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accidentally-in-fictional-love · 7 months ago

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🦉 🩹 if you’re still doing them!

Unexpected Surprises - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, no use of Y/N, mentions of Minne's sickness and death, Jack is a miserable drunk, sad unrequited kisses, the reader makes a deal.

Wordcount: 5486

Summary: 'Night Owl Co-host' wasn't the job you signed up for, and you really weren't prepared to be a TV personality when getting coffee for the real stars was what you were expecting, but maybe you could do this as long as your new friends kept cheering you on.

Notes: According to my docs I've written for Jack more than anyone so far, him and Abner have so much love in my inbox and I'm so happy for that 😊 I almost missed this one since I saved the starts in my drafts, so I'm super glad I looked lol. Bit different plot this time, so far it's my only fic without smut for him haha but I've wanted to explore this kind of friendship for a while, so I'm glad I was able to get the chance to, I hope you enjoy it~ 💗💗💗

When you went in for your interview at UBC Studies, you expected to get stuck with the unfortunate but decent-paying job of getting others some coffee, taking some calls, and being bossed around by some snooty TV people who thought themselves better than you. What you didn't expect was for them to take one look at you, hear your voice and match it with your outgoing personality, and instead give you a job alongside their newest sign, Jack Delroy, as his co-host. You didn't know a thing about the guy, just that he came from radio, and those people had a tendency to be just as stuck up as their television counterparts. You weren't excited, but the paycheck was miles better than what you would've gotten had you gone with the internship, so you spent the next month preparing your best showman self for the cameras with the help of your friends and family, who were all excited to see you make an absolute fool of yourself on live television.

Schadenfreude, your oldest foe.

The dress rehearsal ran fine, the seats all empty as everyone practiced their cues for the first show, got used to where they'd be sitting or standing or pointing their cameras, backstage abuzz with energy as people grabbed coffee to calm their nerves about tomorrow and sneakily poured in a little extra flavour of their own when that didn't help. The man of the hour himself, Mr. Delroy, or Jack as he wanted everyone to call him, seemed pretty okay, he'd only had a chance to give you a quick hello before he was being rushed off to go over his markers, and you were in the middle of wondering where the hell you were supposed to come in when you were ushered off to the area beside the band. You were to stay there primarily, offer your own comedic quips as you saw fit as long as they were sponsor-safe, but for the most part you just had to rehearse your own bits to go along with his teleprompted speeches.

Basically: stand there, look nice, boost him up.

So you did just that, your grin as wide as it would go as everyone practiced, you really needed this job and you were not about to serve coffee to these people after being their boss, your charm on full blast just like his as final checks were given and everyone celebrated in early excitement for tomorrow night. That was another thing, getting stuck on Night Owls meant you had to become one, no more early bedtimes so you could get in a good 10 hours; now you would be getting home at almost 2AM after everything, and still be expected to get up at 7 so you could be a model citizen and do things like shop and go to the bank and socialize. You dreaded that part more than the job itself, already feeling tired as you pulled into the lot and dragged yourself over to his studio.

It was already busy again, other shows already filming as you traversed the back halls you were now familiar with, and you made sure you looked presentable before stepping backstage to find Jack and go over your very first routine together. You found him talking to your producer, Leo Fiske, who was already smoking what had to be his second pack of the day and running on pure nerves while Jack looked so wired he might've actually been able to run a mile or two before the show started. Neither noticed you until you approached, Jack’s eyes meeting yours a second before Leo turned and grabbed onto your shoulders.

‘The hell have you been?’ he instantly demanded, Jack muttering for him to calm down as you tore yourself free and readjusted your sleeves.

‘There's still an hour before the show, I'm not late,’ you defended yourself, Leo shaking his head and motioning towards everyone already there.

‘I dunno what kinda job you had before this, but if you're an hour early you're already an hour late,’ he explained, Jack hushing him again before Leo noticed something else and had to run off and fix it before he could continue with you. You just stared, used to his eccentric personality already, so you weren't upset or anything, but this would definitely not help your desire to go home and go to bed in the upcoming nights.

‘Don't worry about him,’ Jack said softly as he watched him go, your hand already up to wave off his concern.

‘I really don't,’ you admitted with a chuckle, and as you went for your own coffee you realized that this was the first time you'd actually been alone with him since production started; despite being co-hosts, both of your attentions had been torn elsewhere the past month, all your smalltalk and introductions surrounded by other people and large gaps as you stood in your places and worked out what activities you'd be doing as the show went on. ‘So, big night tonight, huh? I've never done anything like this before, if I mess up I'll have to quit,’ you joked, and he just drank the rest of his coffee before shaking his head and tossing the cup into the trash.

‘Nah, I've seen how quick you are on your feet, if you make any mistakes I'm sure you'll be able to spin it and make the audience laugh, and that's all that really matters,’ he told you with a smile, and you felt something flutter in your stomach at the sight of it; okay, weird, he wasn't usually your type and was technically more your boss than anything despite being around the same age, you'd have to decipher that one when you got home tonight. ‘Besides, if you can't think of anything I'll be sure to cover you, I've done my fair share of, you'll forgive the expression, fuck ups on air,’ he admitted lowly with a wink, the fluttering turning to something stronger as you just nodded back.

‘What're you doing still standing around? You think you're gunna wear that on camera? I told you to match with Jack, there's gotta be something in here we can get you in- Jesus, tomorrow you two are going shopping together so you don't clash like this again.’ Leo was a flash flood of words as he came up behind you, your eyes wide as you had seconds to take in what he was saying before you were being herded off towards the section of backstage dedicated to makeup, hair, and costumes. Jack just chuckled as he followed after so that the poor woman would know how to match you, your carefully picked outfit respectfully torn off of you behind a curtain while Leo flipped through the available backups while ignoring the advice of the costumer.

By the time midnight was finally about to hit, you were wearing an entirely new outfit, Jack was making sure everything was in place, and Leo was halfway through that second pack as you took a deep breath and headed out in front of everyone. The seats were all packed to your surprise, you weren't sure for the longest time if this new late night show would be able to compete with the others, but as you got into position and the band started to warm up, you felt a new confidence take over as you pictured how hard Jack had been working to get here, how much he wanted this. As such, you gave it your all as you announced your sponsors and very first guests, your best professional voice on as you mimicked other hosts you'd been watching to prepare for tonight. The music was loud behind you, upping your energy even more as Jack’s cue ramped up, and when you called out his name and everyone cheered you felt a bit of pride join the butterflies as the door opened and he danced out.

‘Good evening, Night Owls! I’m your host, Jack Delroy, and thank you for allowing me into your living rooms for the first of what I hope will be many, many shows,’ he declared as he took his mark, an extremely brief prayer to the heavens you noticed was not part of his rehearsals offered up now that he was in front of the cameras. ‘I’d like to thank everyone who helped bring this dream to life, especially my dear mom and dad back in Berwyn, Illinois, who I know are sitting in front of their TV set, big smiles on their faces, watching “The Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson.”’ A drum beat was hit right on cue as he made a pained face, the audience eating it up as you also couldn’t help but laugh despite hearing the bit over and over while he practiced, and the smile that followed kicked those butterflies into overdrive as he gazed up at everyone starting to fall in love with him already.

You felt that pride only grow as the night went on, Jack feeding you all the energy you needed throughout the show until you didn't need it anymore, the two of you meshing so well it was like you'd always known each other. All of his jokes landed, his personality translated greatly to the camera, and you couldn't help but tease when a woman in the audience called him handsome, his face lighting up faster than the 4th of July at the comment. You saw it and couldn't help but join in, Jack hiding from the cameras playfully as the audience agreed, someone else saying they'd been listening to his show for years and that he did not have a face for radio, and when he laughed loud you laughed right along with him.

All in all it was a successful first night, very much so if you did say so yourself, and when it was over and the cameras were cut you all gathered out on stage for hugs and cheers as the audience gave their final applause and headed out the doors. Leo, who might have burned straight through to his fourth pack you did not doubt, hooked his arms around both your neck and Jack's, big kisses pressed to your cheeks as he promised champagne for everyone who was still awake enough to stick around. You wanted to decline, go home and sleep, but the moment you saw Jack loosen his tie and accept a glass for a toast you found yourself not so tired anymore.

You got more used to your new schedule as the weeks turned to months, Night Owls getting more popular as time went on to everyone's delight, and as you became closer as co-hosts you ended up finding a pretty good friend in Jack as well. Being a proper night owl was hard, but he helped you get into a livable routine of it as he invited you out before the show, made sure you got used to eating so you wouldn't be running on empty despite the late hour, a quick coffee not enough to cut it you learned after the first week.

It was while you were out on one of these pre-show dinners that you learned about Madeleine, his girlfriend that he'd met a couple months ago and officially asked out with the news that Night Owls was in the Top 10. Your smile faltered for just a second before you caught yourself and shook her hand, and she was polite and beautiful as she sat down next to Jack and blushed as he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her neck. You'd never seen him like this before, so doting and flustered and very clearly in love as he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and you kept your smile up all the way through their talks about how they met, how much she adored him while he tried to switch the conversation to her, up until you headed for the show, and when you walked through the doors Leo took one look at you and offered you his whiskey without a word, a new one already poured by the time you drank it back.

You weren't jealous of Madeleine, you weren't, but by God if you didn't feel a twinge every time she showed up backstage on her way home from one of her own shows to kiss him goodnight. He was head over heels and it showed when he went on stage, his energy unmatched as he delivered the best hours of his life to the masses every weeknight. You were there for every single one, never letting the facade crack as you stood next to him, played off his jokes, spun the wheel and got more hugs than him from happy winners as his slightly younger and conventionally attractive counterpart, as Leo once described you, and even acted alongside him in some random sketches since you both weren't actors and your campiness brought charm to it.

You weren't jealous of her, but you couldn't deny your feelings for him the night he announced his engagement, not even a year into their relationship, as Jack tapped his glass with his knife and got everyone's attention. He declared it to the room, everyone who was able to attend out for a big Night Owl dinner to celebrate one year on air, and after you all toasted to that he surprised you all with invitations to the wedding, which was to be a small gathering of just their family and closest friends, which he now considered all of you to be. You toasted to that as well, but didn't realize you'd started crying until Leo handed you a tissue and offered to pour you more wine, since you'd just finished off your glass. You didn't stand out, some of the others were crying too over the news, but you had a feeling that Leo knew your tears weren't in joy for the happy couple when he offered you his handkerchief next.

It got better with time, honestly you didn't even think that your crush was that strong to begin with, it was more so the fact that your best friend was taken than anything, and you were able to push past it with great success. As the first year turned into two you only became closer, and you didn't even feel jealous anymore when you and Leo were invited up to Madeleine's family cottage up in the mountains that Christmas. You had a wonderful time, and you joined in the teasings right along with her as Jack was gifted the ugliest sweater you'd ever seen in your life, which he of course wore proudly while denying its ugliness, although you could not tell if it was just another bit or not. Gifts were exchanged, drinks were had, and when you fell asleep in the spare room while watching the snowfall outside you felt like you'd found yourself a family with those three, and that meant much more to you than any crush ever would.

It broke your heart when Madeleine's diagnosis was shared with you that morning a few years in, genuinely shattered it as his voice cracked and he had to cover his mouth to stop himself from breaking down. ‘We just received the news last night,’ he confided in you, the two of you currently having breakfast together because he couldn't be home when she wasn't there. ‘Her parents are coming down, her sister is at the hospital with her while she's doing more tests to be sure, I don't… I stopped smoking inside for her, she hated the smell of it, and she's never smoked a day in her life, I don't understand, I just don't-’

You reached across the table to place your hand on his arm, and he held onto you as he finally did break down, people glancing over to watch and guess as you fought not to glare at them. You moved to his side of the table, protecting him with your silhouette, and when the waitress came over to take your orders you asked for a bit more time while he hunched over his cold coffee and just breathed.

The atmosphere was solemn as Jack wheeled Madeleine backstage to get ready, both of your friends looking like the life had been sucked out of them as everyone gave her their polite but quiet hellos. You went last, only going because Leo nudged you directly in the spine to get your legs to move, and she took off her oxygen mask so she could pull you down into a tight hug.

‘Take care of him for me,’ she whispered in your ear just quietly enough for you to hear, and you knew you were crying before you could even pull away.

You gave them all the space they needed during the show, no time for quips or jokes as she talked about how they met, their hands clasped the entire hour as everyone just listened. No one hid their tears, not even Jack as she told him she loved him, and she was still beautiful as you saw him whisper it back to her.

When the show was over there were so many goodbyes, no one honestly knew how much time she had left, and she still made sure to talk to everyone until it became too much and she needed a break. The crowd thinned then, until it was just you, Jack and Madeleine, and even Leo, who refused to leave until he could lock up the place, although you all knew why he kept hanging around. He didn't even smoke as she was brought back out to their car, your producer graciously helping Jack lift her into her seat even though she insisted she could, just to be polite.

You felt useless as you just stood there, making sure the chair wouldn't roll away until it was folded and placed carefully into the backseat, and when you and Leo waved them goodbye he didn't even complain and say that life was tough so you'd better get used to it when you clung to his jacket and cried about how unfair the world was being to your friends.

Madeleine passed two weeks later, and it was to no one's surprise when Jack went missing.

Even you didn't know where he was as you waited in your apartment for a single sign that he was still in New York, your phone pulled so far into the living room to make sure you'd hear it from any room if it rang that you’d tripped on the overextended cord a couple times already. It was weird not going to work, but even still your body didn't let you sleep until 2AM as usual no matter what time you climbed into bed. Despite that, it was hard to wake up knowing that Madeleine was now gone and Jack was nowhere to be found, and you ended up a bit of a recluse once the tabloids found out where you lived and tried to see if you knew anything.

You didn't, which stung, but even if you did you'd never say a thing to lead them to wherever he was, you could never betray your friend like that when he was hurting so much.

It was around midnight during the middle of the second week that your phone finally rang, and when all you heard on the other side was Leo's voice giving you an address you had barely enough sense to write it down and race over as fast as you could. You found Jack there, at Leo's second house just outside New York, the address unlisted so the vultures couldn't get to him when he needed a break, the man of the hour looking so tired and drained it was like a part of him literally died along with her, not just figuratively. The first thing you did was want to hug him the moment you saw him sitting in the next room, but before you could Leo grabbed you by the arm and all but dragged you through the nearest door, which ended up being a much too spacious closet for one Leo Fiske, you thought.

‘Take it easy on him, he almost went back to Chicago,’ he told you in a hushed voice, which only made you feel worse because you wouldn’t have known. ‘He’s been crashing here since the funeral, said home was too painful or something, only just today let me tell you he was here cause he isn’t about to run anymore.’ He tried to play it off that he didn’t care and that this was a nuisance to him, but you could see in his eyes that he was just as worried as you were.

‘I will,’ you promised as you kept yourself from crumbling, just knowing that he’d been here hiding from the world because his pain was too much made your heart ache, and when Leo finally let you go you approached him carefully; he was hunched over a photo album, it stuffed with the years they’d spent together, a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and his half-filled glass in hand as he looked too miserable to even cry anymore. ‘Jack?’ you asked softly, and when he looked up it was almost like he didn’t even see you as he expected to see Madeleine once more, like this was all one big bad dream and he was about to wake up.

‘Oh, when did you get here?’ he mumbled when his eyes focused and saw you, and you couldn’t hide your own pain as you moved to sit down.

‘Just now, Leo called me,’ you explained, a bit of space between you as he nodded, drank the rest of his whiskey, and turned the page.

‘Ah yeah, I told him he could, didn’t I?’ It wasn’t really a question, and he didn’t wait for your answer as he tried to pour himself more and ended up dropping the bottle. It shattered against the hard surface of the table and spilled the dark liquid everywhere, his album almost falling into it before your hands quickly shot out to save it. At the thought of him almost ruining what he had left of her he broke down again, whiskey dripping onto the carpet below as he hid his face in his hands and started to cry.

‘I got it, Jack,’ Leo quickly said as he tossed down some embroidered towels to soak it up, clearly money wasn’t an issue for him as he ruined even more of his expensive things to help his friend, the album set safely aside as the two of you cleaned up his mess.

‘My fault, it’s all my fault…’ he moaned as his legs were lifted and more towels were tossed down, his movements starting to sway as the alcohol took hold of him. ‘Minnie, what did I do…?’

‘I think it’s time he gets to bed, you’ll find it upstairs, 3rd door on the left,’ Leo muttered under his breath as Jack almost fell onto the cushions, gravity starting to take hold as well. You just nodded and stood, hoisting his arm over your shoulders and helping him stand while Leo took care of the mess, the sound of the couch being moved following you all the way to the stairs. You trailed whiskey footsteps behind you for a bit, shiny shoe prints that showed where you’d been as you headed up, his head still lucid enough that he didn’t fall or leave you to support his weight entirely.

His bedroom was a wreck, the splendor of the house lost in the mess he’d made in his depression, but you just carefully stepped around fallen clothes and his open suitcase until you reached the bed. He collapsed onto it and just sobbed, it making him look small for once as he curled up, and you were in the middle of taking his shoes off for him when he looked up and something flashed across his face. ‘Oh, there you are, when did you get here?’ he asked again, and you swallowed the thick lump in your throat as you placed his shoes on the ground.

‘Just now,’ you repeated, and he nodded before staring at the empty space beside him. He whimpered as he ran his hand over the comforter, it was too empty after so many years of her being beside him every night, and when you sat down and his hand found yours in the dark you didn’t object. He pulled you into that space, eyes unfocused again in his drunken haze, he was absolutely ruined and you wished you could do more for him as you brushed his hair out of his eyes and let him find comfort in your presence.

‘What did I do… this was never supposed to happen…’ he was murmuring to himself, and you just whispered that it was okay, his hand finding your face next as he traced the shapes in the dim light. ‘It was never supposed to turn out this way… you have to believe me… please believe me, Minne…’ You shut your eyes, your hand trembling as you held his hand and tried to decipher what he meant, but you were never able to as he suddenly let out a small gasp, the hand gently brushing your cheek now pressed against you fully. ‘Minnie?’

Your eyes shot open to see him staring at you, his own glazed over from the whiskey as he saw her in your face, and you only cried harder as he started to sit up.

