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jimblejamblewritings · 9 months ago

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love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search.

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition.

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received.

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all.

Yours truly,

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there.

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea.

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws.

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed.

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom.

Yours truly,

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention.

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them.

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama.

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters.

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.”

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them.

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?”

“Everything is wrong with that.”

“Hmm.”

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face.

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.”

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?”

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.”

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.”

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said.

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.”

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud:

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered.

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her.

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.”

“Piss off.”

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms.

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.”

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“Cecilia.”

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.”

“Cecilia.”

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.”

“Cecilia.”

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.”

“Please, just give u—”

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.”

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.”

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.”

“I second that.”

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.”

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything.

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?”

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.”

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.”

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society.

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today.

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps.

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness.

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get.

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham.

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month.

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen.

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.”

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?”

“Not your room?”

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.”

“You are getting restless.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?”

“Oh yes, she’s fine.”

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.”

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name.

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact.

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.”

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.”

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.”

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?”

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.”

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you.

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?”

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.”

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?”

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And, by the way, I already washed up.”

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.”

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room.

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora.

“Oh, good. It is just you.”

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?”

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.”

“What?”

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.”

“Your Highness.”

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.”

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.”

She gasped as you hugged her.

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.”

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.”

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination.

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?”

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it.

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs.

“Is there a problem, Marshall?”

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.”

“WHAT?!”

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back.

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance.

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss.

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…”

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name.

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all.

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.”

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.”

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.”

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.”

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues.

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.”

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.”

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.”

They all chuckled when you laughed.

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.”

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you.

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?”

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.”

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?”

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time.

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.”

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.”

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.”

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107 @i-have-no-life-charlie @daykrisr999

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x princess!reader #benedict fluff #bridgerton fluff #fic

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notitlesapply · 11 days ago

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I wanted to show off some more WIP on my Codywan cross stitch (and also show off my new needle minder!), and grumble a little about some things I discovered about DMC floss...

So if you look closely at the bottom, the orange of Cody's pauldron is slightly off. So story time!

The pattern I made through FlossCross originally called for DMC 3835 (apparently called Pumpkin - Pale) for the orange, but I didn't have it in my stash, so I subbed in DMC 971 (Pumpkin).

Now here's the thing! I didn't find out until later that 971 was discontinued due to dye formulas becoming regulated. So I was hoping that I would have enough orange (spoiler alert, I did not 😞). Luckily I found that DMC 740 (Tangerine) is supposed to be a 1 to 1 match. As you can see...it is not. Now part of my perfectionist brain is like: pick out all the orange and FIX IT, but I've been chanting to myself "it's fine it's fine this is fine..." (Please validate me so I can cling to my sanity lol)

(On a related note, there is a small patch of the grayish white on Cody's helmet on the jawline that looks paler than the rest and I don't know why because that thread color didn't get changed, so all I can assume is the dye lot is a little wonky which is frustrating. I itch so hard to rip it out but again I convince myself to carry on and not cry.)

Anyway, moral of this story is that Cody is a pumpkin on top and a tangerine on the bottom, and this means something maybe lol 😂 (Fuck now when I read smut I'll think of top Cody as a pumpkin and bottom Cody as a tangerine...bad brain BAD!)

On to more happy stuff. I recently learned about needle minders so I got one. It's so cute! 🥰 I got it from DecorativeSewingPins on Etsy. It's very convenient and useful. It also itches the part of me that loves pins/buttons/charms.

I also found out you can make your own needle minders using charms, pins, or buttons. I'm debating if I should make a matching Codywan needle minder for this project to be extra but I'm not sure if I want to experiment on my existing pins or if I should get a duplicate pin (because one can never have enough Codywan merch.)

Also as always this cross stitch pattern is based off artwork by @amikoroyaiart so send some love that way!

#codywan #cross stitch #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #wip #personal #pumpkin cody vs tangerine cody go!#sorry for rambling

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noblecorgi · 26 days ago

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2024: A Re-Entry to Fandom

I guess this is a thing? (Oh shit this brackets bit was written at the end and I appear to have emotionally vomited an essay. Sorry ‘bout that.)

In late 2023 I experienced a personal tragedy and retreated to where I had always found comfort: books.

