#much less add another fic to the pile :(

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he���s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

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[ao3-rex1223]

𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕬 𝕶𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖉𝖞: 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: SFW, pure fluff, warm Christmas vibes, family photos, Leon being a good dad, raising a child, child's first Christmas, present opening

Summary: You and Leon have a lovely baby girl and she gets to experience her first Christmas. (This takes place in the same universe as my very first Leon Kennedy fic, To Be A Kennedy)

“Smile!” The chipper photographer directs, hoping that the simple word will be enough to get your one year old daughter to look at the camera and look even slightly happy. Her chubby cheeks bunch up even more as her mouth widens in an adorable grin, not at the direction of the well meaning camera man but at the jingling stuffed bunny with bells around its collar being dangled by the flamboyantly dressed elf. Jingle Bell Rock plays softly in the background and snow falls outside, covering the city in a fluffy, white, but frozen blanket. 

Click!

You relax your face and let out the breath you held. One good picture. You just want one good picture of your family. You, Leon, and Annabelle. Your husband nuzzles the crown of your daughter's head affectionately. “You did so good, pumpkin!” he coos, rocking her slightly in his arms. She's such a daddy's girl, always happy to have him holding her. Of course, she loves you, too; hell, you feed her with your body - at least part of the time since she started baby food. But when she's truly distraught, Leon is always able to soothe her. 

And Leon is wrapped so tightly around her tiny, little finger, you're surprised there's any circulation. It's hardest when he's away on a mission, though he does his best to only take ones that are a few days or less. You have pictures and videos of him so Annabelle can look at him whenever she wants. You even took one of his old T-shirts and fashioned it into a shirt for her teddy bear so it smells like him. You spray his cologne on it every time he leaves for an assignment.  

“Would you like to see?” The photographer asks gently, offering you the camera. You glance at the small digital screen, smiling at the sweet picture, Annabelle’s bright smile lighting up the entire image. You pay for a few nice prints to send to friends and family and continue perusing the mall. Annabelle babbles as she takes in the sights, Leon bouncing her occasionally. You both take note of the things that seem to catch her eye; ideas for her Christmas presents. Mostly, she awes at the big ornaments and lights decorating the walls and ceilings. 

Later that night, you and Leon begin setting up the Christmas tree while Annabelle plays with her toys. Eventually she crawls over by the tree and grabs a part of the string of lights, beaming at their bright colors. She makes an adorable babble and puts one of the lights in her mouth. You and Leon chuckle. “Ah, the unique methods of children for discovering the world and its flavors,” Leon comments. He hooks another ornament on the tree. 

“And textures,” you add with a chuckle. You gently pick her up, kissing her cherubic cheeks. She reaches for the glass balls decorating the tree but you quickly shift away, just out of reach. 

“Ah!” Annabelle cries in protest, reaching even further for the tantalizing orb. “Ball!” She adds, chirping one of the few words she knows so far. 

“Sweetie, that's glass. Not safe for you,” you gently explain, knowing she can't fully understand you. She starts to cry, reaching for the shiny, colorful ball so much, she's practically dangling from your arms. You bounce her gently, attempting to soothe her. Walking to her pile of toys, you pick up a baby safe ball for her to play with. She ignores it, continuing to scream and reach for the thing she can’t have. 

Leon walks over, sitting down next to the two of you. Annabelle crawls into his lap, needing her papa to make her feel better. “It's okay, pumpkin. Daddy's gotcha.” He lightly kisses the crown of her head. “You have so many nice toys here to play with!” He wraps his arms delicately around her, offering her the warm snuggles she wants. He gently rocks her and soon her cries begin to wane. “That's my brave girl!” he praises and nuzzles her forehead, eliciting a soft giggle from her. 

The beautiful scene makes you smile lovingly. Watching Leon be there for her, comfort her, and care for her is one of the greatest gifts you could ever receive. Crawling back down, she grabs her baby blanket and crawls under the Christmas tree, laying on her back and looking up at the faux fir. She giggles as she grasps the metal branches, securely in place, and the plastic green needles. Eventually, she grabs her toes and sways back and forth. 

Your heart swells with love and affection as you and Leon stop decorating and simply watch her absorb the world around her. Once her bedtime rolls around, you scoop her into your arms and feed her one last time, rocking gently in the recliner. When her tiny tummy is full and her eyes begin drooping, you simply hold her as she falls asleep. With a delicate kiss to her forehead, you gently lay her in her crib, tucking her blanket next to her. 

The weeks before Christmas fly by as you and Leon try to finish up everything at the D.S.O. and get all of the presents wrapped. On Christmas morning, you bring a sleepy Annabelle out to the living room where lots of shiny presents lay illuminated under the soft, inviting glow of the lit Christmas tree, just waiting for her to tear them open. 

“She's still booting up,” you joke as you and Leon both watch her rub her eyes and try to process the scene before her, expression blank. After a few minutes, she begins to wiggle and squirm in your arms, reaching for the brightly colored wrapping paper. You chuckle and set her down. She begins tugging and chewing on the smaller presents. 

You hand Leon a present to him from you. “Merry Christmas, my love,” you coo with a soft kiss to his lips. 

Leon smiles, happily returning your kiss. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He swiftly unwraps the box and reveals a beautiful, light brown, leather jacket with wool trim. His eyes widen in recognition, its appearance strikingly similar to the jacket he lost in Spain all those years ago. “This is…”

“I found it a few weeks ago while I was out shopping. I thought you deserved another one.” You wink playfully. Annabelle crawls into your lap and continues nibbling on wrapping paper. 

Leon examines every inch of the jacket, in awe. “Thank you, sweetheart. This is incredible. I love it…and I love you.” He kisses you tenderly and hands you a present from him. It's a gorgeous white gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a key, accented with small diamonds. Your eyes light up at its beauty. “Oh Leon! It’s perfect!”

“It’s the key to my heart,” Leon explains with a cheeky grin and a wink. His cheesy lines always were a favorite of yours. 

You brush the tears away from your eyes. “Corn dog,” you tease and kiss him lovingly. He chuckles. You turn your attention to the happy child in your lap. “Should we help you open your presents, now, sweetie?”

The rest of your morning is spent helping Annabelle open her Christmas presents; clothes, toys, books, and some winter wear. Sharing your first Christmas as a family brings you joy you never thought you’d experience. From the first day you stumbled into Leon’s arms at the office, your life changed irrevocably, an adventure you never knew you needed, never in your wildest dreams expected, but here with Leon and your precious baby girl, nothing could be better. 

[ur-boyfiend]

panic attacks and cuddles

corvid? posting?? unheard of. anyways self-indulgent comfort fic bc i can. prolly gonna do a chronic illness / disability one soonish, if anyone has something they'd like to see more content for feel free to send an ask and i'll write it if i'm comfortable !! if you have any specifics you wanna see feel free to add those as well, it really does help me ^^;

cw/tw; panic attack (no shit but y'know), spiraling, depression, negative self-talk, depressive episode

seasonal depression is nothing new, in fact it's something you're far more used to than you'd like to be. while some loved winter, for you it was the time of year where any regular depression was compounded by the gloom of late dawns and early sunsets and the inability to enjoy going outside.

the difference this time is that you have a boyfriend, and you wish that you could be happy, wish that you could be grateful, but wrapped tightly in a blanket as you watch the grey sky outside the window across your room, you can feel the creeping sensation of a panic attack starting to crawl across your skin. in some part of your brain you can hear your phone buzzing, but the buzzing melds into the feelings of panic, and you curl further into yourself.

the sun is setting, almost set, blanketing your room in darkness. you know that turning on your lights would help, would make this whole thing less suffocating, but it's so much easier to just resign yourself. getting up to turn on the light takes effort, but simply spiraling further takes nothing at all.

your phone is buzzing again, another thing you know you should pay attention to, but you just can't drag yourself out of your own head long enough to do anything about it. it feels like the world is collapsing onto you, and for a moment you wish it would.

you lift your head slightly, the world is in black and white, and it feels like all your senses are muffled by cotton wool. you drop your forehead back onto your knees, the energy it takes to keep it raised somehow more than you have in you.

you're not sure how long it's been, after the sun has set there's nothing left to indicate the time. you're trying to find the strength to get out of bed, to do anything, even just to look up.

from your blanket cocoon, you can see something light beyond your eyelids. for a second you think you're seeing things, maybe you pressed on your eyes by accident, but you don't actually feel any pressure on your eyes.

not sure what's happening, you lift your head slightly, almost immediately being met with the sight of your boyfriend standing near the door to your room. he's not looking at you, he's looking at your room, and you realize that he hasn't actually seen it before. you're suddenly very aware of the piles of stuffed toys scattered around, the posters on the walls, the makeup and jewelry strewn across the top of your dresser, the mess on your desk, the clothes piled in the corner. it feels as if every flaw in your personality is somehow scrawled across the room in glaring red letters.

and yet, when he notices you looking at him, changbin turns and smiles at you. in that moment, you feel like you might cry. as you feel yourself choking up, his eyes soften with concern. placing the bag he's holding on the floor, he carefully sits down next to you on your bed.

"hey, what's wrong?" you feel him pull you into his side, "talk to me bubs."

instead of talking, you feel tears start running down your face, changbin wiping them away as fast as they fall. he leaves feather-light kisses across your nose and cheeks.

you say it without thinking, "i love you," and once you've said it once it's like a floodgate has opened, you're repeating it so quickly that it becomes an incoherent babble, changbin peppering kisses across your face the whole time.

it takes time for you to calm down, more than you'd like, not keen on being seen in this state. but changbin sits and rubs your back as you try to pull yourself back into some kind of human form, a silent support.

it's only when you've stopped crying, are a more solid person than you'd been, he says it back.

"i love you too, now let's eat, yeah?"

you hum slightly, leaning further into his side, "nap with me?"

changbin sighs and flops onto his side, pulling you down with him, pulling up the blankets to cover you both. you quickly snuggle into him, grateful for the extra warmth.

"get some rest," you feel him place a kiss on your forehead, "i love you."

"i love you too," you mumble, already half-asleep.

[superblysubpar]

return to main menu | Move masterlist |

I Want It, Can't Have It

personaltrainer!steve x personaltrainer!fem!reader

summary: Your co-worker Steve and you refuse to admit defeat in a game of who will give into their suppressed feelings for the other first. | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

6,354 words

the song: Move by Saint Motel

warnings: use of too many "petnames" | talk of jealousy & comparison with other women | a woman showing too much skin in the 80s?! Good heavens! | SMUT (unprotected piv - creampie / ass slapping / teasing - asking to cum / public - locked bathroom door but people def know)

The smell of chlorine and lemon disinfectant, flickering fluorescents overhead and the record breaking ton of body spray wafting down the hall are making the tiny men with jackhammers inside your head work overtime today. 

Hearing him before you see him, you shake out a second pain reliever - taking preventive measures for the headache that was only about to be made worse.  

Whistling a top forty track, blazer’s squeaking against the tile of the hall - because he refuses to pick up his feet when he’s around you, and the thwip of a towel smacking a coworker’s ass as they banter all fall to your ears as he rounds the corner. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Unsure why, the two of you quickly agreed on one thing and one thing only upon your very first introduction: you positively hated each other and would do everything in your power to make sure the other never forgot.  

Eyes trained on the staff clipboard you’re filling out for taking medicine from the first aid kit, you choose to ignore him as he grows closer. Pen scratching against the paper, your senses try to focus on writing out your full name instead of how good he smells. A hard thing to not notice when it’s compared to the hazardous waste for sweat from the teenage boys you’d been forced to endure for the better part of the last hour. 

Of course, he can’t help himself and has to ruin the one thing that brings you semi enjoyment when in his presence, clearing his throat and nodding once, without even looking at you, “Jane Fonda.”

The use of one of the nicknames he refuses to let up with has your teeth grinding as you clench your jaw, “Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve spins, toned and tanned arms folded on the desk above you as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, hazel eyes peering down at you with contempt, “Oh good, glad to see you’re in a swell mood as always.”

Shoving the clipboard back into its slot, you push back in the rolling chair, relishing in his clenched jaw when the wheel squeaks a little too loud - two can play at the causing a headache game. An exaggerated pout forming on your lips as you force a bubbly and higher tone, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me go curl my hair, pop on a bright pink lip, and add an extra little perky bounce to my step so you can ogle my ass in bright blue spandex.”

“Could ya?” Steve’s lips shift up into a lopsided smirk at you.

Huffing out a breath and crossing your arms, you can’t even get another jab in before his twelve o’clock bounces through the door. To neither of your surprise, she’s dressed exactly as you had just described - blonde hair piled high in a ponytail on the top of her head just like Barbie and just like you knew it would be. Watching Steve train her for the past several weeks has been nauseating to say the least. Her leg stretched up and over his shoulder, their smirks and less than subtle flirting, and her slaps and squeezes of his biceps in an eye twitch inducing sort of way. 

“Hi Steve,” her voice sugar and spice and everything you’re not as she blows a bright pink bubble with her gum. You’re surprised Steve doesn’t pop it for her as he leans in close enough, one elbow still on the desk.

“Well, don’t you look cute today,” his voice deeper and full of a charm that’s very lacking from the way he talks to you. 

Twelve o’clock Barbie beams and he gestures down the hallway, hand on her lower back as she brushes past him. Steve lets her trail ahead, tilting his head with a sigh as he watches her ass jiggle in all the right ways. 

Scoffing at him, you chuck a rolled towel directly at the side of his head and hiss, “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

Steve spins backwards, clutching his chest and groaning through a wide grin, “I love it when you talk dirty to me babe.”

Eyes narrowing at him as he high fives one of your coworkers as he turns back around, arm wrapping over the shoulders of Barbie. Her bright and bubbly laugh trails all the way down the hall back to you, “So, did you catch the game last night?”

Steve hums, “I don’t think so…which teams were playing?”

“Oh…uh…the Cubs?”

Rolling your eyes with a snort at her question of a response. 

Baseball. 

It’s fucking February. 

Randy, your co-worker, snickers and then looks at Dylan who rounded the corner as well, shaking his head, “Five bucks he pretends he did watch the game and does her in the locker room?”

Dylan laughs, sticking out his hand for a deal, “Ten if he gets her to tell him details of the nonexistent game too.”

The boys look at you laughing and don’t even try to hide their conversation or amusement with Steve the manwhore Harrington. You’re just one of the guys here, and something about this fact that’s never bothered you before, this interaction you’ve had many times already, is burning your blood a little more than you’d care to admit. 