‘I’ve missed you, I missed you so much,’ he told her, but she was you, and he couldn’t hear your voice as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and held you close. You didn’t look anything like her, but it must not have mattered as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips cold against your skin as he sobbed, and you were ready to pretend until sleep took him when you felt him kiss you properly; you pulled away, startled, but he held on tight and tried again, the tears never stopping as he whispered apologies against your mouth, and when he tried a third time you kissed him back.

You hadn’t had feelings for him in years, there were no butterflies as your friend then curled against your chest and hugged you around the waist as he kept mumbling nonsense only he understood, but you’d give him one more minute with Madeleine if you truly could, you would trade anything for that. You couldn’t find Jack Delroy in the man falling asleep against you, he was missing just as much as she was as you rubbed his back and let him rest, and when Leo came upstairs and found you like that he just sighed and walked over. He didn’t say a word as he helped free you, his handkerchief offered to you again as you wiped your eyes and blew your nose, Jack now sleeping as peacefully as his heart would let him.

‘I’ll stay with him, it’s been bad tonight, you head home for now,’ he said softly, and you nodded before giving him one final glance and walking back to the front door. It felt even colder out as you headed for your car, the keys in your hand when you heard footsteps behind you, and when you spun around you saw a stranger standing there, leaning against Leo’s car. ‘Who’re you?’ you demanded angrily, you were not about to allow some lowlife paparazzi to invade this place and take pictures of his grief, but he had no camera on him, the stranger just holding up a hand nonchalantly.

‘Just a friend of Jack’s, I heard he was here,’ the man replied, and your brows furrowed instantly.

‘I know Jack’s friends, I’ve never seen you before,’ you hissed, and he shrugged and pulled out a cigarette.

‘We met back in Cali years ago, when I heard what happened I came down right away.’ He lit the end with a large, Zippo lighter, an owl etched into the side facing you you were just barely able to see in the moonlight, and it clinked loudly shut as he blew the smoke your way. ‘You two, you seem pretty close, anything going on that I should know about?’

‘Wha- how dare you insinuate anything just weeks after his wife-’ you started to threaten as you stepped closer, and he held up his hand again and brushed shoulder-length, blonde hair aside with a small laugh.

‘Easy, it was just an observation,’ he chuckled, but you still wanted to punch his lights out as he blew more smoke towards you and made you cough. ‘You’d still do anything for him though, right? I mean, working together for so many years, becoming that close, it must tear you up inside to see him like this, doesn’t it?’

‘Of course it does, they’re my family, Madeleine was my friend, if I could help him in any way then I would, it’s not even a question,’ you spat out, your voice rising just enough for him to motion for you to calm down before you garnered any attention from nosy neighbours.

‘So if you could help him, you would?’ he asked cryptically, and you didn’t know what kind of friend he was supposed to be, but you wouldn’t lie about this, not when you still had his tears drying on your shirt.

‘Yes, I would trade anything to be able to help him get his life back,’ you said seriously, and you swore you saw the stranger’s blue eyes shine as the clouds above uncovered the moon.

‘Interesting, you really care about him, huh?’ he thought aloud, and when you just nodded he chuckled again and held the cigarette between his lips. ‘I’ll ask our mutual friends back in Cali if they know any tricks to get him outta this funk, he’ll be back on camera in no time,’ he told you, cutting off your anger at his depression being condensed down to just a ‘funk’ as he held out his hand for you to shake. You didn’t want to, but he wasn’t letting up as his smile only grew, the corner of his mouth twitching eagerly as he waited, so you just sighed and grabbed on for the world’s fastest shake when he held on tight, grabbed his cigarette, and pressed the end directly into the back of your hand.

‘Ow! What the fuck?!’ you yelped as you pulled back, but there was no mark to go along with the burn, and when you looked back up you were alone again, the clouds covering the moon once more as an owl hooted in the darkness beyond where you couldn’t see.

Two weeks later, Jack was all over the news again as UBC announced his return, along with the addition of his new co-host, an old TV veteran by the name of Gus McConnell who meshed with him so well it was like he’d always been there. You smiled as you heard the news, something in your chest aching as you watched from your parents’ couch; you’d gotten sick the past week and had to quit your old job, temporarily moving back home with them since it was getting bad enough you couldn’t take care of yourself, unfortunately, but everyone was hopeful for the future thanks to your determination.

The memory of whatever your old job was was hazy now as a cough wracked through you, but that didn’t matter much as you got cozy under the blanket and tried not to let the pain overtake your excitement. You’d been a fan of Jack’s for years, you could still remember his first show so clearly almost like you’d been there, but you’d never had the time to grab yourself a ticket to join the studio audience no matter how much fun you thought it would be. The segment wasn’t long, just a quick announcement since he’d disappeared somewhere for a month, but you still watched with bated breath as a date showed up on screen.

His return show would be the following Monday, a fresh start to make up for his absence, and already you were excited to watch as you grabbed the remote and flipped from the news to a movie you could fall asleep to despite the early hours of the day. You were a night owl, tried and true, and you wanted to be awake for midnight so you could catch that night’s rerun in preparation for Monday, the small, circular birthmark on the back of your hand throbbing faintly as you shut your eyes and fell asleep.

#Ray's Readers #Ray's Requests #david dastmalchian #jack delroy #jack delroy x reader #a lot of my Leo lore came from dastmalcord honestly it's why he ended up with such a big part since everyone has a lot of ideas about him #yes I was absolutely imagining Matty/Rhys for the Stranger heheh

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nordstarr · 3 months ago

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what’s your process for writing such long and well thought-out fics? like you don’t have to go into extreme detail but do you 1) outline the story 2) rewrite a lot of parts 3) have a beta reader? also, i would love to write tomark so do you have an advice on how to get their voices right or a good interview example to base that off of. thank you and love your fics. big fan.

first of all, thank you so much, that really means a lot :(

I know you didn’t want extreme detail, but this is me we’re talking about, so this answer got sorta long and rambling. I APOLOGIZE for that, but I hope you’ll get something out of this?

I’m gonna do my best to at least give you a vague overview of how I approach writing, with the caveat that it’s probably/definitely not the objectively Best Way or only way to write fics. My ADHD and general perfectionism make me a really bad case study.

That being said:

1) On Outlining: for “See You”, I didn’t have an outline at first, or even really a good idea for a plot, and I just word-vomited a lot onto the page, vague scenes and ideas and the general vibes of what I wanted to touch on with that fic, i.e. old men in their healing era, looking back on their past, and then got lost in the weeds and abandoned it for a year because it became unmanageable without an outline. Once @phoebesbridgers and I started talking and throwing ideas back and forth and kinda brainstorming, we worked out an outline that evolved as I was writing it. Bare-bones at first, and then adding more scenes as needed, where the pacing was lacking or where I wanted to go into more detail. I was adding scenes up until the very end, so it’s definitely nice to have an organic outline you can edit and expand upon. In my experience, writing fics over 10k without an outline (no matter how loose or free-form it is) is basically impossible. Sometimes that outline is just text messages between Kristen and me, sometimes it’s me taking actual notes in a google doc.

“Who said I can’t go back?” was even more collaborative (duh), with us basically working out a full outline before we started to write, aka doing some brainstorming sessions, taking down notes for that, and then working out what scenes we needed, but still expanding on things and adding stuff in the middle of writing.

Here’s what the first brainstorming for “Sink into your sunlight” looked like (excerpt. these usually go on for a WHILE), just gathering the vibes and basic concept:

Those notes usually evolve into vague scene ideas, so I’ll have an empty google doc with scenes laid out in order, mostly “[scene 1: x happens here], or giving the scene a stupid name that encapsulates the main thing it’s going to be about.

2) On rewriting: I'm someone who edits A LOT as I'm writing something, which is 100% bad practice and perfectionism and not something I recommend because it slows my progress down so much, but that usually means once a scene is done, I don’t change much anymore. Usually after a few days of not looking at the scene and getting some distance, I’ll either print it out or throw it into an AO3 draft to have a different format to look at, and go over it again, editing spelling errors and doing minor edits, shifting some parts around, and once I hand the fic over to Kristen, I edit and add stuff wherever she had notes.

3) On beta readers: I think it’s pretty clear from all of the above that I’d be so, so lost without @phoebesbridgers being someone I can trade ideas with and also make her do all the heavy lifting of editing and beta-reading. She gives me notes and feedback and helps out on pretty much anything when I need her opinion, be it pacing or outlining. I can’t recommend enough that you have someone you can show your fic to, or just brainstorm with, and have them as your biggest supporter and hype man. It makes the mental barrier of writing so much easier to manage when I’m writing for one person, or a small group of friends, rather than the Big Vast Faceless Void of AO3. It takes the pressure off. As long as she likes what I write, I’m happy.

4) As for how to get their voices right: a lot of that is just the natural osmosis of spending 15 years being a fan of this band and watching interviews and hearing them talk, but what always helps me is either reading dialogue I’ve written out loud, or having some TTS go over it, or even just going over it in my head and seeing if I can hear the words in their voice, or can imagine them saying them. I wish I could give more helpful advice on that, but listening to interviews or their show banter always helps to kinda get their cadence right. If you're writing for a specific era, it helps to watch interviews or clips from that time, just to get a feel for what the dynamic is like.

Feel free to ask more questions, I'm just really bad at giving advice lmao

#i had to look up the names of my own fics they exist only as the dumb working titles in my head #see you you'll always be 25k to me

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pauking5 · 4 months ago

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there's something about asks coming in about my fics that makes me really emotional. they always come when i have the biggest crushing weight of doubts raining over my head about those certain stories and to absorb each one in is like a virtual hug. the fact that some people still read my stories, after so long, and enjoy them, gives my writing meaning.

it's coming close to my one year anniversary on here and i have so much to say about it so please do skip this post if you don't need the little emotional load rn.

i never thought myself one to write the stories i played in my head. i've always had so many and i never picked up the pieces to start writing them out. i studied writing itself a lot academically, from classics to poetry, and even modern fiction that i now read for pleasure. but never, not even once, has the thought crossed my mind to go ahead and try my hand at writing until one person told me to go for it. that was all it took for me to let the stories build worlds in my head for the past year. once i started it was like i couldn't put my hands down. watching that masterlist grow from one to dozens of different stories still makes me gasp in awe sometimes.

addicting taste was my first ever experience in writing. while i do majorly write for mackenyu's characters and they're each complex in their own ways and find different spots in my notes to rent out, the minute i found enishi i was absolutely locked in for it. i looked through the cracks of his character on screen and the bits and pieces i found in myself - the loneliness, the fight for justice and righting the wrongs, the madness of the world and his inner one clashing just like mine. in all but a crazy chance dealt in my hands out of nowhere, i put that first chapter together in four days, between a packed uni schedule and wallowing in my own ocean of madness. ever since, she's been the sole work in progress that's seen me at my best and my worst. but at my completely broken and most healed too.

every chapter is a piece of me that the story layered through, unfurling around its sharp edges until it softened its fall. it broke me and it put me back together again. it made me curious about so many things i never had an interest in. it made me love the things i used to hate with my all. it made me look at life differently.

i know it's not a widely read story, but the fact that some of you stayed to read it for so long and left messages here and there, means the world to me. this goes for everything i've written that you've left a little note for. runaway, my heart calls your name, crimson desire and so many more. i can assure you that they're not empty words and i keep them close to my heart when the hard days make me question my ability to write.

i have so much more coming. so many stories waiting to bolt their way out of my drafts and my notes app and i can't wait to have them out. full length fics, different genre mini fics, soul projects. a huge chunk of stories that kept me safe, happy and comforted me when i needed it.

thank you for reading my stories :)

#just a little thank you post #i'm so glad a community like this exists #i would say a lot more but i'm a little emosh #thank you ❤️

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kass-storycorner · 3 years ago

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Rainbow Anon~

Hhhhuuuu, those sleeping asks where so cute!? Do you think you could another part with Diluc, Zhongli and Albedo having come home late, but their s/o has a nightmare later on the night due to stress? (hurt/comfort plz lol)

//I said that I needed to stop simping for all of the characters but, I literally cannot physically do that. Everybody is so beautiful;;;!!

Aaaah, hello Rainbow anon! Thank you, I'm glad you liked them!!! Also never stop simping, they really are all beautiful. Genshin is at this point a "character I simp for"-collector haha And now on to the request, thanks for sending this in, I've been struggling with every other piece I've been working on the last days so idk writing these small drabble / bullet point fics is a nice change. Though I have to apologise that the Albedo s/o hc is the only one that actually doesn’t really fulfils the request…

And I didn’t add Zhongli, I had this request for a while now in my drafts, Albedo and Diluc finished but idk I couldn’t come up with something for Zhongli and it frustrated me so now I’m posting it like this 😩

Nighttime headcanon part II. - Nightmare headcanon

Genre: Angst with comfort

Rating: SFW

Content Warnings: none I guess

Characters: Albedo, Diluc,

Format: Bullet points / HC

Albedo

Ah, he did it again. Albedo didn't intend to stay so long at the laboratory inside of the headquarters of the knights again. To be honest he had planned to come home earlier that night, but alas - he didn’t notice the passing of time again until Sucrose knocked on the door, pulling him out of the trance he gets into when he works and reminding him of the time.

When Albedo opened the door to the shared apartment it was already filled with darkness again. A deep sigh left him as he took of his coat and shoes, making his way towards the shared bedroom. He really missed going to bed with you. It was so different than joining in bed, there were no sweet good night kisses nor wishes.

Though when he walked into the bedroom he didn’t expect to see this. Normally you would sleep peacefully, the only noises coming from you would be your snores. But when Albedo saw your sleeping body in bed tonight there seemed nothing peaceful about you.

It looked like you have been tossing and turning in bed for a while, the blanket didn’t cover your body, it was already halfway on the floor. But your face was the give away - you looked so scared.

Slowly Albedo made his way to the bed, sitting down next to you, still in his clothes, not sure what he should do. It would be best to wake you up, wouldn’t it?

“No… don’t”, he heard you whimper. He really should wake you up. But something, maybe it was is damned curiosity, in him wanted to hear more. Albedo wanted to know what scared you so much in your sleep.

“Albedo, please- albedo-“ ah, a sharp pain made it’s way through Albedos heart. What were you having a nightmare about that involved him?

Albedo wanted to know more, wanted to hear more. But he couldn’t stomach how scared you sounded, scared of him, so he gently put his hand on your hair, stroking it in the hopes it might sooth your dream.

However at the touch you woke up, looking directly in Albedos eyes. Before he could say anything tears already made their way down your face, hands and arms wrapping around Albedos waist and hiding your face in his stomach.

“Hey, hey it’s fine. I’m here. It was just a nightmare”, he said in a quite and gentle voice.

But that’s it - it didn’t feel like a nightmare at all to you. The moment you woke up the dream already was forgotten, except for the last thing you saw in it. You remembered the bitter feeling of betrayal, heartbreak and you were so scared. So horribly scared. The last imagine that burned itself into your head was Albedos face, looking at you with an blank expression, his eyes empty from all of the love he had for you. It felt more like a horrible future and not a nightmare.

This was nothing you felt like you could tell Albedo… it sounded quite silly, didn’t it? And the way Albedo looks at you right now, eyes filled with worry but so much love for you. There was no way those eyes would grow cold one day, would there?

Diluc

The last few weeks have been extremely stressful, for you and Diluc. With festivities right around the corner and many new visitors in Mondstadt because of them, Diluc and you had your hands filled.

Diluc for once more as the owner of Dawn Winery than the ‘Dark Knight Hero’ ah how much he despises that name

While yes, the crime rates and suspicious behaviour just grew with the amount of new people that visited Mond - but so did the demand for his alcohol. And after some incidents with slimes and some inefficient knights - Diluc had his hands full, day and night.

And you? You were busy yourself with your work, the festivities tripled your workload too and the worst about it was: there was no time to see Diluc for more than a few minutes awake.

When you went to bed he wasn’t there and when you woke up - rarely the past weeks was he asleep next to you (only once to be honest). Most of the time he was already awake again (or maybe still awake, you couldn’t tell at how short your encounters have become).

Diluc felt horribly guilty about how he didn’t spend any time with you. Yes you both were quite busy the last weeks, but even he could feel how the stress and the lack of your sight slowly tore him down.

So tonight he decided to skip his duties as Mondstadts protector - just for this one night, wanting to spend it with you. But even then, when he arrived home, entering the shared bedroom he saw you already asleep. It wasn’t too late in the evening, but he figured that you were just exhausted. And honestly? He was too.

So Diluc decided to lay down beside you, maybe you both couldn’t spend some time awake again but for now this must be enough. Though Diluc promises to himself that once all of this madness is over again to give you the attention you deserved.

The moment Diluc took his place beside you in bed, he noticed a small shift in your behaviour. Your breathing wasn’t calm like normally and how did Diluc just notice the way your brows furrowed. It looked like you had a nightmare.

Carefully he took you in his arms, hoping to give you the comfort you need for the nightmare to end. But it did not. It seemed like it was just getting worse and when you started to cry in your sleep was when Diluc had enough.

Softly he wiped away the tears, whispering “hey (y/n), it’s fine. Wake up, it’s just a dream, it’s okay”.

His soft touch and quite words woke you up, finding yourself in his arms. What? How and when?

You pressed your face into his chest, taking in his smell. Ah. How much you missed him, all of it. You felt how Diluc planted a kiss on your head.

“Are you alright Darling?”, he asks and you sigh at the sound of his voice, at with how much love and concern in it he asks. You shift a bit, now being able to see in his eyes in the dark. “It’s fine I’m- I’m just stressed.” His thumb trailed the dark circles under your eyes. “To me it seems like you are more than stressed.”

“I just couldn’t sleep because of it that well the last days, it’s fine”, at your words Diluc shot you a look of concern. “It’s not okay, since when do you have these nightmares?”. You hid your face again in his chest before mumbling out your answer. “It’s only when I sleep alone.”

Diluc felt a wave of guilt go through him. Only having those nightmares when you slept alone? Now to come to think of it, Diluc hasn’t slept next to you in the past few days (that idiot hasn’t slept much at all)

Squeezing you in his arms he lays his chin down on your head, promising you that you won’t have to fall asleep alone anymore. And he’s here now. It’s okay.

After a while you fall asleep, Diluc listening to your calm and soft breathing until he falls asleep himself.