I read a series that had been recommended to me before, but I hadn’t had time to read it - The Simon Snow Trilogy by @rainbowrowell and it awoke a dormant-but-never-forgotten love of fanfiction in me.

In my teens and early 20s I wrote a lot of fan fiction on the ol’ FF net, all of it of atrocious quality I’m certain, which is why I haven’t tried to rediscover that account.

Instead I found AO3, and restarted regularly writing for fun instead of for work or study/research.

I didn’t do any summation for 2023 because I think my first fic was posted on like 10 December 2023, but AO3 tells me I wrote 4 works, all SnowBaz, at a total of 55,154 words.

In 2024, I’ve published 5 works, at a total of 94,323 words.

What truly blows me away (and honestly makes me a bit teary) is the 1013 kudos, 100 subscribers (inc 15 subscribers to just me rather than a fic!), and 222 comment threads on my works. 🥹

So: my 2024 works.

Use your words, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 3,930 words

A smutty lil gift fic wherein Baz teaches Simon how to sext.

Splendid Morons, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 12,886 words

Published for Erotic Grope Fest, aka Baz’s birthday. A collaboration with @alexalexinii and a story written to enable their amazing art of Baz in lingerie.

Precious to me for not only getting to work with Alex, but also for being the beginning of my relationship with Becky @rbkzz, my incomparable beta who has become one of the dearest people in my life.

On The Rocks, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 74,592 words (WIP)

My opus, as it were. It originated from a fluffy cute prompt of “what if Baz and Lady Ruth were work besties?!” And I came along like “YEAH! But with trauma, exploration of love in mental illness, and alcoholism!”

I began posting it in March and it’s about 2/3 done now. But for Becky it would be both an absolute pile of horse poop, and an abandoned WIP. Instead it has a clear direction and she found motifs that I’d repeatedly used by accident in my drafts and built imagery, greater meaning, and also debated me ad nauseam on my preference for spelt over spelled.

Immune Response, @lumosinlove’s Cubs, Rated: G, 1,421 words

I was a big consumer of WolfStar in my teens and was recommended Lumosinlove’s Sweater Weather and, like many before me, fell in love with the story, the original characters, and ice hockey itself (much to the surprised glee of my Canadian spouse, who for a decade has tried in vain to get me on board. Little did he know the key was obviously gays.)

This is a lil’ slice of life sick fic examining how each of the Cubs responds to getting sick.

I have a lot more unpublished drabbles about these characters and some fics that are being cocreated so stay tuned for 2025?

Preliminary, my dear Basil, SnowBaz, Rated: T, 1,494 words

A gift fic for @martsonmars as part of the Carry On Discord’s Secret Snowflake Exchange.

Among their suggestions was “Sherlock AU, but not BBC Sherlock, 19th century Sherlock” and it hooked me with the idea that Baz would absolutely fancy himself as Sherlock. I actually sketched out a plot to SnowBazify 4 of the Holmes stories, so maybe 2025 will see them unearthed.

There is one other published fic I worked on this year, but as a beta rather than a writer for @swoopswrites @rsbigbang piece Class A which was super fun to do (and got me to watch a great series - The Gentlemen on Netflix) and Swoops has a fantastic mind so I’d encourage you to to check it out.

Finally, I have always been a writer rather than an artist, but I do enjoy drawing, and the need to upgrade my iPad for work arose and so I also tried my hand at drawing again for the first time since I was 17 or so.

In order from the first one to the most recent one, the lil scribbles I did this year:

Penelope Bunce, Wolfstar on a train, Baz with coffee, cuddly Cubs, FinnLo being adorable, iconic Moony with a cane, emo Sirius Black.

And THAT was 2024 (and 2023).