Their words about her perfect hair, the curve of her ass in the spandex, and the low cut of the leotard are only flashing spotlights to your exact opposite features you can see in the reflection of the glass windows. Dull and sweat matted hair shoved under a baseball hat, dark and muted tones of your joggers and sweatshirt - which now has a stain on it from lunch. Curves don’t exist, your footwear is sensible, and your skin doesn’t have that perky glisten or glow - it’s sweaty and flushed in all the wrong ways. 

Yanking your whistle down from the hook, you push past the boys. You could care less about 12 o’clock Barbie and you’re happy with your life. Confident you don’t need someone like Steve Harrington in it to make you feel fulfilled because you are independent and have a clear and level head atop your shoulders. A man staring at your ass isn’t what you want, you want to be appreciated for your brains, personality, your interests - screw pretending to like baseball to get a guy to sleep with you. You want the one who knows you like it and genuinely wants to talk to you about it, baggy sweatshirt and all. 

But when you hear a giggle and see Steve and 12 o’clock Barbie sneaking into the bathroom your stomach somersaults and something in you snaps, shouting down the hall, “Harrington! Nobody’s paying you to sleep with clients!”

Steve freezes, his strained muscles and vein in his neck visible even at a distance and his face reddens. He’s pissed.

But he turns with a bright and forced smile as Barbie dips into the locker room with an inflamed face as well. Steve walks down the hall towards you, arms crossed and head tilted, “What the hell is your problem?”

You have a lot of problems. Number one being you don’t understand what possessed you to do that, but you can’t tell him that, obviously. Queen of thinking on your feet though, you cross your arms and cock your head, “Wouldn’t want you to lose your job for not being able to keep your dick in your pants is all, buddy.”

He scoffs loudly, stepping closer to you until your back hits the wall, “Really? I would’ve thought you were the first person wanting me out on my ass, Mary Lou.”

Rolling your eyes at the new nickname, you try to side step and get out of there but his hand pushes to the brick over your shoulder, caging you in. 

Steve towers over you, faces close together and he smirks as you squirm under his insistent gaze. Steve leans closer, “Oh, I get it,” he whispers, nose almost touching yours. He’s close enough for you to see his lashes, the gold flecks in his eyes, and the freckles that dot his nose. His breath mint and charm fanning across your cheeks as he continues, “You’re jealous.”

“As. Fucking. If,” you hiss at him, nose bumping his just barely as you lean forward and narrow your eyes. 

Steve and your shallow breaths mix and amplify in your ears, everything else muffled like it’s underwater. Fingers clenched into fists at your sides, Steve’s tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. Yours part involuntarily, his eyes glint, the mossy color deepening to a mix of dangerous forest and stormy sea and god fucking dammit, you sigh. 

Someone, somewhere in the universe, slaps you in the face in the form of Barbie dipping out of the locker room and pulling both of your attention in a blur of turquoise. Steve’s arm drops and he steps back, a smile on his face again as he turns to her, “Hey babe, ready?”

He leaves with her and it isn’t until you see them disappear around the corner and you count to five that your muscles start to unfurl, fingers uncurling from where they had been pressing crescent moons into your palms. 

Your head falls back against the brick, “Shit.” 

Snapping the palette closed, you stare at the contents littering the counter of your bathroom, untypical for a weekday. 

No. You will not wear eyeshadow to your job at a gym. 

With time to reflect on what happened with Steve on Friday, you’d only stewed and steamed more about Barbie. Steve calling you jealous? Of what? Her perfect hair and skin and body and that she was the one who got his eyes to linger?

Please. 

Steve just loves that you’re not drooling and falling over yourself for him - a challenge, a toy he can’t have. You’ve worked with him and the boys long enough and they’re all the same. They love having a pretty thing wrapped around their arm, a token to remind them they’re a winner, because it’s all just a game. They live for the rush of the chase and the high of someone screaming their name like a stadium full of fans. And you know without a doubt, Steve calling you jealous and the incident on Friday was his tip of the ball to his side of the court. He wants you to beg for it. And you’re not going to do that, because you know that it’s actually Steve who wants you. 

Smirking, you pull out an outfit you’ve yet to wear to work, a little giddy from the plan that’s slowly formulating. Steve isn’t the only one who knows a thing or two about playing games, and it’s time to show him who he’s up against. 

As typical with Steve, he shows up after you to work that day. He’s always balancing a gym bag on his shoulder, jacket slung across only one arm like he couldn’t bother to finish putting it on, hair in disarray (spending the first half hour of his shift fixing it in the bathroom) and a bagel hanging between his lips, dropping sesame seeds across the floor. 

Normally, Steve won’t even blink twice in your direction upon arrival. If he does, it’s only because you’ve gotten in his way, demanded he pick up the bagel crumbs, or you’ve done something else in the minute you’ve been in each other’s presence to annoy one another. Enough for him to remove the bagel and actually banter with you verbally instead of a grunt. 

Today though, his blazers squeak to a sharp stop and much to your delight, the bagel falls out of his mouth and hits the floor, egg sliding out and splatting and echoing in the quiet entryway. 

Grabbing your whistle and heading towards the gym for the morning meeting, you brush past him, looking over your shoulder as you call, “You better clean that up!”

A smirk still sits on your lips as you enter the gym and the conversation of all of the boys stops. Rolling your eyes at their lack of subtlety in analyzing your new look, you take your normal seat and start peeling a banana. Clearing your throat loudly, before small conversations pick up again. 

“You look nice today,” Dylan, who’s sitting next to you mumbles. He picks at a loose thread of his joggers, eyes flitting up to yours and back down to his pants. 

Really, your outfit is not that crazy. It’s still in your color palette of cooler tones, you’re not even wearing spandex for crying out loud. A little bit of midriff showing has these boys blushing more than they ever have around you, and it’s hard to hide your amusement at how easily your plan is being implemented without barely lifting a finger. 

Humming, you blink up at him innocently, “Thank you Dylan.”

He coughs into his fist, “Ye-yeah. Did you…did you do something different with your hair?”

Tilting your head at him, you time your laugh perfectly to Steve walking in, “No, nothing different with my hair…”

Dylan watches you, eyes eager on your mouth as you lift the banana up to your lips. Slowly taking a bite, you keep eye contact with him. Fluttering your eyelashes and humming around the fruit, his mouth falls open a little and it takes everything in you not to snort. Especially when a hand makes contact with the back of Dylan’s head and Steve’s bored tone falls directly behind you, “Are you twelve?”

Dylan’s cheeks turn pink and he turns sharply to the front of the room and you nudge his knee with yours, reassuring him it’s okay, before turning to face forward too. A small smile sitting on his lips and you relish in Steve’s sigh behind you. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to realize what you’re doing far sooner than you anticipated. 

As your boss begins the meeting, hot breath fans across your neck, his voice low and barely audible even with his lips just brushing your ear, “Nice try.”

Your body betrays you and a chill runs down your spine, causing a shiver despite the embarrassed and irritated heat trying to reach every corner of your skin. You know if you turn around you’ll be face to face with a smug look and crossed muscular arms, so you don’t put yourself through the misery. 

Steve is better at this, you hate to say it, but it just means you have to think of new ideas for your playbook. 

Your clothes only get tighter and expose more skin each day. You’re playing dirty: leaning over him to grab a clipboard so your chest brushes against his arm, bending down to tie your shoe right in front of him, and at one point you tugged on the whistle around Dylan’s neck right in front of him before swaying your hips as you left him standing there shaking his head. But Steve barely broke, a tough competitor with a good defense and even better offense. Steve’s hand found your lower back in passing, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, and his flirting with Barbie and other clients only got more obvious which you didn’t think was possible. 

A week of going head to head with Steve in these little games all to prove that you weren’t jealous and it was him that wanted you. But, he was still determined it was the other way around, waiting for you to beg, to wave the white flag and just let him win. Today was your final straw, pulling out all of the stops - black spandex biker shorts and a black sports bra with, much as you hated to do it, a face full of makeup and hair styled. 

When you arrive at work on Friday, you have to actively focus on keeping your composure around Steve because it seemed he was taking a final stand in this war as well - black baseball hat, shirtless while playing basketball, his shorts slung low on his hips. 

You hate him. 

Friday’s were slow though, thankfully, and had Steve and you basically switching jobs, you with clients and him in the gym - away from each other for most of the day. Or at least, you should be away from one another for most of the day. 

Filling out a form while leaning against the counter, Steve’s voice draws your attention, “Hey, Muscles.”

A smile twitches on your lips and you look up to see him pulling a gray shirt on as he approaches, eyes lingering on the lines of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to a black elastic band peeking out of his shorts. 

Turning your body towards him, you relish in his own lingering gaze over you as you tilt your head, “Muscles? That’s a new one. And, dare I say, a compliment?”

Steve leans against the counter, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth, some dribbling out, and you hate that you want to lick the small bead of water directly off of his skin. He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and turns his hat backwards before facing the counter. Drumming his fingers against it aimlessly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs before admitting, “Well, you have been showing them off a bit more this week.”

Rising onto your toes, you drop the pen on the other side of the desk and risk a glance back at him. But he’s too busy staring down at your ass and you whisper, “Seen anything else you’ve liked this week?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to yours quickly, licking his lips as his hands land on top of his hat, his arms flexing as he breathes out a quiet laugh that ends in a groan, “Fuck.”

A smile worthy of a championship victory fills your face and he rolls his eyes. Before either of you can say anything, the voice of your boss hollers your last name loudly across the room.

“Yes sir?” turning to face him, you stand up a little straighter at his tone and quickly forming scowl.

He sighs as he approaches and glances at Steve who attempts to keep himself busy with a clipboard a few steps away. Your boss is nice, stuck in that sort of manly man kind of world and opinions, but nice nonetheless. You do good work and you’ve never had this sort of look opposite of you. He rubs his temples and he sighs, “I need you to find a change of clothes.”

Snorting before you realize he’s serious, he crosses his arms and you match him, your mouth dropping open as you ask, “Are you serious? Why?”

“Listen, just, this is a professional work environment and you’re showing a lot of skin and I need you to-”

Holding your hand up, you interrupt him, “That is absolutely ridiculous. No.”

He groans and grabs a stack of clipboards, “Don’t get upset, please. You’re a good worker and I don’t want to write you up but-”

Your laughter is loud and you throw an arm out to Steve who’s failing to pretend he’s not listening, “So Harrington can basically have his dick in a client, but I can’t show my shoulders and stomach?”

“Enough! Get a sweatshirt. This is your only warning.” He walks away with the clipboards and you’re left seething, kicking the counter with a grunt. 

Forgetting that Steve was even there to witness all of that, you’re reminded when a piece of fabric brushes your shoulder. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him, yanking it from his outstretched hand and stalking away before he can give you any sort of pity. 

Fingers brushing under your lashes, you refuse to cry about any of it, screw this place, screw your boss and screw Steve. It’s his fault you changed how you looked. It’s his fault your boss doesn’t take you seriously now. It’s Steve’s fault that you let a “victory” over something so stupid and juvenile cloud you from your work and your values. You changed your clothes, your appearance, and your attitude, and for what? To prove Steve likes a different version of you? Does it even feel good knowing you got his attention?

Pulling the sweatshirt on, you hate that you recognize that it’s his from the smell filling your senses. Hands shove themselves inside the pockets and they brush against a piece of paper. A folded sheet from a notebook with your initial on the front, you pull it open to see ‘Meet me. Bathroom. -Steve’.

Scoffing, you shove it back in the pocket and storm off towards the staff bathroom. He’s so full of himself, probably expecting to swoop in and comfort you and still score. You slam the door open and he jumps, grabbing at his chest before resting his hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, could kill a guy with an entrance like that.”

Closing the door and leaning against it, you cross your arms and hiss, “What do you want, Harrington?”

He stands and mirrors your stance, leaning against the sink as he shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the sweatshirt. Anything else?” you don’t make any movements to leave despite your better judgements.

He leans his hands back on the counter, smirking, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you’ve been thinking about my dick.”

Pushing yourself off of the door, you snort, “Seriously? Do you really think I still want to sleep with you?”

Steve’s smirk widens, lips upturned slightly higher on one side in a signature lopsided grin, “Still?”

Your hand points at him, stopping any sort of thoughts from running away, “No. Listen. Steve, you only started to give me the time of day when I dressed differently, when I acted like those other girls and I hate to break it to you, but I am and never will be like Barbie.”

Steve takes a step closer, toes of your shoes touching and he reaches for your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin tenderly in a way you never expected from him as he shakes his head, “You’re crazy if you think I wasn’t staring at your ass before this week, Florence.”

Heart thrumming at his admission, you tilt your head at the new name, “Florence?”

Steve’s fingers brush up your forearm, gliding under his sweatshirt, “Griffith-Joyner? Flo-Jo?”

Breath hitching, you’re starting to wonder if he’s looking up these women on purpose. Thoughts of Steve researching or deciding new names to call you outside of work sends electric jolts straight to your heart. He can’t know, and you can’t let him think you’re falling for any of this and you start to pull away. His fingers are on your shoulder now and he sighs. From how his eyes are peering directly into your soul, you know he already knows that you’re hooked - line and sinker. 

He pulls you closer, fingers on the back of your neck, the other hand reaching up to cradle your jaw and his nose nudges yours, “Say you want this.”

Your hands work on their own accord, pushing up his chest to around his neck, head craning to arch back, rising on your toes slightly as your lips catch his barely as you breathe out, “You first.”

His hand on your neck squeezes lightly, laughing a little into your parted lips, “Fuck, you’re so stubborn.”

Steps falling backwards, your shoes are being kicked off your feet, “Wh-what time is it?”

Steve blinks at you, barely pulling away, his body pressing you against the door now, “What?”

Your hands find his hips, fingers dipping under the elastic waistband, “I have a 2 o’clock appointment.”

Steve breathes out, bottom lip catching your top one, “Shit, yeah, I’ll be…I’ll be fast.”

Laughing, your hands push at his shorts, “Is that supposed to impress me Harring-”

“Fuck, just shut up,” he commands, mouth swallowing the end of your sentence in a kiss. 

Steve’s thumb brushes against your jaw as your mouths move with each other’s quickly, like that first sip of water after hours of sweating. Steve kisses you like it’s the first and the last, somehow tender and forceful, fingers tangling in your hair while his tongue pushes against yours. 

Pants shed quickly, his other hand rubs against the front of your already wet underwear and he moans into your lips. Breaking away, you finish pulling his boxers down and bite your lip as the swollen red tip of his length twitches under your touch. 