Both of you had to wake up early that morning, but when Adeleine walked into the bedroom to wake you - ah, you two looked so peaceful in bed together and she just hadn’t the heart to disturb that peace.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin comfort #Diluc #albedo #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #gn!reader #Diluc is an absolute softy deep down you can’t convince me otherwise #also the albedo one is more hinting at him destroying Mondstadt one day maybe so idk if I wrote that in a way that I was understandable

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leah-bobeea · 4 years ago

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Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve smut #steve rogers smut #dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #marvel #avengers fanfic #captain america #ceo!au #chris evans #leah-bobeea

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ghoste-catte · 3 years ago

Note

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

#answered #anonymous #writing advice #i guess?#am i qualified to give this?#no #but im doing it anyway

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holidaywishes · 4 years ago

Text

a bit of stress relief

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: Can you PLEASE write about Freddie coming to your work and having a quickie in your office

Warning: smut, fluff, whiny Freddie

Author’s Note: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED for a bit. I do have one more in my inbox right now so I’ll add it to my drafts but after I write that I won’t be taking requests for... a while. Maybe a month? I have a few series I want to finish up before I start having requests piling up. I always love seeing my inbox full of requests for different types of fics, so this isn’t forever, just until I’m able to finish my Gally series for sure and possibly my 9-1-1 series. This request was fun and I just couldn’t say no lol. Thanks in advance for your understanding and I hope I’ll be able to get back to requests sooner than later but I’ll keep y’all updated! Stay Golden, loves! <3

masterlist

the other masterlist

Your boss asked you to go into the office on a Saturday to finish an assignment that she had forgotten to mention earlier in the week. You would’ve argued that you had plans but your boss said it was for a presentation the next morning that they needed the information for

“I’m sorry, Freddie,” you whined to your boyfriend as he tried to convince you to stay at his apartment, “believe me, I’d much rather be here but I’m not about to get fired...”

“It’s not your assignment, it’s hers,” he argued, “she made the mistake. Why do you have to do it for her?”

“It’s my job” you admitted

“Except when it’s not...” he groaned

“Freddie,” you sighed, “I won’t be long I promise. I just need to go in and print up some stuff and make a couple calls. Nothing major...”

“So why can’t your boss do it?” he challenged, “it’s her mistake, so.. she should be responsible for fixing it”

“I know,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing his cheek, “but I can’t lose this job. I have loans to pay off”

“You know I can help with that”

“No,” you scoffed, “no you absolutely cannot. I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything. That’s not the relationship we have... I’m not your sugar baby”

“But you could be”

“But I don’t wanna be”

“Alright...” he laughed, kissing your nose playfully

“I’ll call you when I’m finished okay. I give it one, two hours tops”

“If you’re not finished in two hours, I’m coming down there and taking you home” he teased

“Okay,” you scoffed, “I’ll see you later.” You got to the office and rushed into your boss’s office to find the information you needed to work on. The office was empty, as it should’ve been, but when you heard the door open and close, you popped your out of the door to see who was there, “Hello?” you called

“(Y/N)?” your co-worker asked

“Mason? What are you doing here?” you returned, noticing now that a bunch of your co-workers were walking in

“We could ask you the same thing” he chuckled

“Laura forgot to do stuff for the presentation tomorrow, so she asked me to come in and do it”

“For the conference?”

“Yup”

“Yeah,” he replied, “our team is having the same issue. Except they’re saying they ‘lost it’ or that it ‘must have gotten deleted somehow’ so now we have to be here all day trying to fix this”

“Why are any of this people in charge again?” you asked

“Maybe they slept their way to the top” he joked before waving you goodbye and heading to his station. You started at this company as an intern, mostly handing out mail and grabbing coffee for everyone, but they kept you around because you had a good eye for graphic design which was important in a marketing firm. However, your boss, Laura, had replaced Debra, the former Head of Marketing, a month before you were hired to be her assistant and she really wasn’t all that fond of you. She claimed that your degree should be in Business or Marketing not Graphic Design and that you’d only ever be an assistant in this industry so ‘don’t hope for more than that.’ You didn’t think too much of her comments though, at the end of the day, you had a job to you and you were going to do it well; even if it meant coming in on the weekend to do her forgotten assignments. When you finally found Laura’s papers, you groaned audibly, realizing this wasn’t going to be quick work

“Hey!” Freddie greeted you from the other end of the line when you called him to let him know what was happening

“Hey...” you sighed

“What?” he groaned, “what’s going on?”

“It looks like I’m gonna be here for a while. Laura underplayed how much work there was for me to do...”

“You can’t really be doing this?” he whined

“Babe, I have to. I told you, it’s my job. But,” you added, hoping it would make him feel better, “it’s not just me! Apparently, all the senior staff forgot to do these super important assignments for the conference. So, a bunch of us are here working until we finish them”

“You need to quit this job,” he grumbled, “clearly no one is good at what they were hired to do”

“I can’t quit unless I have something lined up,” you argued, “babe, I’m sorry. I know I promised that we’d lay in bed all weekend because this was the first time that you had free time but I have to do this. I promise, I’ll work as fast as I can but the longer I’m on the phone, the longer I’m at the office. So, I gotta go. I love you and I’ll see you as soon as I’m done okay?”

“Call me and I’ll pick you up,” he replied, “you shouldn’t have to take an Uber back here...”

“Okay,” you smiled, “that would be nice. Talk soon. Love you”

“Love you, too” he said before you ended the call. You took a deep breath and started getting to work. Organizing timelines and trying to understand doctors-note-handwriting from past meetings

“How can she possibly expect me to be able to understand this?” you thought to yourself. You signed onto her computer and were immediately left in shock at the jumbled mess of her desktop, “holy fuck!” you exclaimed silently, it’s no wonder she gets nothing done, “she’s the most unorganized person I’ve ever seen!” You spent the next 20 minutes opening files to find what you were looking for, closing what was not it immediately so you could legally say you didn’t see anything, and then you had to spend the next half an hour printing documents and running back and forth between Laura’s office and the copy room

“How’s it goin’?” Rob, one of the other team members who was forced to come in and work on a Saturday, asked when he noticed you rushing throughout the room

“Oh, you know, I’m sure I’ll have a panic attack in the next, oh, twenty or so minutes” you replied, sighing as you walked back to the printer one last time. You had managed to get most of the paper work done but you still had to make a few phone calls to get estimates on some of the ad spaces needed and whether or not there could be a discount involved for the company

“Hey!” Freddie said gleefully, walking into your boss’ office like he owned the place

“Freddie,” you gasped, a slight sneer on your tone, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you...” he replied, furrowing his brow at your response, “when you said you were gonna be longer than you thought, I thought I’d come down and surprise you. Maybe take the stress off a little?”

“That’s sweet, babe,” you smiled, noticing the look in his eyes and realizing what he was really there for, “but I have to make some calls so I can’t... do that”

“We can make it work” he teased, biting his bottom lip quickly before pulling you close to him

“Fred...” you whined, kissing him once before pushing him away from you and walking back to Laura’s desk, “I really do have to work. You can sit if you want but that’s it...” he slumped onto the plush couch against the window and frowned before scrolling through his phone as you started to call the businesses on your list. After about 10 minutes, you noticed Freddie peering up from his phone to look over at you, as if he was trying to get you to hang up the phone just from a look, choosing to walk over to you when you didn’t. “Yes, that’s right. I know you’ve been with us for quite some time and our relationship has helped both our businesses grow,” you spoke as Freddie swiveled you and your chair out from the desk, “we want that relationship to keep growing” you continued before noticing the smirk on Freddie’s face as he hovered over you, kissing your neck as you tried to pay attention to the call. “Mhmm,” you said to the person on the other end of the phone, distracted by Freddie’s lips pressing against the sensitive skin on your neck, his hot breath cascading down your neck, “mhm, sure. I understand” you said again, trying not to let on what was happening. “Laura is so sorry she couldn’t make this call to you herself,” you lied, Freddie kissing his way down to your core, pulling off your leggings quickly and kissing your inner thighs as you spoke, “however, she is excited to showcase your work to those at our conference tomorrow. We all just wanted to make sure the numbers were 100% accurate...” you had to bite your lip and move the receiver end of the phone from your mouth in case any sound escaped when you felt Freddie’s tongue finally press against your clit. “Oh that’s great!” you exclaimed when the partner on the phone added a discount to the quote you’d already been given, claiming that, had he known other businesses would be hearing of his services earlier, he would’ve offered it sooner. “Thank you so much,” you smiled, Freddie’s hands pulling your body closer to his him as his mouth brought you closer and closer to your orgasm, “I or Laura will let you know how everything goes. Thank you again” you said quickly before hanging up the phone. “Fuck,” you cursed breathlessly, “oh my god, Freddie!” your back was forced to arch, as you were pretty much falling out of your seat as Freddie continued to stimulate your clit, only now moving his finger to caress your folds before slowly inserted it inside of you and pumping until you whimpered, tugging at his hair. “Freddie,” you squeaked, trying not to be heard from outside the office, “fuck” you repeated quietly, your grip loosening from his hair as his ministrations slowed and your breathing steadied.

“How’s your stress now?” he smirked, wiping his mouth casually before standing up in front of you once more

“You can’t do that” you said, small pants escaping your lips, making Freddie believe you less than you intended

“I think I can” he teased

“I was on a business call, Fred!” you exclaimed, pulling your leggings back up, “what if they heard something?”

“They would only hear something if you let them” he countered and, ultimately, you knew he was right but you still shook your head

“You can’t do that” you repeated and he scoffed, hovering over you once more to taunt you with a kiss but stopped right in front of your lips

“We’ll see about that...” he smirked, taking his hands away from the chair and walking back to sit on the couch

“What’s goin’ on with you?” you asked

“I just want to be with you,” he whined, giving you puppy dog eyes and earning a scoff from you, “that’s what we were supposed to be doing anyway...”

“I told you we would when I got home...” you said

“Come here,” he said, patting his thigh, “come sit on my lap” you chuckled but obliged. You wrapped your arms around his neck after sitting on his thigh, playing with his hair and kissing his nose before he spoke again, “see, isn’t this better than making a few phone calls?” he asked, his hand beginning to rub your back lightly

“You know I would rather be doing this, or more than this, with you,” you admitted, leaning in and kissing him softly, letting your lips linger a moment before you pulled back, “but I have to do this stuff...”

“Just a quickie...” he whispered, “and then I’ll go. Then we can pick up at home”

“This is my boss’s office” you whined

“All the more reason to do it. We’re in a private spot, secluded from everyone else, it’s perfect” he replied, kissing your jaw before moving down to your neck and you let your head fall back to give him more room

“Mmmm,” you hummed, melting into his kiss, “I can’t”

“(Y/N)...“ he groaned

“Just a few more calls,” you argued, “I don’t have a lot left. Just like, five, maybe six”

“That’s a lot. How long are each of those calls? 10 minutes? 20?” he asked, “we could do a lot with that time...”

“Stop,” you smiled, standing up from his lap and walking back to the desk chair, “just a few more calls...” you repeated. He slunk into the couch and angrily unlocked his phone while you picked up Laura’s phone and began dialing. You were able to make three calls before Freddie began sighing loudly across the room and you had to glare at him, which is when the texts started

“I want you” he sent as you spoke to another advertising partner on the phone

“Like now” another came through

“I’m gonna come over there”

“And make you cum again” you glared up at him and he smiled

“And again” you shook your head, turning off your sound so the partner didn’t hear the constant dinging

“And again”

“Until you can’t cum anymore” you noticed him smile as he thought up more responses and you threw a pencil at him, still paying attention to the conversation on the phone before mouthing ‘stop’ to Freddie but he just shook his head with a teasing smile

“You won’t be able to walk”

“Your legs will be numb”

“Your chest will be heaving because you can’t catch your breath”

“You’re gonna crave my dick”

“Every time you move”

“You’ll have to physically stop yourself from jumping me in public”

“Because you’re still feeling me inside you” your eyes went wide as you read his messages, heat flooding your face as you ended the call, forcing yourself to dial another number before Freddie could get the upper hand. He slowly made his way to the desk once more and you gulped as you swallowed the saliva that had filled your mouth, Freddie hung up the phone before it ever even really began to ring

“Seriously, don’t...” you whispered, knowing that you were about to break from whatever move he made next

“But I want to” he growled, grazing your nose with his and you started to give in when he walked toward the door, “crap” you thought to yourself when you thought he was about to leave but he was only locking the door

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, “that was unlocked this whole time?!”

“Yeah?” he chuckled

“Freddie! What would have happened if someone walked in earlier?”

“They would’ve gotten a great show” he replied, walking over to you, leaning over you but not doing anything. You took a deep breath before running your hands up his arms, tangling your fingers in his hair before bringing him down to kiss you

“We have to be quick...” you whispered, earning a grin from Freddie before he pulled your leggings off and directed your thighs around his waist so he could pick you up to carry you to the couch. You laughed when he sat down and you fell into him clumsily, “quiet” you shushed him before kissing him slowly and trailing your hands down to his waistband, pushing his pants down just enough to free his erection while his hands lifted your shirt up, stopping to massage your breasts. You heard a laugh outside of the office and stopped what you were doing, “wait,” you whispered, “I think someone’s there” he didn’t listen, kissing your neck and lining himself up with your entrance before bucking his hips to yours; your nails digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from making any sound. His hands gripped your hips as he thrust into you, bringing your attention back to him while your lips found each other in a clumsy rush to muffle the sounds of each other’s moans

“Fuck,” Freddie moaned first, “fuck” you were about to reciprocate his sentiment when the phone rang and your head jerked back in panic

“Shit” you sighed, worry mixing with pleasure as Freddie continued to grip your hips tightly

“Ignore it” he said, kissing your peaked nipple over your shirt before moving a hand to your core, but your head still stayed looking at the ringing phone

“What if it’s her?” you whined, referring to your boss

“Ignore it” he repeated

“What if it’s one of the partners or the vendors? What if it’s one of the really important clients?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give any helpful advice other than

“Ignore it” he said once more, pulling your face back to his before kissing you harshly. The phone stopped ringing and you felt a faint sense of peace course through you as you softened the kiss that Freddie had started, your tongue begging for his lips to part, a muffled moan intertwining with his warm breath as it brushed over your exposed neck. Your tongue danced with his for a while as his fingers circled your clit, pressing down on the sensitive flesh every so often

“Fuck” you breathed finally, now beginning to ride him faster, feeling his thighs flex underneath you as he welcomed the sensation of you crashing onto him. “Fuck,” you repeated, “shit, oh my god. Fuck Freddie” you felt your climax build as his lips met your neck, his finger still working on your clit while you rode him harder; the loud ringing of the phone the only thing that brought you back to where you were. “Ugh” you groaned

“Leave it” he groaned back

“Fuck” you sighed, reluctantly ignoring the phone to continue fucking your incredibly broad shoulder boyfriend

“That’s my girl” he smirked, watching you bounce up and down his length

“Fuck, Freddie, I’m gonna cum” you panted, your hands clutching his shirt as your hips began to shake. “Sh-i-it, god fuck! Freddie” you moaned, still trying to be as quiet as possible but knowing that everyone in the office was probably putting on noise cancelling headphones just to try to escape the sounds they were undoubtedly hearing.

“Almost there, baby” Freddie breathed, clutching onto your waist to assist your movements. Fuck, his hands fit so perfectly on your body, you really hated that this had to end so quickly, but that’s what he came here for. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in you”

“Fuck” you breathed, dropping your head onto his shoulder, your body taking over until you and Freddie met your release. Like clockwork, the annoying ringing of the phone appeared and you had to scoff at Freddie while you quickly got dressed

“That was fun,” he smiled, “you sure you don’t wanna go round two?”

“Hello” you greeted, picking up the phone to continue the work you had come to do, “I am so sorry about that. I’m not sure what was happening with the line…”

“So we’ll continue this at my place then?” Freddie teased before and you nodded with wink before shooing him away but not before he kissed you goodbye. You were dreading the walk out of the office if Mason and his team hadn’t left yet but you knew it had to happen sooner or later

“So, should we hire a clean up crew before your boss gets back?” one of the guys teased

“Shut up” you said, hoping your embarrassment didn’t show too clearly

“You do know we put on our headphones as soon as we saw him,” Mason admitted, “we knew there’s no way that he was gonna just show up to say hi”

“He could’ve,” you tried, exhaling when you realized you were never going to fool any of them, “fine. Just, please, don’t rat me out. I just pulled together a miracle in that office and I don’t need Laura finding out about my office sex-capades — I don’t want that to be the reason she fires me. I’m not that girl…”

“We know” another co-worker smirked

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us,” Mason assured, “it’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy as far as we’re concerned” you gave him an appreciative smile before heading out to meet Freddie in the parking garage

“Hey” he smiled as you sat in the front seat

“Hi” you replied, leaning over to peck his lips

“Did you get your work done?” he teased

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “it was a miracle but I got it done” he took your hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to it

“No more quickies,” he whined, holding your hand for the remainder of the ride, until he needed it for one reason or another, “I need more than that”

“I agree,” you smirked, “now, let’s go home so you can fuck me until I can’t walk

“Yes ma’am.”

#Freddie Andersen #Frederik Andersen #Frederik Andersen fic #Frederik Andersen imagine #Freddie Andersen fic #Freddie Andersen imagine #Freddie Andersen request #Freddie Andersen smut #Frederik Andersen smut #Frederik Andersen request #nhl #hockey #hockey fic #tml #hockey request #masterlist #the other masterlist

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awanderingdeal · 3 years ago

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I vote leo meeting the harvard team! 💕

So this fic has been a bit of a mare to write, but we are here!

You can read the first part of this here

Rating: T

CW: Alcohol, academic superiority complex and coming out.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

“Okay, tell me their names again,” Leo said, tugging at the rolled neck of his sweater as he shut the car door.

“Nutty,” Finn laughed. “There’s not going to be a pop quiz. We’ll introduce you when we meet people.”

Leo scowled, letting Logan thread their fingers together. It was weird being able to do this in public still and Leo couldn’t help but glance around. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Logan squeezed his hand reassuringly, meeting Leo’s gaze with a soft smile.

“Nobody expects you to know anything. And everybody’s great.” Logan wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelt something bad. “Except Wesley, he’s an ass, but I’ll point him out.”