@artsyunderstudy @asocialpessimist @angelsfalling16 @whatevertheweather @edenalix @emjaydellyone @erzbethluna @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @lonleyhumanbeing @letraspal @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @ichooseyousnowbaz @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @philaet0s @pacey-bunce-loves-joey @sorenphelps @skee3000 @stitchy-queerista @fiend-for-culture @facewithoutheart @fruitcoops @girlwithcurls96 @hushed-chorus @hihimissamericanbi @cutestkilla @cosmicalart @confused-bi-queer @noopienoopiernoopiest @messofthejess @monbons

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sunflowervoltwentyeight · 4 months ago

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Happy 28th! Here is my September 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Godless, Graceless, and Young by kiddle / @bluejeanlouis (110k)

Seattle, Washington, 1991

It takes a special breed to have a slacker persona and still be a millionaire rockstar. Harry is about halfway there. He's the guitarist in a Seattle grunge band that could finally be headed somewhere, but he's also been sleeping on his bassist's sofa for the last three months and has been fired from every day-job he's had. Money doesn't equal success, but it does pay the bills.

When a job offer and a new lead singer stumble into Harry's life, he might be getting a lot more than he bargained for. Like a couple of extra gigs and a boy who can teach him more than just how to mix a few drinks, and it's gonna take a few band brawls and a whole lot of heart-searching to get there.

He's gotta have one somewhere...

Coax the Cold by mediawhore / @mediawhorefics (86k)

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Late Nights and Good Intentions by princelouisau / @princelouisau (71k)

“About last night,” Harry says suddenly, as if he’d been debating on whether to say anything. Louis whips back around to look at him.

“Do not finish that thought,” Louis says just as abruptly.

Harry looks at him oddly, as if assessing him. With a small frown, it seems the assessment is over. “I only wish to say that you do not have to dwell on it. The rest of the men will surely forget by tonight.”

“And you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Will you forget?”

“I will remember every second of it fondly,” the Lord says, no trace of a tease in his words. or, a Victorian era au where Louis pines for his overprotective older brother’s very charming best friend.

For You, I Would Ruin Myself by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (54k) WIP

It was the perfect last day of summer. They built sandcastles, wrote their names in the sand, and caught crabs, which they eventually let go when one of them pinched Louis and he was near tears. Afterward, they swam in the ocean, splashing each other playfully before moving toward one another in sync, lips pressing together in sweet kisses. When their skin turned prune-like, they returned to shore, laying out on their towels beneath the bright sun, snacking on fruit and chocolate while talking about everything and nothing.

At some point, Harry had shared, “I think this has been my favorite summer yet.”

“Why’s that?” Louis asked, a smile peeking out as though he already knew. He looked so pretty and cool with his sun-kissed skin and black Ray-Bans covering his eyes.

Harry rolled over on his towel until he was half-pressed against Louis and placed his palms on top of Louis’ chest, tucking his chin over them. “Because I had you.”

Harry’s unrequited crush on Louis turns into a whirlwind summer romance, only to leave him heartbroken in the end. Years later, a return to his hometown forces Harry to confront his past and the one person he was running from.

Tarnished but so Grand by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies (32k)

Louis hides in places. Harry always finds him.

I'll Be Your Love Tonight by dinosaursmate (20k)

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to walk away from you.” “So don’t.” Harry ran a fingertip over Louis’ thigh. “Stay with me.” - It's the summer of 1999 and Louis Tomlinson has been abandoned at a house party. A dispute over Smirnoff Ice and several night buses later, Louis is unsure how he'll ever walk away from this lovely, curly-haired boy.

Green in the Morning and Blue Afternoon by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze (14k)

“Harry,” Louis whispered beside him.

Harry hummed, his hand coming up to stroke Louis’ back. Louis was still on top of him, his body sagging against Harry’s, heavy and warm, and Harry loved it.

“I don’t think it was a one off.”

“Me either, Lou.”

or a Friends AU.

A Few of My Favourite Things by sweariwouldnt / @sweariwouldnt (8k)

Harry and Louis do cat sitting.

#28th appreciation #september fic rec #monthly fic rec #larry fic rec #fic rec #hlcreators #read

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pinksugarscrub · 3 months ago

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Guts

Hobie Brown x fem! spider! reader

Event by @the-kr8tor and banners by @the-shroom-garden

Thank you @hyperfix-wip! (beta reader) you know how excited I was to finally finish

Can you tell I like Olivia Rodrigo yet? Thanks to my little brother for forcing having me to listen to her music 💜

word count: 1,770

parts: 1, 2

cw: cursing, suggestive comment from Peter, and simping

Tap, tap, tap

“Oi mate-” Hobie’s foot tapping falters as he turns around.