Steve’s fingers tug your underwear aside, finger running up and down through your slick in a way that makes your legs buckle. His breath is shallow against your skin, foreheads touching but you can still see his smirk, “Think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

Fingers wrapping around his length, you roll your eyes and ignore the way the ‘pretty girl’ makes your stomach flutter alive with a swarm of butterflies, “Please, it’s not that big.”

Steve laughs, a little too loudly, and your other hand slaps over his mouth. His eyes sparkle above you, gold flecks that seem like your own little personal spotlights, lighting you up in a way you didn’t dare dream of. 

You are fucked. 

But he can’t know that, he can’t win. Because despite the way his fingers dipping into your entrance suddenly has you gasping and your eyes rolling, the way your thumb swipes over his leaking tip has the same effect on him. It’s an even playing field and you’re determined to make him sweat a little more. 

Your hands move around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours, “You have five minutes to prove me wrong, Harrington, think you can handle the pressure?”

Steve’s hands find your hips and lift you, your legs wrapping around his waist like you’ve done it hundreds of times before and he looks down at them with raised eyebrows, “Have you done this before?”

“Four minutes and forty eight seconds Steven,” you catch his bottom lip and he moans. 

His fingers hold your underwear aside as he rolls his hips, coating his dick in your slick with a few swipes through you, tip catching your clit before sliding back down and pushing into you forcefully and without warning. He catches your scream and gasps with his mouth, nodding against you as he slowly continues to push into you. Your fingers grip the back of his head, causing his hat to fall off, as your head smacks into the door behind you, back arching away from it. Steve’s hands on your hips hold you steady, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as they caress down and cup it. 

Once he’s fully inside of you, and your breathing seems to slow again, he pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper, “Knew ya could handle it.”

“Four…fuck…minutes” his hips roll against yours and a moan echos across the tiles and the distinct sound of a click of the lock as his hand reaches below you. 

Your body heats with embarrassment, you hadn’t even thought about locking the door and Steve knows it. Your fingers tug at the back of his head in an effort to gain control again, yanking it a little too forcefully and he growls as you hiss, “Gonna move or not?”

Steve’s hands move back to your hips after giving your ass a harsher squeeze, pulling out of you slowly, “Are you ever not bossy?”

Before you can reply he’s pushing back into you, smirking at the way your mouth falls open and no sound leaving it as he hits the deep spot inside of you quickly. He continues his slow pulls and forceful pushes, the muscles of his shoulder tensing, able to feel each twitch and move under your hands through his shirt. His fingertips bruise your hips, dragging your slick walls back and forth across his length at an agonizing pace. Your legs locked around his waist, you glance down to where your bodies connect, the sight of your slick coating the rough patch of hair at his base making your walls clench around him tighter. Steve’s breath hits your neck, squeezing your hips even harder as he gasps out against your temple. 

Smirking at his weakening defenses, you hide your own insatiable desire, teasing, “Harder, Steve.”

The boy whimpers, nose pressing into the sweat slick skin of your neck as his hips pick up their pace. The sounds of your shallow breaths mix with the sharp slapping of your skin, and he groans, “Fuck-I can’t…I can’t-”

“Come on, Steve, this is the best you can do? I thought you do this all the ti-”

He’s had it with your teasing finally it seems, and he pulls out of you harshly, arm wrapping around your waist to spin you before yanking you back against his chest. 

Wet lips brush your jaw from behind, arm squeezing in a warning around your stomach, “Tell me what to do again. See what happens.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you don’t trust your voice to not give away the tidal wave of arousal that’s threatening to crack the dams you have in place. A breath out through your nose before you whisper, “Don’t be mean.”

He laughs against your neck, lips dragging down and awaking a sea of goosebumps to rise across your skin. He speaks into the sweat kissed dip of your shoulder, “So, she dishes it out, but can’t take it?”

Before you can even respond, Steve’s pushing your back, chest falling to the counter in front of you as his hands find your hips. His voice is stronger, deeper, rougher as he commands, “Open.”

Your head falls forward, eyes squeezing shut at his tone, thighs sticky and pushed together tightly from the arousal that’s reached its breaking point with barely any touching and a simple word.  

The swollen and wet tip of his cock presses into your ass as he squeezes your hips, “Baby, don’t make me say it again.”

Every time he’s called you a name other than an athlete has you seeing stars already, wanting to keep playing the game to see how many more you can collect. Pressing yourself against him, you arch your back as you pout, “A please would be nice.”

His hand connects with your ass, a sharp smack that echoes and stings as he mocks, “Please?”

Legs falling open easily, he slides himself through your slick, dragging and coating his tip in your arousal even more, you know you’ve lost, because he’s the one with the power now. His hand pushes between your shoulder blades, the other gripping the dough of a cheek, slapping it again as his tip bumps your swollen nerves with a precision you know is one hundred percent on purpose and stupidly accurate. 

Without warning again, Steve pushes into your entrance, a cry stopped by the press of your teeth into your bottom lip as your fingers grasp for purchase on the flat surface beneath you. 

Steve’s agonizing pace from earlier is gone, slamming his body against yours in a brutal and bruising speed. Your hands start to push against the counter and Steve’s hand drags down your spine, pushing on your lower back gently in contrast to his forceful command, “Don’t move.”

Walls tightening around his cock at his tone, the sounds of him pulling and pushing into your dripping center mix with the quiet bump of your knees hitting the cabinet in front of you rhythmically.   

His fingers not on your back knead into the plush skin of your ass after smacking it lighter than before, but still hard enough for you to tighten around him again. He moans, huffing a long breath out of his nose, “Fuck, like being told what to do, huh?”

Hips never stopping their harsh thrusts, your breath sticks in your chest as you keep your moans stifled, threatening to bubble up and past your lips as he smacks the same spot again, the sting coating your lashes in wetness as he whispers, “I asked you a question babe.”

It’s a breath, and if you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror in front of you, you may not have even realized you admitted it, “Yes.”

Steve’s fingers trail from their soothing kneading against the red skin, to your hip, brushing down your thigh and back up. His hips roll and he picks up his pace, humming out a content sigh at your admission. His eyes lock on yours in the mirror and he smirks, “So good for me, being such a - shit,” his eyes close as you push your ass back against him, slipping him in deeper than before, fingers dragging on the cool counter. He grunts through the rest of his sentence, “You’re so mean to me, but this is what you wanted all along, yeah?”

Moaning at his question, your eyes squeeze closed, the coil inside of your stomach pulled tight, body vibrating and chasing that breaking point until you have to release. He leans forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder, hands back to your hips as he hits that deep spot inside of you repeatedly with bruising accuracy. Steve smiles against your skin, “You act all disgusted by me too, and turns out,” his lips and nose glide across your muscles, warm breath fanning across your skin and his fingers brush back up to your hips as his mouth opens more against you, trailing to your neck. His breath shoots the tightening in your stomach into overdrive and a whine falls from your parting lips as his fingers adjust on your hips, whispering, “You’re just as much of a slut as I am.”

Eyes fluttering and breath hitching at his comment, your back arches up again, but not far enough before he presses his weight against you. Pushing himself faster and to a spot that feels like you can feel him rearranging your guts and you both moan loudly, his breath hitting your neck in a way that has your fingers searching for purchase beneath them, whining louder and your knees aching to collapse. 

Steve gasps harshly, sucking in a deep breath he can’t quite finish, the sound directly in your ear and before another moan can break past your lips, his hand is coming up to press over your mouth. Your eyes rolling back as he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Be good baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get fired for not keeping their dick in their pants, right?”

Nodding your head as he slowly lets his hand go. Your sighs quiet until his other hand wraps around your waist, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your swollen button. You jolt at the stimulation he had yet to reward you with, knees losing their battle and buckling, Steve holds you up, grunting as you cry out quietly, “St-steve.”

Somehow quickening his pace, his thumbs circular motions match perfectly to the rhythm of his hips, “Quiet, come on, babe, thought you were good at following instructions.”

Whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, your body fully collapsing against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool of the stone underneath it. Steve’s swirls to your swollen nerves are the breaking point, the added weight that breaks you from pushing it any further, unable to do another rep and your lashes wet, “Steve, I’m gonna - fuck, I-”

He can feel you tightening around him, his own hips stuttering but the game isn’t over yet. His mouth drags down your neck and another shiver runs through you as he smirks into your shoulder, “A please would be nice.”

And with your own sentence thrown back at you, he’s won.

Eyes opening, you see his own watching your body swallow everything he gives it eagerly. Standing back up fully, his cheeks flushed pink, hair sweeping across his forehead. His fingers dig into your hips as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. His head falls backwards, breath huffed out of his nose. 

“Please.”

Unsure if he says it again or it’s you, both of you collapse into the feeling of releasing. His thumb continues its circling as his hips stutter un-rhythmically. Both of you gasping out for breath as your walls milk his release and your body relaxes into its own. Muscles unfurling, fingers flattening to the counter, back arching as his hand caresses down your spine in buzzing tenderness. Meeting gazes in the mirror again, his chest heaves in time with yours and your rolling eyes are met with a widening grin on his face. 

A loud knock comes from the door and you both jump, your hand slapping over your mouth as Dylan’s voice calls your name through the closed door, "You in there? Mr. Conners has been out in the lobby for ten minutes!”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand from across your mouth. He presses it down, covering it on the counter with his large one. His other squeezes your hip as he stays buried inside of you. He nips at your neck and you squeak out, “Uh-I, I’m not feeling well, can someone else do it?”

A huff on the outside of the door and Steve’s mouth starts sucking a bruise into the skin below your ear and you smirk, calling out more confidently, “I bet Steve could! He’s not doing anything today!”

Steve pinches your waist and you yelp, walls tightening around him and he moans loudly at the feeling, still sensitive from his release. Reaching up awkwardly from your still bent position, you flick the side of his head. 

A louder sigh from the other side of the door and a groan, “Man, fuck you Harrington. I know you’re in there with her!”

Steve and your laughter is hard to keep quiet as Dylan kicks the door, his voice trailing off as he walks away, “You just can’t let anyone else win can you? You two deserve each other.”

originally a part of @newlips milestone of love event 💛 thank you for hosting Cece!

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

Notes:

This little story has been stuck in my head for almost a year. It’s taken more than one change of direction over the last months until I was happy with where it was going. I hope you'll enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And if you want to leave kudos or a comment—no matter if it’s an emoji or several long paragraphs—that would make my whole month.

I also want to say a huge THANK YOU to the wonderful @baronessblixen!

If it hadn’t been for her, and her constant encouragement to continue working on this story and her questions about its progress, I'm sure this story wouldn't be the same. Your input and excitement for this spark of an idea during a Sunday evening chat about something completely unrelated was invaluable. Thank you, my friend!

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | @today-in-fic

Chapter 1: To the Place I Belong

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C. FBI Headquarters – Bullpen Friday, November 27th, 1998, 3:30 pm

“Any plans for the weekend, Scully?” Mulder placed a sunflower seed between his teeth and looked at Scully questioningly. He leaned back in his desk chair, slowly bouncing backward and forward, returning Scully’s questioning glance with an innocent look.

Mulder was completely bored after spending days doing nothing but paperwork and sorting files. He knew Scully was bored too, even though she didn’t mind doing reports half as much as he did.

Scully reached for her coffee cup and sipped the hot liquid, closing her eyes in appreciation. Mulder grinned; he loved watching Scully enjoy her coffee. Mulder could tell she was frustrated by their punishment, which was exactly what was happening. They were being punished. This was also why he had started making an extra effort to get her a cup of coffee just like she wanted every morning and afternoon. She had stoically navigated his frustration with their current situation over the last few months, keeping him in line. And it hadn’t been that long ago that he had had to reassure her that she played a major role in his life. If getting the perfect coffee for her made her happy, he was all for it.

Scully opened her eyes and hummed appreciatively before looking back at him, and he gave her a knowing look. She blushed a bit but didn’t avoid his gaze, her eyes full of warmth. “Did you finish calling the letters ‘H’ and ‘I’ already, or are you planning on spending YOUR weekend catching up?” she quipped and turned back to her keyboard.

“I don’t care about any ‘E’s and ‘I’s. No one is going to follow up on this, anyway. They just want to keep us busy and off any real cases!” he said emphatically, pushing off the floor with his foot and bouncing his chair back and forth again.

“’H’ and ’I’, Mulder. Not ’E’ and ’I’. You did the ’E’s’ last week already. Remember that report I had to rewrite for you because you couldn’t help but add your opinion on why you consider this pointless?” Scully took a new file off of the pile and gave it a cursory glance before sighing.

“Aha! See? You’re just as bored by this as I am, Scully!“

She slowly rotated her shoulder and neck before turning back around to him. “I never said I wasn’t. Of course, this is pointless. None of these people ever so much as stole a chewing gum, much less organized a terrorist attack. But the more we protest, the longer they’re going to keep us assigned to this, and we’ll never get the X-Files back.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s just focus on getting this over with. If we keep our feet still long enough, they might trust us with the X-Files again.” She smiled tightly, and he knew she was trying to sound confident.

He gave her a long look before sighing and turning back to his overflowing pile of folders. “I hope you’re right, and we’re not wasting our time expecting they’ll forget about us.”

He knew Scully was hoping for the same. He despised sitting around, working on senseless tasks, following up on even more useless information when he could be on the road or talking to people who had actually seen something related to the truth.

“Well, at least Kersh didn’t make you recheck your report this time. Maybe he’ll give up sooner than later,” Scully joked, looking away from her monitor for a second.

“Yeah. By the way, thanks for going over it. I doubt I’d have gotten the same reaction to my original draft. You’re a lifesaver!” Mulder gave her a half-smile and pursed his lips.

She returned his smile with one of her own before turning back to her task.

“So, about those weekend plans—” Mulder began, only to be cut off by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?” he said into the receiver, grimacing at Scully when he recognized the voice of Kersh’s assistant. “Yes, we’ll be right there,” he clipped before hanging up and getting up from his chair, grabbing his jacket. “We’re expected in the Deputy Director’s office asap, Agent Scully,” he parroted, not waiting for her before taking off towards the open reception area of Kersh’s office.

He could hear Scully sigh, but she followed him without comment. What now? he wondered. Nothing good ever came out of being called into their boss’s office.

Office of Deputy Director Alvin Kersh

“Have a seat, Agents,” Kersh greeted them without looking up from his note-taking. His tone was as unreadable and impersonal as ever.