Like many of the others in Harvard square, the building was all exposed brick and white accents, blending in seamlessly with those around it. Inside was different, more modern. Leo didn’t get to see much of the first floor, the one dedicated to the restaurant Finn, Logan and the rest of the team had dined at previous evening, before he was ushered up a grand staircase, but he’d seen the photographs. The cherry blossom ceilings and walls of glass provided the perfect backdrop for the instagram feeds of the hoards of celebrities and influencers that flocked there. Hence his surprise when, after checking their invitations again, an employee pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a room that more resembled a 1920’s speakeasy than anything 21st century. A loud cheer went up as they crossed the threshold.

“Is this a team thing?” Leo mouthed at Logan.

He got his answer from Percy Marshall. Leo had met him a few times before when they’d played the Rangers. “You’re the last to arrive,” Percy chuckled. “I’d say I was surprised, but that would be a lie.” He slapped a hand playfully against Finn’s bicep. Is this outfit change number 52, Finn? Don’t worry, you didn’t disappoint. You look wonderful.”

“Fuck you, Marshy,” Finn laughed. “Tremz was on a call to his sisters actually.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Percy clasped his hand to his chest. “We wouldn’t dare break up a Tremblay soiree.”

“You’re an ass,” Logan scoffed, plucking at Finn’s slacks. “I was only talking to them because Finn was taking so long. Did you know there are several shades of mustard and only one of them goes with this shirt?”

“Oh look, they argue like an old married couple too,” William Morgan, another of those Leo knew, and Percy’s teammate on the Rangers, teased. “Marshy, these hands are looking too empty. Get these men a drink.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n.” Leo set to follow as Percy led the way to the bar, stumbling slightly as he found Will’s firm grasp on his shoulder stopping his movement. Logan turned as his fingers slipped from his hand.

“Go ahead, Tremzy. I’m going to introduce Leo to some of the team. We want all the gossip without you two around to censor him.”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure -”

“Relax, Logan. This isn’t a hazing. We’ll be right over there,” Will pointed towards a group perched on stools around two of the tables in the centre of the room, a mix of the old team and what Leo assumed were their partners. “Knut’s a big boy. He can object for himself if he really doesn’t want to come.”

“I’m sure I can hold my own,” Leo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “You better not leave Harzy with Percy for too long. They’ll be three shots down by now.”

The next few hours passed in a whirlwind of introductions. Leo had lost count of the number of hands he'd shaken and the new names he'd learned. It reminded him of those first few days in Gryffindor, being shuffled around from place to place and everybody telling him he'd get used to it.

The quiet of the bathroom was a welcome reprieve to the chaos. “Sweetheart,” Leo laughed, listening to Finn sing to himself in the stall. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” A concerningly loud crash preceded the door being pushed open. “I’m here.”

“You’re drunk,” Leo chuckled.

Finn pulled his hands from under the stream of water, shaking droplets everywhere as he squeezed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe just the tiniest bit.”

Leo shook his head fondly. “Let’s go and find Lo.” Glancing back to check Finn was following him proved to be a mistake. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised, rubbing at his forehead and stepping back from the wall of muscle he’d just crashed into. Of course, the tall man with his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was the one person Leo hadn’t yet met.

“Leo, this is James. Call him Hunter,” Finn grinned with his hand resting in the small of Leo’s back. "Hunter, this is -"

"Leo Knut. I know. Everybody knows," Hunter said and Leo noted the familiar notes of his own accent in the words. He faltered with his hand thrust halfway in Leo's direction, letting it fall back by his side. "Oh fuck, sorry man. Did you want to introduce him as your boyfriend? Go ahead."

"It's cool, no worries." Finn shrugged, the rounds of his cheeks tinged with the slightest of blushes. "Aww, what the heck!" He squared his shoulders, standing a little taller, the corners of his mouth splitting with pride. "Hunter, this is Leo, my boyfriend."

Hunter extended his hand again for Leo to shake. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse me, I have to use the bathroom now, but we’ll talk later.”

***

"Boys." The call had come from behind them and Logan groaned low in his chest as they turned to acknowledge it.

"Wes! You made it," Finn smiled, the corners of his mouth tight. "We weren't sure you'd be able to. With all those big meetings you have to attend and such. Is your wife, Renee, wasn’t it, here? I'd love to meet her."

Something flickered in Wes' smug expression. "They stayed in California. Nate has a very busy schedule. Harvard is very important to me, as you know, so I came alone."

“Isn’t Nate three?” Logan blinked.

“You have to give them a good start if you want them to get them to get into a good college these days, I’m sure you understand. Where was it you went, Leo?"

Leo pursed his lips, letting the same calm wash over him that he channelled for interviews. “I didn’t go. I got drafted straight out of high school.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Wes said. “College isn’t for everybody though, is it?”

Logan bristled beside him, and Leo placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Indeed,” he blinked. “I didn’t need my intelligence validated by a degree then, and I still don’t now. And I was hardly about to turn down an offer from The Gryffindor Lions now, was I?”

Wes grumbled something that sounded vaguely like an agreement before turning on his heel and walking off in a manner that Leo could only describe as petulant.

“You’re so hot,” Finn took Leo’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want another?”

“Please,” Leo nodded. Logan raised his still mostly full glass as a rejection of the offer.

“You should have let me punch him,” Logan huffed. “He would have deserved it.”

"And get blood on your shirt? Let’s leave that on the ice, shall we?” Leo tugged at the lapels of Logan’s jacket.

***

"So," Logan started as they claimed one of the low tables in the corner, a little tucked away from the rest of the room. "What do you think?"

"It's always nice seeing where you two started," Leo hummed, threading his fingers through the thin curls on the nape of Logan's neck. "I just don't know how you used to do this everyday. Live amongst all this energy. The guys all seem great, but it's a lot even now and I'm assuming you've all mellowed somewhat with age."

"I am not old," Logan scoffed. "Mais non, I agree. Wasn't always like this though. There's more than one graduating class here and we've been apart a long time. A lot of excitement."

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with Biscuit. He has triplets now, isn't that crazy?" Finn said, pressing a glass into Logan’s hand and setting Leo’s in front of him before flopping onto the couch opposite. "One Margarita for the fine sir."

"Thanks, Harzy," Leo laughed lightly.

"I can't believe him and Vanessa are still together," Logan hummed, taking a long sip of his drink. He leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right thigh and snaked his arm across the dark leather, brushing his fingers against Leo's shoulder. "I only introduced them because she was flirting with you at that party, the one just after we got back from winter break my junior year, and I wanted to distract her."

"Oh, so that's why you got all moody," Finn said. "She wasn't flirting, she needed help with an essay, idiot."

"The fact you remember Logan's mood on a night seven years ago says more about you than him," Leo snorted.

"First of all, Tremzy being grumpy? That's just a good guess. Second, some of us were still stupid at 20, Knutty." Finn sighed wistfully. "Hey, at least it doesn't feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest these days when I think about it. Progress, right?"

Logan tipped his glass in Finn's direction, nodding his head briefly. "I'll cheers to that."

"To -" Leo started, letting the toast die off as another of Finn and Logan's old team mates approached. He hoped the disappointment he felt wasn't written across his face; whilst he hadn't really expected to be left alone for too long, he had hoped for the brief respite to have lasted longer.

"Hey." The newcomer had his hand shoved into his pockets and his shoulders stooped, almost as if he was trying to hide himself. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Ken!" Finn patted the empty seat next to him. "Of course not. Come, sit."

Leo extended his arm, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you. Ken was it? I'm Leo."

"Ken's what the team always called me. Don't really hear it much these days." Leo thought he saw something sad in the smile sent his way. "My real name is Obi."

"That's because you went off the radar," Logan gave a pointed look.

"About that -" Obi swiped Finn's drink, ignoring his disgruntled protest. He drained what was left of it, pulling at an non-existent loose thread on his sweater. "I wanted to say thank you, you know. For having the guts to come out. I know Black and Lupin were first, but that was forced wasn’t it. You made a choice. I know that must have been hard. It was one hell of a ballsy move."

Leo looked between Finn and Logan, expecting them to answer, but neither of them spoke. "We didn't have much of a choice, not if we didn't want to be watching our back every second of every day."

"It was still brave," Obi muttered. "I couldn't have done it."

"Ken, what are you saying?" Logan never did have much patience for others taking their time to get to the point, even though he was a fan of the scenic route himself.

"They gave you a whole Harvard degree and you need to ask that question?" Obi huffed a laugh. "I'm gay. I met Marco, my now husband at the end of senior year, and freaked out. I didn't know how to make these two worlds work, so I didn't. I moved to DC with him, and started a new life. I'm an accountant, he works in marketing. We have four rats, and a Vizsla called Poppy. It's all very domestic. I love it, but I was a coward.”

"You're not a coward. You don't owe that information to anybody, Ken. Not the others, not the media, not the NHL and not us. Not now, not then, not ever.” Finn took a breath, holding up his finger to signal he wasn’t finished. “Besides, it's not as if Lo and I planned this. We went into this with every intention of stuffing this deep, deep into the depths of denial, never for anybody to find out. Including ourselves. And then Nutty came along.”

Obi smiled at Leo, turning his attention back to Finn. "When did you become Gay Yoda?"

"I spend way too much time in our psych's office. Just spreading the wisdom. Heather would be proud."

"Do the others know?" Logan asked.

"Not yet, I think I'd like them to though."

Logan shifted, leaning forward in his seat. "There's no rush, Ken. We've got your back, whatever you decide."

"So, do you have photos?" Leo cocked his head. "We got to show off. Now it's your turn. Even if it's only for us."

"Of Marco?"

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I was actually talking about Poppy. And the rats," Leo teased.

There were moments when Leo wondered whether they had made the right decision. When he was playing in front of hostile crowds, or fending off stupid media questions, or blocking bigots on twitter. And then there were moments when he knew the decision they had made was 100% perfect. Right now, that was one of those moments.

#leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #rating:t #cw:alcohol #cw: academic superiority complex #cw: coming out #sweater weather #lumosinlove

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rumblelibrary · 4 years ago

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Hello, it's me again, your friendly neighborhood... Hungarian?!...👀❤️

Can I request a Sebastian Zöllner fic, where he is a coworker of Reader, and there's an obvious sexual tension, attraction in the office, they sit opposite each other, legs touching sometimes, hands touching... Idunno... Things like this 👀🔥 but nothing happened... Yet...🔥🔥

Never an Enemy [Sebastian Zöllner x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 5k

Warnings: A bad mouthed journalist with strong opinions about art and performance that might offend

Author’s note: Did I let this idea simmer in me for ages? Yes. Did I ever stopped thinking about it? NO.

You hummed softly while the music blasted in your headphones as you made your way up the stairs to the headquarters of the Art Tribune, the art focused magazine you worked for since over a year.

You liked the job even if to deal with artists was hard and the pay check could really deserve an improvement, it was stimulating and surely kept you on the edge. That morning in particular you needed to revise some background stories and just loads of reading to do to work on a new article for an upcoming exhibition. Just the usual fact checking, but you just couldn’t do it at home the day before so you decided to come early and enjoy some peace and quiet at the office.

You arrived at the top of the stairs of the fourth floor with a groan, you told yourself you had to do the stairs because you spent 70% of your life sitting in front of a computer, kind of self care, but brutal. You groaned lightly going straight toward the little kitchen installed for the team when you noticed something in the empty shared room full of desks. It was actually a really nice place with big industrial style windows that let lots of light inside, a very smart environment to work in, with areas where you could relax, free Wifi and loads of facilities. Usually people were put in big desks together, facing each other, trying to push a sort of ‘community feeling’.

Inevitably most of the people created barricades with books, and pictures of their dogs or even empty coffee cups. Yes, all cute and artistic, but do not talk to me.

That’s what also the attitude of the man you shared your desk with on your first day. He whined like a child for twenty minutes, complained he was happy to work alone, followed the assistant of the editor around the office and created a barricade of catalogues between the two of you so thick that you wondered if it was also bulletproof, only to rest his elbows over it half an hour asking if you had the change for the vending machine. Yes, that random man was you colleague and friend, Sebastian Zöllner.

The same that you are witnessing now asleep on the desk, head resting on his crossed arms while a stand of saliva went down on his shirt, wild hair and shoes taken off.

He could be considered an attractive man if he wasn’t a bloody nightmare of a person. You actually worked a lot with him and enjoyed his presence most of the days, your characters folded nicely and you would bounce off his attitude. He was strong on biographies and annoying the shit out of others, so he was always nagging at someone, you included.

You smirked slowly tracing his hair with your fingers, he never looked so innocent and you were always surprised to learn how those messy hair were so soft. It wasn’t the first time you did that gesture, sometimes he did lean his head like this only to be touched like an annoying mewling cat that needs attentions. “Kaffee” He mumbled making you chuckle, such a an annoying brat and he didn’t even open his eyes.

You carried on walking to the little kitchen room to prepare some coffee for you and your desk partner. You shook your head aimlessly as you started wondering why the man is here at this hour and if it was really a good idea to wake him up. To have him awake means to be able to do little to zero.

You watched the coffee get ready, the comforting tune of your morning playlist getting you still on the good side of your mood as you poured the coffee in your mug.

Then you saw it, an arm sneaking in front of you and taking the mug from your hand, you jump scared in a second almost pouring the rest of the coffee on the whole kitchen counter only to encounter Sebastian sleepy figure behind you bringing the mug close to his nose and inhaling deeply the aroma before having a gulp, you stared at him as his jaw clenched, his eyes got a bit teary. “Fucking hot” he whined making you chuckle, he deserved it for stealing it, luckily you were already doing some more for him so he stole your favourite mug but you had some coffee for you left.

You pulled off your headphones leaning them on your neck “No idea you’d be sleeping at the office, weren’t you off on some interview ?”

He shrugged “yeah, well me neither, but interviewing sculptors is always annoying as shit and those are always supersensitive” he said opening the freezer and pulling out some ice cubes from their box and putting them in the coffee mug. “Scheiße!” He cursed as the ice cube landing in the mug caused the coffee to spill onto his white shirt. You pressed your lips tight against each other not to laugh into his face, but he was already pissed off and it wasn’t even proper work time. You watched him lean over the sink trying to wash it off somehow without even bothering to take it off, just adding chaos on chaos.

“Y/N! Do not laugh and try to help me! Beside, the heck are you doing here at this hour?” You rolled your eyes at that comment, but you didn’t indulge him in that request.

“I was just looking for silence”

He nodded like he didn’t believe a single word of it, he was just an asshole and you had to deal with it like it or not. You almost hated how he was so freaking good at writing and that’s probably why many people indulged him. Even you knew his pieces on the magazine and didn’t expect to find out he was so…so Sebastian.

You let out a breathy chuckle taking your mug and making your way to your joined desk letting him wrestle his balance over the kitchen sink trying to get the stain wet and not shower himself in the meanwhile.

You sat down at your spot leaning the mug on side, hands covering your face trying to keep a clear mind letting out a big breath “okay, let’s do this”

You turned on the lamplight on your desk pulling out your laptop from your backpack. As the computer was ‘waking up’ you stared at Sebastian side of the desk compared to yours.

You had like a little citadel of books around you, but it was pretty neat, a little succulent gifted by your friend for your first day at work with the name tag ‘Danny’ on it sitting beside the lamp, lots of pencils and pens of different colours and notebooks to no end. If you had something in common with that beast of a man was that you both still relied on paper for sketching ideas and write down impressions in the moment, then onto the typing.

His side, however, was like a contemporary artwork in itself. Half empty cigarettes packages everywhere, the ashtray filled up, paper inside books and books filled with more papers. Notes everywhere, the damn king of neon yellow post-its, stains of coffee and crumbles of food invert corner, his red laptop showing off like a punch in the eye and his satchel bag always hang or thrown around.

You often wondered if the cleaning stuff just gave up on him. Your lucky guess was that he would probably throw a fit if anything was moved, so everyone just played the blind eye.

He was good at throwing fits.

You watched him come back sitting in front of you, half of his shirt soaked in the attempt to clean it up, he licked his lips picking one empty package of cigarettes looking in it and throwing it away until he found one with still something in it and he lighted his cigarette as he turned on his laptop. You sighed opening the window to let the fresh air not getting you intoxicated.

You went back to sip your coffee and stare at the screen quietly, every now and then your eyes falling onto the little cloud of smoke in front of you.

Sebastian was an attractive man, that was undeniable and you were sure that made him also a successful interviewer even though he was so random and chaotic, when he was silent and collected in thoughts he was indeed a sight to be seen. The dark hair framing his face like he was some cherub, his deep eyes staring into the void of his own words as he typed. He had a sort of decadent look on him.

Slowly the office begun to get filled, people coming here and there to tease Seb about coming early and he just waving his cigarette around asking for silence.

“Zöllner””

The chief editor shouted getting into his office without even turning around. Seb rolled his eyes looking at you as he pushed the cigarette in the ashtray waving his hand around to dissipate the smoke around him before standing up.

“I wonder how he managed to survive few days without shouting my name” he smirked.

You looked at him and mimicked his smirk.

What a chaotic man.

You had finished your reading by then and started to make a first draft of the article you were meant to work on.

“Y/N!!!” Sebastian voice rang through the office making you jump on your seat and he gestured at you to go with him with a big wave of his arm.

You looked at your screen with an helpless sigh, it seems like you will not write that article anytime soon, you’d better just have slept an hour more.

You stood up following that incessant wave as Seb put his hand on your back to get you in a bit quicker.

“Good morning”

You said as the chief editor nodded quietly “Look Y/N, it is a big favour I have to ask you” he begun frankly as you were beginning to get worried “you did your time with silly articles, so I thought it could be interesting to pair you up with Sebastian to go to tonight’s exhibition of Evita Schnecke”

Your eyes went wide as you looked at Sebastian shrug his shoulders.

“I need somebody to keep the horse with tight rains” Mr Megelbach continued gesturing with his pen at Sebastian and then at you “and you will dip your toes in those big time artists environment, but we really need to make sure Sebastian won’t hurt anyone’s sensibility, her interview has been obtained with lots of hard work”

“Yeah, we all know that hard work” Sebastian whispered in your ear earning a glare from Mr Megelbach who handed you a couple of catalogues from that artist and the invitation.

