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homoose · 4 years ago

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Quick Learner, Slow Lover: Part II

Summary: Literally just a 40 Year Old Virgin AU. This time, reader shows Spencer a whole new world of possibilities.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut, 18 + (minors DNI)

Warnings/Includes: oral (both receiving), fingering, I think that’s it actually

Word count: 4.3k

a/n: Huge thanks to all the babies on my sideblog @softspence for helping with the inspiration for this one, and @gubetube for being my beta! ♥️ virgin!Spence is near and dear to my heart.

Series Masterlist

———

After their first escapade, Spencer was called away on a case in southern California. A week into the BAU’s investigation in the desert didn’t have them any closer to solving it, and the team retreated to their respective hotel rooms for a few hours of rest. The second his head hit the pillow, Spencer’s phone was out and dialing.

She picked up on the third ring, stifling a yawn. “Hi.”

“Hi. Sorry it’s so late,” he apologized.

“It’s okay.” He could hear her snuggling down under the covers. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” He brought one of the hotel pillows closer, cuddling up against it and letting out a sigh. “I was thinking we could go to that new restaurant around the corner from you when I get back to DC.”

“Mmm, yeah, that sounds nice,” she agreed. He heard her sigh a little into the phone, then she continued, “We could also, um— try some more things.”

His head was constantly full of their first night together, and he basically had not stopped thinking about more things since he’d come in his pants on the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good, because the possibilities are endless, Dr. Reid.”

He let his eyes close, let a smile play over his features, and let his mind relax for a second… and then his eyes were shooting open, and his brain was on overdrive, running through the pieces of the case in rapid succession. “I— I think I just figured something out. I— I have to go. I’ll— can I call you later?”

She laughed a little on the other end. “Go save some lives, Spence.”

The team stumbled off the jet less than 24 hours later, exhausted but more than satisfied with the outcome of the case— in large part thanks to Spencer’s late night epiphany.

“O’Keefe’s for a round?” Luke asked. “First one’s on me.”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone... except Spencer. “Sorry, guys— rain check,” he called, already halfway across the bullpen and pulling on his jacket. He was through the double doors before anyone could ask any questions.

He loved the team, and he’d come to enjoy nights out with them, but right now he had more pressing matters to deal with. As he navigated the darkened streets of DC, he considered the predicament he’d found himself in. They were going on two months of official dating, but they’d been sort of seeing each other for nearly a month before that.

Even before he’d met her, Penelope had gushed about her constantly— a wonderful friend that she’d made through her new job, kind and smart and funny and lovely. What Penelope hadn’t mentioned was how beautiful she was— and he’d subsequently made a fool of himself when they first met: staring and stumbling over his words.

She hadn’t seemed to mind, and over the course of the evening, she’d proven to be every bit as lovely as Penelope had described, and then some.

He pulled up outside her apartment, shutting the door and hauling himself and his go-bag out of the car and up the sidewalk. He ran a slightly self conscious hand over his hair, checked his appearance in the glass of the foyer door, and then buzzed her apartment.

She buzzed him in, and he took the stairs two at a time, rounding the landing just to see her opening the door. The second he dropped his bag, he was wrapping her up in a hug and knocking the breath out of her. She expelled the air into his shoulder and then laughed as he clung to her.

“Well, hello to you, too,” she teased.

“I missed you,” he murmured, too content to be embarrassed.

Her arms came around him, and she squeezed him tight in response. “I missed you, too.” She held onto him for a moment longer before pulling back. “You must be exhausted. Are you hungry?”

Almost as if on cue, his stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear it. She cackled at his sheepish smile. “Chinese, Indian, or pizza?”

…

An hour later, they were two slices deep and cuddled together on the couch at the end of an episode of Dr. Who. She was tucked under his arm, her warm palm low on his tummy, her thumb rubbing a slow, repetitive path. As the credits rolled, she lifted her head to smile at him. “Tired?”

“A little.” His brain couldn’t focus on anything other than the warmth of her body pressed up against him, her hand so close to where he was desperate for her. He wanted her, but he didn’t know how to ask. “We can… try some things, though,” he decided on.

She brushed his hair back and met his eyes. “We don’t have to. Just because we did, doesn’t mean we’re obligated to every time we’re together.” She tilted her head. “You know that, right?”

He could feel the flush flooding his cheeks immediately, and he dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course.” Of course she didn’t want to do anything more with him. He was probably terrible at it before, and she just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He shifted to stand from the couch, gathering up their plates and turning to bring them to the kitchen, desperate for a minute to collect himself.

He could feel her eyes on him. “Spence?” He set the plates in the sink, taking a deep breath and then turning to see that she’d followed him. She pressed her lips together, considering him with kind eyes. “You wanna let me in on whatever it is you’re thinking?”

He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the tops of his thighs, before deciding he should just come out with it. “I know I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to… sex.” The last part came out in a low murmur— it seemed lewd to discuss this in the middle of her kitchen. “I’m sorry it wasn’t very good for you, and I’m not exactly sure how to fix that, but—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she chuckled. “Slow your roll. When did I ever say it wasn’t good for me?”

The memory of her— in his lap, her head thrown back, his fingers on her, his name falling from her lips— was suddenly on repeat in his mind. “I, um— I guess you didn’t.”

“I definitely didn’t,” she confirmed, stepping a little closer. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it… a lot.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You have?”

“Mmhmm.” She brought her hand back to his tummy, just above his waistband, then ran it up the line of buttons on his shirt, stopping just above his heart. She met his gaze with soft eyes. “I just didn’t want you to think that— that sex is all I want to do with you. Or that you have to rush to make me happy. And it’s important that you know that if you’re tired, or overwhelmed, or just not in the mood, I don’t— you know, expect you to have sex with me.”

His heart leapt into his throat at the way she curled her fingers in his collar, the way she smiled quietly while he collected his thoughts, the way she gave him grace and space to consider his wants and needs. He was dangerously in love already, and he wasn’t sure quite how to say it without being the stupid virgin who fell in love with the first person he slept with.

And even with all of these thoughts of content and love and uncertainty swirling through his brain… he still really wanted to fuck her.

“I’m not that tired,” he breathed.

Her smile turned mischievous, and he swallowed audibly. “Well, then. We can start working through those possibilities?”

He was on her before she even finished the question, his mouth hot and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands on her waist and steering her toward her bedroom. She grinned as he trailed kisses down her throat and then where her t-shirt cut low along her collarbone. She turned them as they made it to the bed and pushed him to sit, breaking his mouth away from where it had been sucking a pretty pink mark.

She dropped to her knees and ran a firm hand over his cock through his trousers. He was wholly and completely unprepared for the sight of her looking up at him from in between his legs, and he momentarily forgot any and all plans he’d had. She paused to push her hair back out of her face, and he came to his senses.

“Wait.” She looked up at him, slightly confused. “I wanted to, um—”

When he didn’t continue, she tilted her head with an encouraging smile. “You wanted to what?”

“I wanted to, um— eat you out,” he said, and he could feel the flush in his ears. “Before. Because I get kind of sleepy after I come, and I— well, I can already tell I’m not gonna last long once you start, um…”

“Blowing you?” she prompted, and now she was just teasing him.

“Y-yeah.” He ran a nervous hand down his neck. “Is that okay?”

She stood up and stepped closer into his space, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his head back slightly. “Well, that depends. Did you read up on the literature?”

He returned her teasing smile, already more at ease. “You know I did.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back to pull her shirt up over her head. She smirked at the way his eyes went wide and traveled over her form. His mouth dropped open as he tracked her hands, running down over her bare chest, her torso, and then to the waistband of her sweatpants. She pushed the pants down over her hips and let them pool at her feet, stepping out and back in between his legs. “So, what did the experts say?”

He swallowed audibly as she brought his hands to her chest. “Well, um,” he started, palms cupping her breasts. “Um, firstly— start slow. And vary— vary your attention,” he said, squeezing them lightly and brushing his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

He looked up at her face for guidance, and she smiled. “Then by all means— give me all the attention.”

He leaned forward immediately, tongue and teeth sucking and grazing and nipping at the soft skin of her breasts. He alternated between the two, drew each nipple into his mouth and moaned a little around them at the way she gasped when his teeth dragged on her skin. Her hands found purchase in his curls, tangling and tugging and holding him against her. He brought a hand down to her waist and pulled her in closer, slid his palm over her lace-covered ass and dug his fingers in, eliciting a very pretty sound from her throat.

He pressed his mouth once more to the valley in between her breasts, then stood and brought his hands to her face, leaning down to meet her in a soft kiss. He turned to have her sit back on the bed, and she stretched out over the pillows and pulled him down over her. He kissed her again, and then dragged his mouth down the column of her throat.

“Secondly,” he continued, “work your way down.” He did just that, his lips and tongue drawing out goosebumps and shivers as he moved down her body. When he reached the waistband of her underwear, he hooked his fingers into it, and she lifted her hips to allow him to pull them down her legs.

He started a path back up her legs, kissing her ankles, her shins, her knees. He ghosted his fingers over her thigh, silently asking for permission to continue. She let her legs fall open, and he made himself comfortable in between them. The reality hit him then— that as she opened her legs, she also opened herself up to him— all the most vulnerable and precious parts of her. His breath caught in his throat as he found her gaze on him, soft and sweet and steady.

He turned his head to kiss a path along her inner thigh, moving closer and closer to her center. He fanned his warm breath over her, and then he licked carefully around the hood of her clit, gentle at first. He flattened his tongue on either side of it, then pointed it to flick across once, twice, three times. Her hand immediately came down to tangle in his hair, and her hips twitched as he dragged his tongue flat over it.

“I don’t really understand the phenomenon of men being unable to find the clitoris,” he remarked, and then closed his mouth around it.

She let out a long, low moan when he sucked it between his lips, and her grip on his hair tightened. He alternated the suction with the swirl of his tongue around the hood, and she squirmed against the bed. He laid his forearm low across her hips to keep her still, and then he brought his thumb up to swipe at her entrance, and he moaned around her at the feel.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he breathed. He brought his thumb, slick with her arousal, up to her clit and rubbed firm circles over it. “How’s that for pressure? Too hard?”

“N-no, oh— Spence, oh my god,” she whined.

“Do you prefer to rub side to side or in a circle?” He demonstrated each option, and she choked out his name again.

She drew in a shaky inhale, exhaled out, “Both, both, both.”

He sucked an open mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, then looked up to see her staring at him. “Do you like penetration? Or just clitoral stimulation?” he asked, stroking his thumb side to side over her clit.

She huffed out a breath. “You— god, you can finger me.”

He popped his index finger into his mouth, slicking it with spit and thinking of everything he’d read about it. He teased the pad of his finger around her slit, gathering up the wetness that had spilled out of her. “I’ll start with one? Make sure it’s slicked up, and then you can tell me if you’d like me to add another?”

She hummed in agreement, and he began to press inside of her. She took his finger easily, and he dropped his forehead to her thigh. “God, you’re— you’re so tight.” He withdrew his finger and then slipped it back in, groaning at the slickness. “Can you, um— can you tell me if this is— is this doing anything for you?” He probed gently, searching for the spot inside her that he knew might actually be difficult to find.

“Um— up, up,” she gasped. “Like, curl it up toward the ceiling and then sort of dra-a-a-g, oh, oh, oh.”

He followed her directions, curling his finger up and dragging it on the out stroke, and she was throwing her head back with a moan of his name. He repeated the motion over and over and then brought his mouth back to her clit. Both her hands came down to yank at his hair, and he groaned, causing her hips to jerk against his mouth.

“M-more, Spence, more, so close,” she whined.

When he withdrew his finger, he slipped a second one in beside it and then continued the curl-drag-thrust pattern while sucking and swirling his tongue around her clit. Her moans increased in frequency and volume, and he felt her squeeze impossibly tight around his fingers. He rutted into the bed as her grip on his hair held him still against her clit as she came.

She let out a final gasp of his name, and then she relaxed around him and her grip on his hair went slack. He slipped his fingers out of her, stared at them in relative awe as they glistened with her come. He sucked them into his mouth to clean them off, relatively surprised by how much he enjoyed the taste. He leaned forward and dragged his tongue over her, cleaning her up and savoring the way she lingered in his mouth.

“Shit, Spence,” she mumbled, grasping at his shoulder. “C’mere.”

He lifted his head and wiped his forearm across his chin. He watched her eyes go a little wide, and then she was dragging him up her body and crashing their mouths together. “You are so fucking hot,” she whispered. “I cannot believe you’ve never done that before. Such a good listener, baby.”

His hips canted forward desperately at the praise, and she sighed happily against his mouth. “Wanna blow you.”

She pushed gently at his chest and he sat back to let her up. She slid off the bed and tugged on his hand to move him to sit with his legs off the side. “Can we take some things off?” she asked, gesturing to his fully clothed form.

He nodded, and she popped the button on his trousers while he started on the button up. They made quick work of both, and she dragged his pants and underwear down in one motion. He shrugged out of his shirt and she took a step back to take him in.

“You’re so pretty, Spence.” She dragged her finger up from his knee, over his thigh, the trail of hair on his tummy, his chest, his throat— her eyes tracking the motion. He watched her face as she did so, the way her pupils dilated with lust and her tongue came out to wet her lips. She finally settled on his face, smiling and leaning forward to press her lips to his.

When she broke the kiss, she brought both hands up to cradle his face. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. If anything doesn’t feel good, just say so. You can put your hands on my head, pull my hair, whatever you like. If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he rasped.