“You look bloody fit,” Ned groans. Draped over the edge of Hobie’s bed bored out of his mind. “Will you get out of here? You’ve only got ten minutes.”

Hobie’s shoulders sink as he glances at himself in the mirror again. His fingers running over the leather of his jacket. A plush lining to keep him warm after your persistent warnings about New York Autumn.

“Oh mate…” Ned’s expression falters as he turns to lay on his stomach. “You’re really worried about this.”

Hobie swallows as he tears his gaze away from his reflection. “No shit.”

Now Hobie knows tonight is nothing more than a casual dinner. It really isn’t anything special. Just pie and more pie and oh wait, more pie. But it’s also the first time he’ll meet your family and the encounter feels more like an indoctrination than an introduction.

He wants to make a good impression and when did he become the kind of person to care about impressions? It’s just that these people care about you and you care about them ten fold. If he fucks it up with them will he even have a chance with you?

Hobie can see you smile in the back of his mind. He doesn’t feel good enough for you but he also doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. Doesn’t that sound egregious.

He wants to hear you sing. He really does and he’s somewhat terrified the moment he does he’s going to fall deeper in love with you.

He really wants to be there for every wonderful moment the way you’ve been there for him. There isn’t a show you’ve missed or a song you haven’t listened to that he’s recommended. Hobie wants to be by your side and the feeling is as suffocating as it is satisfying. He didn’t even know you played until he caught you fiddling with his guitar.

Is it weird he wants to hold you in his lap while you strum a few chords? Sing to him like his own personal songbird.

Damn he was whipped.

“Listen, Hobs.” Ned’s hand clasps his shoulder. He softens his voice too to a tone only reserved for moments much like this one. “You’ve got to trust her.”

Trust her? With what? His unyielding affection and admiration.

“If it’s meant to be it’ll work out.” Ned bites his tongue. Unsure if he’s said the right or the wrong thing.

Hobie sighs and finally turns to Ned. A half hearted smile on his lips as he pats his hand. “I know but…”

“Doesn’t make waiting any less shitty?” Ned replies. A weak laugh escaped him.

“Yeah,” Hobie chuckles. Wrapping his arms around Ned and becoming dead weight.

“Want me to go with you?” Ned shifts Hobie in his arms to keep the two of them from collapsing.

“Nah, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“You’re not asking, I'm telling.”

Their flat goes quiet and Ned knows Hobie is seriously debating the idea so without much thought he drags him along on his way to his room next door.

“Is it a shithole? Because I don’t want to lose my good chucks.”

“It’s a good part of town,” Hobie mumbles. Face hot as his nerves finally seem to settle. “Thanks Neddy.”

“Shut up and get off,” Ned huffs. Snatching his favorite jumper and searching for a pair of jeans.

“Really mate-” Hobie slowly grins as Ned shoves him off. It deters him none as he makes obnoxious kissing noises. “You’re the best.”

“Bloody back off!” Ned chokes on a laugh. “These lips aren’t for you, you little shit.”

“Promise I’ll make it up to your date.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near Riri.”

Ned cringes as soon as the words leave his lips. Well, fuck.

“Riri!?”

The venue is loud. Not burst your eardrums loud which Ned agrees with, but definitely loud.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place mate?” Ned scans the room before shrugging. “Looks like a regular old pub to me.”

“It’s a different kind of show.”

“Really? Different how?”

Hobie doesn’t know. You were so nervous when you asked him to your show he couldn’t bring himself to pull it out of you.

“Guess we’ll have to find out-”

A quiet buzz forms from the back of his neck down his spine. Subtly he turns his head.

“I’m too old for this.”

“Oh please, we’re in our late twenties.”

“Early thirties,” someone else corrects.

They look familiar but he can’t quite place them until one person from the group catches his eye. It’s your MJ.

“Oh, hey! I’d recognize you anywhere.” She grins as she leaves behind who he now knows to be Peter Parker and Harry Osborn. “You must be Hobie.”

Hobie’s hands suddenly feel sweaty. “Yeah, pleasure to meet you miss.”

Ned looks over at him flabbergasted but doesn’t say a word. Only makes a twirling motion with his finger and silently mouths ‘whipped’.