Mulder glanced at Scully, but she wordlessly took one of the two seats in front of their boss's desk.

The minutes passed slowly, and Mulder counted the ticking of the analog clock hanging on the wall at the side of the office, which signaled the passing of time. Kersh was making them wait, and Mulder hated every second of it. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if they were keeping him from his work, Kersh looked up and put his pen aside.

“I have a new assignment for you,” he began, giving them both a calculating look. When neither agent reacted, he slid a thick brown folder across the desk towards them. “There have been reports of some nighttime activities down at the Waterfront Resort. I want you to investigate those reports and ensure that nothing illegal is going on there.”

Mulder reached for the file and started to read the top sheet. The more he read, the angrier he got. “Nighttime activities, sir? From what I’m reading here, there have been reports of some kids staying out past their curfew down there. That’s not an actual assignment, a security guard could easily take care of this.” He angrily snapped the file shut and threw it back on the desk.

Kersh’s eyes narrowed, and his tone became even colder if that was possible. “What is an assignment and what isn’t is still something for me to decide, Agent Mulder. Are we clear on that?”

Scully quietly cleared her throat and reached for the folder. “Yes, sir. Agent Mulder and I will take care of this.” She quickly got up from her chair, placing her hand on Mulder’s arm.

Kersh nodded, his eyes still piercing Mulder’s with a cold glare. “Very well, Agent.” He took his pen back in his hand and began writing again, dismissing them wordlessly.

Mulder stood up abruptly, and for a moment he was tempted to have Kersh have it. He was so tired of being roadblocked every step of the way. A gentle squeeze of Scully’s hand on his arm kept him quiet, though, and with a last glance at their boss, he turned around and headed for the door.

FBI Headquarters – Bullpen

Mulder watched as Scully sank into her office chair, her exasperation clear. Another day, another senseless task, he thought.

Mulder frustration was close to exploding. The longer they worked under Kersh, the worse it seemed to get. Scully glanced over at him, and Mulder realized he had been morosely staring at his monitor. He started to bounce his leg, trying to get rid of some of his anger. He’d definitely have to go for a long run tonight, he mused, or his head would explode.

“Mulder, stop fidgeting!” Scully slapped her hand on his bouncing knee, forcing the offending appendage to stop moving.

Mulder sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stay still. “I just hate this, Scully. We’ve been sitting around, doing nothing, for weeks now.” He slowly moved his head from his left shoulder to his right, trying to stretch out the stiff muscles. “And now this! We both know this assignment is just to keep us sidelined. I don’t know how long I can stand waiting around! What are they even planning to do with us at this point?”

Scully nodded, her own frustration evident. “I don’t know, Mulder. I just know fidgeting is not going to change anything. What I do know, however, is that we have to play along for now, or this is going to escalate even higher up, and then we won’t ever get the chance to get the X-Files back.”

Mulder turned to face her directly. “It’s just so frustrating! We should be investigating real cases, not watching some teenagers commit the unspeakable crime of underage drinking.”

Scully gave him a sympathetic look. “I know, Mulder. And I’m just as frustrated as you are. I didn’t choose the FBI to do this kind of grind work either. I want to find the truth just as much as you do.”

Mulder didn’t reply, his eyes firmly fixed on Kersh’s reception area, where the Deputy Director had just appeared and had started laughing with his assistant. Mulder deflated once again, dropped back in his office chair, and gave Scully a pointed look. Kersh had them right where he wanted them.

Scully returned his look grimly before turning back to the folder with their assignment and started rubbing her temples.

He watched her for a few long moments before jumping up and grabbing her arm, pulling her with him. She let him drag her out of her chair, hissing, “Mulder, what are you doing?!” while taking a cursory glance around the large office space. No one was paying them any attention.

Mulder reached for his jacket from the back of his chair, shrugging it on. “This assignment is going nowhere. I’m pretty sure no one has even glanced at this file in the last several weeks. Let’s get out of here, Scully.” He grabbed his keys from his desk and slipped them into his pants pockets before putting his arm on her shoulder, squeezing softly.

She gave him a long look before sighing. “Might as well,” she added, grabbing her coat and putting it on.

Mulder placed his hand against her lower back, and together they walked down the hallway towards the elevator.

[vera-deville]

Going through a pretty horrid breakup atm, let's just say the guy I was with for six weeks left me then got with another immediately a week after. With me finding out through an outside source as he blocked me everywhere. So I was wondering if uhh, I could get sum fluff with Malleus and GN reader. Just need smth w one of my favs to add to my 'Gettin over this bitch' Playlist LMAO. Just something light-hearted and fun after gettin'over some kinda hardship. Like smth happened that has the reader in an upset mood and Mal gives some ✨sage advice✨ in his own way (we know how he is) or sum shi. Preferably romantic but platonic works too

Gahhh, not sure I did this right, I'm requesting this whilst half asleep lmao.

-🐅

The Sagely Advice of a Dragon Fae

05/31/2024 - 07/09/2024

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x Reader (you can think of the interactions as romantic or platonic) Word Count: 1,045 Warnings: Reader's just having a bad day, lowkey a crack fic- Gender: Gender Neutral Tags: @rose-the-witch1, @viviennevermillion (let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist, and which characters you'd like to be added for)! Notes: I'm really sorry to hear about what you're going through 🐅 anon! I wrote this in such a way that it could be read as platonic or romantic. I wasn't sure if you wanted the hardship in the story to be a breakup or not, but I ended up making it a break up. I also apologize so much for taking so long to complete your request! And don't worry, you requested perfectly!

In which you are dealing with a break up and a particular dragon fae has words of wisdom for you.

Sometimes, you just wanted to hurl an asteroid at life.

Not that it would cause much damage (if at all any), but it's the thought that counts, right?

Brooding over your life seemed to be something you were doing more often now, and frankly speaking, it was getting on your nerves. Everything around you seemed to either contribute to your irritation or remind you of something - contributing to your irritation nonetheless.

Another overblot had passed over, not unlike a raging storm, and by this point, you were so used to them that you were simply biding your time for the next one. Crowley seemed more annoying than ever, what with his near constant spur of the moment vacations, and who else better than the magicless Prefect of Ramshackle to clean up after his messes? Oh and you got dumped. The best part of it? You only found out through Cater since you had been blocked by the guy you were with.

With everything just piling up on top of each other, you could feel yourself gradually losing your sanity and right about now, you could use one of Crowley's vacations for yourself.

Your friends were helpful, but it didn't change the humiliation you felt when they found out - and that too, before you. You knew they didn't think anything less of you. If anything, they were worried and constantly wary of your feelings, waiting as though you were a ticking time bomb. And yet, you couldn't help but continue to feel the humiliation. Except now, it was coupled with the pitying looks and actions of those around you.

And that's how you ended up at the rundown gardens of Ramshackle. Truly, the place lived up to its name. The marble benches had clearly seen better days, but in a way, there was a decrepit beauty to your dorm. Vines grew like curly hair, tangling and winding and unravelling a certain way.

You had been following up with Crowley regarding funds to renovate Ramshackle. Of course, he originally had told you to pay out of your pocket. And of course, you'd successfully presented (and won) your claim that Ramshackle is a Night Raven College dorm - meaning the money had to come out of his.

The actual renovation plans were still being...well, planned.

But in the quiet of your beloved Ramshackle, accompanied by no other than your thoughts, you could imagine the transformations the dorm could go through.

"Ahem."

So much for not being accompanied by anyone else but your thoughts.

You turn, a sinewy shadow stepping clear into your vision.

"Hello Tsunotarou."

"Hello Child of Man."

Malleus looked dapper as ever. Standing tall and proud, shoulders rolled back, hair framing his face ever so perfectly, you couldn't help but wonder if this fae ever had a bad day in his life. Surely he had his own fair share of woes?

"What are you doing here tonight? If you're free, you should reflect on things with me." He asks in that curious manner of his.

"It seems all I've been doing as of late is reflect Tsunotarou." You chide, knowing that Malleus knew nothing about your latest predicaments. "Allow me to ask you a question."

"A question for me? Alright, ask me anything."

"Why is life so unfair?"

Malleus expected this question. He had heard...whispers around the campus and it seemed that Lilia of the ailments that plagued the Ramshackle Prefect's mind (though of course he wouldn't tell him exactly what exactly pervaded over your psyche).

"Human lives are already so minute, so why waste time contemplating things of insignificance?"

You take a moment to ponder his words. Insignificant? Was the love you felt truly insignificant? Or is it the time you spent yearning over someone who couldn't even tell you to your face that they didn't feel the same? Or perhaps it's the fact that you have spent all this time moping around instead of doing something else with all that time and energy?

Malleus was right.

It really was insignificant.

"I know not of what matters plague your mind, but I know that humankind are vastly different from fae. I merely said to not waste your time on matters of insignificance. That does not include matters of the heart."

You scrunch your nose at that.

Malleus was starting to sound like all your other friends, and regardless of whether they were correct or not, the rut you found yourself in made you numb to his words. "How would you know about the ways I find to waste my time?" You ask bitterly.

"Then don't waste it."

Well that was blunt.

You didn't really know how to respond to that.

"If you believe that you are wasting your time, then simply turn your focus to something else. From my perspective, human life seems far too short to accomplish anything. On the surface, you waste your life as is, so why not waste your time doing something you love?"

You didn't really know whether to be offended or grateful for the advice.

It made sense though. You were wasting your time brooding over someone, so why not do something else with the limited time you had?

"You know what Malleus? I think you're right. What do you suggest I waste my time on then?" You see the smirk that adorns his face after you ask this and immediately realize what was about to suggest to you. "No gargoyles right now, please."

All of a sudden the smirk vanished into a pout - one you were keen on not falling for.

"Very well then Child of Man. Perhaps you would be inclined to learning archery?"

You look at him befuddled. "Archery!? I don't even know how to shoot an arrow Malleus!"

"Hence why I said learn."

He had you there.

"Even so, where would we even get bows and arrows from-"

"Right here." Malleus said as he magicked two pairs of bows and a bunch of arrows out of nowhere. "You now live in a world of magic, remember?"

He had you there too.

"And before you ask what we will use as our targets..."

You watch as he magicked boards. A whole bunch of them, all around the two of you.

"Very well then Tsunotarou. Lead the way!"

Author's Note: Again, I am really sorry about how long this took to finish. Unfortunately, I got swamped with stuff, and there just doesn't seem to be an end to it all. I wanted to make this fic a lot longer, but then decided on something a little more quaint. I also included some of Malleus' voice lines from the game throughout the fic as fun little Easter eggs. Masterlist

[grimalkinmessor]

hi hello, you are COOKING with that fucked up mw fix it au. Curly will 100% keep it to himself because

(1) he’s gonna think his situation will just burden the crew if he told them and besides, “he’s the captain, he needs to solve it himself.”

(2) he’s male - a healthy one at that considering he’s weightlifting - and people are less likely to believe he’s been sexually abused.

(3) jimmy’s a close friend. curly has done mental gymnastics to excuse him before, he’d probably do it even when he’s the subject of his abuse. he’ll probably adapt the “well at least it’s me he’s hurting and not someone else” mentality

that’s so messed up. i want to see it in a multichapter fic so bad

YEEEEAAAHH YOU GET IT!! >:D

I'm here to be evil and explore all the evil options ✨ That's the game, yes! Curly and Anya both handle terrible trauma in different ways, and the consequences of each are horrible in very different fonts :) For Anya, her consequences are far-reaching, and she keeps reaching out to people, trying to tell them what happened to her so maybe someone will finally DO something about it, but everyone only ever gives her pity, not solutions. Swansea even says something along the lines of "Sorry that happened to you but it's really not the time for that right now" to her during their convo :') As a result, Jimmy finds out about her pregnancy, crashes the ship, multilates Curly, strands them for several months before killing them all one by one, either through mental or physical means, until only Curly is left. And even then. Curly is the only one who comes out of Jimmy's spiral alive.

For Curly though, it'd be the opposite. Jimmy isn't running from his problem; he's chosen fight instead of flight here. Curly's consequences are deeper, more personalized, because while nobody dies, his own rationalization of "Jimmy's in a bad place, Jimmy's my friend, Jimmy's not a bad guy, I'm a grown man, I can handle this, this ain't shit" *CUE THE NUMEROUS WORRYING HALLUCINATIONS* Jimmy honing in on him from the start means that Jimmy is less careful about being subtle but it also doesn't matter. Because no one would ever suspect that their Strong Captain is being abused by his first mate—his best friend. And even if they did, it wouldn't invoke pity—but it wouldn't invoke solutions either. Because in this case, Curly is expected to TÅKË RÊSPØÑSÏBÎLITY, because he's a man. If you're being abused, and you're a man, then just stop being abused ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ You can just hit him, can't you? You can just use violence to show him that he shouldn't mess with you, right? Man up! It can't be that bad! Your bones are unbroken and you're not bleeding out so you must be fine!

(Curly internalizes this before anyone can even say it btw. Jimmy's not the only one dealing with toxic masculinity.)

Plus, since Jimmy actually, you know, likes Curly, it doesn't,,,,always hurt. In fact, it very rarely hurts in a way that you can physically see. He's so so delusional about this because while he's drowning in the shame of very viscerally, bodily enjoying what Jimmy does to him, it's also how he convinces himself that maybe he wants this too. Maybe he asked for this, even though he said no. This adds on a whole slew of embarrassment to go with that heaping pile of self-blame and shame ✨

Yet another reason that Curly is able to delusionally convince himself that what's happening to him is not abuse and that Jimmy is in fact still not a bad person and not hurting him. Anya notices that SOMETHING is wrong (just like Curly notices that something is wrong with Anya) but isn't sure what it is, and though she prods more than Curly would (did) when Curly won't talk to her and just keeps deflecting and acting like he's totally fine, there's not much she can do. She's not exactly the most respected member of the crew, after all -_-

Curly offering—"offering"—to get an apartment together with Jimmy after they land is seen as a natural segue, given that they've always been close and Jimmy's been publicly guilting the hell out of Curly about them all getting fired and how HE, SPECIFICALLY has nothing to go back to. Hence a whole new level hell :) Curly is a housewife from the fucking fifties but he works forty-two hours a week and no one gives a shit when he rolls up with bruises around his neck. Gaslighting and isolation galore ✨

And it's interesting here, that while if Anya gets hurt, everyone but Curly falls, but if Curly is the one that takes the bullet (Jimmy), everyone but Curly gets a happy ending :)

Anya could've helped him, but Curly didn't want her help.