She kissed him again, and then dropped to her knees and took him in hand. The vision of her— naked, post-orgasm, looking up at him with his cock poised at her mouth— was so absolutely and gloriously filthy that he almost came on the spot.

“You’re so big, Spence.” The wonderment seeped into her voice, and he couldn’t help but swell a little with pride. Her warm palm stroked over him, root to tip, and he fisted his hands in the duvet. “What was step one again?” she asked.

“Um. S-start slow,” he recalled.

She hummed in agreement, and then trailed the fingers of her free hand over the inside of his thigh. She turned her mouth to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the other, slowly inching up closer to where she held him in her hand.

“Your skin is soft,” she murmured. Her nose brushing against the crease of this thigh. She switched sides, moved his cock into her other hand to trail her fingers over where her mouth had been. She sucked a mark into his thigh and then dragged her tongue over it, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

And then she shifted back to the center, flattened her tongue, and ran it up the vein on the underside of his cock. “Oh my god,” he whispered.

She huffed out a laugh and the way her warm breath cooled the trail of spit she’d left had him shivering. “God, this is gonna be so fun,” she murmured.

She held his cock up straight with one hand and repeated the motion of her tongue twice more, and then pressed a kiss to the tip. She held her tongue out flat and rubbed it along the underside of the head, running it along the divide between the tip and the shaft. And then she closed her mouth around the head and swirled her tongue around it, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Fuck, Y/N.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets, and then he felt her free hand tug at his fist. He opened his eyes as she guided his fingers into her hair. She locked eyes with him and then sucked gently on the tip of his cock. He fisted his hand and tugged, and she closed her eyes and moaned around him.

The vibration of her voice had his hips thrusting forward a little into her mouth, and she pulled back with a grin. He couldn’t even form the words to apologize before she was licking down his shaft and murmuring, “Mm, and vary the attention, right?”

With that, she laved her tongue over his balls, slicking them up with her spit. He realized he’d been holding his breath, sucking in a gasp as she sucked one of them into her mouth. She hummed around it and then let it out with a soft pop, moving to draw the other one in. He hadn’t even considered that he would enjoy having his balls in her mouth, but now that they were there he knew he’d literally never stop thinking about it.

She pulled back to take a breath, bringing a hand up to cup and massage his balls and stroke over his length at the same time. “Step two?” she prompted, looking up at him from in between his legs.

“Work your way down,” he reminded her, petting over her hair in awe.

“Ah, yes.” She brought her mouth back to the tip, sticking out her tongue and rubbing it along the sensitive spot just under the head. She kept her mouth open and held him in hand, alternating between wet kisses and swirling her tongue. And then she sucked it into her mouth, still moving her tongue back and forth as she started to sink further down his length.

In his mind, he was singing her praises from the metaphorical rooftops, but in reality, her mouth was so hot and wet that all he could do was stare stupidly at the way his cock disappeared between her lips. She continued to massage his slick balls in her free hand as she took him in, inch by inch. Each time she pulled back to suckle the head, she stroked the circle of her other hand over the spit-covered length of him.

On the next pass down, he felt the head of his cock press into the back of her throat, and his hands shot to her hair, holding tight. “Holy shit, Y/N, I—” he choked on the rest of the sentence as she took him an inch further, then simultaneously sucked and pulled back to the tip.

She tapped the tip of his cock to her spit-slick smile, kissing it teasingly. “Do you wanna tell me what to do?”

“M-more of that,” he begged, watching as she dragged her lips down the side of his cock.

She chuckled, and the way it buzzed against the side of his cock had him short of breath. “Yeah— I thought you’d like that.” She pumped his length with her hand and then held her tongue out flat, bobbing her head until he hit the back of her throat.

When she pulled back, he watched a trail of spit drip down her chin, and felt his cock twitch at the idea of her quite literally drooling over him. He barely resisted the urge to pinch his thigh, not willing to wake himself up if this was actually a dream. He brought a hand to her chin and used his thumb to gather the spit, and then brought it up to suck it into his mouth.

Her mouth dropped open as she watched him swallow, and he briefly began to panic, but then she was surging upward to slot her mouth over his in a hot kiss. “How is everything you do so fucking hot?” she murmured against his lips.

“I could say the same for you,” he countered, kissing her again.

“I want you to come in my mouth, okay?” she asked.

He nodded vigorously. “Shit, yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t hold back,” she demanded, and then she was dropping back down to take him in again.

She left her mouth open, tongue laid flat, and took him into her throat— once, twice, three times. She choked around him and then pulled back to take a breath. She repeated this pattern again, and again, occasionally sucking on the head or even grazing her teeth just so. Spencer held her head between his hands, staring down at her with reverence. He couldn’t stop the litany of praise falling from his lips— mostly just gasps and moans of her name, but occasionally he found the mental capacity for so beautiful, or perfect mouth, or so good, baby.

He could feel his orgasm drawing closer with every press into her throat, so incredibly tight that it was dizzying. She pulled all the way off to jerk his cock, a tight circle of her fingers gliding along his length with a squelching sound. She squeezed the base of him, dropped her hand to tug at his balls, and sunk her mouth down his length, holding him in her throat and swallowing, moaning low and long around him.

She looked up at him then, and it was that which finally brought him over the edge— not that she was on her knees with his cock in her throat, but that she didn’t look away as he came undone. The fact that she was paying such close attention to him coupled with the trust and vulnerability required for this moment was too much to handle. His orgasm hit him like a train, his toes curling and fingers twitching in her hair as he came. She continued swallowing around him, and he fought to keep his eyes open, not willing to miss a single second of this moment.

When he was finished, she slowly drew back, sucking gently along his softening length and pressing a kiss to the head. He did close his eyes then, cradling her head in his hands and rubbing his thumbs along her cheeks. She used his thighs as leverage to pull herself up, and he heard her suck in a sharp breath. His eyes shot open to see her rubbing at her knees— red and a little raw.

“I’m sorry, I should have— I could have gotten you a pillow.” He pulled her closer and replaced her hands with his own, soothing the marks.

She laughed and brushed a reassuring hand over his hair. “Occupational hazard.”

The scratchy rasp of her voice had his cock twitching. “I know I don’t have anything to compare it to, but you’re unbelievably good at that.”

She brought her hands to his face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. “You’re not the only one who reads the literature.”

Her even tone and steady gaze proved she wasn’t teasing or mocking, and he fell just a little bit deeper in love. He met her halfway in a kiss that was infinitely and luminously sweet and wondered just what in the world he was going to do about that.

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @s1utformgg @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid

Series tags: @cielo1984 @dorotheuh @foreveryoungxx3 @happyreid187 @harrystylesholland @seasonfivereid @slut4spencie @kyomito

Broken tags: @radtwinkie

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years ago

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A Kiss: A Toy

On the first day of Kinkmas, the prompt list gave to me: toys

Summary: Killian finds Emma using a vibrator and decides to help.

A/N: Shoutout and thank you to @motherkatereloyshipper for betaing all of the prompt fics for me, and to everyone who read sneak previews of these along the way. ❤️ I’ll be posting daily for the rest of the prompts.

Inspired by the prompt list shared by @ahufflepuffhobbit

Rated: E; Words: 497; AO3; my Kinkmas AO3 series

—— “Oh?” Killian questioned with a raised brow and a growing smirk as he stepped into their room to find Emma on their bed, bare legs stretched apart, her hand holding a sleek buzzing device between them. Emma opened her eyes when she heard him and beckoned him to her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“To what do I owe this most pleasant sight?” Killian asked as he knelt between her legs on the mattress, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his lips as he saw just how wet she already was.

“Missing you,” she panted, gasping as she prodded her entrance with the toy before returning it to her clit. “I thought you’d be out later. Needed to take the edge off at least while I waited.”

“You are insatiable,” he grinned. “I’m here now, Emma,” he said, gently clasping his hand over hers. “Let me take care of you, love.”

Emma nodded, passing him the vibrator.

“There’s a good girl.” He dragged the tip of the toy back and forth through her folds, making her writhe as he slowly increased the pressure. “You need to come, darling, don’t you?”

Emma nodded again.

Killian eased the vibrator inside her, burying it in her tight heat as he lowered his mouth to her flesh. His lips suctioned around her clit as he steadily thrust the device, keeping it deep inside her as he sucked hard, skillfully flicking her bundle of nerves with his tongue.

“Come for me, Emma,” he murmured against her skin as she bucked off the bed in desperation. “Please.”

“Killian,” she whimpered as he angled the toy and hit the spot deep inside her that made her legs shake as she soaked the device further.

“Let go, darling,” he encouraged, and she couldn’t help but obey.

Trembling before him, Emma found her release, her whole body quaking as Killian relentlessly worked her with the toy and his mouth. When at last she settled again, Killian slipped the device from her core and set it aside as he replaced it with his tongue, lapping at her slick flesh and groaning hungrily against her.

“Fucking divine,” he muttered. “Perhaps I should keep you waiting more often if it means coming home to this delicious display.”

“Mmm, perhaps you should never leave,” Emma quipped. “Then you’d have had me all to yourself from the beginning.”

Killian shrugged, delighted either way. He stood and stripped off his own clothes before returning to his place on the bed and crawling above her, pressing his lips to hers in an intoxicating kiss. His cock nudged her core as he devoured her mouth, already painfully hard and ready for her. They both reached down together, gripping his length and guiding him inside her with a steady push.

“Gods, you’re perfect, Emma,” he panted as he rocked his hips. “I’m going to fuck you now, darling, and I’m not going to stop until you come again on my cock.”

——

Tag list ❤️: @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @motherkatereloyshipper @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @sotangledupinit @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @xsajx @zaharadessert

#captain swan #cs smut #cs ff #12 days of kinkmas #cs toys #kayla writes #my writing #motherkatereloyshipper

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unhinged-summer-fun · 3 years ago

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triptych

The Thief x Marcus Pike x F!Reader (22+)

epilogue: the star

series masterlist | previous chapter

Summary: A thief, an artist, and the head of the Art Crimes program in the FBI all share a soul-bond. What could go wrong?

Series tags/warnings: Sexual content, art crime, light angst, art history and criticism, soulmate-identifying marks, slow burn, f!reader, a reader who doesn’t always do the right thing.

A/N: thank you so much to @moodsworks for inspiring this whole goddamn ordeal. it's been an honor and a great exploration of my newfound love of art and my artful enjoyment of love. additionally thank you to @ezrasbirdie for your encouragement and beta work throughout this whole mess. I know I couldn't have done it without you. thank you to @maderilien and @dindlarin for your cheerleading and help in realizing that I actually like art, because my life has been forever changed since that moment. thank you to @kenobiwxn for your magnificence and support in all areas of my life. the love i share with you is my greatest masterpiece, and I can't help but thinking of the dumb luck I had to steal it. you're my always and forever, I love you so.

Thank you to everyone who read this, because goddamn does it feel good to finish something for once LOL. you're all troopers. That being said, I'm more than happy to answer questions and prompts regarding this trio. I love them greatly, and I cannot possibly fathom how much. Grazie.

“Again, what?” Marcus asked, rounding the same corner as his assistant curator. “Good morning.”

The assistant curator looked between the empty space the David had been and their boss. “The… David is…”

“Oh!” Marcus said with a happy shrug. “I thought he would like to look out a window once in a while. I had the team move him to the east wing, next to the Caravaggio. Thought it’d suit him well.”

Despite the rather cheerful explanation the curator gave, the assistant curator still felt like they were on the brink of a sudden heart attack. “And you did not inform me of this, Mr. Pike?” they asked.

“Sorry about that. Have you seen my wife?” He moved between fancies so quickly that it was a wonder that he got anything finished at all.

“She’s probably out in the garden again. Or the workshop. I… haven’t ch—was there anything else that you moved?!” They called after Marcus’s retreating back.

They received no answer, just a whistled tune that echoed across the antique marble floors.

Marcus did, in fact, find his wife somewhere between the garden and the workshop, sketching on the veranda under the laziest of clouds. The ground shimmered with that early-morning dew, the magic of sunrise caught in between the pavestones. “Buongiorno, amore,” he greeted you.

You looked up at the sound of his voice, smiling widely when you caught sight of him. “I didn’t know you were up!” you said, uncrossing your legs to make room for him on the small bench. You’d made a recent habit of claiming it in the mornings when the weather allowed, either for a bit of quiet at the start of the day or to sketch the landscape, as you were currently. “Is that coffee for me?”

“It could be. It’s my coffee.”

“Give.”

Marcus willingly surrendered his coffee to you, trading the mug for your sketchpad in a well-coordinated dance. He looked over the lines you made, thick and bold and sure. You used to sketch so many lines over one another, abusing the edges of a single subject with indecision. Your art had flourished into a style purely your own. While it had been fun to recreate masterpieces and follow in the brushstrokes of the greats, you’d recently found it more appealing to make your own art.

And Solas didn’t even need to steal it.

“This looks fun, where do you see it going?” Marcus asked, exchanging the half-drained coffee mug for the sketchpad once more.

“Hmmm… don’t quite know yet. Haven’t even sketched in Florentijn and Kim yet. I’ll let it tell me what it wants.”

“A good choice.”

Husband and wife sat in comfortable silence together, watching clouds drift along, away from the sea and over the mountains.

“Have you heard from Julian?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Marcus teased. You pawed at his arm.

“Tell meeeee…” you smiled.

“There’s a piece that’s been giving him some difficulty. The mimitec has been turning out tratteggio the last three times he tried. I think he just wants you over for dinner again.”