Hobie glares, prepared to give him the greatest beat down of the century until Peter and Harry finally seem to catch up. Then he’s all smiles and polite laughter.

“Babe you totally ditched us b— woah, hello sailor.”

MJ sighs while pinching the bridge of her nose. Way to make a good impression, she thinks.

Peter leans in close to her ear. “I see the appeal.”

“We…we can still hear you,” Ned interjects. Perplexed as he turns to Hobie. “They do know that right?”

“Hey, Hobie right?” Harry smiles. Pushing past Peter with a much softer tone to his voice. “Our girl has told us so much about you. You must be…?”

“Ned, Leeds.” Now Ned feels like quaking in his boots and he’s not even the one needing moral support.

“Ned, ah, I’m glad you could make it.” He nods toward the stage. “Should be starting any minute. Mind if we join you?”

Hobie yelps before nodding and letting out a hurried, “yes of course.”

“Great.”

Hobie thinks Harry’s turned away for his benefit. He takes the opportunity and rubs his side.

“Did you really have to hit me that hard?” He hisses.

“Nah, I just enjoy torturing you.”

“You little-”

“So, are you two excited?” MJ chirps back in. “You’re the first friend I think she’s ever invited to one of her shows.”

That gives Hobie pause. “How come?”

“Oh well she’s always kept to herself. Society's been good for her. I trust you’re looking out?”

Hobie nods, “I’m taking care of her, I promise.”

MJ smiles and nods in return. “Good.”

“Looks like it’s just us.” Peter wraps his arm around MJ’s shoulder. Eyes on his phone. “Junior just texted her other friends will meet us at F.E.A.S.T. after the show.”

“So it’s just Hobs she invited?” Ned asks. Not even hiding his cheshire grin.

Peter immediately matches his energy. A cheeky grin on his lips. “Just him.”

The butterflies in Hobie’s stomach grow worse. So much worse. Then the lights shut off and cheers erupt.

To be completely frank, Hobie doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the bands on stage. He’s just waiting for a glimpse of you.

Time doesn’t feel fast enough but when he hears your voice, he wishes he could stop it.

“Is everyone enjoying the show!”

The cheers grow even louder and your laugh, god his heart tightens in his chest.

“Wonderful! Well, I have the honor of closing tonight so I’m pleased to introduce The Mary Janes!”

Goosebumps break out on his skin the moment the guitar riff echoes into the area. It’s the exhilarating feeling he gets from playing with Ned and the others. Listening to music with you in your car, talking nonsense all at once.

Driving on the right-side road

He says I’m pretty wearin’ his clothes

And he’s got hands that-

Wait, was this song about him?

Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote

I wish I wrote

Please be about him.

And he laughs at all my jokes

And he says I'm so American

Oh, God, it's just not fair of him

To make me feel this much

His heart skips a beat when you lock eyes with him. There’s a slight falter in your voice but you push through. Smiling at him as sweat builds up on your skin.

I'd go anywhere he goes

And he says I'm so American

Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him

If he keeps this shit up

I might just be in love

God, I'm so boring, and I'm so rude

Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you

The way you dress, and the books you read

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me

When he's with me

Yeah, he’s kissing you tonight

I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon

But if the conversation ever were to come up

I don't wanna assume this stuff

But ain't it love?

I think I'm in love

Shit he wants to kiss you now.

The final chords ring out and the screams have been loudest out of the whole night.

As soon as you’re out of sight he looks to Ned and Ned laughs. With a shove he points his best friend into the direction he’s sure the backstage is in.

“Go get em’ tiger!” MJ yells.

“Please keep the tongue to a minimum!” Peter cries.

The pounding of his heart and the smack of his boots on the floor are all he can hear. Skidding to a stop he slips through a door with a taped over sign.

He spouts apologies and jumps over drum kits until he barrels into you or, you barrel into him. You’ve really got to watch where you’re going.

“Hobie-!” You feel dizzy after the clumsy collision of limbs. “What are you doing back here?”

“Was that for me?” He asks out of breath.

You blink as you finally register his presence. A shy smile makes its way onto your face.

“If it was?”

“If it was?” He laughs. “You’re such a cheeky little thing.”