“So, put on hold your current article for today, make a plan with this train wreck and please make sure he doesn’t show up dressed like that”

“That was unneeded”

“All precautions are always needed with you, and now get out of my office the both of you”

You nodded moving out of the office, you were a bit anxious. Those artists were unpredictable just as Sebastian.

You made your way back to your desk with him as you sat down looking at the invitation. “So, it begins at 9 pm” you said almost understanding why Sebastian shouldn’t be allowed to go unescorted because the invitation on the dress code had: Wear something that talks about your soul. Only that could bring Sebastian to have an aneurism.

“I hate that bitch”

“Seb, that’s not a good start for an article”

He smirked as you said so but shrugged

“I mean it, this woman was born into privilege, she portrayed herself to be this underground rebel, but her simple black dress was a Chanel and her everyday boot Balenciaga, so I don’t trust her for a reason”

You smirked as you could agree with that and showed him the two catalogues the boss gave you

“Choose your fighter”

He groaned so loud he could have stabbed his toe and he leaned over his side of the desk picking one from your hand giving a light pinch on your side “teacher’s pet”. You chuckled softly as he always said that.

“Tell me if you read something that it is not about the performer’s way of life” he mumbled opening it in front of him.

You begun your reading and it was indeed the hell pit of a vey spoiled kid who was told to be the greatest since the first day of life, you picked your notebook and opened it taking notes on things that you could ask about.

Sebastian in the meanwhile lighted up another cigarette rolling it between his fingers mindlessly, his eyes looking above the paper at you every now and then among the little curses in German about the stupid things written there.

After some time it was becoming really a torture to read and you leaned your back on your chair stretching your legs forward for Seb to catch one of them among his.

You smirked as you often joked to him he was like some bear trap with those legs always catching yours.

He put his hand under the table bringing your leg up onto his thigh as you shifted even lower on your seat, his hand touching your ankle mindlessly as he had a talent for little massages like that. He did it the first time a while aback, a summer day where it was so hot and humid that you couldn’t feel your own legs.

So it became a little ritual among the two of you. You had many of those rituals, it was like an unspoken collection of attentions. Like you making the coffee in the morning because he was a grumpy ass. Or him always buying you some chewing gum or little treat when he went to buy cigarettes.

“I guess I am not the only one that needs a restyle”

He said bringing you away by the tenderness those little actions brought to you when he pushed his finger in your Vans shoe deepening a hole that you were trying to ignore from months.

“Seb, don’t do it, I wanted to make them last another season”

“Another season? These can’t last the end of the month, no doubt why your sex life is a train wreck”

You frowned at him taking your ankle off his hand to push on his chair making him roll back thanks to the little wheels underneath it, but he held on the desk and pulled himself closer again.

“What do you even know about it”

He looked at you, eyebrows raising up on his forehead

“Y/N, if I was your boyfriend I wouldn’t allow you to leave the bed that early in the morning to go to the office and that’s a fact”

“Oh, and how on heaven could you detain my passion for this job?” “Well, I can write you a list about it, you can consider it a to do list on your next date” His smirk was so wide, he enjoyed to tease you like that, the bastard, he knew to be an hottie and he always acted like half of the world was up to fuck with him.

“Oh please, do it, I want to see”

You teased him and he leaned in elbows on the table staring at you.

Oh the sexual tension with him was too much, you always went down on this hurricane of remarks, always him mentioning how you need more orgasms or implying it, or even implying how good he is at giving them.

“But be careful, because any act should be performed and not only lived”

You said quoting the artist you were reading about and he whined so hard like you really stomped your foot on his balls.

“Horrid witch”

“Me?” “No, that one”

He huffed and puffed picking another cigarette. Sometimes cigarettes just died on his fingers as he forgot to actually enjoy them more than waving them around.

The artist herself wasn’t remarkable, she used themes seen over and over before, she had a background as performer/dancer and she added painting to that, but more than talent she had an amazing marketing squad. You read her story and her commentaries about living like in a poem, which always sounds pretty easy with a big bank account.

You did all you could to stay neutral even if Seb was going down to massacre the woman, you two shared a bundle of two sandwiches (or better say, your brought a package of two and he was skipping his lunch so you just handed it to him) until you decided to get parted and go get ready at home.

That evening you were waiting for him in front of your apartment, when a taxi stopped in front of you and his figure appeared waving at you to come in on the back. His eyes widened in surprise “Well, well, well, look who got all fancy here”

He smirked as his eyes travelled on you shamelessly, the dress was actually one of those you brought ages ago and never used, also to wear heels felt like new, last time you went to a fancy event almost hard to recollect.

“Just move and let me in”

You said chuckling as you looked at him being so elegant when you noticed it, the price tag on his shirt.

“Seb, did you just buy this shirt?”

“Yes, and I am going to take it back tomorrow”

You looked at him puzzled

“What?” He groaned “I suck at ironing stuff”

You looked at him as a little laugh escaped your lips as he told you not to, but it was too late for that, you shifted closer to him anyway helping him to hide that price tag better behind his neck. Nevertheless the white shirt was really fancy and fitted him perfectly.

As you arrived in front of the gallery you sighed and made your way inside.

The place wasn’t crowded but few eyes turned as you got in.

“Would you like some champagne?” A waiter asked and Seb picked two flutes immediately downing one in a gulp on his own as the other was still in his other hand, he put the empty glass on the tray and then picked a third one handing it to you.

“Drink Y/N or you won’t make it to the end of the evening”

You smirked as he was always over dramatic, but indeed the evening seemed to be made for posh people to show off how cool they are.

You spotted the artist pretty quickly wearing a Valentino bright red dress, she surely had the dancer figure and gestures which gave her some kind of an edge.

"She is all yours"

You looked at Sebastian already half way through his drink, giving you that cheshire cat smirk.

"Are you sure?"

"You know I will insult her in a second if she names her dancing background one more time, I saw the videos, she looked like a three ready to collapse on the ground" he chuckled as you smirked shaking your head at his metaphor, but he is probably right, he is too much biased.

"I didn't notice the open back before" he said referring to your dress as he caressed over your skin with his fingertips making goosebumps raise up your spine.

"What? Am I too sexy for your own good?"

"Probably" he commented not losing a beat to answer you. You were taken aback from a moment, his eyes still down on his hand touching your back before raising up to find yours.

Then he took his hand away and pressed the cold champagne glass against it making you hiss "Now go, I'll check this bourgeois art"

You frowned but you just moved away from him. He always did it, he teased you and then made it a joke. You gave it back to him too, it was your relationship, that's how you balanced it.

"Good evening " you said to her with a smile holding your glass in your left hand before offering your right hand to her "I am Y/N, from the Art Tribune"

She went from neutral to smiling in a second

"Oh, I was waiting to meet you" she said leaning to kiss your cheek, surely she was a woman with charm, with a degree of boldness that made her charming and also, you noticed, extremely touchy-feely with everyone.

"We can define this a sort of retrospective of your previous works, I liked to see the evolution of it" you lied, because you just saw the catalogue.

But that was fair enough to have her go on about her, guess what? Past as a dancer, about how she needed to express herself, how she was her own muse and all the stuff you already read.

"What is next for you then?"

"I want to follow my dream, I have always wanted to found a space with my name where people could rent the rooms to perform dances and arts"

You stared at her. For real? Like there weren't other hundreds in the whole city?

"What will keep you apart from all the others that did this before you?"

"Nobody is me" she smirked like it was clear and obvious.

You asked few more questions, but you were sad to admit Sebastian was right. There wasn't art there, there was just profit, selling a name, a brand.

This saddened you because you met many artists that had less than a chance to make it but double the talent of Miss Valentino Dress.

"Y/N" Sebastian warm hand was on your back as you were downing the last bit of champagne "Come, come ,come quick" he said pushing you away as the artist clearly recognised him but he dismissed her with some insult or whatever he just mumbled.

"Seb, I was working, what the hell?"

"Elke is here"

You still didn't understand, you were puzzled as the reason of that anxiety was still unknown to you.

"Like your girlfriend Elke?"

"Put an ex in front of it" he said looking around frantically

"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't know"

"No, me neither, I thought she was just bashing around, she always did" his arm sneaked around your waist pulling you closer "please, act sexy for once"

You were one second from hitting his guts with your elbow when Elke herself approached.

"Oh, I didn't expect to see you here" she said waving her glass around

"Yeah, well I work for an important Art journal if you remember"

"How could I forget?" she groaned looking at you then as Sebastian's hand rested onto your hip. Really? Was he acting like you were his date?

"Hi, I am Y/N"

You said politely to her and she chuckled "Run when you can, this man is a leech and you don't even know it"

She mentioned it almost casually, but you could feel all the poison implied on your skin, Sebastian's hand giving you a soft squeeze, you had never seen him like this before. He looked like a dog that just got kicked, his back hunched over you lightly both trying to protect you and for protection.

"Well, thank you for your advice, I must be a real torment too because we actually have lot of fun together, I like his unpredictability"

You said it from your heart, you didn't want to insult her or anything, but you felt bad for him. Even if he probably deserved it, to be humiliated like this must be hard in any circumstance, in particular in a place where he is supposed to work and being known.

He looked at you a bit surprised, he leaned slowly pressing a kiss on your temple and you smiled because of that gesture so enveloped in that feeling of tenderness.

"Your shot" Elke said clearly a bit annoyed that you as she just moved along followed by a man that must be her date.

"Lets go out"

You suggested as Seb nodded and just followed for once, he held your hand as you guided him and for once he wasn't talking or commenting anything.

As you went out he sat down on the sidewalk pulling out his package of cigarettes taking out one immediately.

"Hey stand up" you said to him as he looked up at you and you snatched that cigarette off his lips "let's go away"

"Where? Don't we have to stay until she gets naked to dance?"

You smirked "No, we have all the material we need"

You took his cigarette away offering him your hand as he picked it and you guided him.

He was silent, which is rare, when he was silent it meant he was upset in some way, he always had a nice comeback line for everything usually.

His head leaned on side like a scolded child as he slowly laced your fingers together.

You walked across few streets, your heels clicking on the cement until you made it to your final location pulling him inside.

"Constatinopole?"

Seb asked looking at the sign, it was a kebab place, your favourite by the way.

"I am hungry" you just said making him lower his head and smile like a kid with cue breathy chuckles.

You ordered for the two of you as he went to sat down putting another cigarette between his lips when the man behind the counter glared at him and he just put it back in the package.

He sat down slouching as you did some small talks with the guys there, you clearly knew them. The soft music from the radio holding the place into a sort of magical aura as his eyes travelled over your naked back once more, the need for a cigarette becoming even more urgent.

You two dressed so elegantly really were so noticeable in the bright lightend place, he smiled to himself thinking it could be a nice painting by Hopper.

You came back offering him his kebab with a soft drink, very thoughtful because he was indeed already a bit high on champagne.

You ate quietly together, it wasn't uncomfortable, your silences were happening often at work and always filled with a sense of common understanding, you leaned your leg up like you always did at the office and rested it on his thigh as you sat sideways beside him. His hand flying naturally on your ankle to give his usual massage, his thumb tracing your skin with imaginary patterns as his other hand held the kebab close to his mouth.

The speaker at the radio announcing next song as Rocket Man by Elton John filled the room with a melancholic vibe. You couldn't help but think the song suited perfectly Sebastian, his being out of this word, out of control.

"Thank you" he said at some point as he tried his best not to ruin his shirt, you looked up at him as he was staring, his eyes telling you something on their own "You have been the best girlfriend I have ever had"

He added with a bitter smile diverting once more his gaze, you smiled back at him, he looked so resigned. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you have never seen him so fragile before.

"I could be"

His eyes darted up to you, his surprise evident as he put down the kebab, the soothing voice of the British singer still giving a dream edge to the moment as he moved closer. You slowly shifted your leg to give him room of movement as his right arm sneaked to rest on the back of your chair closing the space between the two of you.

His lips tasted still a bit of champagne as he pressed them against yours, you kissed him back slowly as his left hand travelled on your thigh pulling you closer to him probably staining your dress because of his greasy hand.

He pulled back almost immediately before leaning onto you again titling his head on the other side. This second time the kiss was more deep, more intense. Your hands slowly cradling his face before pulling back yourself.

He smiled against your lips and you smiled back.

Maybe tomorrow you will regret it like Elke said, maybe not.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved@fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44@apparrio @hb8301@whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl@obsidianlaszlo@alindeluce@zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahlingLet me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zollner #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zöllner #sebastian zollner x y/n

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billiewena · 3 years ago

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for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

#if you were one of the people who offered to beta read back in march know I WILL be reaching out to because I need it lol #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #fanfic #spn 10x05 #also this is a given but if you did want to be tagged when this is posted hmu!#been having so much fun with this especially with writing the new songs #also tbh the musical itself is the closet I will get to writing a sam & cas fic so that's been fun too lol #ESPECIALLY because then I can immediately add dean's reaction to it which is typically 'time to walk straight off the stage'#it's also fun to write a s10 fic since I'm a 'dean's been in love since s8 at least' truther #anyways new to this and my untreated adhd means I make a gazillion typos/take forever to work on things/get distracted by new ideas but #literally every positive comment on that first post is the reason why I'm still workin' at it

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macamonium · 4 years ago

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god help

I'm writing this thing and it's gonna make me cry lol

this is (hopefully) gonna be part of a larger fic, but as I was jotting down the outline this just dripped out. its abt self-love thru good food and Bakugou learning to forgive himself the right way

maybe tw for eating disorder stuff, though that's not what the fic will be about

Bakugou emptied a full-sodium packet of beef bouillon into the pan. The smell drafted through the dorm’s empty kitchen, and his mind wandered with it.

He knew, regrettably, that he reflexively went for the full-sodium bouillon because of his mom. Mitsuki had the same impatience for low-fat and low-calorie “diet” foods that she did for backtalk and attitude. She scoffed at the TV whenever it lit up with commercials of dancing, ever-thinning crackers, or the new zero-calorie alternative for something that was never meant to be low-calorie. Sour cream, for chrissakes! It’s fucking dairy, it’s meant to be that way!

She lectured Bakugou about it when he was really little, on some Saturday in the middle of summer. He was inside for the afternoon nursing an injury from what he reported was a particularly slippery log in the forest. Really, it was payback from a sore-loser gang of fifth graders. So his ankle wasn’t really twisted, but his chin sure was bruised - that log had a mean right hook. No way in hell was he letting the neighborhood kids see his face like that, so he was there, in the kitchen, pretending to take extra care of his left foot while Mitsuki made them lunch.

Stirring the curry in his own pan, which was now simmering, Bakugou could picture it more clearly than he had in a long, long while. He had been sitting on the farthest barstool - yeah, it was that one because one of the legs was loose and he was rocking back and forth, back and forth, and when his head swung along with it his mom’s hands, stirring the pan, popped in and out of view from behind the milk carton. He smiled softly to himself now, taking stock of how he was standing. How similar it was. Was she making curry that day?

If Bakugou couldn’t remember exactly what she said, he could make a pretty good guess on how she’d phrase it. He just knew her that well. He could hear her now - it'd have gone something like this:

“You see, when they first started puttin’ the nutrition facts on the packages of food products, back in, like, the 1920s, the chemists had a field day. I mean, really, they ran that industry.”

Katsuki didn’t know what industry was, but he liked hearing his mama talk.

“And at that time, chemistry wasn’t what it is now. It wasn’t molecules and atomic structure and that kinda thing, it was grams of this and milliliters of that. Still, that was more than regular people knew, so it was left to the specialists.”

She held the spatula out for him to lick. He took it in two chubby hands.

“More spice, mama.”

“Whatever you say, baby. And wipe your chin.” He used the bottom of his shirt, but she didn’t say anything. His dad wasn’t around for that kind of thing.

“Don’t get me wrong, knowing what’s in your food is great.” She gestured carelessly with the lick-marked spatula before plunging it back into the curry. “Certainly better than whatever was going on before. They used to put cocaine in Coca-Cola, you know.”

“What’s cocaine, mama?”

“A drug, baby. Makes you go crazy for a while. Don’t go trying it, and don’t go repeating it - though I suppose that’s hard in earnest, it’s what the ‘Coca’ in Coca-Cola is named after.”

“It’s named after D-RUGS??” Katsuki sat forward in his seat, but the squeaky leg cursed a whine at him and he sat back.

“That’s right: Drugs,” Mitsuki said to her eight-year old, her eyes wide. “Though people don’t make that connection anymore so they didn’t ever rebrand. They used to drink Coca-Cola when people got sick. It cleared out your sinuses, sure, but it also made you shout really loud and go streaking through the park. Ha! Anyway, where was I?”

“The. Uh… oh, the nutriss- nuturish-”

“Ah, nutritional facts. Say it with me, baby: Nutrition. Noo-trish-un.”

“Nutrition,” they said together. Katsuki smiled. Bet dumb Deku doesn’t know that one.

“So, the legacy of old-fashioned chemistry is that the nutritional value of foods isn’t really evaluated beyond the physical makeup of the food.” These were big words but Katsuki got the gist, and Mitsuki knew that. “It doesn’t tell you what those things do for you and your body, beyond ‘fat is bad, protein is good,’ and even that’s just considered on a physical level in regards to your body. There is so much more to food mentally, and emotionally, that goddamn counts as nutrition.”

“God-damn.”

“Yeah, don’t say that,” she said half-heartedly. “And I don’t just mean ‘veg out whenever you need it solely because it makes you feel good.’ Don’t totally disregard physical nutrition. I mean that food making you feel good shouldn't be totally disregarded either. Spices, for instance.” Katsuki cheered from his seat. “Yeah, you like spice.

“Food should taste good. It drives me up the goddamn wall when I see those health bitches on the TV drain out the grease from their meat. Right down the sink. That’s what makes it taste good! If you don’t want grease, eat turkey! And the ‘nutritional’ benefits of draining the grease hardly outweigh the emotional satisfaction of a good-tasting meal. At that point, it’s just a practice in self-sabotage, in pointless, self-inflicted suffering. And for what, so you get kudos from Nestle, who happens to be rolling out their new line of trans-fat free crackers? Please.”

She ladled the curry onto a plated bed of rice with a sigh. The smell made Katsuki’s tummy gurgle. He licked his lips really slowly, the same way he saw Spongebob do on the TV that morning.