“I’ll have to check if Solas has any outstanding warrants in Chicago,” you joked, reaching for the coffee again and getting a kiss instead.

Life had been good the last three years. The transition out of the States had been difficult for Marcus, but his mom had retired and had lots to do with that time off. The grays in his hair were leftover from the FBI, and never from his life in El Palacio. He’d continued using his talents investigating the traces of lost artworks, just with a little less legality.

A certain thief had spent a considerable amount of time training Marcus on his ways, providing tools and sources which could be leveraged for the best of results.

Within a year of going civilian, Marcus had tipped off Jean-Pierre to a massive cache of lost pieces from the 2004 Baghdad Museum looting, and had simply asked for a favor in return.

Solas saw his mother and father for the first time in fifteen years because of it, and almost all of the heat on him was cooled. In the moment, the thief had declared he’d never recover from such a hit to his reputation, but it was one of the grandest gestures ever made out of love.

“I shouldn’t,” the thief himself said as he emerged from the glass doors Marcus had just walked through. The curtains on all sides of the house were drawn open in the mornings, letting in the light El Palacio was so named after. It was time, Solas had said. I found my light.

“Perhaps we should check, just in case,” you joked, smirking and holding your hand out to steal Solas’s coffee as well.

“You wound me, stellina,” he laughed, eyes finally starting to crinkle up in the corners and show his age. If there was one thing you loved most about your husbands, it was the simple pleasure of bearing witness to their graceful aging.

“She hasn’t even sketched Florentijn this morning,” Marcus said teasingly. You scoffed.

“A scandal. Whatever shall we do with this slight against him?”

“I have a few ideas,” you said salaciously.

“Perhaps after breakfast, my love. We have all the time in the world.”

#triptych #marcus pike x reader #the thief x reader #marcus pike x the thief x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #unhingery #marcus pike/reader #the thief/reader #marcus pike x the thief #marcus pike/the thief #marcus pike/you #the thief/you

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mercurial-madhouse · 3 years ago

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Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

#Being this vulnerable #is an act of courage #I never knew I had #I'm not fearless #I feel ready to vomit #I have no idea how this will be received #but I am sharing my truth #have courage to share your truth #the world needs you

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hoboal87 · 4 years ago

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Baby Mine

Title: Baby Mine

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Jody, Alex, Claire, Bobby

Word Count: 1600+

Summary: You and Sam prepare for the birth of your son.

Warnings: post 15 x 20, fluff, implied dom/sub relationship, non-graphic descriptions of labor, breastfeeding.

A/N: This is my super late entry into @superbadassnatural‘s #333 badass followers challenge. My prompts are “I didn’t expect it to be this big,” and “this is disgusting”

A/N 2: This is set in the same universe as “The Tie,” and “Carry On,” but it can be read as a stand-alone.

No Beta, all mistakes are mine. I have tense issues, I know.

My Full Masterlist

Miracle’s head lies on your lap as you do your best to remain calm. You can feel the wetness of her nose against the small sliver of your exposed belly. It was unseasonably warm for South Dakota in the spring, and if you could’ve you would’ve been walking around naked all the time. Growing a Winchester has not been an easy task, and your doctor informed you at your last check up the baby will be at least 9 lbs.

Nine. Freaking. Pounds. You’re going to be pushing a nine pound baby out of your body, and Sam was already talking about having another one in a few years! You can’t even imagine wanting to go through all this again. Even though Jody and the mothers you’ve befriended over the last few months have assured you, that you’ll forget about all the bad, all the sickness, all the discomfort you’ve been feeling the second the baby’s born.

A clattering from your bedroom pulls you out of your head, giving you a moment of reprise. Sam’s muffled swears have you giggling as he frantically tries to pack your hospital bag. Jody had advised you to pack one over a month ago, but you and Sam had been so focused on making sure the nursery was ready, as well as warding your home, that you hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Another grunt comes from the hall as Sam seemingly runs into your bathroom, and then into the nursery, where the baby's coming home outfit was luckily laid out on the changing table. By the time Sam makes it back into the living room, he’s nearly out of breath, eyes falling on you as your face scrunches in pain.

You’ve been in the early stages since last night, but you’d woken up to much more intense contractions a few hours ago. Sam takes your hand in his as you wince as a contraction rolls through you. He eyes the watch on his wrist, Dean’s watch, keeping track of the duration and time between each wave of pain.

“Y/N,” Sam whispers, calming himself when your eyes connect to his. “I think it’s time.”

“Alex said 5 minutes,” you huff, rubbing your swollen belly and giving him a pained smile. Having a nurse in the family was the best thing you could ever ask for. Alex, on the other hand, probably wishes she wasn’t, especially after Sam started calling her in the middle of the night with the most ridiculous questions that you’d ever heard of. You’d finally gotten him to stop, apologizing to Alex for another 3 a.m. frantic phone call about the possibility of the baby being born extra appendages.

Once Sam had adjusted to the news of your pregnancy, he dove deep into research, not that you were expecting anything else from him. Parenting magazines cover your coffee table, multiple books on pregnancy and birth are stacked on his bedside table, and he’d watched every youtube video relating to pregnancy and taking care of a newborn.

“I know, but baby we’re getting there. You’ve gone from 10 minutes to 7 in the last hour. The parenting book said–” You roll your eyes, your inner brat coming to the surface after months of being stifled. “Babygirl,” Sam tone changes, and you instantly relax at the phrase you haven’t heard in nearly a year. “Don’t think I haven’t been keeping track of all the punishments you’ll be getting as soon as you can handle it.”

It's just the distraction you need, and your eyes divert to the car seat against the wall.

Sam had tried and failed twice already on installing the carrier in the back seat of the Impala, spewing profanity as you watched, chuckling from the front porch. After nearly an hour, Sam gave up on the car seat, and joined you on the porch, his hand splaying softly over stomach. He leaned over, and placed a sweaty kiss on your lips, it was moments like those that Jody told you to cherish; and both you and Sam made it a point to do so.

“Then you better figure out how to properly install that in the back seat,” you sass.

An annoyed laugh leaves Sam as he glares at the yet-to-be defeated carrier, hesitating now to leave your side.

“It can wait.”

“It really can’t, babe,” you chuckle softly.

It’s less than an hour later that you and Sam pull up to Sioux Falls General Hospital. He’s holding you steady as you waddle towards the check-in desk. An orderly appears with a wheelchair, and wheels you away as Sam hands over all of your pre-registered paperwork. Alex is by your side before you realize it, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. She helps you dress into a hospital gown, and Sam rejoins you just as you take a seat on the bed.

Sam watches helplessly as your face contorts as another contraction rolls through your body. You squeeze his hand tightly, sure that you’re leaving crescent-shaped marks on him. This one is different than the others, it’s more intense, and longer-lasting than the others had been.

“Y/N, look at me, baby, you’re doing so good,” Sam praises as you whimper through the contraction. Sam leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead as the pain subsides. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I didn’t expect it to be that big.”

Five hours later, you’re cradling your newborn son against your chest. Sam’s behind you, whispering praises in your ears and holding you tight against him. You present your breast to the babe, encouraging him to latch on, and to your delight he does so quickly. Sam makes a joke about how Dean was always a boob man, and you comment how his namesake must’ve inherited his predilection as well.

Sam tenses behind you, and you quickly realize your mistake. Dean was always on your mind, and moreso Sam’s, but you rarely, if ever, said his name out loud. It seemed to pain Sam to hear his brother’s name, so you avoided it as much as you could. But now the baby is here, and you wonder if it's a good idea to name him after the fallen Winchester.

Sam’s hands are wrapped around your still swollen center, and you turn your face to his. Tears are escaping from his hazel eyes, and when they meet your Y/E/C ones, he gives you a small smile.

“We don’t have to name him Dean,” you offer, even though you honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting name for your son. “If you don’t–”

“It’s not that, baby,” he sighs, wiping at the fallen tears. “I just– I miss him. Dean should– he should be here. He should be here to meet our son.”

You nod, and focus your attention back on the newborn, suckling gently at your breast. One of Sam’s hands leaves your stomach, and his fingers brush against the infant’s soft skin, remarking that he’d never seen a baby with so much hair, and that he looked so small. You chuckle, and remind him that if he had to push a nine-pound watermelon out of his body, he wouldn’t think it was small.

Sam concedes, unable to contain his laughter, and the brief tension that was in the room disappears and doesn’t return. After little Dean is finished, you and Sam take turns counting his fingers and toes, cooing at your son as you take in all his features.

A nurse returns, and you reluctantly let her take Dean away to be properly cleaned, weighed and measured. She instructs both you and Sam to sleep while you can, joking that you’ll be getting very little from now on. Thanks to Sam being a human incubator you curl up against him and let all of the exhaustion from the last 24 hours finally catch back up to you.

You're woken by Sam a few hours later, informing you that Jody, the girls, and Bobby are outside. Sam slips from behind you, and disappears out of the room for a moment before returning with your found family. Jody’s eyes are filled with tears, throwing her arms around you, congratulating you as Bobby claps Sam on the back.

The same nurse returns with Dean as everyone settles in their places around the room. Jody instantly fawns over the baby caressing his chubby cheeks before allowing Sam to pick him up and hand him over to her.

Jody makes a solid promise to spoil the boy rotten. Claire’s body language changed when Alex handed baby Dean over, and after a few minutes, didn’t want to seem to let him go. Bobby becomes impatient as Claire refuses to pass the baby on. Finally, Sam steps in, plucking the baby from her arms, and walking over to Bobby.

“You ready to meet your grandson?” Sam asks, and a smile you’d never seen before appears on Bobby’s face. Sam places the swaddled baby into Bobby’s arms, and you’re sure you see a tear slip down his cheek.

“Looks like he’s takin’ after his momma,'' Bobby laughs. “Lucky boy, hopefully you won’t be an idjit like your daddy and uncle,” he sends you a playful wink. “Just know you ain’t alone, kid. You got more people who will love and protect you than any other kid in the world.”

“Did you tell ‘em?” You ask, trying to move into a slightly more comfortable position.

“Tell us what?” Jody asks from the chair beside your bed.

“Y/N and I, we want you and Bobby to be his godparents. If anything were to ever happen to us, we want you to take care of him.”

“Well, maybe you can tell us his name first,” Claire pipes up, and you hadn’t even realized that you hadn’t told them yet.

“Dean,” Sam eyes his son still in Bobby’s arms. “Dean Robert Winchester.”

Let me know what you think via ask or reblog! Feedback is fuel!

#333 badass followers #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fluff #minor spoilers for 15 x 20 #15 x 20 spoilers

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

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Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading!

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

———————

Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed.

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today.

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions.

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this.

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole.

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design.

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again.

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?”

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly.

“Let’s go then!”

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy.

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved.

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though.

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching.

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels.

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall.

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again.

“For a while,” I answer.

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased.

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk.

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around.

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence.

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow.

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks.

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already.

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior.

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty.

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering.

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards.

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!”

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me. After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered.

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it.

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting.

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends.

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather.

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess.

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast.

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods.

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage.

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him.

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find.

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys.

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels.

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district.

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums.

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!”

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!”

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids.

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy.

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,”

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously.

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling.

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart.

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see.

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes!

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier.

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide.

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta.

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers.

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.”

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like.

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.”

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot.

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!”

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!”

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!”

I frown.

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother.

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful.

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me.

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother.

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me.

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt.

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly.

“White helmets!”

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body.

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in.

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!”

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots.

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear.

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!”

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man.

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper.

I still roll my eyes at him.

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting.

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now.

“What?!” he calls loudly.

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells.

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you… what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it.

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!”

“Hmm…no—nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.”

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us.

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot.

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring.

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain.

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is.

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.”

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot.

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is.

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway.

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot.

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once.

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets.

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size.

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe!

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light.

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!”

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.”

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.”

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily.

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch.

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily.

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober.

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!”

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere.

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet.

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested.

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer.

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.”

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide.

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife.

“Open your eyes,” I say.

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife.

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches, “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!”

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done.

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!”

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic.

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues.

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser.

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!”

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!”

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice.

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying.

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.”

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered.

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up.

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched.

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.”

“You betcha,” I say, amused.

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle.

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung.

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?!

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him.

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep.

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture.

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder.

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore.

I close my eyes, smiling.

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #autumn #prompt

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empyreanwritings · 4 years ago

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Caught in a Rainstorm

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mild angst, some language, and a minor threat about kicking shins and breaking a nose, ya know, the good stuff

Summary: Bucky remembers everything about your relationship - the good, the bad, and the ugly. He doesn’t regret a single thing except for giving up on your relationship when he knew you hadn’t.

A/N: big shoutout to @missmonsters2 for beta reading this for me! it took me awhile, but i finally managed to write a full one shot! this is written for @hopingforbarnes 250 milestone - congrats again on reaching that milestone bby, that is huge! sorry this is late, but i sure hope it is worth it. my prompt will be bolded in the story <3 x

Bucky always loved rainstorms. On his hardest days, he'd step out in the rain and let the cold droplets pelt against his bare skin. He liked the way it stung because it reminded him that he was alive. People thought he was crazy for not running away at the first sight of lightning, or the boom of thunder, and maybe he was a little bit. But he didn't really care what anyone thought about him anyways. Who were they to judge? Everyone had something they loved, even if it was a little weird.

He remembered the first time he met you - you were drenched and shivering, cursing at your broken-down car as if your words would make it come back to life. He couldn't help you fix the engine, but he offered you a warm car and a ride to the nearest gas station.