Anya could've gotten help from him, but Curly didn't want to help.

Funny, how things work out in a mirror, huh? 💖

[thenotsoholyspirit]

The devil's in the details

(Matt Murdock x reader)

(💕First of all, I'm sorry I have not had the time yet to publish the 4 chapter for my other fic, my first semester at Uni is surely taking a load, but I still wanted to give an old idea a chance and try to see where I could go with it. It's mostly an introductory chapter hope you like it !) 💕

Summary. Trying to makes end meet as a young woman has never been easy, even less living in the turbulent city that is New York. When (y/n) will have to make an impossible choice, she'll have to decide between the ones she cares the most. It's never safe to fall in love, especially with that mysterious lawyer at the bar she's been working at and the secret she guards underneath.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Another round for the tables two and one, and please don’t forget the missing beers for the group at table five”

It definitely was a busy night at Josie’s.

I had barely entered the bar when multiple orders were already piling up in the kitchen. Friday shifts were always the best to work they told me, and being new around here, I was kind of guilty to be glad Katy asked for a longer maternity leave.

“(Y/n)!”

I turn around, Josie looking at me impatiently. 

“I didn't hire you to stand there and look pretty princess” She sighs but gives me a small smile, she could never stay mad at us for too long, “Now, please bring these three beers to the pool table”

I nod excusing myself as I go grab the drinks.

The atmosphere tonight was intoxicating. The talking, the music, even the bursts of laughter and the smell of alcohol that surrounded me were enough to get dizzy on my own. It was almost too overwhelming.

I take a deep breath, as I twitch my lips, trying my best not to bite them as I had promise myself to stop that bad habit.

Normally I had a better handle on my anxiety, but I’m not used to work during the busiest hours. Yet, I need money, and Friday nights are generous on tips. I couldn't let such an opportunity pass, and when Josie asked for our availabilities I was the first to raise her hand.

It’s for her.. all of this is for her

I’m so involved in my own thoughts I don’t notice the man passing in front of me. I suddenly lose my equilibrium, the plate of beers now jumping in the air, as I stumble falling on the floor. I barely have the time to register what’s happening when I feel a quick hand behind my back that stabilizes me again. 

“Well… there go our beers”

I hear a voice from the back, a blond guy with slightly longer hair and another blond woman staring at me.

I look down at the floor, now with a puddle of beer and pieces of glass laying there. 

Josie is going to kill me

“Are you ok ?”

I look up now to the man in front me. He had dark glasses and his short yet slightly ruffled hair only gave him a more attractive look. I notice the big stain of beer on his chest, which admittingly looked quite well built under the white shirt he was wearing. 

C'mon you ain't here to flirt with clients

“Yes I'm sorry your shirt it’s”

I notice now the white stick on his left hand and the realization of his blindness hits me. I feel even worse now. “O.. o shit I’m sorry.. I’m awful I.” 

“Don’t worry” he gives me a small smile “It was due to clean anyways. Although.. I heard some glass breaking.. Are you hurt in any way ?”

I shake my head until I realize he can’t exactly see it. 

“No I’m ok just..” I sigh, why was I about to tell my problems to a stranger, “I haven’t quite been the best waitress tonight”

He smiles again, this time with a little bit of curiosity in his look. 

God if smiles could kill

“Too much of an ambiance ?”

”Is it that obvious that this is my first busy shift ?”

He slightly laughs, until I see Josie appearing with a loud sigh.

“(y/n) could you try not to kill one of our regulars ?”

“Hey Josie the beers are on us all right add it to the Murdock Nelson tab, this stuff always happens”

Josie smiles at the man, it seemed that they’ve been acquaintances for quite some time. She easily accepts as she also gives a nod to the other blond guy.

“I’ll bring the mop”, I shyly tell her as I leave the scene. When I arrive at the kitchen, I hear Josie chuckling at me.

“So Matt caught your attention ?”

I do my best not to turn completely red. 

“You know I ain't got time for that Josie” 

I sigh. It was true. Too many bills to pay, too many things to do. Where would the time for a boyfriend ever be? Josie’s face becomes then more serious, she also knew all too well about my situation  

“How's your mother been ?”

I try to smile, it was never easy to talk about that subject.

“Doctors say she may get a leave from the hospital next week, but you know, i'd rather not be too optimistic on that subject…. I still remember last time”

I take the mop as I sigh. I knew Josie wouldn't have hired me if she didn't know my situation. I was already working at some convenience store during the day, but I was still short of money for the rest of my bills. This without counting the community college classes I was taking half time. 

And still not enough money.. it's never enough money

She gives me a warm smile, patting my back as if she wanted to say more but had no words. 

“You’re a good girl (y/n), you’ll get through this” 

I just nod. There was no time for feelings. 

Before leaving the kitchen, I give a last look to the group where Matt and his two friends were happily chatting . 

I shake my head, not wanting to be too distracted. 

There was no time for stuff like this, I can only move forwards. 

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

At some corner of the bar, a man was sitting, stirring his cocktail as he gives an attentive look to the place. Nobody notices him when he goes out for a smoke as he makes a call on his phone. 

“We found her boss… she’s still here… at some bar in Hell's kitchen” 

“Perfect’" the voice on the other side of the line was professional, yet so cold and grave, “Tell Weasley to bring the guys... It's gonna be a long night”  

[remedymcyt]

rem's scarian rec list

i felt like compiling my absolute favourite scarian fics. enjoy.

always check tags before reading!!! there's a big mix of fics here

in no particular order:

Ashes by Raichett

Grian's still soul-linked to Scar, even after their return from Double Life. He's not dealing with it particularly healthily, but after three death games, who would be in the best frame of mind?

(so beside myself with the implications of grian still being bound to scar after double life HO HO BOY... plus scar's agony at unknowingly hurting grian WOOF LOVE IT)

one word from you and i would jump off of this ledge i'm on by wizardlover

Grian and Scar deal with some of the fallout from Last Life.

(HRGERKGRKGERK this fic hurts so good. and the resolution is SO satisfying i've reread it like twenty times. and such fuckin good character voices too the dialogue is SMOOTH)

HCBBS (Hermitcraft Big Ballroom Scene) by romanocheese

Grian holds a ball to celebrate the finishing of the mansion. Scar appears in rather unexpected attire.

(SCAR IN A DRESS SCAR IN A DRESS SCAR IN A DRESS!!!! one of my first brainrot fics. adored showstopping amazing)

Beloved by spilledstardust

Scar has never played this game with the intention to win.

(this gut punch fic omg waaaaa the concept the execution i love)

a hundred kisses (then you start again) by backyardwizard

Grian and Scar spend the night together after finding out they're soulmates.

(this one always makes me feel shrimp emotions. the dialogue. the LOVE. GUUGRHHUH)

i am fed, but still i starve by definitelynotshouting

Another flash of teeth, dyed red in the light spilling through Grian's feathers. "The 'Not A Resistance' Resistance," he says, low and teasing, "would like to cordially invite you to kiss me stupid." 

(HOT HOT HOT super well written the kiss is phenomenal the character voices kill me and i love this fic so much im gonna lay down in the road)

get me with those green eyes, baby by Anonymous

Another "soulmates share more than just pain" smutfic to add to the collective pile - now with preening!

(gurgles incoherently. this one gets me. im such a damn sucker for good dialogue and this one nails it along with the bonus of soulbonds AND preening? im in heaven)

yours were the arms (that the whole world was in) by sparxwrites

He’s even less surprised when Grian returns that evening, looking furtive and ashamed, and guiding a golden-eyed Scar by the hand through the still-rigged front gate.

(sneaks a lil mumscarian in here. listen. i think abt this one often bc of the very in depth character understanding and relationship dynamics. mmmmmm so good)

if you like it... by GoodTimesWithScar

or, the "you got so drunk you asked your husband if he was single" trope, but with added mumbo being 100% done with this nonsense.

(how could i not. this fic is so fluffy and amazing and made me laugh so hard)

my ever after / is holding you by LovesickPrince

someone decides kidnapping King Scar’s beloved servant was a good idea. It really wasn’t.

(i think abt this fic at least once a daily. you've probably read it but if you haven't do yourself a favour and do. these IDIOTS i love them so much they're so well done)

This isn't a Love Story by Sleepless_in_Southlands

Grian is a priest of Fate, willing to sacrifice everything to ensure Scar, destined to be his final victim in the arena, doesn't fall in love with him along the way. Unfortunately for him, Scar seems intent on doing just the opposite.

(i talk abt this fic CONSTANTLY literally so bonkers over it i love it im obsessed it's perfect. i love this dynamic this concept this everything. absolute top tier no joke)

pull me from the earth by Niamh (saturniidaemon)

a midnight meeting, flowers, and the complicated nature of love.

(y'all like pain? bc this is fucking pain. literally just beyond wild over this. tread carefully)

wait the worst is yet to come by glossyblue

Grian bounces on the balls of his feet, delighted. “Okay. Okay, okay, so. You need to know how it works, then, don’t you? Kiss me.”

(just found this recently and it has not left the microwave of my brain. last life scar hurts so bad. everything in this fic hurts so bad. i love it)

the synonym of companion by errorryx

fool

mirror

entrapment

partner

(i love playing with words this fic does it so so so well omg. wonderful)

cheers everyone!!! xox rem

[thelordofgifs]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @sallysavestheday and @grey-gazania! I was eyeing this one and hoping for a tag, some great questions here.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 51, although one's a podfic.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 250,683. More than half of which is from last year alone!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently exclusively the Silmarillion, with the occasional little LoTR ficlet.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? the fairest stars, Inflection, an ancient song, all those that follow, Ilimbë. I'm always surprised by an ancient song's popularity – it was a pretty low-effort ficlet – but a solid list nonetheless!

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, always! (Glances nervously at the pile I've accumulated in the last couple of weeks of travelling). I love replying to comments, though. It's so nice to be able to engage with all my lovely thoughtful readers and their excellent thoughts!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ever an anguish that pursued is pretty bleak. before the black gale is also a tragedy of sorts, though I'm not sure that makes it qualify as angsty as such.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Ilimbë ends quite joyfully, although while writing the final scene I did have the shadow of their unhappy future in mind! I think the cleaving's ending is also quite happy, or at the very least cathartic.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, thankfully! All my readers have been very kind and appreciative <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Three fics so far! All of which were gifts for friends, and made me push my boundaries a little. I'm proud of all of them, though! Smut is less scary than I used to think :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No, never! If I did, it would probably be more of a retelling/AU than straight-up having characters from different fandoms meet.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No – I fear I am rather too much of a control freak for this, and would rather not inflict myself and my pedantry on an unsuspecting co-writer.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Russingon... it's the forbidden romance and the doomed nature of it all and the fact that love wasn't enough to save them :( also the murders, of course.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? boats against the current, the "Maedhros doesn't swear the Oath" AU I blithely started back in 2022, is simply not going anywhere at any sort of speed. Perhaps this is the year! Let's see.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and characterisation! I'm good at emotional beats, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Description... I tend to write VERY minimally and then have to go back on edits and add in some descriptive language so that the entire story isn't just two talking heads in an empty room. Always very pleased when people compliment my descriptions for that reason – they take conscious effort!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Fine if it's footnoted, I think. I tend to avoid it on the basis that all the dialogue I write has been "translated" from one of Tolkien's languages anyway; and I don't know any real languages well enough to write fic in them.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter, although I've soured on the fandom now for obvious reasons :/ For a while I used to think that I could still enjoy the books I loved so much growing up while separating them from the author, but she's so continually hateful and bigoted that I just... can't gain any enjoyment from the franchise anymore. Which is painful, but I'm glad I have the silm fandom to absorb all my creative energy now!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? the fairest stars! My weird gremlin baby, I love it so. I never expected to care about this fic as much as I did, but I've poured so much thought and heart into it that it was perhaps inevitable. And it's taught me so much about writing cliffhangers :)

No-pressure tags for @eilinelsghost, @searchingforserendipity25, @welcomingdisaster, @that-angry-noldo, @swanmaids, @echo-bleu, @jouissants, @tanoraqui and anyone else who, like me, was eyeing this one hoping to be tagged – @ me and say I tagged you!

[morganaspendragonss]

i'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

requested by @alostsock for 'asthma attack' on my @anyfandomgoesbingo (it's definitely not been two years shut up) i actually really enjoyed writing this and i wouldn't mind doing more bridgerton fic in the future! title from brother by kodaline ao3 | 1.9k | benedict & anthony, hurt/comfort, pre-canon

Everything changes when their father dies. How could it not? Edmund Bridgerton was known by all in the ton and liked by most, and even those with cause for distaste felt the shockwaves unleashed by his death.

But none of them ever knew the true horror of it all. 

Benedict remembers that day clearly; he’s the only one, besides Anthony, who does. Even Colin had been barely more than a child, and their mother had been so lost in her grief that he doubts in her memories she can distinguish one day from the next. 

But Benedict remembers that day, and all the days that followed, all the changes they wrought. Changes that manifested in the ton, in their home, in himself and in every one of his brothers and sisters. Even little baby Hyacinth, still in their mother’s belly when he died, was changed.

None of them, though, so much as Anthony.

He hardens, turns to stone against the world; laughter and smiles took a long time to return to Bridgerton House, but sometimes it seems like they never returned to Anthony. Alongside his father, Benedict mourns for his brother – Anthony had always been a serious child, always aware of his status as the oldest, the Viscount ascendent, but their father had been the kind of man who would never die.

Until he did, of course.

And Anthony…

Very few people, including their own siblings, know that Anthony was a sick child. No-one outside their household, really, save the doctor who once proclaimed that he would not live to see his sixth year. It is satisfying to think that, not only was he wrong, but Anthony has now outlived him by a decade.

Of course, there was talk at the time of the Bridgertons' sickly child, especially when Benedict’s birth followed so swiftly afterwards. But memories are short in the ton and gossip is frequent, so nobody remembers anymore how Anthony would sometimes collapse in the street, struggling to breathe and looking for all the world like he was inches from death’s door.

No-one would believe it anyway, to look at him now. Anthony has grown into a man and it’s been a long time since anyone in the ton has seen him as anything other than Edmund Bridgerton’s strong eldest son. The attacks were for their home, and any that broke through his control in public were blamed on his ever-growing collection of younger siblings and their illnesses. Anthony played his role for the ton, but at home, in front of their mother and father and Benedict, he was himself. 

Then it happened, and Benedict found himself mourning both father and brother.