“Anyway, my point is - when something tastes good, that’s good nutrition. Being healthy is being happy, and if the food you’re eating makes you happy, that is healthy. I’ll eat my pickles whole from the jar, even if Dr. Oz gives me a lip about ‘it’s too much sodium,’ and do you know why? Because I love the crunch of a fresh pickle, and I know that as sure as I know that there’s two grams of carbs in it because the sticker on the side tells me so. I know I love it so I do it, and that’s a beautiful thing. That’s something I deserve.”

She slid the steaming plate, loaded with peas, potatoes, and carrots in curry, across the table to her son. He reached for the fork, but she snapped it away at the last second. Katsuki looked into his mom’s eyes. “Say it back to me, baby: ‘Food should taste good.’”

“Food should taste good, mama.”

“I deserve this good food.”

“I… I deserve this good food.”

“That’s my baby, now eat up.”

A tear squeezed through Bakugou’s eyes at the memory, and fell down his cheek into the pan. He didn’t even remember the last part until it all ran through his head.

God, he couldn’t help it, and there was no one around to prove anything to - he made the effort to muffle himself with shallow breaths, but he let the tears flow free and hot down their tracks. This time they reached his chin. He asked the ceiling, berating himself on how foolish he was to think it would answer: did he still even deserve it?

#bakugou watched spongebob its cannon #idk how to write without long stretches of dialogue in the form of how I talk to people once im immediately comfortable w them #mitsuki as a good mom #let the kid say fuck #bakugou katsuki #bnha #mha #bnha fic #mintbiscuitswrites

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bottledemotion · 4 years ago

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The cries of our tune, the melodies in our laughter (Part 1/3)

- Venti X Female Reader; Part 1/3 of the fic

- Reader looks like a Bard, but she’s more of the type of person who compose, sings, and plays instruments as a hobby.

- warning: Angst, implied/referenced child neglect

- 3.6k+ words; Rated T

- A/N: So uhm, hi. This acc is not dead, this fic just took me longer to finish than expected. Purely self indulgent, this idea has been stuck on my mind for far too long. So you might notice some inaccurate information regarding certain topics.

The first key that she drew across the strings to her fiddle vibrates to the empty room. Its note filled up the silence enclosed within her. She didn't drew another one as a follow up, instead, she let the note echoed for a moment, giving her a moment of time to take a deep breath, and finally, continue playing.

From silence, it got fully drowned to a song she played to her fiddle. She let her body move in accordance to the melodies her fiddle struck, like a water in the sea or the wind in the sky, free and in tune.

From her body movements and the soft music she's playing, everyone will truly expect she's the "Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt."

Because she is.

She's the perfect example and definition of a "genius" and "perfection". Their words, not hers for she is not the type to brag, only her parents. From the trophies and awards from every competition she sweeped victories are displayed on every wall available to her tiny room, her parents took every opportunity to brag about this to everyone they talked to. Milking their reactions and the worth of having a child who is a "genius bard" to a low class family, taking every opportunity to raise their families name social status up in the skies by making their very own daughter stand on the podium like a artifact on display on a high class auctions, taking all of their attention and money just to commission to her.

To her disbelief, no one judged her about being in a low class family. Yes she got foul looks and cruel words whispered behind her back, it's one of the perks when living in the city of freedom after all, but those mostly got shot down when others gave them a taste of their own medicines which is much more worse than hers.

She guesses this is one of the perks of being a famous bard in the city of freedom.

It's funny to watch their disgusted stares and harsh words sending her way, thinking that those will help them to become "perfect" like what everyone else says about her. It's also funny to hear "perfect" and "[Name]" to be in the same sentence too. To every eye looking at her, all they see is perfection. But if you ask [Name] herself, there's no perfect from the venomous lies she spit hidden behind on pretty words and tunes she plays.

If there's one thing right about the whispers they spout about her, it would be her song. Yes every song she makes and plays holds perfection.

But most of those lack life.

Like hers

A high, off key tune disturbed her raging thoughts, making her huffed under her breath and stopped her movements. She took a deep breath and tried again, this time with full concentration from gliding the drew from the fiddle and moving freely from it, in passion and grace from her movements. Both in sync, making her look like she's free.

But she's not. She is not a water in the sea nor the wind in the sky, for she is not truly free from the cage she got herself locked up to.

Like a bird in a cage, she continues to sing to appease the people around her. In reward, they compliment her with pretty words and gifts that might appease her.

Yet they always forgot the thick bar steels between them, separating her from everyone, which made everyone think that she's so high and mighty that she separates herself from her peers.

But it's not.

They're the reason as to why the bars exist. She used her music to act as a bar steel, she used the performance she played to thicken the bars. This is performance to appease the crowd, this is self defence from the faith she tangles herself into.

Lost in thought once again, she didn't notice the sudden change of melodies. From soft joy descended to solemn, timid and mysterious, matching up the mood from her mind.

One that her commissioner did not want to hear at their birthday party.

She stopped again. She groaned and stomped her feet to the floor, expecting to hear the loud creak she'll emit from the dark oak wooden floor, only to hear a soft crumple instead. Looking down from it, her (E/c) eyes found papers scattered to the floor, one managed to get under her shoe. She stared at the paper, her (E/c) eyes slowly narrowed as she saw the words written there.

It's one of her drafts from the commission she's trying to make right now.

She slowly knelt down and picked it up, seeing the words more clearly now as drag the paper closer to her (S/c) face. Her face slowly turned from neutral to scrunched up as soon as she saw the words written there. Half of the paper are words full of jumbled words, some got mixed and matched but mostly crossed out while the others have big circles in it. It's your typical draft song sheet.

The only worst part of it is that the choices of words she used are cringe worthy to look at.

She immediately wrapped her hand around the paper to make it form a crumpled paper ball and throw it on the other side of her small room, letting the sound of it bounce from the wall and roll to the wooden floor fill up the tense silence.

The song still lacks life and freedom like she wants.

It's not enough. It's not perfect nor beautiful no matter the flower words and compliments they throw at it.

It's not enough for her to bring back her passion and inspiration from playing her fiddle and write songs about freedom.

From her anger, she decided to play again. The melodies she poured this time came out harsh, loud, full of sharp tunes that resonated anguish and pain. She played not for her commissioners, but for herself this time. She let the suffocating melodies fill up the silence and loneliness she didn't want to be with. She didn't let her fingers stop from gliding to the strings despite the fatigue catching up to her, desperate to finish the song despite having no passion nor courage of making a piece of it. She let the melodies play, full of imperfections and mistakes.

Through this, she felt like she's free, yet no matter what, she cannot escape the path she chose.

It's her choice in the end after all.

A knock on her door made her struck a high pitch key, making that as her ending note to the music. She slowly placed her instrument on the bed next to her and walked straight to the door and opened it.

As soon as she opened the door, her (E/c) eyes met the familiar red ruby eye of one of the people she trusted yet still won't admit that to her face.

"Tsushima-san." [Name] greeted with a quiet voice.

Tsushima huffed "I told you to just call me by my first name."

[Name] rolled her eyes, still in denial to do that.

"Is there something you need? I'm in a middle of something here." She asked instead.

Tsushima pursued her lips "Well, you see...."

One of her eyebrows raised as she watched Tsushima become uncharacteristically quiet to her words. For as long as she remembers her, Tsushima never falters to her words, she's mostly blunt and straight to the point, which is one of the traits she likes about her.

So watching her shift her weight from her feet left and right while hiding her face through her bangs to avoid eye contact, this is a weird change that she can't help but be irritated from it.

"If you have nothing to say, I'm closing the door now-"

"Wait!" She called, making [Name] stop her movements which is closing the door right to her face.

[Name] turn her attention back to her, face still holds an annoyed look which makes Tsushima huffed.

"What a great way to pressure someone-"

"Goodbye-"

"I said wait! Jeez!"

[Name] watch Tsushima dug her black gloved hand to one of her pants pockets, it didn't take her long to pull out her hand there but holding a small folded paper this time.

One of her eyebrows rose when Tsushima brought the folded paper to her.

"It might be best for you to see this while I explain." She simply said and gave her the note.

[Name] eyes narrowed, both from her words and paper, yet still accepted the folded paper. She immediately starts to unfold the paper, slowly revealing itself as a torn up newspaper to a particular article. As soon as she finally finished uncovering it, her (E/c) eyes scan the articles written there.

Her narrowed eyes immediately widden.

"So I was reading the daily newspaper today like what I normally do when I encountered that article. I know you don't care about news and stuff, but I think you really need to know about this, most of all someone looks like they're using your- wait where are you going?!" Tsushima called out to [Name] when she now noticed her walking away from her during her mid explanation.

"To find that bastard!" Is her only explanation before disappearing out of sight, Tsushima followed behind while still calling out to her.

While Tsushima chased after [Name], she accidentally stepped on the paper she brought to her but didn't bother to take it with her, instead, she continued chasing after the girl who'll definitely cause problems on what she read.

Letting the crumpled paper with words written in bold of "A bard who proclaimed himself as the tree-time winner of the Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt until today has been spotted near Angel's Share! Will the current holder of the title who holds that crown for many years even before his proclamation to that title will have a fateful encounter here on Mondstadt? Read to find out more!" on the front page rot on the ground.

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

[Name] wonder if these talent she holds is a blessing or a curse.

Yes it's fun composing music or just playing an instrument in general, but she never saw herself being emerge to this deeply that it got to the point it'll become her job.

Yes, it's fun to do those, but she sees this more of a hobby than a potential work material to earn Mora.

She get it, it's a wasted opportunity to not use this to gain Mora, most of all if your family is in a low-class position that society made just to have standards to live on and a reason for others, mostly the higher class, to have a reason as to why they have "privileges" but not on the others below them. It's mess up for someone to make a class position like they're animals on a food chain.

Oh wait, they're animals, in their own dark way.

They act as if Mora is everything. It's what makes your world complete and for the world to continue to spin around. Weird to hear it from someone who's poor right? But really, she didn't care for Mora one bit.

Because like what the mysterious handsome consultant once said on her journey from Liyue "If one must always consider Mora before acting, then in all things one is bound by Mora." She didn't want for her life to revolve to Mora, she rather be free to do what she wants rather than be bound to something that will only give you temporary happiness.

So she's content to what she have right now. As long as the person is content and happy, why ask for more?

Apparently, her parents never got that information seriously.

They see this as an opportunity, a chance to raise their life higher from the dirt until they finally get the taste of the title of "high-class". And to reach that, both must take this seriously, make careful step by step of process and not to rush.

But they also don't took that information seriously.

Instead, they hone their daughter's skill to the best of their abilities. Asking the people they trust who also have a similar talent like hers to train her, make her practice till morning from night, force her to perform on each tavern that exist on seven nation and more.

This continued as she got older. This continued as their relationship to their daughter starts to become distant. This continued until their sweet, shy but kind daughter became a cold, hostile, serious, bastard of a daughter. This continued as her passion and love from her hobby disappeared. This continued as she slowly see her hobby as more of a bothersome work rather than a peaceful relaxation work for her to escape reality.

This continued even as she became aware of something at such a young age.

Aware of how human's greed affect oneself and to the people around her. Aware how greed is a gluttony. Aware how greed all do is take, take, take and never give back.

Aware how greed made her parents like this.

She didn't want to become like her parents. She didn't want to take so much that it'll become an addiction, like a drug.

So she never says no to them. Instead of take, she give, give, give and never take.

Until there's nothing left for her anymore.

Maybe that's why she never felt free.

Because she gave away her freedom in the process.

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

Opening the door of the tavern can sometimes cause quite a ruckus, most of all when someone open it fast and dramatic.

Which in this case, just happened right now.

His song got silence along the glide of his fingers from his lyre. One of his eyebrow raised of how that dramatic work made even the idle chatter that he can still hear during his performance got silenced. All attention slowly turned to the entrance of the tavern in which where the disturber of the peace stands.

Her face is stoic, is what he first noticed. She stood straight and proud, like she didn't just disturb a bard's performance which he might say is quite a rude thing to do if you ask him. He watched her (E/c) eyes turn left and right with one eyebrow raised and mouth formed into a cute frown. From the looks of it, she's looking for someone, and whoever they're, it's trouble they gonna get.

The silence didn't last. He can hear the rising yet silent whispers of the patrons, all held curiosity and irritation as to why she's here. He's one of those people. Curiosity danced around his mind and eyes for what happened that lead her here and what the cause of her anger which made her make a dramatic entrance on the tavern.

Their answers didn't took them long to be found when they saw her (E/c) eyes landed to his.

Her eyes widen as soon as their eyes met, but it soon narrowed down into a cold deadly glare that he can't help but shiver from.

Her eyes held so much anger that others can feel even they're far away from her.

If looks could kill, he's probably dead where he stands.

She pointed her finger at him.

"You!" She called for him in a sneer.

Ah, so he's in trouble.

He watched the (H/c) haired woman stomp her way to his, eyes only fixed to his with anger.

He silently gulped as soon as she's standing in front of him.

What did he do this time to get this much hate on someone? Did he do something last night when he's drunk? Surely the traveler with his fairy companion stops him early on if he's going to cause problems on purpose when drunk, being kicked out on Angel's Share is the last thing he wanted to happen now that the Dvalin case is over. He's unaware of what to do in this kind of scenario.

So you can't blame him if he approached this the way he usually does when danger is on his face.

Provoke the person to get more answers.

"Me?!" He dramatically exclaim and point at himself too.

She looked at him with a deadpan stare "No the chair you're sitting on- Of course its you, you idiot!" She hissed.

Venti fake gasp "Now, that is a rude thing to say-"

"Good to know it hurts you as it should be."

Venti pouted. Well, that's really plain rude now.

"Even if you ruined my performance?" He added.

She rolled her eyes "Like you haven't ruined my reputation here on Mondstadt after that stunt of yours." She sneered.

Okay, what did he really do that made her so angry at him.

"Stunt?" He asked with a tilt of his head to the side. "If I remember correctly, the stunt I did so far is getting drunk here."

That and also trying to steal the holy lyre.

"Of course your feigning ignorance." She said with a mocking laugh. "I forgot you're also a bard like me."

He raised an eyebrow. A bard like her?

"Did you have fun using the title 'Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt'?" She asked instead, making his aqua eyes widen from shock. "Does that ring any bells on your pathetic little mind? What? Can't hear it because you're too busy shouting that title like you truly own it for the world to hear?"

His lips straighten. Ah, that.

"Anyway I didn't come here to have a little chit chat party." I came here to tell you to know your place bard." She emphasized on the 'bard' to his face, really emphasizing him the position they are in. "I work hard to reach and wear that title only to hear that there's a wannabe using that title like it's something to be reality taken and played around like a doll. The world is not sunshine and rainbows for you to sing happy songs to make everyone remember your name. If you want to get known, work hard for it."

She turned around. "A word of advice from the true 'Popular Bard of Mondstadt'. Wake up. If you think you can have everything on a silver platter, that's where you're wrong. You'll get nowhere if you keep singing lullabies to yourself to remain asleep forever. That is all."

As soon as she said that, she started walking away from her.

The tavern remains deadly quiet after their talk, only the click of her boots getting fainter from each step are the only sound you can hear. Not even the whisper and the click of the glass that can be mostly heard are not present when its her deadly words its facing.

She radiates independence and perfectionism with a very cold demeanour. A perfect mask for someone to wear when they experienced the worst of the world that continues to pour down to her.

And he can't help but reach out for her to help.

"For a person who holds that title, you sure do not live up to it."

She immediately stopped walking. Her heels along a quick intake of a breath from someone, probably from shock of what they heard from him, are the only noise that escapes before a cold deadly silence consumes them again.

She slowly turned around to face him. Her face looks scarier than the last as soon as their eyes met again.

"Excuse me?" She asks, voice and face so void that others who're on the sidelines shivered from it.

Even he can feel the coldness of her words and stare. He wondered if she had a Cryo vision or something.

"I meant what I said." He nonchalantly said with a caress of his fingers from his lyre, creating a soft melody from his movements.

"For a person who bears the title of being the most popular here, you sure are not great at holding on to it when someone manages to get away from using that, me for example. I manage to use your title without problems. I even got a few Mora out of it." Of course he lied to the last part to get the rise out of her.

"Meaning, everyone also didn't know the true holder of that title because you didn't take care of it. Or maybe..."

He paused for a moment to tap a finger under his chin, for dramatic purpose.

"Everyone didn't see you as the holder of that title...."

The murmurs came back. He can hear their amusement for him and pity for the girl. Through those whispers, he noticed her hand had been formed into a fist.

He dryly swallowed. He can't help but think he's digging his own grave here.

"Fine then." She loudly hissed, cutting through the whispers of the crowd.

"If I have to show a great example for everyone just to get that thick skull of yours. Duel, you versus me with the crowds as our judge. Whoever composes a song and performs it here are the greatest will win. Winner will have that title."

She smirked. "I can't wait to beat that flat ass of yours."

He chuckled, either from her choice of words or her comment about his ass, no one will know.

"Let's see to it then!" Venti announced with a smile that matched hers along the fire determination that slowly started to lit from her dull eyes.

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

It's pretty uncharacteristic of her to make that title remain as hers.

It's a selfish act, like she didn't want that to be taken away from her. Who wouldn't? It almost became a medal to her, a medal that shows all of her hard work that she has been through just to be where she is right now.

But doing that is being greedy. She's not greedy, she keeps reminding herself about that so she won't forget.

But she didn't notice the flaw about that.

She's also human.

And humans are very greedy species.

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

Hope you like this! This was supposed to be 2 parts only but it starts to get really long so I have to cut it.

Also uploaded this just before new year. Happy New Year everyone! May this year be a good one to us! I'm glad I met and be with you last year. Let's be together again this year too!

(Also, idk if you noticed this or not, but I based [Name]'s, or you (lol), personality to Ennis from the play "Harugaoka Quartet" to the anime/game A3 (Act! Addict! Actors!). That show from the anime/game is what inspired me to make this lol.)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #Venti x female reader #mywritings #genshin impact venti #genshin impact venti x reader

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years ago

Text

Till The Sun Is in the Sky Fanfic

Title: Till The Sun is in the Sky Fanfic

Summary: Roman is a genie who has granted wishes for over a millennia. The only reason he’d be eager to serve his next master is for a chance to briefly escape the lamp’s darkness. Not for a chance at freedom--for that’s just wishful thinking and he knows what that all entails.