At first, you had been wary. You even made a joke about the man that hitch-hiked with Jeffrey Dahmer, but the more you joked, the more at peace you seemed to be. It seemed if you were going to be killed by a stranger, at least you thought he was pretty. Which mortified Bucky the moment you said it but then all he could think about was how you called him pretty.

You were surprised when he offered to stay with you until the tow truck came. You had no issue waiting at the gas station, but Bucky hated the way the cashier was eyeing you and didn't intend on letting you stick around to find out what was going through that man's head. He wasn't really sure why he cared so much about a stranger. Maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about how much you loved the rain too. Maybe it was your laugh. He wasn't sure, but he had to soak up as much time as he could with you.

Part of him didn't expect to see you after that day. He thought you would end up a distant memory - a ghost of what could have been.

When he ran into you the second time - quite literally by crashing his cart into yours - he forgot how to breathe. You were even more beautiful when you weren't soaked from the rain, which said something because he still thought you were beautiful even then.

It took you a moment to realize who you were staring at. The second you recognized him, a smile stretched across your face and you couldn't help but run into his arms to give him a hug.

He remembered the way you called him, "My hero!" Full of light and happiness. Like seeing him again somehow saved the rest of your day.

Bucky refused to let you slip through his fingers that time around. He had a feeling the universe was giving him a second chance by letting him run into you, and he couldn't risk disappointing whatever gods were watching him from above. The last thing he wanted was to be struck by lightning because he didn't ask you out on a date when he had the chance.

From the few hours he spent with you in the car, he knew you weren't a fancy dinner type of person. You were the type to enjoy long talks and getting to know someone; you liked to ask the personal questions that would make most people too scared to even think about asking on the first date. But you never shied away from uncomfortable questions. You always encouraged Bucky to ask you some as well, and it took him some time, but he finally learned that you enjoyed being asked the questions that made you think.

Going to a coffee shop hadn't been his first idea. He thought a nice walk around the lake was something you would appreciate, but the rain ruined his plans. He remembered how easy it was for you to adjust to the new date idea.

It was a blessing in disguise, though.

He learned so much about you just from watching the way you ordered your coffee. You liked it sweet because you weren't a huge fan of strong coffee taste. Lots of almond milk (because you were lactose intolerant and not ready for the date to be put on pause thanks to dairy). You preferred iced over hot. He realized you liked to talk so much that your hot coffee would have turned cold anyways, so you beat it by putting ice in it already. And you didn't use straws because you cared too much about sea turtles. You didn't even let them put a lid on the cup because you were going to drink it right away anyways.

Every detail he put together like a puzzle. Some pieces seemed to make more sense than others, but you were so perfect in his eyes that it didn't matter if some of the edges were jagged.

The worst decision he ever made was letting you go. Because through all of the good memories - your first date, the sound of your laughter when you tried to hold it back, and the way you'd whisper his name first thing in the morning - he couldn't get the look of disappointment in your face when he stopped fighting for you. When he stopped caring about the relationship because he didn't feel worthy of you.

The way your eyes lost a little bit of their brightness would be burned into his brain until he died, and he hated it.

Bucky was always a fan of rainstorms until he realized that he wasn't able to hold you when the thunder made you jump out of your skin. He'd hear the crack of lightning and wonder if you were hiding under the covers, silently praying for the storm to pass over quickly. He'd wonder if you were already with someone else and let them comfort you.

The cool of the rain used to refresh him until he had to stand outside your home in it, waiting for you to gather up enough courage to open the door. He thought the nerves were enough to keep him warm, but they just made him shiver more.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself if you didn't answer the door.

But he never had to find out because eventually he heard the chain slide and knew you were waiting for him on the other side.

You seemed exhausted. There was no life in your eyes - no excitement in your features when you saw him. He tried to smile, but it faltered the second he met your glare. You clearly weren't in the mood for whatever he was about to say, but he appreciated that you were giving him a chance. Another reason why he thought you were too good for him.

You wrapped the cardigan around your body tighter and sighed. You made no effort to step aside and let him in the house. If he wanted to speak with you then he had to do it in the rain.

"What are you doing here, James?"

"I'm sorry."

"You broke my heart and all you can say is I'm sorry?" You scoffed. "Go the fuck home before I break your nose."

You moved to close the door, but he quickly stuck his boot out before you could. A curse sat on the tip of your tongue, and he knew you wanted to throttle him for showing up at all. He just needed a few minutes of your time and that was it. A few minutes to get everything off his chest, and if you still chose to shut the door, then he'd let you.

"I'm sorry is the only thing I really can say," he murmured. "I'm sorry that I just gave up on our relationship. The last few months of our relationship was hell, and it was my fault. I started thinking about how you were the only woman in the world I wanted to marry, and it scared the hell out of me."

"The idea of being married to me scared you? Gee, that sure is romantic."

"That's not-" He groaned and ran his hand down his face. "That's not what I'm saying! I…I grew up thinking that I was going to be the most successful man in the world. I knew that I was going to get married and have a bunch of babies. Maybe have my own company or two. Then I lost my arm. I gained a little weight. Nat divorced me. I was miserable and constantly feeling sorry for myself. And I met you - a woman who challenged me to be more than what the world expected me to be. You didn't even bat an eye the first day I touched with you my prosthetic, and you were the first person to see me as something other than broken."

Your expression softened at his words. The first time he ever told you about Nat, you wanted to track her down and kick her in the shin for breaking his heart. She never admitted it out loud, but he knew she left because she couldn't be bothered by his medical needs after the accident. It was too much for her to handle, and he couldn't blame her for that. You certainly could, though.

"The idea of marrying you wasn't what scared me. I was terrified that I wasn't going to be enough for you in the end. Terrified of disappointing you and making you feel like you were trapped in an unhappy marriage."

You straightened up, jaw clenched and eyes blazing as you stared at him. "James Barnes, have I ever given you a reason to believe that I would have been unhappy with you?"

"No," he mumbled.

"Exactly. I was happy. I wanted us to have our happy ending, and instead, I spent nights wondering why you didn't think I was good enough!" You snapped. "I don't care if you are insecure, you know I am willing to work with you on that, but you had no right to turn around and make me start feeling miserable about myself. It wasn't fair, and I'm not just going to pretend that it's all okay because you're standing in the rain looking like a sad puppy."

"I know."

"You are not a broken man, James. You are so much more than the accident or what Nat believed about you. But if that is what you truly believe about yourself, I can't fix that. You need to fix yourself first because I am not your mother."

"I know."

Bucky looked down at his shoes. Water was starting to bubble out from the sides, and he could feel his socks filling, but he wasn't going to complain. He'd deal with a lifetime of soggy socks if it meant he could spend time with you. Even most of that time was spent with you scolding him for his dumb decisions.

You held your breath for a few seconds, giving your heart a moment to stop racing. You never planned on saying all of that to his face, but it felt amazing to finally get it out. James Buchanan Barnes was the love of your life, but he shattered you. You weren't going to let him off easy with a few apologies and his damningly cute blue eyes. But you weren't going to hold a grudge forever either.

Growing up, your mother told you that relationships were work. The hardest conversations were the most important ones to have in order to make them last. Love wasn't always about feeling the butterflies in your belly every time you looked at your partner. Sometimes it was about just making it through the day, holding each other up and hoping for the best. And even on your worst days when you feel like you can't stand to look at each other, you were supposed to make sure you ended the night with an "I love you."

"Are you going to agree to go back to therapy?" You asked him gently. You weren't trying to make him feel like he was crazy, but you knew it was what he needed the most right now.

"I started going back last month. Haven't missed a day yet."

"Good, I'm glad," you hummed. You shifted back and forth on your feet for a moment before finally moving to the side. "Did you want to come in and dry off? I can make you some coffee if you like."

He nodded and offered you a soft smile. "Sure. Coffee sounds fantastic."

#hopingforbarnes250writingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction

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barisiscourtroom · 4 years ago

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First, I want to thank all of you who read and commented and liked and reblogged my first Barisi fic, you really made an old lady feel welcome in this fandom!

I wrote another one! I hope you all like it =D

Thank you to @novemberhush for the beta! Thank you for all the support and for answering all my questions, and most of all, thank you for being so wonderfully encouraging! ♥

Inspired by the “i made you hot chocolate. you looked cold” prompt from this post, though, again, I didn’t follow it exactly =D

Hot Chocolate ao3

1166 words | Gen characters: Rafael Barba, Sonny Carisi, minor squad characters tags: Getting together, Sharing clothes, First Kiss, Fluff

"Hey, Counselor, do you have any dietary restrictions?" Sonny asked, getting up from his seat.

"No?" Rafael said.

"Alright," Sonny said, disappearing into the break room.

"What," Rafael said.

"He usually brings food, maybe he thought you were hungry," Fin suggested.

That couldn’t be it, since Rafael had eaten with Sonny no more than forty-five minutes earlier. As colleagues, work acquaintances who happened to run into each other on their way to get a late dinner. Not as a date. Sadly.

"No," Rafael said.

"Maybe he’s planning on cooking and wants to bring you some," Amanda said with a shrug.

"Hm," Rafael said. He tugged at his jacket, trying to wrap it tighter around himself, but it was still damp and uncomfortably cold from a rain shower they’d gotten caught in on their way to the precinct, so it didn’t do much good.

They were going through everything they had on their latest case, the squad hard at it long before Rafael got there, trying to find something that could get them a warrant, and Rafael knew it was unlikely that they would leave anytime soon.

Olivia showed him something, and Rafael shot her down. Again. It was tiresome, he knew how badly they wanted to get the guy, but there was nothing he could do without actual proof.

It was a few minutes before Sonny came back, carrying three mugs. He gave Rafael that annoyingly precious smile that always left him a little weak, and held out a mug.

"Here, Counselor, you were looking cold, so I made you some hot chocolate," he said. Rafael blinked at him. After a few seconds, Sonny’s smile started to slip. "Uh, Rafael?"

Rafael cleared his throat and accepted the mug. "Thank you, that’s very kind of you," he managed, and Sonny’s smile was back, big and brilliant and sweet. Christ, how was that man real?

Sonny gave Amanda a mug too, that she accepted with a quick but grateful smile, and put the remaining one in his own place, then he went back to the break room. He wasn’t gone more than a few seconds, and when he returned he was carrying two more mugs.

"And coffee for you heathens," he said brightly, handing the mugs to Fin and Olivia, who both accepted them with distracted thanks.

Sonny smiled at Rafael as he sat down, then he went back to work, and Rafael looked at the mug in his hands. It definitely was hot chocolate, and the warmth of the mug was really nice against his cold hands. He carefully took a sip, only to groan.

"Holy shit, this is amazing," he said before his brain even registered that he was about to speak.

Sonny beamed at him, and Amanda nodded as she took a sip of her own.

"He’s really good," she said.

"How?" Rafael asked.

Sonny shrugged. "It’s just hot chocolate," he said. "I keep some stuff in the break room and we have a hot plate and a couple of pots."

"This is the real deal though," Rafael said, and Sonny looked almost insulted.

"Of course it is," he said.

"That’s Carisi for you," Olivia said, not even looking up from what she was reading, "never does anything halfway."

Rafael took another sip. It was as good as the first one. "Okay, I’m keeping you, Carisi," he said, and when he looked up, Sonny was watching him, mouth open, cheeks pink. Rafael realized what he had said, and his own cheeks heated up.

"Okay," Sonny said, a small smile taking over his face. "I can live with that."

Ten minutes later, Fin slapped a piece of paper down in front of Rafael. "Please say this is enough," he said.

Rafael, still cradling the by then near empty mug, squinted to read the fine print, then he heaved a sigh. "Yes, thank you," he said.

Fin looked pleased, and there were some pats on shoulders and arms as the others thanked him. It was quickly decided that Rafael would get them a warrant the next morning, and Olivia shooed everyone off, telling them all to get some rest.

Rafael was gathering his things up when Sonny came up to him, carrying a grey hoodie.

"You still look cold, so I figured you maybe wanted to borrow this on your way home?" he said.

Rafael looked at the hoodie for a long time. He did not wear hoodies. Ever. Not even home alone. He didn’t even own one. But he was still cold, and it looked really soft. He sighed heavily.

"Yes, please," he said. "Hopefully I won’t meet anyone."

Sonny just smiled, and Rafael shrugged his jacket off, then reluctantly pulled the hoodie over his head. It was soft, and it smelled faintly of Sonny’s cologne. He put his jacket back on, and Sonny looked him over and nodded.

"You look good," he said.

"Oh, please," Rafael said. He did not.

"No, you do, softens you up a little, makes you look like a real boy," Sonny said with an obnoxiously adorable wink.

Rafael huffed. "A real boy," he said.

"Approachable," Sonny said, still smiling.

"That’s the last thing I want," Rafael muttered, but he couldn’t stop himself from touching the hoodie before he buttoned his jacket. It was really soft, okay. And Sonny’s. God, when did his mind become a cliché?

"Aw, come on, Rafael," Sonny said, handing him his briefcase and starting towards the elevator. He leaned his torso to press the button for them, despite Rafael being closer, and it really shouldn’t cause Rafael’s stomach to flutter like it did. "So, what now?"

"What?" Rafael asked.

"Well, if you’re keeping me," Sonny said with another wink. "What do you want to do?"

The elevator arrived, and Rafael stepped inside and turned to face Sonny as he followed. "I’d really like to kiss you," he said, and Sonny’s smile grew bigger.

"Alright," he said, leaning closer.