Anthony lives in his study these days. He rarely breakfasts with them, always caught up in this thing or that, and he never plays with the younger ones anymore. That duty falls to Benedict now, and while he doesn’t mind, it’s clear that Colin and Daphne, at least, do.

“Anthony is much better at this than you,” Daphne haughtily informs him over a game of marbles.

Benedict doesn’t doubt it; he thinks even baby Hyacinth or little Gregory could thrash him at Ring Taw. They’ve been playing for fifteen minutes and his own pile of won marbles is woefully small. Colin’s is only slightly bigger, whereas Daphne holds the lion’s share. Somehow, though, she looks less than impressed with her haul as she stares down Benedict with contempt. 

He flicks another marble into the circle – and misses, of course. Daphne sighs and dramatically flicks her own marble, claiming another handful for herself.

“See?”

“Well, I thought you’d be pleased to play with a failure such as myself,” Benedict retorts. He gestures to her pile. “You’re winning, rather spectacularly, I might add.”

Daphne huffs with all the exasperation in her eleven-year-old body. “It’s boring,” she insists. “There’s no competition when you and Colin are terrible.”

Colin, who up until that point had been quietly rolling his marbles around, grabs one of the biggest and launches it at Daphne. Benedict can only watch as the marble sails across the room and crashes–

–into a bunch of potted lilies. Colin sighs in disappointment; Benedict in relief. Thank God his brother doesn’t have particularly good aim. He gathers the remaining marbles up before either of them can get any more ideas and puts the bag away on a high shelf. 

“Right,” he says, folding his arms and staring down at his siblings. “I think we’ve had enough marbles for today. How about a round of pall-mall in the garden?”

It’s a fine spring day outside and Benedict is sure that the fresh air will do them good, himself included. But if he expected his siblings to join in with his enthusiasm – which, usually, is a given when pall-mall is involved – then he is disappointed; they remain on the floor, exchanging doubtful glances.

“Will Anthony play?” Colin asks, voice small.

The well-worn excuse of Anthony being busy is on the tip of his tongue, but Benedict forces it back when he catches sight of their faces. Wide eyes, near tears – neither of them are young enough to believe the lies that Anthony and their mother and Benedict himself have been trying to ply them with. They’ve noticed how Anthony has changed and they miss their brother, and it awakens something in Benedict – a part of himself that had gone into hiding that day – that misses Anthony so hard it aches.

So when he assures his siblings, “I’ll make sure he does,” he means it. 

He slows to a tiptoe and his confidence fades as he approaches the study door. It used to belong to their father, this room, until one day it silently became Anthony’s, like so much else in this house. When he tentatively knocks on the door, Benedict half-expects his father to answer, half-expects his smooth, familiar baritone to welcome him inside.

Instead, there is silence.

Benedict sighs and knocks again, more insistent this time. “Anthony,” he calls, loud enough that his brother has to hear him. “I know you’re in there, I need a word.” And some more, but he’s not fool enough to open with that.

Still more silence, and Benedict starts to doubt if he is in there. But, where else would he be? Taking air in the garden? Not likely, not when he has his duties to tend to.

“Anthony!” Benedict shouts this time, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He promised Daphne and Colin that Anthony would play with them, and he’ll manage it if it’s the last thing either of them do.

He flings the door open, speech on his lips–

Only for it to die in an instant. Anthony is bent over his desk, barely on his feet, with one hand gripping the wood so hard his knuckles are turning white, the other pulling ineffectually at his cravat. Wheezes rather than breaths leave his mouth and his face has gone bright red, eyes bloodshot and bulging.

Benedict is not proud, later, of the way he freezes. He just hasn’t seen Anthony like this in so long, and it’s terrifying, it always has been, to see his older brother become so weak. It’s only when Anthony’s hand abandons his cravat and starts scrabbling across the desk that Benedict comes back to life, and he jumps across the room, gripping his brother’s shoulders and steering him with far too much ease into a chair.

Searching his brain for memories of what used to help, he runs back to the door and sticks his head out, flagging down a passing maid.

“Run a bath,” he commands. “A cold one.”

She frowns at him. “Now, sir?”

“Yes, now!”

Her eyes widen and she scurries off with a mumbled “Yes, sir,” and Benedict doesn’t have time to feel bad because when he turns around, Anthony is slumped over, arm outstretched across the desk. His grasping hand almost upends the decanter of what Benedict assumes is some sort of liquor, but when he catches it and moves it away from Anthony’s struggling, his brother all but growls at him.

“No,” he gasps, barely. “Need.”

It’s not really the time to be getting drunk, but Benedict trusts his brother, so he pours a few fingers into a glass. He has to guide it to his lips, Anthony’s hands shaking too much not to drop it, and half of the liquid spills down his brother’s waistcoat. When the glass is empty, Anthony is reaching again, pointing to a box on the side table. 

Benedict opens it, and this he remembers. It was something this newfangled doctor, who apparently suffered from the same condition as Anthony, had recommended some years ago, and it was like a miracle when it came to his treatment. The herbal syrup doesn’t cure his attacks, not completely, but it eases them enough for them to get Anthony into a cold bath or resting in bed.

It takes a few agonising minutes, but eventually Anthony’s breathing evens out a little. There’s still an awful, rattling quality to it, but he’ll live – Benedict hopes.

“Are you well, brother?” he asks, when it seems like Anthony might be alright to start talking.

He receives a hard look in return. “What…” A cough, harsh enough to have Benedict wincing in sympathy. “What do you want?”

Benedict raises his eyebrows. “Hello to you too. And you’re welcome, by the way. I came here to drag you outside for a game of pall mall, and a good thing too; seems like I arrived just in time.”

“I was fine.”

He won’t dignify that with a response. Anthony will never admit to needing help, not this version of him anyway, and Benedict isn’t going to waste his energy trying. There’s a knock at the door just then and the maid from earlier steps inside.

“The bath you requested is ready, sir,” she says, surprised eyes taking in the scene before her. No doubt gossip of the viscount’s discomposed state will make its way around the servants’ quarters within the hour, but there are enough staff who remember the worst of Anthony’s illness that Benedict is confident it won’t spread farther. 

“Excellent,” he says, then turns to Anthony. “Brother.”

Anthony glares, but he does stand and make his way out of the room with the servant. Benedict follows closely behind; his brother won’t accept a hand to steady him, but he still looks like he could keel over at any second.

“I’ll tell Daphne and Colin that you have a headache and are resting,” he informs him conversationally. “But as soon as you’re well, you owe them a round of pall mall.”

“Do I?” Anthony replies. He stops as they reach the door to the bathing room and turns around, and Benedict is startled by his lowered gaze. “Thank you, Benedict,” he murmurs. “For…everything.”

Benedict watches, wide-eyed, as his brother disappears behind the door. He hasn’t seen that level of vulnerability in Anthony…ever, really, and it’s strange. Unnerving. 

But a good sign, he thinks. Underneath the grief and the weight of duty, his brother is still there. He’ll make his way back to them. Benedict is sure of it.

[aliorsboxostuff]

Hello. I've been feeling like shit lately, so, if it's not too much to ask, can you write a trans spider reader with miguel comforting him about his dysphoria and transphobic family? Sfw, please. Thank you so much and I hope you have an amazing day/night.

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK A WHILE, I GENUINELY HAVE GOTTEN TOO CARRIED AWAY IN OTHER STUFF BUT I HOPE THIS SUFFICES! Thank you so much for your ask, and I hope when horrible days bring in dysphoria, this fic can help you go through it just a bit ^-^. I hope you have an amazing day/night too! :D 

All That Matters

Tags: Miguel O’hara and ftm!reader, Miguel and male!reader, Miguel and Spiderman!reader, Platonic fic, Platonic relationship, transphobic background, transphobic family, angst, slight angst, angst to fluff, friends, leaving home, being Out and Proud!, Every Spiderman is respectful or else, Miguel is supportive, Miguel is awkward, He tries his best truly, Hurt to comfort, this goes out to all my FtMs!

As if the trauma of getting bitten by a radioactive spider wasn't enough, the resentment your family has towards you for simply being your authentic self adds to the pile of already growing self-hatred. It didn't take much for you to leave your universe and join the Spider Society. One missed anomaly made its way into your world and the next thing you know you're already situated in the many vacant rooms the Spider HQ provides. 

—

Every Spider-Person comes with a tragic backstory. Their uncle or aunt died, they never got the love of their life, they somehow lost their powers amidst a big fight, they lost to a supervillain, etc. And with every spider-person, comes a bag of unhealed trauma and inner conflict that even Therapist Spiderman can't heal. 

In your case, it was your family. As if the trauma of getting bitten by a radioactive spider wasn't enough, the resentment your family has towards you for simply being your authentic self adds to the pile of already growing self-hatred. It didn't take much for you to leave your universe and join the Spider Society. One missed anomaly made its way into your world and the next thing you know you're already situated in the many vacant rooms the Spider HQ provides. The face of your family, shocked and hurt and confused when you pulled down your mask and left them was the last thing you remembered of them. After moving your scarce belongings, you left your universe without looking back through the portal. 

But somehow, the past always bites back.

It had been a shitty week in general. You misplaced your comfortable binder in the laundry basket and shoved it inside the washing machine along with your other shirts, resulting in the fabric shrinking and making it unusable. So you resorted to your other binder, admittedly, the less comfortable one, but that would have to do until you buy another binder with the same soft fabric your soiled one had. It didn't show awkwardly on the outside, under your suit, or whenever you wear casual clothes around the HQ, so you made do. 

Then, a stray anomaly just had to stumble into your original universe, and while you could've told Miguel you wanted to sit this one out, your adrenaline from the last mission an hour ago hasn't faded yet. To be fair, you'd forgotten the place even existed. So, without much more thinking, you jumped into the portal with Miguel leading and do what you do best—Kick some ass.

But of course, the Spiderman luck just had to spoil the fun.

Miguel was throwing punches and you were swinging from one building to another, trying to push down the prying nostalgia as you passed one apartment to the other. It wasn't until you and Miguel got the anomaly webbed up and ready to be transported back to the base did you caught a familiar face in the corner of your eye. With your spidey senses practically shooting up your spine, you turned to look at the end of the road, just peeking behind a building. 

It's your family member. One of them, at least, from the look of shock on their face, jaws dropped to the floor and eyes shaking. You knew it was them when your blood ran cold. Your eyes meet theirs, and you can feel your stomach drop, bile rising instead. You had to physically look away and focus on Miguel instead who was opening the portal before-

They called out. The name pushes down the nausea but instead raises your blood, curdling it through your veins. You feel your hand curl into fists, breath coming out short. They only ever knew your old name- your dead name. After all this time, even after you left, even after they saw you as Spiderman, they will only ever know you as ‘that little girl who left her family’. If your eyes could pierce through your mask, you'd be giving them a withering stare, arms shaking with restrained anger.

“Let's head back,” The portal hums to life. Something in your chest loosens, and you turn to see Miguel hauling the anomaly like a sack, which makes you huff in amusement. The man turns, before he looks over at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine, let's go,” You nodded curtly, letting your muscles loosen. Miguel hums before he enters the portal and you follow behind him. 

Once the anomaly is taken into its cell, you excuse yourself from Miguel and go straight to your room. That rising bile has managed to inch it way closer and you didn't feel like dealing with it at work. Miguel nodded at you and you went on your way, swimming past walkways and other spideys until you reached your quarters. The door slides open after your recognition. The second it closes and locks, you throw off your mask with a growl. It lands near your mirror, just at the foot of it. As you approach it, you notice your reflection, your suit gleams in the afternoon sun, your hair misused from being inside your mask the whole day. You glance over your figure, before you sigh, and head into your bathroom with a shirt and pants in hand. 

When you've changed into your designated oversized shirt and boxers, you were lying on your bed, phone in hand and watching something to get your mind off of the horrible day, a knock alerted you. Then, a voice calls out. “Hey, sorry to bother you, are you in there?”

It’s Miguel, you thought. “Yeah, hold on a sec’,” 

You paused your video and sat your phone down. After sliding to the edge of your bed, you shoot your web at the button that opens your door, and it slides to reveal Miguel in his day clothes. Other than his apprehensive face, his body is trying its hardest to act casually.

“Sorry I-” He takes a breath, his eyes glancing somewhere beside your doorway. “I saw what happened earlier, in your universe.”

A sigh leaves your lips. A soreness suddenly appears on your neck as your jaw locks, before you manage a cough. “Yeah, my bad about that it was-”

“No, I- we didn't know-”

“I should've told-”

“You don't owe me-” With that, Miguel clamps his mouth, before he sighs. You huff out a cut-off laugh before standing and putting your phone on its charging pad, your back against Miguel. “Listen, I don't know what you went through, or how bad it was,”

You turn slightly, eyes cast to your snowy carpet. “But I know no one deserves to be treated the way you were,” 

“If they were the reason you left your universe, I understand. But you're a part of us now, a part of this universe. You’re in the year 2099, we haven't had a problem with transphobes and bigoted people in years, if that makes you feel any better,”

You scoff, blinking the annoying sting behind your eyes. 

“I just want you to know we don't see you any different. We don't see you for your body, your voice, mannerisms, or anything else. What you say your name is, your type of Spiderman, is all that matters. No one pries for no one's business here.” When you raise your head, you find Miguel trying—managing—a small smile, his fang poking out, making you snicker. 

“Lyla told you to do that?” You smirks, before Miguel drops the smile and swipes back a fallen strand of his peppery hair. 

“The smile- yeah, I told her I don't do that. But not… not the rest. I mean that, we all do. It's in the contract,” 

You laugh, and something lifts inside your chest when you what Miguel huff. “Wait- we have a contract?”

“No- never mind that,” He shakes his head, which elicits another chuckle from you. “We don't have a contact but … doesn't make what I said less genuine,” 

It halts your thoughts. A gush of emotions ran through your head, some through your heart which fills it to the brim. You took a breath, once, twice, before managing a solid nod, a small smile on your lips. The man you knew as your boss—the leader, captain, whatever anyone wants to call it—Has always been closed off, doing missions and interacting as needed. You've seen him with Peter B. Or maybe Jessica, but that's all. The fact that he went out of his way, either by his own volition or from Lyla’s pestering, to say what he’d call a ‘supportive’ message, then it worked. Miguel mimics your small smile. He blinks before he leans on your doorway, arms crossed. 