Or at least that’s his assumption until he meets Patton, the newest master of his lamp.

Pairing: platonic royality

Word-Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Crying, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

This set in the same ‘verse as When the Blazing Sun Is Gone but you don’t need to read that fic to understand this one. @delimeful requested seeing Roman’s/Logan’s role in the AU as part of my follower milestone celebration and so I went with Roman. Also huge thanks to @stillebesat who beta-read two different drafts of this fic and offered valuable input, I appreciate it! <3

He didn't know how long it had been since his last Master had thrown the lamp into the sea. It didn't matter really. Minutes, years, centuries...it didn't. Because he knew his next master would be the same as the last six hundred. Selfish, full of empty promises of freedom that never came to pass.

No, the only reason why he would ever be eager to come out of the lamp to serve his six hundredth and one master would be for those precious moments to get out of the darkness.

Some of his more inquisitive masters would ask him what it felt like to have one’s soul crammed into a lamp.

He always laughed it off and made a joke about how it made for a great napping place.

But the truth was far from it. He knew it was silly, but he feared the darkness. He feared its loneliness, feared no one would ever find his lamp again and he’d be stuck there forever.

He never told them how many times he uselessly fought against the magic barriers, hoping beyond hope to find a defect in the spell that bound him there. He didn’t tell them how much he feared them being the last master he ever had—not because they freed him but because his lamp never found another master to serve. Worse yet, his lamp shattering.

His soul was bound to the lamp and if it broke--then his soul would split into a thousand pieces along with it. Suffice to say, it was not a happy fate and not something happy to dwell on.

So he sang instead. His voice filling up the lamp, bouncing all around him. He could pretend someone was with him, that way, singing alongside him. He sang the few songs he knew and then some. He made up songs, even, about anything his mind could dwell on. He was halfway through singing about a gallant knight when a pair of hands made contact with the lamp.

A new master; both relief and trepidation hit him at once. Relief that he’d be free from the darkness once more. Trepidation in knowing that it was only a fleeting temporary respite from it.

That was quite alright. After all, his new master was probably someone in great need of his assistance—they always were. The lamp magic sought out those who were plagued by horrible life circumstances. He would be the knight in shining armor to them, like he’d been to many others before.

For that was his true purpose in life and not freedom. That was just wishful thinking—and he knew all of what that entailed.

With a shroud of red mist, he rose up in front of his new master. All of which was entirely for the sheer dramatics of it. He enjoyed putting on a good show and the adrenaline that came along with it.

“Greetings!” He boomed, waving his arms around in a grand gesture, “I am a great and powerful genie—and I am here to make all your dreams come true!”

The human gawked at him, slack-jawed. His brown eyes bulged from behind his glasses, much like a cartoon character. There was a crack in one of the glasses’ lenses and upon closer look, the glasses appeared to be practically held together by tape.

The man’s clothing appeared to be in a similar disheveled state—unraveling hems, holes in his shoes, scuff marks. The cardigan tied around his neck looked hardly wearable. Lying at the man’s feet was a blue backpack that the genie wouldn’t doubt contained all of his worldly belongings.

The lamp sought out the unfortunate and if there was one constant in any century, it was poverty.

“You’re…really a genie?” The human asked, pressing his eyebrows together.

“In the flesh.” The Genie winked.

He was well aware of what a fine specimen he was to behold. Flowing locks of russet hair, eyes that glimmered like emeralds, a voluptuous figure. Clothed in only the finest cloth that the eleventh century had to offer. Centuries of existence in the lamp had not diminished his beauty in the slightest.

If there was one thing he could take pleasure in, it was the awe humans gave him before they decided demanding for wishes. It usually lasted for only about five seconds. But during those five seconds, he could pretend that they were actually ecstatic to see him.

“What’s your name?”

He startled at those words.

“Pardon?” He asked, tilting his head backwards.

The last thing the Genie had been expecting, was those words to come out of his mouth. No one ever bothered to ask for his name. It was as though they assumed their wish-granting cosmic vending machine had no name. Or was indeed a living being with thoughts and feelings for that matter. They always started demanding rules and stipulations for their wishes as fast as they could.

“I’m sorry!” The human cried, wringing his hands together, “that was rude of me to ask without introducing myself first.”

He held out a hand, beaming, “I’m Patton! What’s your name?”

“I…” He stared down at the man’s hand, “My name?”

“Oh,” Patton’s eyes widened, “do you not have a name?”

The Genie looked away. He did once have a name, long ago before he inhabited the lamp. He couldn’t remember it. A strained, lilted laugh broke from his lips, not assuaging Patton’s concerns in the slightest.

How could he forget his own name? Names were important—special. Names had power. Names were a person’s identity. How could he let that damn lamp take something so precious away from him? It’d already taken everything else away—what more could it take?

“I can’t seem to recall it,” He shook his head, before desperately trying to change the subject, “But enough about my fabulous self! I’m here to grant you not one, not two, but three! Three wishes of immeasurable power! Say the magic word, and I’ll spin your dreams into reality.”

He expected Patton to forget the name nonsense entirely at the mention of wishes. Surely, the man had unfulfilled desires—everyone always possessed those. Instead, the man slowly shook his head.

“I can help you find a new name, if you’d like.” He offered, a smile softly framing his face.

The Genie blinked, “You wish to give me a new name?”

He could not make heads nor tails of this strange human. He scarcely knew Patton for a single minute, but his aura oozed nothing but positivity. Still, it was an odd waste of a wish, if you asked him. He’d hate to see someone so good and in need of his cosmic help squander a wish like that.

“No,” Patton said, laughing, “I want to help you find a new name.”

Patton sat down on the beach, the lamp by his side. The human looked up at him and patted the space next to him. Reluctantly, the Genie joined him.

“How does the name Daniel sound to you?” Patton asked.

Daniel. One of his more unpleasant masters went by that name. The genie made a face before shaking his head.

“That’s okay! What about Philip then?”

“Phiiiilip…” He drew out the consonants, testing how they felt against the roof of his mouth, “What do you think, dear Patton? Do I look like a Philip to you?”

“Well, you’re very princely-looking, and I’d say Philip is a very princely name!” The man giggled, “but as long as you love it—I’ll love it as well!”

The Genie hesitated. As much as he liked the name—it didn’t quite scream him. It didn’t encompass his whole being. Philip felt as tight and constraining as his lamp. The genie could lie and tell Patton he liked it just to move on from this whole naming business. His purpose here was supposed to be focused on the wish-bearer and not him, the wish-granter.

However, as he looked upon Patton’s earnest gaze he found himself unable to lie to him.

“I am afraid that I’m not entirely in love with the idea of Philip.” He admittedly with a great sigh.

“That’s alright! We just gotta keep trying then!” Patton declared, undeterred.

He continued listing off names, but none of them seemed to satisfy the Genie. The latter of whom grew despondent that they’d never find the perfect name. There were millions of names in the world, yet none of them appealed to him. He voiced this to Patton, who refused to give up hope that easily and urged him to keep trying.

“Hmm…oh! What about Roman?” Patton asked, “I knew a guy back in high school named Roman. He did theatre.”

Something sparked within the hollow cavity of the Genie’s chest.

“Theatre? As in acting out a story in front of an audience?” The Genie asked, his eyes lit bright with wonder.

He’d never seen a play before. His masters never bothered taking him to events like that. Instead he’d remain in their household, his lamp sitting on a shelf or hidden in a cabinet. Like a jar of quarters to use on a rainy day. He could only manifest within twenty-five yards around his lamp, leaving him unable to sneak off and enjoy something like a theatre show.

But what little he heard of them reminded him greatly of the bards of his time. They used to travel all over, singing sweetly in poetic verse of great heroes and terrifying monsters. He’d always loved watching a bard perform. He almost ran off and became a bard himself before he ended up stuck inside the lamp.

“Yup! He played Lumiere in our production of Beauty and the Beast.”

The names of the character and story were unfamiliar to him. But the Genie could tell by Patton’s phrasing that it had been an important role.

“Roo-man,” He tried, liking how it sounded on his lips, “Roman, Roman, Romaaaaaaaaaaan!”

Patton giggled as the Genie held out the name for as long as he could.

Roman. It was bold, it was brash, it was perfect. Not too snug, not too loose—it fit him just right.

“Well then,” He said, clearing his throat, “I’d be honored to go by the name of such a great bard!”

“I’m happy to hear that!” Patton beamed, “We should go celebrate!”

The human stood up, stuffing the lamp into his backpack in the process. He offered a hand towards the Genie—or rather Roman.

“Celebrate?” Roman questioned, as he accepted Patton’s hand, “Don’t you want your three wishes—"

“That can wait for later,” Patton said as he pulled Roman onto his feet with ease, “what’s important right now is celebrating your new name—with ice cream! I know just the place!”

“Forgive me for asking, but what is ice cream?”

“You don’t know what ice cream is?” Patton gasped, a determined look settling onto his features, “we’ll definitely have to fix that!”

He took hold of Roman’s hand—and marched towards the direction of the ice cream stand. Roman, bemused by the human, laughed as he allowed himself to be tugged along by Patton. He didn’t know why Patton was so concerned about his wellbeing but he found it a nice change from the norm.

Patton chattered along the way, mainly about ice cream and puns relating to the icy dessert and to other things.

“What did the popsicle say to his sonsicle in a crowd?” Patton asked, already snickering at his own joke.

“What?”

“He said, stick with me kid!” Patton burst into a fit of giggles, and Roman followed suit. Admittedly a lot of the contextual humor of Patton’s puns were lost on him but there was something contagious about Patton’s cheery disposition. You couldn’t help but want to laugh along and feel about a bit of that happiness glow in your lungs.

For those brief seconds of laughter, Roman felt human again. He’d have to treasure this feeling--coveting it once he inevitably ended up in the darkness of the lamp once more.

The sun set in the horizon as they reached their destination; a brilliant splash of crimson red with streaks of golden orange and lilac purple. There were a few customers already in line at the ice cream stand. Cheery music blared. Where, Roman had no clue. He could not see a band nearby. Perhaps it was magic?

“Hey um,” Patton said, ducking his head a bit, “mind if we split a bowl? I’ll let you pick out the flavor. You should go with vanilla—it’s a classic! But, uh you can get whatever you’d like!”

“Patton…” Roman frowned, “I could wish into existence a whole ice cream shop of your own if you truly wanted it. You don’t have to waste money on me.”

“No, I don’t have to,” Patton said with a determined glint in his eyes, “But I want to.”

Roman gawked at him, stunned. What was this human? People normally expected genies to do things for them, not the other way around! When it came time to order, Roman merely pointed to the vanilla as Patton had suggested.

There were tables set up next to the ice cream stand where customers could consume their ice cream. But Patton shook his head, telling Roman he knew a much better place.

“It’s a place my friend Virgil and I like to visit,” Patton said, “It’s nice and quiet, unlike most of the city. The noise can be too much sometimes, y’know?”

This peaceful location happened to be a bench in the middle of a park. Trees gracefully arched over it, dressed in the beginnings of autumn colors. Orange, yellow, red. A warm glowing yellow light emanated from the lamppost beside the bench.

“You can have the first taste of the ice cream,” Patton told him as they settled onto the bench. Roman obliged him, dipping his spoon a little in the white substance and bringing it to his mouth. He blinked. It was colder than he expected. But not unpleasantly so. It was a smooth, sweet texture.

“What do you think?” Patton asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

“It’s--it’s absolutely divine!” Roman exclaimed, his eyes flickered down to the ice cream, “May I…?”

“Of course!” Patton grinned. Roman took another spoonful, savoring the taste longer this time. They took turns finishing it off as they continued to converse.

Roman wasn’t used to talking. Sure, he talked plenty over the centuries, but his conversations with his masters revolved strictly around wish-granting. Mundane conversations about the weather were anything but mundane to the genie.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Patton asked, swinging his legs back and forth in a careless manner.

“Dogs—they are lovable, loyal creatures and mankind is undeserving of their affections.” Roman declared.

“Dogs are my favorite too!” Patton giggled, “Oh! And so are cats, horses, lizards, lions and tigers and bears—oh my! Elephants, giraffes, hippos—”

“So all of them are your favorite, I take it?”

“I guess you could say that,” Patton sheepishly grinned, “I wanted to be a veterinarian be—before—”

The human inhaled shakily, the smile slipping off his face. Instead of continuing, he stared down into the mostly empty plastic ice cream bowl. Something obviously happened in Patton’s past that upset him. It wasn’t Roman’s place to pry—but it didn’t mean he couldn’t help in the only way he knew best; magic. In all his centuries as a genie, he’s never met anyone deserving of it than Patton.

The man had been the first in a long while to treat Roman like his thoughts and feelings actually mattered. Like the genie was actually...human.

“You could still be a veterinarian, if you so badly wished,” Roman spoke softly, “Your every wish is my command.”

Patton flinched, looking more distressed than comforted by Roman’s words.

“Roman please, I can’t do that—”

“Why not?” Roman said, “you are my master—you can make any wish you’ve ever desired.”

“Roman, I’m not your master.” Patton choked.

“Of course you are,” Roman tilted his head, “you are the keeper of my lamp. What else would you be?”

“A friend?” Patton suggested, “Roman, please I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“This is different,” Roman said fervently, grasping hold of Patton’s hands, “this I offer to you freely for you are the most worthy keeper of my lamp. You must have unfulfilled desires, something, anything I can grant.”

Patton stared at Roman, his face void of expression. Several times he opened his mouth before abruptly closing it. As if thinking better of what he was about to say.

“Please.” Roman pressed further.

His heart rattled against his chest, wanting badly to escape its cage as he did with his lamp. Like the latter, it was a pointless venture. As long as his lamp remained intact so would his soul. Unless of course it shattered, and with it his soul into a thousand pieces. His psyche splintered and fractured, too broken to put back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty except worse for it was a living death, one inescapable. Yet it was a fate that was inevitable and also something he shouldn’t be dwelling on at the moment.

“There is…” Patton hesitated, “one desire I have.”

“Say it,” Roman said as he bowed his head, not daring to look at the human, “Speak it into existence and it shall be yours.”

It was going to hurt, he knew this. The genie wasn’t the true wish-granter, all the magic they possessed came from the lamp itself. The magic only used his form as a mere conduit. Because that was all a genie was—a damn puppet to his masters’ wills.

Roman brought this curse upon himself—he wanted immeasurable power and he attained it. Except, it was never his will to wield such power. Nay, only his masters possessed it. Only their wishes and not his would be granted. It’d be this way forever and ever, because everyone always cared about their happy endings and not his own.

Even Patton, once he saw the immeasurable power that surged forth from even the simplest of wishes. Roman wouldn’t blame him for it. The human has already given him more than what he’s ever deserved.

Patton squeezed Roman’s hands. It took every ounce of Roman’s willpower not to sneak a glance up at him. He had to remain strong for whatever wish Patton threw at him. In the short time he’d spent with Patton, he didn’t get off the vibe of a frivolous wisher. He dealt with plenty of those over the years. Ones who used the wishes in willy-nilly ways, without any forethought behind them.

No, he’d probably be practical. He’d wish for money, or perhaps a mistake in the past to be reversed. Those were always tricky ones. They didn’t always end in the way humans believed they would.

“Roman,” Patton began, “I wish to free you, the genie, from your lamp.”

The genie leapt off the bench as if electrocuted, hands clumsily detangling themselves from Patton’s own. The lamp’s magic roared in his ears, swelling inside him like a great storm. He gaped at the human, his heart bursting out of his chest and into his throat.

“P-patton, mind repeating that?” He gasped.

“I wish to free you the genie from your lamp.” Patton said once more, his voice firm and unbreaking.

This time he couldn’t hold off the wish. A bright red light enveloped him like a supernova explosion. Magic consumed him, rippling through every fiber of his being. A warmth fell across him, one that he hadn’t felt in a long, long while. A great shattering noise occurred. The light died down as he looked to see the lamp had spilled out of Patton’s pack, glittering underneath the lamppost, in pieces.

Breath heaving, he fell to his knees, touching the pieces. The lamp had broken and he was still here, whole and complete and free.

“Why?” He stared down at the broken lamp, quivering, “I--I don’t understand. You had three wishes. You could’ve had so much—all the wealth and fame you could ever desire!”

“But I didn’t want that,” Patton protested, resting a hand on Roman’s shoulder, “not if it came from a wish you were involuntarily bound to serve no matter what. That isn’t fair. Everyone deserves the freedom of choice. Including you.”

Roman laughed. Except it wasn’t quite a laugh. More of a strangled, gargled croak than anything else. He pressed his hands into his face, shutting his eyes as he tried to block out the dizzying nausea sweeping through him.

After six-hundred masters and a millennia inside the lamp, Roman knew a lot about the freedom of choice. His masters employed it with how they chose to use his wishes. Flaunting it so arrogantly in his face. The wishes were self-serving for most. Sometimes they used it to better others’ situations. But never his own, despite many promising to free him. Because at the end of that third wish, they’d walk away while he’d once more get trapped inside the lamp.

Over and over again, they chose to not free him. Except Patton. He chose to free Roman on his very first wish. For as long as he’d dreamt of this moment, of being free from the lamp, he never expected it to actually happen. It was just a foolish fantasy, too abstract to become reality. Not to mention in this manner. He had imagined a master would free him after he’d proven himself worthy with a great feat of magic. How could Patton think he was deserving of this gift?

He laughed weirdly again. This time it hurt his vocal chords.

“Roman?” Patton asked.

He responded with a noise, halfway resembling a hiccup and a shriek. A gentle set of arms enveloped him, pulling him closer until his forehead rested against a warm chest. A hug? Was Patton hugging him?

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Patton murmured, ruffling a hand through his hair, “let it all out.”

Kiddo. Roman wanted to snort. He was a millennia older than Patton, he wasn’t exactly a child. Except at those words, he bawled like one as he realized that those were sobs from before. Not laughter. Roman couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Just like he couldn’t remember a time before being a genie.

Who was he, without the lamp? For as much as he hated it, it’d been a part of him. It defined him and the purpose of his existence. Now he was free of it, free to be his own person, with his own wishes and desires. But he didn’t know the first step of what that looked like.

It was like he was thrown into a raging ocean of confusion and turmoil. Treading aimlessly, desperately hoping for a piece of driftwood to grab a hold on. Something that could anchor him, keep him afloat.