Rafael carefully put a hand on Sonny’s cheek, looking him in the eyes for a few seconds, but Sonny just stood there, looking inviting and happy and comfortable, so Rafael leaned in the last bit and kissed him. It was short but sweet, just lips pressed against lips, but when he pulled back, Sonny’s smile was huge. Rafael licked his lips. They tasted like hot chocolate.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, and Sonny held his arm out for Rafael to go ahead, then he fell into step with him, walking close, his hand light on Rafael’s lower back.

"That was nice," Sonny said.

"It was," Rafael agreed. He tried to think of a smooth way to ask Sonny to come to his place, but his mind was stuck on kissing and hot chocolate and soft hoodies that smelled like Sonny, none of which were helpful.

"Maybe I could join you at home, make you some more hot chocolate, and we could try it again?" Sonny asked, and Rafael smiled at him.

"I’d like that," he said.

#Barisi #Barisi fic #Smowkie's fic

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cibeewastaken · 5 years ago

Note

May you write some trans draco and supportive boyfriend harry fluff??😄💙💙

thank you for the prompt! I’ve never written trans characters before, and although I did research beforehand, if there is anything I got wrong or if I have written anything disrespectful, let me know and I will change it. Thank you to Shahar and Solana from the Drarry Discord that did a sensitivity read over this, and @pineau-noir for the beta!! thank you all!

2680 words. Professor drarry, coming out, getting together & established relationship, smitten Harry

Also: brief misgendering (not maliciously, toward the beginning), off-screen transphobic comment (toward the end, it is not explicitly written out), discussion of pregnancy.

Read on Ao3

****

Draco decided to come out because he dreamt of his mother.

It was on his thirty-fifth birthday, when he had gone out to Hogsmeade with Harry, Pansy, Greg and Granger the night before and drank themself silly. Weasley had moaned and cried about wanting to come but it was his turn to babysit. Draco had gotten so pissed that Harry had to carry him all the way back to Hogwarts and shushed him constantly when they got to the professor’s quarters because Draco had really wanted sing All About That Bass. Harry had to help him to bed and Draco had begged Harry to make him a cup of hot chocolate

That night he dreamt, as he was wont to do after drinking bottle after bottle of whiskey and falling asleep in that too warm state of being under layers of blankets and a belly full of hot drinks. He dreamt of the memory of sitting beside her bed moments before she died, trying to work up the courage to tell her; almost ran out the door to where Harry was waiting, and asked him for tips on how to be a brave person. But before he could come to any decision, his mother sighed, “I love you, my sweet, brave girl.” And the next moment, Draco had lost his chance.

He woke up, ten years later, wishing desperately again he could have told his mother.

Draco told Harry his decision the same day of the dream. Harry sat in the plush armchair in Draco’s room, watched Draco pace about with a cup of piping hot tea cradled in his hands. He listened intently to Draco going on and on, “I just woke up this morning, and I knew I was ready. I mean—okay, even if I am, how will I go about it? Write a public letter? An announcement during breakfast in the Great Hall? No, no, that’s the showman in me talking. Ah—should I ask for the Headmistress’s permission? I—”

Harry only cut him off then. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said. “You can just inform her, if you want.”

Draco softened. Blushed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you’re right.” He went and sat down on the other armchair, Harry’s eyes followed him with a fond smile.

“How about in class?” Draco asked.

“That certainly is when you are the most confident.” Harry smiled at him. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“I would never do that,” Harry said. “But can I ask why now?”

“‘May I ask’,” Draco corrected.

Harry gave him a look. Draco laughed before talking. “I’m ready. I want to stop hiding. I want to talk about my experience. I want to come out on my own terms, and I don’t want to leave any regret. Merlin, do you remember after the war, the amount of therapy we all did? It wasn’t until years later did I feel like I was healed enough from the war to talk about my gender identity with a professional. We had talked about coming out, or transitioning, and I had said I would like to come out when I’m happy again.”

Harry listened with a happy smile on his face. “You’re happy now,” he said.

Draco reached over and tucked a stray hair behind Harry’s ear. “I was scared of coming out when I told her that, that’s why I said I would only do it when I’m happy again. I had thought I would never be happy again.” He left his hand on Harry’s face. “I’ve been happy for a while now. I’ve been so comfortable with happy, that I needed my mother’s death to remind me at one point, I wasn’t.”

“It sucks that it took so long.”

“It took longer for you,” Draco murmured. Harry just smiled and pressed a kiss to Draco’s palm.

They allowed the comfortable silence to go on for a bit, but soon Draco started to fidget. “I know I’m hiding it incredibly well, but I am a bit frightened.”

Harry didn’t say, “You don’t have to do it right now if you’re not ready.” Because of course that went without saying. Though he did say, “I’ll be with you through it all.”

Ah, but that was stupid too, because that also went without saying in Draco’s opinion. Harry had always been there for him, throughout the years of teaching apprenticeship in Hogwarts and through studying for their Magical Academic Skills for Educators and through their first classes as professors. Harry was the first person he came out to after his friends in Eighth Year. So, Harry needn’t say he would be with Draco through everything! It was a given—Draco wanted to accuse Harry of saying it just to see Draco blush.

In the end, Draco just muttered a lame, “Thank you.”

Then all too soon, Harry had to leave for his first class, and he lingered by Draco’s door. “Do you want to take dinner with me in my room? Or your room? Or just, somewhere without a whole school worth of children?”

Draco knew he was wearing a dopey and besotted grin on his face, but this relationship was new, and he had daydreamed about it for years. As suave and gentlemanly as he had imagined himself in his head, sweeping Harry off his feet with charm, he really couldn’t bring himself to pretend he wasn’t stupidly happy.

“That sounds lovely,” he said. And a grin broke out on Harry’s flushed face too. Draco couldn’t help but press a kiss to Harry’s cheek before sending him on his way.

Draco loved how shy and eager Harry was about this. With sixteen years of friendship under their belt, when Harry asked Draco out a month ago. Harry had been tripping over every word, and it had taken Draco nearly five minutes to figure out Harry was asking him out.

“Oh,” Draco had said. He had been standing by his door, seeing Harry off like they do almost every night. “Oh!”

Harry had flushed down to his neck.

“Yes,” Draco had replied in a hurry. “Oh my god—yes.”

“Yeah?”

Draco had nodded, willing his face to stay calm.

“Cool,” Harry had said. Another word choice he picked up from the students. “I’ll—er, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven, then?”

“Okay.”

Draco had decided he would stay and watch Harry go, and it was rewarded with Harry stopping every two steps to turn around and look at Draco until he reached the staircase. Draco had listened to Harry’s footsteps fading down the stairs and grinned at nothing. And he had laughed when he heard Harry’s jubilant shout from afar.

Draco also remembered how later that night, as he finally stumbled back to bed, how he lay there for hours, indulging himself on playing out being Harry’s boyfriend—and berated himself for acting like a teenager. Not that it stopped Draco from doing it.

When Draco’s daydream entered the “Marriage” chapter, he remembered how Harry always wanted children, and that was like falling into a pit of icy water. Draco tried to shake himself off the tightness, tried to stop himself from imagining his body becoming a reminder of a gender he long left in the past. Draco tried to stifle the nausea.

He could very well just forget about it. They hadn’t even been on their first date yet. Children seemed so far into the future. But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave Draco alone. What if it was a deal-breaker for Harry? Draco had loved Harry for so long, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go through a heartbreak Draco knew could be potentially ruining.

At half-past one, Draco climbed out of his cocoon of blankets and trekked to Harry’s room a few floors below. Harry opened the door in his pajamas and messy hair. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Draco said, and wanted to jump off the castle right after the words left his mouth.

The incredulous look on Harry’s face was deserving, Draco supposed. “Is something wrong?” Harry asked, pulling Draco into his warm room.

Draco swallowed. “Do you expect me to carry your child, if this goes somewhere?”

A few seconds went by and Harry remained gaping at Draco.

“I know some people do it,” Draco continued on. “I know they’re okay with it. But not—not me. I don’t know if I’ll ever go through a transition. Oh, you know that, yes, I forgot I told you that before. I’m happy with myself, but if that means you’ll expect me to carry our children—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“What is going on?” Harry seemed to be talking to himself. “You do not need to apologize for that! And I—Jesus, are we talking about children? I mean, I’ve thought about it, because I’ve been in lo—ngk, I mean, I always wanted kids—Yes, I know you know! But I never thought about that, Draco. I know you don’t want to. I would never ask that of you!” He sounded distressed.

They were both panting. “Good,” Draco said. “I just want us to be on the same page.”

“I always wanted to adopt,” Harry said.

“Oh.” Draco looked to the floor. “You never said.”

“I would’ve told you someday.”

“Is today someday?”

“It can be.” Harry smiled softly at Draco, who was now feeling very flustered from being reckless and Gryffindor-like and barging in to demand answers in the middle of the night.

“I guess it makes sense,” Draco said. “That you would want to love a child that needs it. Ah, is that insensitive of me to say?”

Harry dragged him into a crushing hug.

***

It took Draco a few days to gather up enough courage. In the end he chose the second-year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class as his first step. While everyone had finished setting up their cauldrons and tools, Draco cleared his throat.

“I need to tell you all something.”

***

The second-years took the news with wide-eyed exhilaration, shouting encouragement and cheers to the point Draco couldn’t hear his own voice anymore. “That’s why I picked them to go first,” Draco told Harry after class, when he came over to ask how it went. “They’re a bunch of sweethearts and I need the ego-boost.” Harry laughed and kissed him.

The seventh-year Slytherin/Gryffindor class was rougher. Some students recoiled, and some of those students looked shamefaced at their own reactions, which made Draco feel better (however slight.) He was more solemn during his speech. When some Gryffindor boys started murmuring, a few Slytherin students glared at them hard enough to shut them up. Draco had to smile a bit at that.

“May we ask some questions, sir?” A Slytherin student asked.

“Go ahead, Miss Jeffers.”

“Do you see yourself as gay, then?”

“I’ve always been attracted to men,” Draco answered calmly. “And as a man, I identify myself as gay.”

Another student raised their hand. “Was your name always Draco?”

“Yes. My mother picked it, and she had always intended to use it on a boy or a girl.”

“Did you dress differently when you were young, before—er, you know.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the student and he blushed sheepishly.

“A good thing about wizarding fashion is that robes all generally looked the same for both male and female. I was lucky enough to not experience the hardship Muggle transgender community might face growing up.”

When no more hands were left up in the air, Draco could see it wasn’t the end of confusion for some students. But there was no use to push. Draco smiled at his class, “I’m not any more different than I was before today. You just know more about who I am now. You’ll find that, despite this new knowledge, I am still exactly the same. For example,” Draco tapped his wand and papers appeared in front of each student. “I still like to surprise you with a pop quiz.”

The groans were music to Draco’s ears.

***

The news spread to the whole school by the next day, and breakfast was an anxious ordeal. Draco had made the decision to eat in the Great Hall. Harry’s continuous presence was warm and steady next to him. Harry knew how to deal with being in the spotlight of gossip, and he pulled out all stops to distract Draco from it (i.e., some very heavy making out in the hallway outside of Draco’s room, certainly far too inappropriate at seven o’clock in the morning on a school day). Draco had been preparing for it to happen, but he was still caught off guard when it came.

When it came, Draco had been walking by himself to his next class. He turned around slowly to see who had made the remark. The student didn’t try to hide. He was standing right behind Draco. Everyone around stopped in their tracks, from what the boy had said or to see what would happen, Draco didn’t know.

The boy sneered at Draco. His friend looked very surprised and appalled. “10 points from Gryffindor,” Draco said. He focused on the disappointment he felt, and not all the other awful feelings that were churning at the base of his throat.

“100 points from Gryffindor,” someone said from behind. McGonagall strode past Draco and glared down at him. “Plus one-week detention with me, for your ignorance and malice, Mr. Anderson. You should know better. There are transgender students here, and I will not allow this kind of behavior in my school.”

Out of nowhere, Harry appeared next to Draco. “And Mr. Anderson will see me after class today,” he said. “As head of house, I apologize for my student’s behavior, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, throat thick. Students were gathering around them, but they were looking at Anderson, whose face took on a sickly tinge at the prospect of detention with both the Headmistress and the Boy Who Lived.

“Go to your class, now,” McGonagall said tersely. Anderson scampered off, his friend following. McGonagall turned her gaze onto the students mulling around, who all jumped and started to move.

“I am sorry, Draco,” McGonagall said when all students cleared out.

“I’m alright, Headmistress.”

“I’ll walk with him,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand. And McGonagall’s smile showed that she would let this PDA slide just this once.

“I don’t nee—” Draco started.

“I’m not walking you to your classroom because I think you need a bodyguard,” Harry said. “I’m walking with you to your classroom because I missed you.”

Draco hated how easily his mood was improved by that.

Just before parting, Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “Harry,” Draco said, throat thick and heavy. Harry turned to him inquiringly.

“Educate him,” Draco said. He looked at Harry’s eyes. So honest and good. “Don’t punish him and let him walk away as ignorant before, Harry. Don’t do what our teachers did to us. Teach him.”

Harry cupped Draco’s face. “That was always the plan.”

Draco nodded. He blinked slowly, finally letting the tears fall. Letting them out. It didn’t take more than a few. Harry kissed away each drop, and Draco smiled through it.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Draco asked.

“Yes.” Harry looked delighted, as though they didn’t see each other every other night already.

Draco gave an amused chuckle. Harry’s gaze lingered on him until the classroom door closed.

