs. "Does that answer that question at all?”

Not even minutes later, we've bounced through several different subjects, Jackie sometimes asking me more questions than I can ask her. When I had reached out for an interview, she eagerly accepted the opportunity and invited me to come to her apartment rather than my initially suggested café. "Coffee shops can get so fucking loud!" She had emailed me.

We're still in her living room, which also serves as a makeshift studio. (She clarifies: "None of the real recording happens here, I think I would've been evicted by now if that were the case.") The space is small and full, but well organized. There's a few photos framed on her desk-side wall above her monitor, a handful of them I recognize as cover art. I ask her if there's any story behind them.

"Oh—ha, I was really into film in highschool. I still am, I just don't have as much time or opportunities for it right now. But yeah, some of the photos I've used for cover art are mine. Some are just ones I dug up from my parent's basement." She follows my gaze, which lingers on one cover that has been an object of speculation since it's release. "Give It Time."

I glance back at her, understanding if she doesn't want to elaborate on it. Most fans believe it's a photo of her and Seven Lawless, her ex-bandmate and ex-boyfriend, (who, at the time of the EP's release, were both in Stunts but their relationship was not yet public.) but the pixelated editing has left it fairly ambiguous. There are other plausible theories floating online about who it could be.

When I had first arrived at her door, she told me: "I'm an open book with most things, as long as you don't have bad intentions." And I'm not in the business of prying into subjects like that for anyone I interview—but she smiles at me warmly when she realizes what's caught my eye.

"I didn't take that one actually. It's still one of my favorites, though."

There's a comfortable lull in the conversation while I continue to examine the wall, until I point to one that looks only slightly out of place among the rest. There's about five people (you can probably guess who) squished into the frame, all half-dressed and soaking wet with wild grins plastered onto their faces.

She immediately bursts into a fit of laughter. "Okay, maybe not that one. My manager might kill me."

Stream "Didn't See That Coming" here.

☆☆☆

This is the first part of a pre-BOTB interview miniseries about my @infamous-if OC, Jackie Cohen. Whiplash Magazine is local to her home county's music scene but a lot of their audience is spread out online too. :)

The album cover edits were inspired by @spider-actual’s edits for their Infamous band Shelter In Place, go check them out they are so cool !!!

Original sources of the photos used for album art: About Yesterday / Give It Time / Leaning Backward / Didn't See That Coming

#infamous if #oc: jackie cohen #seven lawless #infamous edit #if any of this conflicts with canon I'm very sorry and please disregard I'm doing my best LMAO #one thing about jackie she is a romantic and bleeding heart at her core #and is not afraid to talk about it #jackie lacks shame in that respect and seven definitely seethes about it post-breakup lol #(she would never divulge information that is not hers to share ofc)#she is still sensitive to what she knows seven and her bandmates would dislike when it comes to publicly speaking on The Matter #like I said bleeding heart

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