“Anyway, I came to ask if you wanted to join me in the training room. Blow off some steam and all,” 

You answer with a hum. “I guess I could… I’ll get change then,” 

The man nods and moves away from your doorway. Your web dissolves and lets the door slide shut, leaving you in your privacy. You quickly grab your athletic clothes and strip off the shirt and boxers. After putting it on, you find yourself in your mirror reflection. The day hasn't ended yet, but maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

Miguel is waiting opposite your door as it opens. You had your phone and water bottle in hand, and your headphones—One of the only things you brought with you—hung on your neck. “Let’s go,” 

The man nods and walks beside you through the hallway, flicking on his sunglasses as you both make your way to the wider and more crowded walkways. 

Requests are open! remember to reblog!

[blushweddinggowns]

Part two to this from this fic!

It wasn’t a good call to be driving, he was well aware, but he didn’t exactly have a choice. When he’s far enough from the house, he had the wherewithal to pull over in an attempt to collect himself a little. He looked at his reflection through the rearview mirror, cringing at what he saw. He looked like shit. He’d really done a number on him, worse than any time before. At least when he was younger he’d had the self control to hit or cut him in places that people couldn’t see. 

Oh god, Eddie was going to see him looking like this.

The thought was almost enough to make him cry. He didn’t want Eddie to know about this. He never wanted him to know. There’s only so much shit you can put onto another person before they get sick of you right? And Steve was already a lot to deal with. He knew that. 

He was clingy as all hell, always monopolizing his time and inviting himself whenever he went out. He had random, horrible screaming night terrors about the fucking Upside Down, nightmares that Eddie would have to comfort him from. He was stubborn, he was bitchy, and now what? Eddie had to play as his personal nursemaid on top of all of that?

A large part of him didn’t want to go back. He wanted to hide away, fix himself up and maybe find him the next day, like about a car accident or something. Anything but forcing him to take care of him. He was so fucking scared that Eddie was going to leave him. He’d always been scared of it, always waiting for the day he realized he could do better than being with his dumb, damaged ass. What if this was the straw that broke the camel’s back? What if this made him finally realize that Steve wasn’t worth all the trouble?

The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was really starting to set in. He was hurt worse than he thought, and he was getting dizzier by the second. He started driving again, at a snail’s pace, terrified that he’d crash and hurt someone if he wasn’t careful. 

He went back to the apartment, despite his fears. It’s not like he had anywhere else to go. Besides, he was losing the thread of coherent thought concerningly fast. He needed some kind of help, as loath as he was to admit it. He…he needed Eddie.

By the time he pulled up the building he was barely hanging on to being conscious. He felt horrible, horrible enough that he couldn’t even get out of the car right. He stumbled to the ground the second he tried to stand, because why not add a little bit more humiliation to the pile? 

He didn’t even have time to try again before Eddie was scooping him up in his arms. Steve didn’t even know where he’d come from, but his touch was enough to have him relaxing in his arms. They’d only been separated for a few hours, but to Steve it might as well have been weeks. Eddie carried him back inside, gently setting him on the couch while he looked him up and down, clearly panicked.

Steve’s pretty sure he asked him a question, but he couldn’t quite catch it. But it was an opening for him to at least apologize, “I’m sorry I’m late. It didn’t go so good.”

Eddie was taking the jacket off for him, gasping when he saw the glass in his arms. Steve had forgotten about that part. Most of his focus was on the blinding pain he had in his head. But he had enough wherewithal to realize he was about to ruin their couch.

He tried to sit up, muttering, “I’ll get blood on the couch.”

But Eddie was already pushing him back down, hissing, “I don’t give a shit about the couch Steve.” 

He ran a hand over his face, obviously annoyed and Steve couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to deal with him either. 

Eddie stood,“Wait here sweetheart, and keep your eyes open, okay? I’ll be right back. Just let me take care of you.”

Steve nodded, but the second Eddie was out of sight he was back on his feet, spreading a blanket down beneath him. He had already ruined their night, he didn’t need to ruin their furniture either. Eddie was back in less than a minute, and the look he gave Steve at the sight of him standing was enough to have him sitting right back down, guilty as hell. 

His head was still killing him, bad enough that he could barely pay attention as Eddie tended to him. 

“What hurts the most, baby?” Eddie asked, hands shaking as he tweezed the glass from his arms, “I need you to tell me.”

“Head,” Steve mumbled. He could barely even focus on the pain in his arms, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder how many more hits to the head he could take and come out okay, “Feels like it’s burning.”

“Steve, I think we need to take you to a hospital-”

“No.” Steve may have felt like his head was splitting open but he wasn’t going anywhere. This whole thing was embarrassing enough, and he just…wanted Eddie. That’s it. He couldn’t deal with anyone else seeing him like this. 

Eddie stared at him, mouth hanging open like he couldn’t believe his audacity,“Why the hell not?”

"I don’t…I don't want everyone to know, okay?” He admitted, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so sick of this shit. He was so sick of being hurt, forcing other people to take care of him. He was sick of people knowing how useless he really was, “Not yet. I just want you."

"But-"

“Eddie, please?” He wasn’t above begging at this point. He wasn’t sure what he needed, and yeah, maybe he was risking his health, but what else was new? He just wanted to go to bed already and pretend like none of this shit ever happened.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, conceding, “Okay, okay. Just stay right here, and keep your eyes open, got it? I’ll be right back.”

Eddie kissed his forehead before leaving the room, ignoring his soft comments about being sweaty and gross. Steve watched him go, beyond thankful that he was letting him get away with it. He kept his eyes open like he was told, staring up at the ceiling while he waited for him to come back. He still couldn’t really think straight, nothing was really sticking beyond his own self-loathing but he at least managed to stay conscious.

Eddie came back a few minutes later, taking a seat on the floor next to him before giving his hand a squeeze,“Wayne and Mindy are coming over in a bit, okay? Someone has to check on you.”

Great. Now he ruined Eddie's night and Wayne’s. And now he was dragging his poor girlfriend into it? Steve started to protest, but one look at Eddie’s unamused face shut him up. He looked away, muttering,  “I forgot she was a nurse.”

“If she says you need to go to the hospital, you’re going.”

Steve sighed, “Okay.”

There was no point in arguing. Eddie would literally drag him there if he had to. Besides, Steve didn’t want to fight anymore, not with anyone. Steve let his eyes close, playing with the rings on Eddie’s hand every so often to prove that he was awake. He knew he was waiting for some kind of explanation, but he didn’t even know where to start. He didn’t want to start. He just wanted to go back to a few hours ago, back to when they were cuddling on the couch and nothing was wrong. 

Eddie broke the silence first, voice leaving no room for argument,“You’re not going back there. Ever. I'm never letting you out of my sight again.”

Steve laughed despite himself, wincing when it made his lip bleed a bit more. But still…it made him feel a bit better, knowing that Eddie was scared for him, as sick as that was. 

“I, um, can’t go back there, actually.” Steve admitted, eyes still shut, “They said it was you or them. I chose you and,” he chuckled, humorless, “And they did not take it well.”

“They know?”

Steve nodded, “They told me on the phone, said they knew what I was up to, that I owed them an explanation.”

“How?”

Steve shrugged, regretting it instantly. Jesus even that hurt, like he couldn’t feel more pathetic, “Tommy, I guess. He called them, sat down with them or something. Worried about my life choices or some shit.”

Steve startled a bit when cold hands were suddenly cradling his face. He opened his eyes, resigned when Eddie carefully forced him to meet his eyes. He looked so…sad. It made Steve’s heart clench in his chest. He hated that he was the reason for that expression,"Stevie…baby, why did you go?”

Steve could feel tears start to well in his eyes. He hated this. He hated this so damn much. He hated that he had to explain that his dad was a fucking psycho. That he had been terrified of Eddie getting hurt. That he never told him the truth, and risked his safety just because he was a coward.

He went to bite his lip, a nervous reflex before flinching, quickly realizing what a mistake that was,“If I didn’t go he would have shown up here. A-and I didn’t want you to get hurt. I thought I could talk them down or something, or just lie my way through it but…I couldn’t.” 

“How many times have they done this before?”

Steve went for the lie on instinct,“They haven’t-”

“Sweetheart, please don’t lie to me,” Eddie wiped away some of the tears from his good eye, lovingly patient as he waited for Steve to speak.

There was no point in lying about it anymore. There was nothing to protect, not his parents or his own dignity. He took a deep breath before closing his eyes, admitting the truth out loud for the first time in his life, “I’ve lost count.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

"I didn't want to scare you away," Steve said, painfully honest. But he was done with the lies, no matter how much the truth scared him. Eddie deserved that at least. 

He could hear the confusion in his voice, “What does that mean?”

The tears were really starting to fall now, and they fucking hurt, the salt stinging the cuts on his face. But he powered through. He needed to say this,“I-I know I’m already a lot okay? I’m clingy and annoying a-and I fucking scream and shit in the middle of the night and I just didn’t want to add another thing for you to have to deal with.”

Steve opened his eyes, heart breaking at Eddie’s devastated expression. Eddie swallowed, tears welling up in his own eyes, "There is nothing that would ever make me not want you, I'll always love you, don't you know that?"

The fucked up part that was he did know that and Eddie proved it to him every damn day.. His favorite catchphrase was sweetly calling Steve his first and last love for god’s sake. He knew he wanted a life with them together, he knew that he adored him, flaws and all. But it only took one shitty meeting with his parents to make him doubt every good thing in his life. 

"I-I do, really,” Steve admitted, ashamed at his own doubt. He could barely see Eddie anymore over the cloudiness from his tears, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one crying, “I just...I don't know. I should have told you." 

He could hear the sound of Wayne’s truck pulling into the driveway, footsteps not too far behind. Eddie kissed the side of his mouth as lightly as he could before standing to let them inside, while Steve tried to wipe the tears away. Mindy made quick work of tending to him, shushing him everytime Steve tried to apologize for wasting her time. She really was a good person, perfect for someone as kind as Wayne. 

"You can stay home tonight," she finally declared to Steve, gesturing Eddie over, "You just need lots and lots of rest. Give those ribs a chance to heal a good while before you do anything strenuous. Now let's help get you to bed.”

"Thank you," Steve mumbled as Eddie scooped him up. Now that he had gotten the go-ahead to sleep, Steve’s eyes kept slipping closed on their own accord. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he really was. He was too tired to even fight the embarrassment of Eddie carrying him to bed like a kid in front of people, too grateful to try and seriously protest. 

Eddie set him down on the bed carefully, and then helped him change into clean clothes, ignoring the weak protests that he could do it himself. He already felt better, just being back in their bed. But there was still one more worry in the back of his mind. 

“Please don’t go after him,” Steve mumbled when Eddie got him under the covers, "Promise me?"

Eddie hesitated, "But-"

"It's not about them," Steve rushed out, shaking his head. If Eddie could get away with mainiming his dad then he’d let him, but Daniel Harrington was a rich, litigious piece of shit. The risk of something bad happening to Eddie would never be worth any kind of petty revenge,  "Getting arrested isn't worth it. Losing you isn't worth it. Swear?”

“I swear.”

"Thank you," Steve whispered, finally letting himself fall asleep, "I love you."

He could feel the wet press of Eddie’s lips to his forehead, and then he was out, nearly instantly asleep after his final fear had been expunged. He only managed to be down for an hour or less before he was blinking his eyes back open. 

His head felt a bit better. But his body was still hurting like a bitch. He could officially feel the broken ribs, which was not a good feeling. But what was worse was that Eddie wasn’t lying next to him. He pulled himself out of bed, ignoring his body's screaming protests to stay put. Slowly, he wandered out into the living room, frowning when Eddie wasn’t there either.  

Wayne was on the couch, watching tv with a beer in hand. He raised a brow at the sight of Steve standing there, “Why on earth are you out of bed?”

Steve shrugged, sitting down next to him, ignoring the question,“Where’s Eddie?”

“Out,” Wayne said vaguely, “But he’ll be back soon.”

Steve could feel his stomach drop,“He’s not doing anything stupid is he?”

“I didn’t say that. But he’s not going after your parents if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That…almost helped. Steve wanted to believe him. He did, but Eddie was nearly suicidally protective of him if the shit that happened with the Upside Down last year was anything to go by, “I’ll believe it when I see him.”

Wayne shrugged, pretending to turn back to the television. But Steve could feel him watching him from the corner of his eye. They sat in awkward silence and Steve hated that he was the cause of it. Usually, nothing between him and Wayne was awkward. It was kind of their thing, the fact that they got along so bizarrely well. Maybe it was the shared love of sports, or maybe it was their shared love of Eddie, but they just clicked.

But now he could barely look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said eventually, anything to fill the suffocating silence. It was a reflex, to just apologize. Even when Steve didn’t 100 percent know what it was for. 

Wayne stared at him, brow furrowed, “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“For ruining your night?” He tried, cringing when it came out as more of a question. 

"Jesus christ, no wonder Eddie gets so pissed when it comes to you."

“I’m sorry-”

“For the love of God don’t apologize again,” Wayne groaned. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, annoyed to a level that Steve had never seen before, “What did you do to me huh? You got the shit beat out of you and you think that warrants saying sorry to me?”

“...yes?”

“God, maybe I should have let him go after your dad. Steve, listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. And us wanting to take care of you isn’t something you need to be sorry for. We want to do it. You’re a good kid. No, you’re a great kid. And Eddie loves you to hell and back for good damn reason. But he’s not the only one, understand? You’re family now and that’s all there is to it. And family looks out for each other. So don’t you dare apologize to me again.”

Steve stared at him, eyes going wide. He knew Wayne cared about him, of course he did. Why else would he let him live under his roof rent free? But he just…underestimated how much. That seemed to be a constant issue with him, not understanding the extent that people cared for him. But his little speech felt like a proverbial slap to the face. In a loving, fatherly kind of way. 

For a second, Steve couldn't help but wonder how his life would have turned out if Wayne had been his dad. He probably would have been nicer, happier, and been able to skip that whole dick phase in highschool if he had had a single good role model. And if it wasn't for the fact that that would have made Eddie his cousin, he would give anything to have that childhood instead of the one he got. Though the idea of growing up with Eddie was definitely appealing. There was so much lost time they could have spent together, if only Steve had been able to get his head out of his ass and see the amazing person in front of him. It would have been great, fantastic even if his alternate universe could find a loophole for the whole incest side of things. 

But Steve was getting off track. He nodded at Wayne, throat closing up a little as he spoke, “Thank you. I…I love you too. You and Eddie are the best family I could have ever asked for.”