***

Draco was just grading his last pile of homework when someone knocked on his office door. “Sir?”

Draco looked up from his grading. It was a third-year Gryffindor. Michael Genson, standing nervously by the door, eyes very wide. An expression so familiar, so mixed with trepidation and hope that for a second Draco thought he was looking at his 13-year-old self. “May I ask you some questions?” Michael said.

Draco put down his quill and moved his grading aside. “Of course,” he smiled. “Tea?”

Michael nodded, sitting down gingerly. Draco gave him a comforting smile and Summoned his best tea leaves.

Hopefully by the end of the chat, Draco could be fortunate enough to find out who Michael truly was.

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #trans draco #hp #drarry squad #darry #my fic #Anonymous

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southsidestory · 5 years ago

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I generally try to stay out of discourse, but I have to chime in on this one.

@birkastan2018 is getting dragged for suggesting the most preposterous thing: that more readers should comment instead of being silent consumers. The fact that this is actually controversial is blowing my mind.

I’ve been writing fic for many years, but only posting regularly since about 2014. I jumped into Naruto fandom just a few months before the manga ended with a (then) canon-compliant longfic. In Times of Peace got WAY more feedback than I ever expected it to, and I was absolutely thrilled.

Because you see, in 2011 I posted a SasuSaku drabble, my first ever fic posted to fanfiction.net! I was so excited to share it… and it got one review. ONE. Now, I realize a 600 word drabble isn’t exactly gonna attract a lot of traffic, and I knew that then too, but it was still horribly discouraging. I figured my writing style must not be a very good fit for the fandom, that no one wanted to read it. I gave up, and went back to working on original projects. I want to be clear, I didn’t stop writing because of my one-review story. I kept writing, both on fanfic and original work, but I stopped posting.

Eventually I came back, obviously, and the success of ITOP bolstered my confidence. Not everyone was leaving me novel-length, glowing reviews. Many were very short, just a simple “thanks!” or “this was good” and let me tell you, that was so, so much better than nothing. Some were also negative or even cruel, which sucked, but the good comments made up for those. If the first few chapters of ITOP hadn’t gotten at least some response, I might not have finished the story. And if I hadn’t finished ITOP, I probably wouldn’t have continued writing Naruto fic. Well, I would have written it, because when I have a story to tell there’s no stopping me, but I wouldn’t have shared it. (The number of WIPs sitting on my Google Drive gathering dust, unposted, even today, is ridiculous.)

Now, on to the point.

I used to think that asking for feedback made me look desperate. That wanting it made me weak. Because there’s this narrative surrounding writing that says, “You should write for yourself. Writing for others is disingenuous, and it means you’re not dedicated to your craft for the sake of your craft, which is the only reason you should write.” I used to believe that, and to some degree there’s value in that sentiment. If you write purely for feedback, then you might stop when you don’t get it, and that’s horrible, because anyone who wants to write should write.

But mostly, that narrative is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Writing and reading don’t exist in separate spheres. They’re part of a conversation, and when no one gives you feedback, it’s like the author is talking to a wall. Storytelling by its very nature is a communal activity. My strong, sincere belief in this is also why I’m a huge proponent of Death of the Author. What I think my story means isn’t any more important than what my readers think it means. Neither is the One True Meaning. Because stories are multi-faceted, and part of what gives them value is the conversations we have around them.

This is something I especially love about fanfiction. Transformative works build on one another, and fanfic writers learn together, write together, give each other prompts, beta for each other, comment on each other’s work, etc. There are so many stories I never would have told without engaging in fandom, especially with other writers. And isn’t that the whole point of fanfiction? To take a known story and create something new, to jump into the middle of a fictional conversation and say what comes next?

Stories are communicative. We share them, and we talk about them, and the things writers hear from our readers help shape the stories we tell next.

Something a lot of writers feel but don’t often talk about is how lonely a process this is. Yes, I love writing for its own sake. Putting together words and taking them apart, losing myself in my stories. It’s fun, it’s difficult, it’s challenging, it’s thrilling. But it’s also very, very isolating when you have no one to share your stories with. Or worse, you share them only to be met with silence.

I don’t expect all readers to comment on every single fic they click on. I read a lot of fanfic, and I certainly don’t do that. But when something truly moves me, I tell the writer why. When something is just a lot of fun and it brightened my day, I usually tell the writer that too. Some days I don’t have the energy for it, but I try. And let me tell you, the hits to comments ratio on my fics paints a very obvious picture: the vast majority of people are not trying. Hell, even the hits to kudos ratio on Ao3 shows that, and kudos take one second and zero effort to leave.

Fanfiction writers aren’t getting paid for this. We put our blood, sweat, tears, and time into writing for a mostly silent audience. Those of you who do speak up matter more than I can possibly express.

The main reason I’ve returned to writing The Valley of the End after such a long hiatus, apart from just wanting to finish it, is because of the outflow of support it has received over the years. Even without new chapters being posted, people kept leaving me encouraging reviews. It made me feel like TVOTE was a story worth telling, worth hanging onto. When I finally felt the urge to dive back into Naruto fandom, that fic was the first thing I revisited, in part because I knew it was the one people were waiting for.

And you know whose kind, thoughtful feedback on my Naruto fics made me really miss writing SasuSaku? You guessed it: birkastan2018. I likely wouldn’t be back if not for her.

So if you read a fic, and you enjoyed it, and you have thirty seconds to type “Thanks for sharing this story, I really liked it!” please do so. It means more to most writers than we can say. And who knows, your little comment might be the thing that makes a difference in an author leaving and staying in a fandom.

#fanfiction #transformative works #fandom #sasusaku #sasusaku fandom #naruto fandom #fandom discourse

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years ago

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Strapped with a Bow

On the tenth day of Kinkmas, the prompt list gave to me: hair pulling or bondage

Summary: A bit of roleplay. Emma crossed Captain Hook and faces her punishment.

Inspired by the prompt list shared by @ahufflepuffhobbit

I completely forgot to post this here yesterday oops

Rated: E; Words: 435; AO3; my Kinkmas AO3 series

——

Whack.

Emma yelped as the leather strap cracked against her bare ass yet again, already bright red and sore from his treatment. Killian had her pinned against the wall, pressing his arm across the back of her shoulders, the textured wall scraping against her breasts with pinpricks of pain that only seemed to heighten her pleasure. Her wrists were tied tightly together and carefully secured above her head.

“Let me hear you,” he growled as he twisted his hook in her hair and yanked before striking her once more. “It’s what you deserve, little wench.” Whack. Whack. “Did you really think you could cross me without consequences?”

“Fuck,” Emma whimpered, earning herself another crack. “No,” she answered, gritting her teeth and bracing herself for more, “I was counting on them, Captain.”

“Good.” Three more solid strikes, a fourth landing on her back, knocking the wind out of her and making her knees buckle beneath her as her restraints kept her standing. “You can take it, darling, come on,” he cooed almost mockingly, tugging his hook free of her hair and wrapping his arm around her middle, supporting beneath her stomach as he bent her forward and continued his efforts with the leather strap until she screamed.

It was too much. Gods, it was too much. The pleasurable pain of his calculated whips, the strain on her arms as they stayed stretched above her while he arched her body lower still, the feral tone of his voice as he encouraged her in the worst ways. Tears welled in her eyes even as she practically grew numb to the sting, but she wouldn’t dare beg him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop.

“There’s a good girl, yes!” Killian sneered delightedly as she cried out again and again with every hit. “That’s what I wanted to hear, love.”

Emma’s legs trembled unsteadily as he finally, finally relented. Dropping the whip, Killian straightened her against the wall once more, easing the tension in her arms, gently pressing his chest to her back as his hand soothed her purpling flesh, rubbing and massaging her ass as he showered her neck and shoulder with kisses.

“Are you alright, Emma?” Killian asked softly and sincerely against the shell of her ear. Emma nodded despite the tear stubbornly rolling down her cheek.

“Yes, Captain.” Her lip quivered as she answered, but she was honest. She wanted more.

“Good girl.” The fire returned to his voice as he slid his hand lower between her legs, stealing her breath as he dipped two fingers inside her without warning. “Because we’re far from finished.”

——

#captain swan #cs ff #CS smut #12 days of kinkmas #Kayla writes #sorry I forgot to post here yesterday

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hailbop1701 · 4 years ago

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25 Days of FicMas

December 22nd prompt: Wrapping presents

Word Count: 1,164

Tacos And Three Little Words

Here's another short and sweet one! I think a domestic John is fantastic and I hope that he's not too OOC. I did my best to keep it Gen!Reader did I do okay? I want everyone who wants to read my fics be able to without problems. I'm still trying to tweak my tags and writing when it comes to that. 😅 no beta so I apologize for any typos you may or may not see.

-H❤🖖

P.S. If anyone sees an opportunity for SMUT in any of my fics and wants to write it, please let me know! I wouldn't mind it! I would encourage it cause I'm a chicken when it comes to writing that. 😅🤦‍♀️

John Kennex sat at his Kitchen counter with a deep scowl on his face. Tape was stuck to his face in various spots and he had an abundance of paper cuts on his fingers. Cursing under his breath he glanced over at the couch, you were sleeping peacefully there. You had just got there an hour previous, you had promised to help wrap presents. But you had just worked a double shift at the hospital and he didn’t have the heart to wake you. “Working too damn hard,” he grumbled, turning back to the chaos in front of him. He dropped a pair of scissors to the floor with a loud clatter and another curse, you groaned blinking your eyes open. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up on your elbow, looking toward the Kitchen you saw John struggling with multiple Christmas presents.

“John, you should have woken me up!” you scolded in a sleepy voice. John smiled at it, “I’m not sorry for letting you sleep. You needed it,” he said with a concerned frown. You rolled off the couch and padded into the kitchen yawning, “Maybe you should go back to sleep,” John suggested placing one final piece of tape on a colorfully wrapped gift. “I’m okay, I should get started on dinner anyway,” you hummed but before you could get past John he grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to him. “I ordered out so you didn’t have to cook,” he whispered into your ear. Old rock played quietly in the background and John’s hands kneaded the tense knots in your back, sighing as you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead on his shoulder. You mumbled something into his sweatshirt and John looked down at you confused, “What?” he asked with a light chuckle.

You moved back a little so you look him in the eyes, your relationship with John was still pretty new in your opinion. You’ve been together two and a half and you had moved out of your tiny cramped apartment into his much bigger one. Mostly due to the fact you had nowhere else to go, the neighborhood was a bad one and the building was seized by the city because a few of the apartments were being used by a local gang. John had been horrified to learn that was where you had been living. He then made space for you in his apartment that very same night. That was almost a year ago. This was your first Christmas living together. You haven’t even said the big “Three words,” yet. You bit your lip nervously, “I-” you started but deflated thinking better of it. ‘What if he’s not ready?’ you questioned wanting to backpedal. John turned so you were in between his legs, “What is it sweetheart?” he whispered cupping your cheek. Leaning into his hand you sighed worry dancing in your eyes. “It’s okay if you’re not ready but…” you trailed off closing your eyes. John gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb, “I love you,” you finally got out eyes closed afraid that he would be upset.

There was silence for the longest time and for a moment you thought it was all over. John moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, “(Y/N) open your eyes,” he commanded softly. Your eyes fluttered open, John gazed at you lovingly with a goofy smile on his lips, “I love you too,” he murmured before crashing his lips to yours. The tape stuck to John’s face tickled your cheek and forehead causing you to giggle into the kiss. You pulled back a tad and pulled the pieces off and resticked them to the countertop, you ran a hand through his hair messing it up even more than it already was. John watched you eyes dark, “I love you,” he said again letting his head fall onto your chest, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. You laughed breathlessly and buried your face in his hair, your hands gently resting on the back of his neck. “You know I probably don’t smell that great,” you said amused. John grumbled something that you couldn’t hear; If you were to guess he said “I don’t care. We’ll just take a shower later. Food first,” you laughed and nodded in agreement, “Food fist,”

As if on cue the doorbell rang, John sighed and picked his head up glaring at the door half-heartedly. “I want to be mad,” he muttered sliding off the stool, you grinned and bustled around to the fridge looking for a bottle of water to go with your meal. Grabbing that and a beer for John, turning you saw John set the bag of Mexican food. “Oh my god something other than noodles! Congratulations John you now have variety in your life,” you sassed a hand placed dramatically over your heart. John gave you a deadpanned look, “I felt like tacos, and I remember you saying that you wanted to try this place so…” he trailed with a shrug. You skipped over with your drinks a grin on your face, “Thank you,” you said, pecking him on the cheek. John smirked pulling out a mass of different things, “Since we’ve never had them before I figured we could try a bit of everything,”

You grinned eying all the choices, you picked up a container at random and peered inside. Closing the lid you hummed grabbed a plastic fork from the little pile, John already had a taco shoved in his mouth, “That’s a good look for you,” you said with a dry chuckle. John just rolled his eyes and continued crunching like he hasn’t eaten in days, you snorted and opened up your take-out container again. You both ate in a comfortable silence, you sat on the countertop by the sink thinking about the events from earlier. A small smile crossed your face and you frowned again, ‘I have to remember to stop by Mr. Carlsons’ room tomorrow before he’s discharged.’ you thought absentmindedly. Chewing slowly you stared off into space getting tired again, “you still with me sweetheart?” John asked with a chuckle waving a hand up and down past your glazed eyes. Blinking you focused back in on the present, “I’m sorry were you talking to me?” you asked guiltily. John chuckled and took the now empty food container in your hands, “Okay time for bed,” he declared. “But I still need to take a shower and we gotta finish the-” John cut off your tirade with a chaste kiss. “Shower yes, presents no. I’ll finish them tomorrow,” he whispered, pulling you down from the counter with a wicked kind of smile on his face. He then promptly pulled you by the waist and quickly dragged you to the bathroom. “Never thought someone could look so hot in bright purple scrubs,” he said as the door slammed shut behind him.