“P-patton--” He whispers, voice hoarse from crying, “can I--can I choose to be your friend?”

The human had suggested it earlier. Surely, he meant it still? It was quiet for a few seconds. Enough to cause Roman to doubt himself. But then the man who unbelievably granted him his freedom hugged him tighter.

“Of course, Roman,” Patton told him, “I’d be honored.”

With a sniffle, Roman’s hands fell from his face as he threw his arms around Patton to fiercely return the embrace. A few more ugly sobs wracked his throat. How was it that Patton was the one honored to be his friend when it was the opposite?

Roman hardly knew what being free looked like. But he did know he’d do anything to protect Patton, to preserve this kind, selfless spark that rested in the human’s soul.

As he dwelt encircled by Patton’s loving arms, the last slivers of the sun’s glow faded at last, dousing them in darkness. But for once, he didn’t find himself afraid of it.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders #roman sanders #kat writes #i tried to get virgil in this fic #but pls dont imagine vampire virge getting both jealous and concerned that patton is replacing him #or that roman (not wanting to lose his new friend) accuses him being a monster and sees him as a threat to patton #and poor patton being in the middle of it #:))))

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definitelynotkatesblog · 4 years ago

Text

Sundays l Spencer Reid Fic

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Category: Angst

Summary: Reader helps Spencer grieve the loss of a loved one, and loses parts of herself in the process.

A/N: Full disclaimer, angst is NOT my strong suit and for that reason, I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if I liked it, wasn’t sure if it was sad enough, wasn’t sure if a Maeve-mentioned content would interest anyone, and wasn’t sure if I could keep staring at this god damn draft anymore. Alas, Sundays is here and I hope it hurts :)

And of course a huge thank you to my lovey betas @imagining-in-the-margins and @wishingwellwriting for helping me make this as painful as possible!

Content Warning: Season 8 spoilers, mention of drinking/being drunk, mention of death, grieving, a brief kiss, unrequited love

Word count: 4.1k

Sundays were his hardest days.

Sundays were their days.

I had been there for hours, doing dishes and tidying up the living room while he slept. I never minded, he needed it. He needed a break from the constant sadness that seemed to radiate from inside him. I never knew so much sadness could exist in the same place at one time.

I turned to see him sitting up on the couch with his shoulders slumped, an empty expression on his face.

Grabbing the coffee on the counter, I crossed the room and placed it on the side table before sitting on the coffee table in front of him. I took his hands in mine and rubbed my thumbs across the backs of them. They were cold and bony, almost inhuman.

He swallowed hard and looked up at me, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before tears started to form. His face had thinned too, his cheeks sunken and the hollows under his eyes colored a dark purple. He’d stopped eating weeks ago.

He bit his bottom lip before his gaze dropped back down to his lap.

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but closed again. A broken breath shuddered from his lungs, and I thought it might only be a moment before the sobs ripped through his body. He wasn’t saying much these days, which was unusual for Spencer. He was a fountain of knowledge who often loved to share what his eidetic memory had ingrained in his mind, but as of late the light normally found behind his eyes was dull and uninviting.

I gave his hands a final squeeze before I reluctantly got up to finish tidying. It was enough of a mess inside his head without his home being a mess, too. I knew how that could be; to have your only reprieve be what’s in your head. Lately, he preferred to be alone. I thought sometimes that if I didn’t have a key, he wouldn’t even have let me in.

Sometimes he would fall asleep on my shoulder or my lap, depending on how we were situated. It wasn’t so much a matter of comfort, but convenience. Whatever position we were in before he slipped into unconsciousness became our marble sculpted pose until he woke. Sleep seemed to be his only solace- the only place he could be happy and I wasn’t keen on disturbing that.

Sometimes he would cry in his sleep, and all I could do was try to comfort him in his unconscious state. Sometimes, he would ask me to hold him while he cried, but those times were few and far between. In the years I’d known Spencer, we never really touched. He hugged me once, briefly, then never again. The first few days I’d spent at his apartment with him were spent offering condolences from across the room. He recoiled at my touch- a hand on the back or an accidental brush against his arm. When he started to seek the contact, I knew something was wrong. A man so touch-averse leaving his fingerprints on me should’ve felt like heaven after years of wondering, but all it did was worry me.

He had asked me to dance once. He said they’d always talked about dancing to a song they both really loved and how badly it hurt to know he’d never get the chance to dance with her. I agreed, partially because he had spent so much time telling me how VR therapy was on the rise and helping grieving parents with the loss of their children, and partially because... well, how exactly are you supposed to say no to a grown man drowning himself in memories that weren’t quite made? You don’t. You let him wrap his arms around you and pull you down under the waves with him so he doesn’t feel so alone.

We swayed in the living room for the better part of an hour. He nuzzled his face into my neck and ran his hands along the contours of my back, occasionally resting them on my hips. I tried catching his eye when he shifted positions but he wouldn’t ever look directly at me. I wondered if he was trying to imagine her under his fingertips instead. When he would start to cry, I could feel the wetness soaking into my shirt. I did the only thing that felt safe to do in that moment- held him tighter and kept quiet.

My hands found themselves in his hair as we swayed, his arms snaking tighter around my waist, pulling us closer together. I did my best not to think about how good it felt to be wrapped up in him, or what about this felt good for him or for what reason.

I wondered what song he was playing in his head. He never actually turned the song on, and asking felt like an intrusion on the memory he was trying to create with her while I was busy trying to twist this memory myself, with him.

When we finally broke apart, his hand came to cup my face as he choked on a sob. His eyes were bloodshot and still forming new tears.

God, my heart hurt for him. I reached my hand to cover his still pressed against my cheek and offered a small smile. He blinked hard, forcing the tears brimming in the corners of his eyes to fall while he placed his other hand on my jaw. As he pressed his forehead to mine, I closed my eyes and let his silent sobs shake both of our bodies.

It wasn’t until his hands started guiding my face to his that I realized what was happening.

His lips pressed to mine between broken cries, desperately searching for the response only she could give him.

I froze.

His thumbs ran across my cheekbones as he stifled a cry, guiding my face back to his.

Before our lips could connect again, I turned away, the kiss landing on my cheek instead.

“Spencer,” I said gently, fearing that my words would rip apart the bandages I had so carefully wound around his heart. “Spencer, I’m not her.”

I knew it would be wrong to be jealous of a dead woman, but when I spoke those words, they weren’t born out of jealousy or wishing I was her so I could finally feel wanted by Spencer... Those words were for Spencer. For his grieving. For him to be able to discern reality from the place he had run off to in his mind.

His eyes stayed closed for a moment.

“I know,” he breathed as his hands dropped from my face to his sides.

I licked my lips and took a step back, trying to create some space between the memory he had just made and who I actually was. I could taste him on my lips and did everything I could not to savor it.

“Maybe you could take a nap, hm? I’m gonna go to the store.”

He turned away and shuffled toward the couch, slowly sinking onto his side.

“I’ll be back, Spencer.” I waited for a response that I should have known wasn’t coming. Pulling the door closed behind me, I heard a muffled sob from the other side of the wood.

——

Fumbling with the key in the lock, I finally kicked the door open enough to shoulder the rest of my way in. Upon entering the apartment, I was met with an absolute mess. Books had flown off the shelf and littered the carpet. The flower vase I’d brought over to foster some sense of life in the apartment now only existed as shattered fragments on the floor.

“Spencer, what the hell?” I walked through the landmines of glass and literature on the floor to put the bags in my arms on the counter. I looked out across the room to find him casually draped in a chair in the corner with a bottle of brown liquor resting on his knee. His arm rested on the back of the chair while his legs spread in front of him like he was waiting for a lap dance.

“Are you drinking?”

“Why are you here?” He sneered, turning his nose up at me. “Have I been so hospitable that you just can’t stay away?”

Shooting him a look, I hung my key ring up by the door, taking a moment to swallow the thought of him not wanting me here anymore. “I told you I was coming back,” I replied evenly.

He snorted and took a long sip from the bottle, wincing as he swallowed.

“You don’t even drink. Where did you get this?” I crossed the room and snatched the bottle from his hand. He didn’t try to stop me.

“What else am I supposed to do?” He asked. His tone was cold, but his voice was so clearly pained.

“Not this.” I walked back over to the sink, stepping over the remnants of the vase to pour what was left of the bottle down the drain.

“If I believed in God, I’d pray,” he said with a bitter laugh.

Silence from the rest of the apartment crept in to fill the space between us. I stared at his slumped figure in the chair but he remained unphased, staring at the floor with his brows knit together. I grabbed a glass of water and the broom before making my way over to where he’d slumped down further in the chair.

“Are you gonna throw this one on on the floor, too?” I asked before extending the glass to him.

He just stared at it in my hand like he wasn’t sure. I took a chance and placed it on the table next to him and turned back to start sweeping the mess he had made.

“Sorry, let me–” he slurred.

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have–”

“Shit!” He hissed from behind me, undoubtedly stepping in the shards of glass.

“-shoes on” I finished. I turned to see him hobbling back towards the chair, stumbling and limping with one foot pulled up awkwardly.

----

He sat on the edge of the toilet with his foot in my lap as I tweezed out the remaining splinters of glass from the tender skin. He winced and jerked and hissed as I worked.

“Spencer, stop moving, that’s only making it hurt worse.”

“Yeah, well–” he started.

“Haven’t you been shot before?” I asked, stopping to look up at the grown man squirming while perched atop the porcelain throne.

He grumbled an answer while I took to finishing up the excavation attempt. Satisfied with my work, I stood and offered my hand for him to stand as well. He looked at my outreached hand then my face, stood on his own and tested putting some weight on the foot.

I dropped my hand and looked down at his foot instead.

“Does it hurt?”

“It all hurts,” he said matter of factly, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. I knew he wasn’t just talking about his foot but I’d run out of comforting words weeks ago.

Silence hung between us for a moment while I tried to find something to say to him.

“Well why don’t you shower? It’ll help with your foot and hopefully sober you up.”

He snorted, but reached for a towel on the rack behind me anyways. I scooted past him in the small room, backing up against the wall to slide past him. He made no attempt to move as my chest skimmed his, turning his head to face me head on instead. The smell of the liquor on his breath fanned across my face and choked me.

“And brush your teeth, too.” I quipped before closing the door a little more forcefully than necessary on my way out.

I had never seen Spencer like this. I paced the living room, chewing my bottom lip. He had never had a drink in the years we’d been friends, let alone gotten drunk. Grief makes you do dumb things though, right? He was just coping. He was coping with the loss of a loved one. He was numbing that pain. He needed to get away from the pain.

But god, this wasn’t Spencer. At least, this wasn’t my Spencer. Although, he never really was my Spencer, was he? Maybe it was me who needed a break. I gathered my bag and keys from the table by the door, silently running through the checklist in my head– keys, phone, wallet, sweatshirt.

Shit.

My sweatshirt was still in his bedroom where we’d spent the day reading yesterday. Things had felt almost normal for just a few hours, both of us lost in our own worlds between pages. Fiction providing a long enough distraction for him to relax, to let normalcy slip past the walls he put up. I made my way back to the bedroom, hoping to slip in and out before he was finished in the bathroom.

I had just picked up my sweater and thrown it over my arm when he emerged from the bathroom in a pair of clean pajamas, rubbing his hair with a towel. He did a quick once over of the contents in my hands and stopped drying, his arms falling to his sides.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a slight panic hidden in his tone.

I pointed my thumb towards the door. “I’m gonna go.”

“Well.. I mean… why?” He seemed genuinely confused.

These past few weeks had changed him, and had been changing me too. I’d somehow allowed myself to get swept up in the fantasy he had created to not feel so alone. In becoming a part of that, I had never felt so alone in my life.

“I just think I should go. For tonight, at least. I’ll swing by again soon.” I hitched my bag higher onto my shoulder and gave him my best attempt at a reassuring smile.

He looked at the towel in his hand and around the room, as if the answer might be there.

“Please don’t go,” he said quietly when he couldn’t find the answer he was looking for. I wasn’t even sure if he said it or if I was imagining things, wanting to stay more than I wanted to go.

“Spence–”

“Please. I’m sorry for earlier. I’m so, so sorry. I just–” He took a step towards me, wringing the towel in his hands and swallowing the apparent lump in his throat. His eyes were rimmed with red like he’d been crying in the shower. “I need you.” He hung his head like he was ashamed, like he never intended on saying that out loud.

He’d never said that before. He’d thanked me for being here for him, for helping him with his apartment and being a literal shoulder to cry on, but he never told me he needed me or asked me to stay. Even if it was unbeknownst to him, I knew when he said he needed me, he was using me for her. And that’s all it really was.

My heart fluttered in my chest at his words, but there was a part of me that was telling me to go.

The door and his face tugged at me in their opposite and respective directions. His next question made the decision for me.

“Lay with me?”

I stood still for a moment before moving to drop my bag from my shoulder. “Okay.”

Just like that, any sense of self preservation flew out the goddamn window.

He nodded quickly and clamored into bed, like if he moved too slowly I’d change my mind. And maybe I should have. Maybe I should have done a lot of things differently- I should have left. I should have set boundaries. I should have better protected my heart instead of so willingly getting lost in him that I’d lost pieces of myself. I did none of those things.

Instead, I kicked off my shoes and pulled my sweatshirt on over my head before climbing into the cave he’d created with his arm holding the sheets up for me. As soon as I was sitting with my back against the headboard, he curled up into me and rested his head on my chest.

I leaned my cheek against the top of his head for a moment, taking in the scent of his shampoo as I reached for a book on his nightstand. He snaked an arm around my waist and sighed.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he hiccuped. “I don't drink, you know. I don’t like this feeling.”

“I know.” And I did know. I knew he didn’t recognize the shell of a man he’d become. Spencer was many things, but empty had never been one of them.

We sat in silence for a while. I read while he stared at the wall, undoubtedly watching the events of their only meeting unfold on loop like he always seemed to be doing while quiet. I was starting to worry that he hadn’t spoken in a while when he broke the silence.

“I was used to being alone. It was comfortable... She was the only thing better than my solitude,” he whispered.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet and watched him. He chewed his lip then lifted his eyes to mine.

“And now you’re here.”

I searched his eyes before he broke our gaze and laid his head back down. The heart that was currently in pieces in my chest knew what he meant, but my brain wasn’t willing to meet the same conclusion.

I’m not her, Spencer.

I know.

Our conversation from earlier replayed in my head, remaining as confusing as it was earlier.

As his lids got too heavy for him to hold open and his breathing evened out, I got ready to head out, satisfied with the seemingly stable state of him.

His arm around my waist tightened as if he could sense my plan to leave. “Stay with me.” He begged, his voice groggy and almost childlike in his demand.

I stayed still for a moment, weighing my options against my best interest. I didn’t know if this would be another dancing situation. I didn’t know if this would help him or hurt him, or more than likely- hurt me, but I was willing to try for him anyways.

How was I supposed to look at the sweet boy in my arms and tell him I wouldn’t do anything to make him feel whole again?

“Okay,” I resolved, closing the book and placing it on the nightstand. I sighed and pulled the covers up higher over him.

“I talked to her about you,” he said quietly, fighting sleep. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a small smile forming on his lips. It was the first time I’d heard anything resembling a laugh in weeks. “She asked me if I was married because it sounded like I was talking about my wife when I talked about you.”

I shook my head on a laugh but I couldn’t hear whatever else he said over the sound of my heart cracking in my chest and the ringing in my ears. It wasn’t lost on me that in a very real and fucked up way, I was jealous of a dead woman, but it was more than that.

I was jealous of their love. I was jealous of the fact that in a matter of 10 months, she had managed to intrigue and enthrall Spencer without them ever having laid eyes on one another. They’d never met, never touched, never kissed. And even still, no one could deny the love between them was real. Not even me.

Was it shitty? Absolutely. The support and happiness I felt for him during those 10 months was genuine. But it still hurt.

It seemed selfish to tell him that while I held him in my arms as he cried that I was racked with jealousy and the realization that I would never be the one for him. That I would never be the one he loved in that way. In his head, she was the only one who had the capacity to love him for everything he was but I had been doing that for years. The truth was, I loved him first. Life rarely plays by the rules of dibs, though, so that didn’t matter- I loved him first but she got him.

And that’s not to say he was property to be owned. I could have said the same for my heart, but even without trying, it was his. Even if he didn’t want it, it was his. And his was hers. And she was dead.

None of these truths changed the way things were in their current state, so I held him. I stroked his hair and watched his chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. I watched as his face softened until it was no longer twisted in a painful grimace from replaying the same bloody memory. His eyes finally got to rest from their constant tears.

I hoped his mind was letting him dream of quantum physics or string theory instead of her. Not because of how I felt, but because he deserved anything that would let his mind rest.

My position sitting up against the headboard started to become uncomfortable hours before, but I wasn’t ready to risk moving and waking him up. When I decided he was deep enough in sleep that I could, I wiggled down in the bed until I was lying normally. I huffed a triumphant breath at being able to rest my head on the pillow when he stirred next to me.

I held my breath and froze, hoping it was enough to not wake him. He took a deep breath in and draped an arm over me, nuzzling his face into my neck.

I took a deep breath in, committing the scent of him to memory and wondered who would put me back together again when it came time to rip the pieces of myself out of Spencer, namely the parts he’d grown and twisted around like ivy.

Tears filled my eyes at my own, sad reality.

That I’d found love where I shouldn’t have– in the sad eyes of my best friend that were filled with tears for another.

I’d found love in the heart of a man who had been so irreparably damaged that he couldn’t tell where his pain ended and began.

I’d found love in the form endless literature had been written about– irrevocable and unrequited.

As I drifted off to sleep wrapped up in him, I pretended that he was clinging to me and that I wasn’t just in his bed to fill the void that Maeve left behind.

For now, and for as long as he needed me, I would be there for him, however he needed me to be. Even if that meant I wasn't myself at all. Even if that meant I had to be her.

Even if this was all a lie, I decided ignorance was bliss. And right now, ignorance meant his arms around me. Ignorance meant a place in his bed that wasn’t mine. Ignorance meant the sharing of his love even if I couldn't keep it. This was as close to bliss as I would ever get.

***

Let’s talk about it!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fan fic #angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #hurt/comfort #hurt and comfort #hurt/comfort fan fic

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