“Damn straight we are,” Wayne chuckled, taking a sip of his beer, “Took me nearly twenty years to get a son that knows what a quarterback is. You’re gonna be stuck with me for life.”

They talked for a bit longer before Wayne headed off to his room, stopping to hug Steve on the way out, as gently as humanly possible. He tried to convince him to go back to bed, but he just couldn’t. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep until he saw Eddie. Or at least got a call from Hopper that he was in custody for being an overprotective idiot. 

But he didn’t have to wait too much longer. Less than an hour later, the front door was opening, the sound of a thump and a grumbling Eddie felt like music to his ears. But as happy as Steve was to know he was safe, he was still pissed he had left in the first place. Eddie stopped in his tracks at the sight of Steve waiting for him on the couch.

He shrunk a little at his glare, meek when he asked, “What are you doing out of bed?””

He ignored the question,“What did you do?” 

“Nothing, I promise!” Eddie said quickly, hands up in a placating gesture, “You won’t be seeing my name plastered on any headlines. I just got your stuff.”

Steve stared at him, looking for any tells. Eddie didn’t know it, but he did this thing when he lied to him. He’d be a little bit more fidgety, either tapping his foot unconsciously or letting his brow twitch. But he passed inspection enough for Steve to finally relax. There were a lot worse things he could have done than break into his house to get his shit back. 

“Come here then,” Steve made grabby hands at him, impatient to just be near him already. 

Eddie went to him, hugging him to his side with careful hands, “How are you feeling baby?”

“Horrible,” Steve admitted. Literally everything hurt, but at least nothing hurt worse than before, “But not worse.” 

He cuddled up to his side, frowning at how tense Eddie felt. He was just about to ask what the problem was when Eddie spoke first, “I uh, kinda ran into your mom, while I was there.”

Steve went rigid in his arms, staring up at him with wide-eyes. 

"But nothing happened!" Eddie rushed out, flinching at the sight of Steve’s panicked face, "We just talked."

“Why would she want to talk to you?”

Eddie sighed, digging into his back pocket. He pulled out a folded envelope before hesitantly handing it over, “She wanted me to give this to you.”

Steve stared at it, taking it in shaky hands, “She gave it to you?”

"Wrote it out in front of me. She said, uh, that you deserved to know everything you were giving up.”

His mom-Steve stopped the thought in his tracks, shaking his head. She wasn’t his mom. A mother would never let happen what she let happen. She was just…someone who was going to stay in his past. But still, the paper in his hands was bizarre. Helen wasn’t the type to reach out. He thought she would act like she always did when things went bad, like nothing had ever happened. But this was new.

And Steve wanted no part in it. He frowned at the paper in his hand, an idea popping up in his head, "Help me up." 

“You’re not supposed to be moving-”

“Just to the kitchen,” Steve insisted, “I’ll lay down right after,”

Eddie gave in, helping Steve to his feet, He hovered as Steve steadied himself, following closely when Steve weakly walked towards the kitchen. He dug around in the drawers until he found a book of matches, then made his way over to the sink. Eddie watched, wide eyed as he lit a match, promptly setting the stupid thing on fire. 

"Steve-"

“It doesn't matter what it says," Steve cut in, letting it drop into the sink, "I made my choice."

And he made the right one. Whatever they had to say to him he didn’t care. He was done. He had a new family, a better family to worry about now. He turned away from the sink, stepping back into Eddie’s arms, “All I want is you.”

Eddie held him, trying his best to be gentle. Steve looked up at him, heart squeezing when he saw the tears in his eyes.

 "You won't regret it.” Eddie promised, voice hoarse, “I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you don't."

In all honesty, Eddie could dump him tomorrow and Steve still wouldn’t regret it. Every single happy moment he had with him was worth more than his entire childhood. But the idea of spending the rest of their lives together…now that was something he could get behind.

"It sounds like you're proposing," Steve said with a wet laugh. He giggled as Eddie started kissing his face, peppering all of the non bruised zones with light pecks. He felt light, he felt good, despite all the crap that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

He felt loved.

"Maybe I am,” Eddie managed to gasp out in between kisses, “But only if you'd say yes." 

Steve stopped him when he circled back to his mouth, cupping his cheeks to press a light kiss to his lips, mindful of his own cut. He whispered into the small space between, like a secret just for them. Like everyone he knew didn’t know how quick Steve would agree to spending the rest of his life with him,  "I would."

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Finally, finally, finally— in the next day or so (maybe tonight??) I’ll be posting the first chapter of the Wylan Whump Fic™️.

Until then: a snippet

“Jes, I… can we not talk about it right now? Can it wait?”

It hit him like a slap across the face.

“Can it—“ suddenly, he didn’t feel solid, like his fear shook his atoms loose. Every part of him was unsteady. “No, Wylan, it can’t wait, this is the second time in a week you’ve fully stopped breathing, and you—“

The pathway between his brain and his mouth seemed like a fucking labyrinth. Fumbling his words, Jes abruptly gave up and clicked his mouth shut— he didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but he needed to move. In the corner of his eye, Wylan’s slim, bony frame shrunk away from him. Like he was trying to disappear.

It hurt. These past months, he tried to not to take it all too personally— the evasion, the mystery, the things left unsaid. But, it had never been like this before.

What happened to you? He wanted to cry out. Why are you so afraid? Who hurt you?

It was just another question to add to the never ending mountain of them since he’d met Wylan. Where did you come from? How did a prince like you end up all the way down here? How do you know all the amazing things you know?

He used to ask every time the words popped into his head. It was so easy to let his mouth run, and Wylan was so easy to talk to— he should be easy to ask questions of, too. Right? Jesper said it all with awe and wonder, how do you know that? Or who taught you that? He hardly thought it would be… so unwelcome.

After Shu Han, he asked less. Wylan wouldn’t give more than a one or two word answer anyway— just a shrug, or duck his pretty face away from Jesper’s gaze.

Lately, it felt like he was standing in a blocked corridor with locked doors on all sides. Nowhere to go, and constantly knocking, calling for people who weren’t willing to answer— Da? How could he ever look his father in the eye again? Jesper had closed that proverbial door himself. Then there was Inej, Inej was gone. Nina wasn’t close enough. Kaz? Kaz didn’t let anyone in.

He expected it from Kaz— when had he ever gotten more than the bare minimum from him? Jes wasn’t blind, he knew what his value was to his best friend. He was a tool, easily manipulated. Kaz saw him as a child, and the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. Jesper was childish.

His fingers twitched, the tips of them rubbing like he could feel chips between them.

He knew what he was to Kaz.

But, what was he to Wylan?

Another question for the pile, he thought bitterly. He knows what you are— you told him everything. He’s too smart to hang around much longer. He knows you’re unreliable, can’t keep your mouth shut or your kruge in your pocket, or—

The window was permanently stuck open, and the curtains fluttered with the chill of the autumn twilight. Jesper practically tripped over his feet to the fresh air, shaking his head to clear it.

“Jes? Jes, please—“ Wylan’s voice was so small. The sound of it solidified in his chest like jagged ice. He flexed his hands with the urge to go to him, to hold him.

But, his touch wasn’t welcome. It had only made it all worse, hadn’t it?

Tugging his curls until he was sure he looked a bit insane, Jesper forced himself to turn around and face that voice.

Saints.

[bropunzeling]

13, 14, 22 !

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

idk if it is quote unquote common but @ohtemporas told me to check for filler words to make my prose stronger one (1) time and now i do this religiously. i don't cut everything but it does make me think about how im using words like just and a little and if it’s really conveying some waffling (or makes the sentence funny) or if it's a crutch!

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

much like a sex scene, for a lot of my big emotional scenes i know what the goal is (they're mad at each other! they've realized deeper feelings! parent/child bonding! whatever!) and it's a question of landing the plane. i do a lot of dialogue rehearsing before i ever get to the big moments so that helps me prepare how i want a conversation to go? it is a little harder bc i do default to like. description of physicality and there's only so much of that you can do before being repetitive lmao (yes this is reminding me of another thing to add to the editing pile) but mostly it's "what is the end point -- what words get me there."

i DO find it actually awful to write arguments and such bc i hate arguing and conflict and even writing it for my own guys can make me feel ill sometimes but im improving at that and being less of a weenie about it i think! i managed a whole MEAN argument in the current wip in one sitting with minimal cringing! it's never drawn from my life so to speak but the FEELING of it is so then like. EYE feel kinda sick and upset and generally have to take a little break before getting to the aftermath

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

i answered previously but another thing i don't reaaaaally vibe with is horror? im really not a pure horror girl and i think it would take a particular source material (like iwtv) for me to work within that genre -- i doubt i'll write a horror hockey fic for example. a lot of what im willing to write depends on how amenable the source is for it! i also don't love fic where cheating is a major theme.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "While You Were Sleeping"

It seemed like the right time to dig out this older story of mine and revisit it. I even created some fic cover art for it at long last. I originally wrote this for @searchingwardrobes' Captain Swan is my Favorite Rom Com collection on AO3, and I had a lot of fun adapting one of my all-time favorite movies While Your Were Sleeping to include Killian, Emma, and many of our other favorite OuaT characters. I hope you will enjoy seeing it again, or seeing it for the first time, as this week's self promo re-run.

~*~ Complete in 8 Chapters ~*~

Also available on AO3 or ff.net if that is your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Part One: Prologue

“Next.”

The clink of the subway token in the steel drop slot made its familiar sound as Emma Swan almost robotically gestured the traveler through to make room for the next and fished the coin out to add to the growing pile on the counter at her elbow. At this point, the main part of her job at the Riverside subway terminal on Boston’s Green Line was so routine she barely paid attention or even looked at the equally harried and distracted commuters, but simply gathered their fares, waved them on, and kept the line moving. It certainly wasn’t exciting or life-changing, but it paid the bills, kept her and her cat fed, and if she daydreamed meanwhile about someday traveling beyond the bounds of the city’s subway network, and having someone to travel with – well, no one had to know that but her.

The jangle of another coin in the till jarred her from her morosely-veering thoughts and reminded Emma of her duty, “Ne-” she began to say, even looking up at this person as if to prove she wasn’t lazing on the job, but the words froze on her tongue at the sight before her.

It was him – the mystery man who traveled through her station every week. Like clockwork, he appeared each Saturday at nine, then reappeared on his return journey in the early evening. Only on Saturdays, but without fail; once a week some pilgrimage brought him to her like a shimmering mirage, leaving Emma shaken and breathless, thinking throughout the rest of her work week that she must have conjured him from her own imagination. Though she wanted to shake her head at the preposterous reaction, roll her eyes at the dramatic way her heart raced whenever this guy came into view, and write herself off as pathetic for behaving with such girlish enthusiasm, it never failed to strike her again on Mr. Handsome’s next arrival.

It wasn’t just the perfectly tailored slate gray suit and handsome overcoat the man wore, the fancy watch on his wrist, or the confident, decisive way he moved and carried himself; it was more in the twinkle of playful mischief she saw in his breathtaking blue eyes behind the proper veneer of his business-like appearance (even on a Saturday), the subtle quirk of his mouth as he never failed to thank her, in a heart-stopping British accent no less, before moving on to his destination, and the way that, though he without doubt had the best products and stylists at his fingertips, there was still an unruly, disheveled mess of curls atop his thick, sandy head of hair. The man was clearly a mover and shaker, powerful, well-to-do, and yet he carried himself as if it were an easy mantle, with the grace not to give his power too much credence or act better than anyone else.

As if to prove her point, the guy smiled at her kindly, even as she did little more than nod dumbly and reach out to take his subway token. His voice was warm, almost melodious with the lilt of that accent as he added, “Thank you, Lass. Have a lovely day.” Then, with a dip of his head and a wink, he was gone, moving off on his way again, leaving Emma looking after him and trying to shake herself back into coherence.

She watched his tall, broad-shouldered frame, now with his back to her, stop on the platform to check the time, and she sighed, dejectedly berating herself for being too dumbstruck to even answer the seeming man of her dreams. “You have a nice day too.” “That’s a great tie you’re wearing,” she snarked to herself quietly, reminding her stunted brain of the sensible replies she could have given Mr. Dreamy instead of merely gawping at him like a fish out of water. “‘You’re beautiful”, “Take me with you…” Letting out a growl of frustration at her own lunacy, Emma buried her head in her hand a moment before knocking her brow against the glass a couple times for good measure. “Stupid, stupid,” was really all she could find to mutter to herself.

However, though she admitted that she might be many things, a wallower was not one of them. After her short personal pity party, Emma drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked up, intending to get back to work – monotony and all. Unfortunately, that still wasn’t in the cards.

She looked up just in time to see her daydreams’ focus be joined on the platform by three other men, looking much less clean-cut and a lot shiftier in their bearings. Whatever the first one said to her suited regular, it clearly wasn’t friendly, as he stiffened rigidly, and Emma did too merely from watching at a distance. The first newcomer gave her commuter’s scarf a flip back over his shoulder, making the muffler fall from his shoulders to the ground, and she could almost read the words on those well-formed lips, imaginary or perhaps even distantly hearing his, “Watch it, you lot. Just back off. I’m not looking for any trouble.” He had turned partially to take in all three of the men who’d accosted him, clearly not wanting to put his back to any one of them, and she could see the storm cloud that had settled on his strong brow, that handsome face dark and warning where before she had only ever seen it show either mild happiness or amused curiosity.

One of the newcomers jeered loud enough for Emma to hear as she cracked open the door of her vestibule, ready to call out and intervene, asking loiters to move on before the next train’s arrival. “Well, you may not want any trouble, guv’nuh,” mocking his English speech obviously as he moved right into her guy’s space, “but what if we do?” And before Emma could call out or make any sort of sound at all, he shoved at her regular passenger, hard enough to send him stumbling back despite his height and the casual poise with which Emma normally saw him move. Though he might well have caught his balance just fine in usual circumstances, they were standing too near the edge of the platform. The next foot he put back to brace himself found only empty space.

One of the hoods bent quickly to swipe the dropped briefcase he had been carrying; while another gave her handsome stranger one last shove in the chest before the three attackers bolted, disappearing up the subway steps, even as Emma finally jolted from her wide-eyed shock, leapt from her stool, and ran toward the fray.

Unfortunately, even as she hurried, she knew it was too late. In nightmarish slow motion, her guy’s arms pin wheeled, still seeking balance. The desperate attempt failed, and Emma skidded to a stop where he had been, grasping for nothing but air as he fell and vanished over the side, plummeting to the tracks below.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @justanother-unluckysoul @mie779 @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @wefoundloveunderthelight