Tags:

@thottiewithashotgun

@lauraaan182

@writerdee1701

@dw-writes

@marvelouslytrekking

@spenceneedsahug

#almost human on fox #almost human #john kennex #john kennex x reader #reader insert #25 days of ficmas #hailey the queen of typos

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heycallmeladytypewriter · 4 years ago

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The Call of a Siren- Chapter Four

Chapter One / Two / Three

A/N: Here is the promised longer chapter! You'll notice I changed some minor things, something I will occasionally do as most writers. Once again, if anyone is interested in beta reading please DM me! Enjoy!

I don't own My Hero Academia. I only own my own characters and the story I create within Horikoshi's masterpiece of a world I'd love to live in.

The next day was more of a normal school day. Well, almost.

Present Mic was going on and on about proper grammar of the sentences he would write and adjust on the board for fifteen minutes before Delia zoned out. She didn’t get much sleep as yesterday’ s fitness tests scores bothered her still. She was second to last which only reminded her of her lack of experience using her quirk. Once again, she felt frustrated being raised in an ‘anti-quirk’ home. Everyone else except Midoriya and herself had years of training and time to figure out their abilities but at the very least Midoriya had All Might. She had no one.

“Oi brat! Stop doing that!” Angry boy hissed in her ear. She jolted in her seat before realizing she was rapidly clicking her pen - a habit of hers when deep in thought. Delia lifted her pen slightly so he could see it and clicked it a few more times aggressively before putting it down on her desk.

Then he kicked her chair leg a bit when Present Mic turned around to write more sentences on the board. Bastard. Just another happy reminder that she sat in front of Bakugo which was already proving to be the pain in the ass she figured it would be when assigned. She curled her hands around the edge of the desk to prevent from turning in her seat to kick him in the shins.

She was practically bouncing to get out of her seat for hero training just to get a break from sitting in the same room for the past few hours. That was one thing she probably wouldn't come to love- staying in the same classroom for multiple classes rather than back home she would change classrooms with each subject - something she liked due to stretching her legs, changing seats, different people, and getting away from the asshole who kicks her chair when she annoys him.

“ I AM HERE!” All Might rushed in with his booming voice, “COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A HERO!”

Everyone immediately sat up in their seats in excitement that the number one hero was...well coming through the door like a hero! The class practically jumped out of their seats they were so excited.

“I can't believe it's really All Might.”

“So he really is a teacher! This year is gonna be totally awesome!”

All Might marched right over to the podium as the class took in his choice to wear his Silver Age costume which was pretty cool. He announced that he will be teaching ‘Hero-ing 101’ and that today he was starting off with battle training.

“Fight training!” Bakugo growled out excitedly while Midoriya countered with a nervous “Real combat?”

“But one of the keys of being a hero is looking good!” He swept his giant arm towards the wall expanding with numbered briefcases. “These were designed for you specifically based on your Quirk registration forms and the requests you sent in before school started. So everyone grab your assigned cases by your number and get to the locker rooms! Meet me at Training Ground Beta!”

The girls around her were chatting away while opening their cases but Delia sat with it in her lap for a few moments.

“Wow, you guys look great.” Delia said to the girls. Momo Yaoyorozu was dressed in a simple red leotard with a chunky yellow utility belt and short red boots. Mina Ashido gave her a twirl in her new costume of a cute camo-like body suit of teal and purple with a short cropped fuzzy jacket. It was random out of context but given what little she had seen of the bubbly girl - it weirdly worked. Kyoka Jiro rocked ripped jeans, a long coral shirt, black jacket with a popped collar, and what looked like giant chunky boots with a speaker in them. Tsuyu Asui was a ‘frog’ personified in a black and green suit with webbed feet and giant goggles on her head. Lastly, Ochaco Uraraka looked like an adorable astronaut in her pink and black suit with her cute oversized boots and wrist accents. Yaoyorozu smiled at her compliment, “Thank you. Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

“Are you nervous, Bell?” Asui asked her, looking concerned.

Delia pulled on her neck, “A bit, yeah. But I’ll be fine.” Ashido let out a small squeal and nudged her, “Well then put on your costume! We wanna see you looking great with us!”

Delia bit her lip before clicking open the clasps to reveal her new costume she spent months trying to create. Blowing air out her cheeks, she stood up and placed it on the bench to start dressing. “Here goes nothing.”

“They say that clothes make the pros young ladies and gentlemen, and behold, you are the proof!” All Might stood a few feet ahead of them as they entered Training Ground Beta. “Take this to heart. From now on you are all...heroes in training!”

Everyone was checking out one another's costumes as they walked. The guys looked great except Mineta’s looked like he was in a diaper so that was an odd choice. When she saw Midoriya run out she almost facepalmed. Way to be obvious dude. The simplistic green and red design was fine but the hood part of it resembled too much of his all time favorite person. Her eyes kept scanning until it landed on the person practically foaming at the mouth to start.

If she had to be honest with herself, she would say he had one of the best costumes but she wouldn’t tell him that. He wore a tight tank top with a large orange ‘X’ in front, a belt with what looked like grenades on the side, some hardcore knee pads, then down to some heavy duty boots. The giant grenade gauntlets hooked on each arm looked heavy so she hoped he could take them off in a tight spot. She let out a small snort... Of course the boy with anger management problems would resemble a human grenade.

Biting her lip, she looked down at herself wondering if her costume matched her the same way. She pulled her hair up in a high ponytail mostly for practical purposes. She wore a high collar but sleeveless open shirt that was hooked to her by a small silver belt under her chest. She was wearing a silver strapless swim top underneath as well as black small swim shorts that could be seen as well because her thick skirt was cut into three large panels- two on each hip covering her sides and partly her backside and then one straight down the middle with a medium silver utility belt fastening it to her person. One of her favorite pieces was her, as she liked to call them, her ‘ass kicking boots’ that went to midthigh and had thick non-slip soles and a slight wedge heel. Plus, they were pretty with their silver intricate designs. She also had silver gauntlets on her arms. The coolest feature was her water storage system. In the event, she was without any water near her to use her quirk she had compartments built into her suit. Every silver accent and design on her clothes like her boots, shorts, belts, and gauntlets were made of some ridiculously strong but flexible material that was hollowed and filled with water that she could pull from or store for emergencies. It wasn’t a massive amount but was enough for a quick emergency whip or two. Plus, everything was in a shade of dark azure blue. She felt like a water warrior.

Momo Yaoyorozu came over to her and knocked her with her hip, smiling. “Told you. You look great and it seems some others are taking notice.” She subtly nodded off the side where Angry Boy was standing diligently. Delia frowned because she had no idea what she was talking about but before she could open her mouth to say that she heard weird breathing down behind them.

“God, I love this school.” They turned to see Mineta standing way too close and way too happy.

“Okay, that’s just wonderful. Go love the school from over there, please.” Delia pointed to the group of others gathered a couple feet away. Yaoyorozu even went as far to actually ‘shoo’ him with hand gestures like he was a bug. That had Delia cracking up which prompted Momo to start giggling with her as he trudged over to the other group when All Might cleared his throat to signify class was starting. The class promptly lined up to face the number one hero.

“Now that you're ready, it's time for combat training!”

______________________________________________________

As they got settled in the monitoring room, she introduced herself to her partner for the exercise today. She spotted him a few feet from her in a martial arts costume and noted that he was the kid with the really big tail. Delia walked right up to him and stuck her hand out, “Hi, I’m Delia Bell. Looks like you’re stuck with me today for the ‘mission.’” She used air quotes for that last word jokingly.

“Oh hey! I’m Mashirao Ojiro. Happy to be stuck with you.” He joked back. “So I think we should watch this first run and get some idea of our strategy, sound good?”

“Agreed.” With that, they turned to the screen as the first mission started. Unfortunately, her excitement abated because she had a really bad feeling considering who was involved in this group as Midoriya and Uraraka walked through the building.

After a few turned corners, it started...then never really stopped. The class was on the edge of their seats after Midoriya laid Bakugo out flat on the floor and declared his hero name, “Deku.” Despite the escalating situation, Delia smiled proudly as Midoriya basically gave Bakugo the finger as he took back the name that was used to hurt him and stood his ground. Unfortunately, this only encouraged Bakugo to continue with full force. Midoriya then used his impatience to trick him again with the capture tape they were given before the match and ducked under another explosive punch before running down the corridor.

“The little guy’s really good!” The boy in a yellow bodysuit standing beside Jiro commented.

“He’s holding his own and he hasn’t even used his quirk yet!” The boy dressed in what looked like a tape dispenser helmet (?) said impressed.

We watched as Midoriya ran from Bakugo until he was completely lost to him. Bakugo began to yell furiously, “DAMMIT! You were tricking me for years by acting weak! Bet you’ve been laughing behind my back, huh?” If this idiot only knew…

“Come out and face me you coward!” Bakugo was blowing up doors left and right but walking with such arrogance, Delia was surprised his giant sized ego could fit through the door.

Meanwhile, Uraraka finally reached Iida who again proved his intelligence by hiding everything in the room that she could possibly float and use against him. She snickered when she heard Iida’s ‘evil voice’ while calling Uraraka a ‘do-gooder,’ What a dork.

“That isn’t a bad idea really.”

“What is? Hiding everything?”

“Yeah. Something to take a mental note of and I also think maybe we should try sticking together and allowing the ‘do-gooders,’ ”Delia again snickered at his impression of villain Iida, “to come to us on our home turf.”

She nodded, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

They both turned back to the screens to see Midoriya had found Bakugo who was now smiling which probably was a bad sign. “ Since you’re such a stalker, by now you probably know how my Quirk, Explosion, works. I secrete a nitroglycerin-like sweat from my hands and make it blow up. Imagine what I could do if I had a lot of it. “ He stood back into a lunge with his arm extended to the boy across from him. Oh, no . “That's right, these gauntlets aren't just for show. I’ve been storing my sweat for one monster blast.” Okay, One: Ew. Two: Mega Oh, no.

“Young Bakugo! Don’t do it! You’ll kill him!” All Might yelled into his microphone that she assumed was connected to their ear pieces.

“ He’ll be fine as long as he dodges !” Bakugo yelled right back and pulled the pin.

Delia’s hand went out to Ojiro's arm next to her as if to brace herself from what she just witnessed. He didn’t push her off as he too stared in horror at the screen.

“Whoa, whoa! This is fucking nuts!” Kirishima called out as the whole building they were in shook from the blast.

“Come in! Come in, Midoriya!” All Might was all but pressed against the screen as the dust cleared and we saw a giant hole where the walls and windows once were in the room. The class collectively sighed in relief when we heard a weak, “Is that even allowed?”

Then this goddamn psycho came out of the smoke and laughed. Laughed!

“Go ahead. Use your stupid Quirk on me, Deku.” He crouched low and smiled that disturbing smile again. He almost looked unhinged. “Even if you use everything you’ve got, you’ll never beat me.”

“Sir, isn’t this getting outta hand? That Bakugo is getting real crazy. He’s gonna kill ‘im!” Kirishima voiced Delia’s exact thoughts. The class all nodded in agreement and looked at their teacher expecting him to follow suit and shut this down.

“Not so.” Sorry, what? “Bakugo. Use that stored-up power again and I’ll stop this fight. You’re team will lose.”

“ Huh? ”

“To employ such a strong attack indoors is inviting the destruction of the stronghold you should be protecting. That’s a poor strategy, whether you’re a hero or a villain. The penalty would be a massive loss of points.”

That resulted in an angry yell before he rushed Midoriya who was talking to his partner. It seemed he had a plan though she couldn’t even see how at this point especially how her floating herself to the weapon earlier didn’t work against Iida’s speed. Midoriya threw a punch but Bakugo, in an amazing amount of speed and skill, flipped mid-air using a small blast and counter attacked from behind to hit Midoriya right in the back with a strong explosion.

“He doesn’t come off as a guy with strategy. But he’s actually quite intelligent.”

Ashido, Kirishima, and Delia took their eyes off the battle for a moment to look at the boy half covered in ice. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“He changed his trajectory while in midair and using a blast that doubled as a smokescreen. Very clever.”

Yaoyorozu chimed in with noting his ability to understand the physics of the situation and his Quirk. Denki Kaminari, whose name she remembered only due to that Mr. Aizawa had already used it so much in a day and a half because he was a high school five year old, moaned, “Ugh, Bakugo is uber talented. I hate it.” Delia pressed her lips together because while she agreed with her classmates on Angry Boy, she was still horrified by his behavior as he continued to beat the hell out of Midoriya. This oh, so intelligent and talented boy is basically throwing a tantrum and he had the nerve to call her ‘brat.’

“This is hard to watch! All he has to do is wrap tape around him, not kill him.” Ashido cried out.

“Bakugo is certainly acting like a villain.” Tokoyami responded.

“I thought Midoriya was pretty amazing at the start of the fight, but he’s completely outmatched in terms of combat power. Not to mention, Bakugo seems like a natural at all this stuff.”

“Give him a chance.” Delia said sharply. Kaminari looked at her surprised as her tone was with more bite than she intended. “Sorry. But give him a chance.”

Delia turned back to the screen once again and saw the boys facing off again but near a different set of windows. They exchanged words then lunged at one another but this time it was different. Midoriya was finally using his Quirk and Bakugo’s hands started sparking up as well.

Delia gripped her arms harder, “All Might…”

“They’re gonna kill each other! Sir!”

The Pro hero said nothing but gripped his tiny microphone hard enough it should've been in splinters before speaking into it, “Both of you-”

“Uraraka, now!” The class looked up at the video feed of the others and the brunette grabbed hold of a pillar. All of a sudden, Midoriya punch for Bakugo went upwards creating a giant amount of force to break the ceiling above as he took on Bakugo’s explosion head on. “SMASH!”

His punch created massive amounts of debris for Uraraka to use and she used the pillar she held onto as a bat and swung the floor pieces at Iida. As he was distracted in fending off the debris, she floated herself over to the weapon thus winning the mission.

The class was entirely silent as All Might declared the hero team the winners. Was this really a win?

After a few moments, she heard Ojiro say, “Okay...we aren’t going to do that.”

_________________________________________________

“Match two! Team B will be our heroes! Team I will be the villains!”

As Ojiro stretched, Delia pulled out some water from her belt to form a whip. “Hey, I’m going to hide behind one of the pillars near the door so I can surprise them.”

He nodded, “Good idea.”

The buzzer went off.

As they braced themselves for the heroes, it turns out Shoto Todoroki had different ideas. All of a sudden, the whole room was covered in freezing ice. Her boots were stuck in ice and as she peeked around the corner of the pillar so was Ojiro's. Damn. I didn’t think he had power like this!

“This Quirk is insane.”

She may be stuck but she still had her whip which she kept moving to prevent from freezing. They both stilled when they heard footsteps.

“Pry yourself up if you want, but it might be hard to fight me with no skin on the bottom of your feet.”

“Good thing I wore boots then!” Delia kicked herself free and lashed her whip around Todoroki’s right arm which wasn’t covered in ice. His eyes widened slightly before freezing her whip around his arm but she had another one at the ready that grabbed his arm again and tugged as if to throw him back but he had stuck himself to the floor with his left side. Before she could react, he covered her body from the chest down in ice preventing Delia from doing anything more.

“The hero team winnnnnns!” All Might announced over the loudspeaker.

“Fucking dammit!” She muttered as she tried to break free of the ice. But she didn’t need to as Todoroki suddenly emitted enough heat to defrost the whole building, Ojiro gasped, “Heat, too?”

Delia scrunched her face as everything was now wet which would’ve been great if the fight was still going. “It’s not your fault. We’re just playing on different levels.” Well, damn. Thanks so much. He said it so mildly and without emotion as if it was as simple of a fact that two plus two equals four. For some reason, she couldn’t find her anger at it because he was right. Delia felt deflated as he walked right back out the door he came in. Ojiro shrugged at her, “It’s the second day. We’ll get it next time.” She attempted a small smile at his effort to not seem upset on how quickly that ended. She gathered some of the water on the floor and refilled her tanks before walking out with her partner.

They settled back in the screening room as each battle went on. Delia took the time to see everyone’s Quirk and was impressed by how power heavy the class seemed. Acid, shadow, hardening, tape, energy beams, and it went on which was great to watch but definitely put even more attention on how short her and Ojiro’s battle went. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bakugo far from the group with his gaze on the floor and teeth gritted. He was not taking this well. Maybe I wasn’t far off in the unhinged part from earlier...

Delia was half tempted to see if he was alright, which she obviously could tell he wasn’t, but pulled herself back as she did not like how he was in his battle in the slightest. The urge never went away as her classmates continued the missions and she kept one eye on the screen and the other on the boy looking on the verge of a crisis in the corner.

Finally, everyone had battled and class was dismissed with a quick congrats speech in from their teacher then an even quicker exit as he zoomed right out. Delia figured it was because he was losing his stamina at holding his form.

_____________________________________________________

Back in the classroom, Delia was putting her books in her bag when she heard the door open.

It was Midoriya who looked much better than when she saw him last. A bunch of the class ran to meet and introduce themselves to him which was a nice change of pace for him, she assumed. She doubted he was very popular in his last school considering how he and Bakugo came from the same school.

“Tokoyami! Stop using that desk as a chair!” Iida walked determinedly to the boy sitting on his desk while he talked to her former mission partner and Jiro. Jiro put her hand on her hip and said, “Dude, you need to chill.”

Ojiro pointed at him, “You’re carrying a lot of tension.”

Iida slumped forward in defeat as she walked over to the small group, “No one understands.” Delia swung herself on the desk next to Iida which caused them to laugh as she put her hand on his shoulder with comfort and some slight mocking, “It’s okay, Iida. Someday they’ll learn proper manners and respect.”

He sighed and nodded before turning to her, “Yes, well uh - Oh, c'mon!”

Delia giggled and swung her legs like a child, “I said they would. I didn’t say I would too.” She giggled again when the blue haired boy pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation before walking away.

“Hey, Bell.” She looked up from laughing at Jiro. “Yeah?”

“Is that a My Chemical Romance button on your bag?” Delia looked over to her desk with her various buttons and stickers on the side of her bag.

“Yes, it is. You a fan?”

“Major.”

“I listen to them occasionally as well.” Tokoyami threw in. Jiro grinned, “Nice to know some of us have some taste.” Ojiro scratched the back of his head, “Well, I guess I have none.”

“It’s alright. We’ll just have to educate you!” Jiro elbowed him gently. Delia looked at her watch then hopped off the desk, “Oops. I have to catch my train!”

When she ran outside, her eyebrows raised as she saw that Midoriya and All Might were staring off into the distance. Delia waved at them, “Feel better, Midoriya. Have a nice night, Sir!”

Running down the hill, she flew up to Bakugo and found her feet slowing a bit. They looked at each other for a moment and Delia opened her mouth to say something before she thought better of it and continued down the hill to catch her train home.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x oc #mha fanfiction #mha smut #TCOAS #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha fanfiction

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todaydreambelieversfic · 4 years ago

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Author Spotlight: Coffeegleek Day 3

Author : @coffeegleek

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

At least a few revisions. Then multiple editing passes, and even with my spouse as my proofreader for the past 25+ years, and doing more editing passes before posting to AO3, I still find annoying little typos, sometimes large ones.

If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

There was a crack fic I stopped writing years ago. It was a self-challenge during one of those tumblr trope challenges. I was trying to combine all of the tropes into the same fic as they were announced. It got zero traction though so I gave up. I'd love to go back and complete it, make it better. I had the whole thing outlined too.

What do you look for in a beta?

My spouse. We've been together for decades. He's been proofreading my original science fiction work and various fandoms' fanfics since before we were married. He even proofreads my Klaine smut and doesn't blink an eye. (He's a Glee fan too and on tumblr.) He knows what I'm trying to say when I can't find the right words and supplies them. He catches things I don't. What I love the most is for my original work, he's written his own fanfic. It's BAD. It truly is, but it's so heartfelt and earnest. He even came up with a soundtrack should I ever publish my sci-fi novel and the movie or show rights be bought. You really can't get a better beta than that. <3

There’s a number of friends on tumblr that I bounce ideas off of and who give me advice for topics they know far more about than me and google. I try to thank them in my fics.

If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I’m going to steal another author’s recent answer and say that I could never do someone else’s work justice. However, I would love to see the author’s ideas for their fics even if they couldn’t write a prequel or sequel.

I suck at remembering titles and author names. There were two political fics that I would love to read more of should their authors ever decide to write in those verses again. One was where Kurt and Blaine's dads were running for president and Kurt and Blaine were along for the ride, staying in the same hotels at time (where they first met,) having to do school remotely, having to be the perfect sons for the press and Blaine being fed up because his parents were conservative Republicans. Then there was another fic where Burt was president and Kurt was the First Son living in the White House, along with Finn, and it was hard to date when your every move is watched by the press.

Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I write AU, so canon is only a word often misspelled by me. :) Seriously though, I try to incorporate as many canon elements and characters into my AU fics as I can. It's the kind of AU I like to read as well. What draws me to read and write AUs is taking canon characters, putting them into a different setting, and seeing how they'll react. At their core, they still need to remain the same in principle and have many of the same traits. Like Kurt will always love fashion and be headstrong no matter what. Blaine is always going to have that spark within himself, no matter how depressed or oppressed he gets. Burt and Carole are always going to be loving and nurturing parents at heart. Even in fics where Burt isn't woke, there's a part of him that means well. (Not one of my own fics, but one I read a long time ago.) Different circumstances will change the canon characters and make them react in different ways though. Like, Kurt could end up more withdrawn and hide his love of fashion as a matter of survival and self preservation. He or Blaine could turn into "bad boys." Coach Beiste will always have a heart of gold. Miss Pillsbury will always have a problem with messes. Things like that. I know canon. Give me all the alternate universe versions of it and I will be a happy camper.

Talk about a review that made your day.

I haven't checked for reviews on my fics in ages (because I'm an insecure chicken) so I don't remember any specifically. I do remember there were many that made my day. There are those who take the time to review every chapter. Ones who write only a short note to thank me for writing the fic - both the angsty ones and the cracky fun ones. I love it when someone mentions something that no one else has that I was hoping someone would notice because I was proud of it. I'm not a popular author and don't get a lot of kudos or comments or reblogs compared to many. So each comment and kudos means a lot to me and I'd like to publicly thank every single person who wrote one or hit that kudos button.

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I once got a troll who decided it was his job to complain that I had misspelled hors d'oeuvres in one sentence out of an entire verse where the word was written multiple times correctly. It was a series of Klaine Advent one shots for the Empty Nest verse. At first I was shocked and replied with an apology. Then I was, "F this. The person is a troll who didn't read any other part of the fic or verse, just this one quickly written one shot entry, and if all they had to say was that I'd misspelled a commonly misspelled word, then they aren't worth my time." I deleted the comment. There's concrit and trolling. It wasn't concrit.

What advice do you have for people just starting to write?

Have fun writing, even the hard stuff. Know that it's okay to take breaks. Try your best and know you'll get better the more you write and the more you read. Pronouns are your friend and free. Don't put, "I know this is going to suck, so whatever," in your fic description. We all suck at times. It's a part of writing. But if you want folks to read it, using that as your fic's summary isn't the way to go. Just my opinions, which won't even buy you a cup of coffee.

Which fic do you most like to discuss with other people? Why?

I think it’s pretty obvious from all of my rambling that I enjoy talking about both of my series - Empty Nest verse and A Very Hallmark Christmas verse. I'm not a popular author and I know my fics, especially the Empty Nest verse ones, aren’t everyone’s thing, so I never get to really discuss them except with friends that I bug to death in private and via long replies to comments on AO3. (You all are saints blessed by all of the good and patient gods.) I have so much to say about them - the process of writing them, the world building, research, and character decisions that went into every single one. I know they’re not perfect. I know the Empty Nest verse grew miles beyond the ficlette about Burt and Carole that it was meant to be. I know my sense of humor in the Hallmark verse isn’t everyone’s thing either. I still worked really hard on them and am glad that I did. Empty Nest let me release a lot of the fear and anxiety I had for my Hispanic and gay son after the 2016 election. The Hallmark ones were a needed break to put some humor into my life. If others enjoyed them, great. If folks want to know more, my inbox is always open.

What's one aspect of writing fic that gets you really excited?

Writing humor even if I'm the only one that finds it funny. As I said above, writing the Hallmark Christmas movie dialogue and plot and the actors as they were filming it was a blast. Writing the commercials was fun and exciting. In my angsty fics, knowing I wrote a good scene, line, or moment that brought out all the feels. That's more of “satisfaction of a job well done” than excited.

***

Check out Coffeegleek’s Fics

Humorous Spooky Drabbles - Humorous drabbles to spookish type prompts based on a tumblr post called October Drabble Prompts #1 by hallofceleano. The parts in bold and italic are from those prompts. Characters include Kurt, Blaine, Burt, Carole, and Finn. All fun; only #4 has some mild angst. #4 is for snarkyhag and regarding #5 - I know next to nothing about Twilight and had to look up Taylor Lautner on imdb. The liberties I took are my own.

A Very Sloppy Christmas - lucy8675309 posted to tumblr a series of gifs with Kurt dressed up as an elf. It inspired me to write the following prompt, which CoffeeAddict80 encouraged me to write as a fic:

I now want a fic where real Santa’s elf!Kurt gets drunk and vents to Blaine about all the woes of working for Santa. He’s over 100 years old and the outfits are terrible. Why couldn’t they wear clothes like the elves did in that one movie? Drunk elf Kurt has no idea he’s venting to Santa’s son.

Bonus if he wakes up and realizes he just had a drunken one night stand. He isn’t sure who it was with. Only that he’s naked, the guy in the bed beside him is naked and showing off a really great ass. Then said guy turns over and after Kurt’s done staring at his dick, he looks at the guy’s face and realizes who it is.

It’s a Twisted World - I decided to challenge myself by combining the posted 5 weekly Klaine AU Friday themes and adding another one of my own. So that means: Farm, Fairytale, Vintage (1900’s,) Super Powers, Zombie Apocalypse, and Harry Potter World Klaine with a splash of a fic idea I thought of while in the produce section of the grocery store. Each week, the story will continue, though each part stands alone. This is not a brilliant work of perfectly composed fan fiction. What it is, is fast-paced, cracky fun, with a large dose of innuendo. At least it had my son laughing his ass off. I hope y'all enjoy it too. :)

#author spotlight #coffeegleek

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