“Hey! I’m-”

The words die on your tongue as he crashes his lips onto yours. His hands moving from your shoulders to your face. Gently caressing the skin there.

“Yeah.” You answer when you part. Dizzy for a whole different reason. “It was for you.”

Hobie laughs again.

“Well what are you waiting for?” You sigh. “Kiss me again.”

So he does.

I had so much fun participating and hope we can continue to have this mass collaboration moving forward. You all did wonderfully and if I haven't gotten to your work I hope to do so soon. Well done everyone! 🫶

#hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderpunk #octobie #octobie 24'#hobie october event #octobie wildcard #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader

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kamwashere · 5 months ago

Note

saw your tags and yes PLEASE do a proper fic rec list!

5 times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did by keikoHPfan [T, 1K]

Wade isn't a fool. And he knows better, whatever Spidey says. Or five times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did.

✦ kam's notes: The first ever SMDP fic I’ve ever read! I had this bookmarked in 2016 with a note saying, “I wanna scream but fam is literally right hEre so I'm just here making this weird sound in my throat this fic must be treasured for life.” Super angsty and fluffy!

The Perks of Being Smarter Than Everyone Gives You Credit For by alphasaceraptor, Orcusnox (Cat9894) [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 32K, WIP]

Peter Parker, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, is sapiosexual. You'd think, working as an intern under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, he'd have his pick of the best brains around. But apparently not. Someone's been lying about how smart a certain mercenary actually is, and that puts Peter in a sticky situation when said mercenary starts interacting with Peter. And with trouble brewing at Stark Industries, you just know this is going to be a wild ride...

✦ kam's notes: Sadly, I think this has been abandoned as it hasn’t been updated since 2017 but it’s still worth a read! Featuring super smart Wade and super horny about it Peter.

Propositions by stuckybarnes [T, 8K]

“Yeah…” Deadpool drawls. “Anyway, Pretty Boy, I have a proposition for you.” This makes Peter kind of want to throw up. Propositions by Deadpool always end up with them in varying degrees of pain, and a lot of explaining to do with the Avengers. OR Wade finally convinces a very tired Peter to go to New York Comic-Con with him and enter a Deadpool and Spider-Man cosplay contest, sure they'll win. Obviously. It doesn't go exactly as expected, and Peter is not thrilled.

✦ kam's notes: Spidey and DP go to Comic-Con! Fanservice, cosplays, banter, and feelings! All that fun stuff.

Ooh, Spicy by misato [E, 2K]

“It’s me,” he croaks, and Peter readies his web-shooter, aiming it at his mouth. He starts talking. Fast. “I’m Deadpool. Wade Wilson. I’m from another universe. In that one you’re dead and I’m more than a little bit bummed about it.” Surprisingly, that’s what gets Peter to loosen his grip. “You’re from another universe?” he sighs. “That’s so last week.”

✦ kam's notes: Hell yeah, another Peter B./Wade fic! This one is very spicy, kinda sad, but still sweet. Wade worships every version of Peter and I love that.

baby, i’d victoria your secret anytime by ghostsoldier [E, 4K]

Peter’s known Wade for a while now, so he can maybe see how this makes sense -- like, maybe Wade has a thing about going commando and just happened to have an old girlfriend’s panties lying around, one thing led to another…but… “And the bra?” Peter croaks.

✦ kam's notes: Wade (unknowingly) seduces Peter with lingerie (!!!) and pancakes. Spice ahead!

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) by mokuyoubi [E, 42K]

There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point... OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

✦ kam's notes: I debated putting this here a lot since when I first read it, I did so without reading the tags or the notes and missed the Tom!Spidey disclaimer but please don’t be discouraged, it is still a very good fic. Peter is aged up (still feels like a weird loophole) and is a full-fledged adult. Anyways! This fic lovingly abuses the classic identity porn trope. Very good and there is a variety of MCU cameos.

what light through yonder window by hellornothing [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, 14K]

The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough. ‘Deadpool?’ - aka the one where they get together via late night window visits

✦ kam's notes: This fic has EVERYTHING: late night talking, identity reveal, pining!Peter, TLC. I really love Wade in this; he’s so tender, funny, and charming. This is also domestic in ways I can’t explain.

finger tap pulses by twentytwosevens [T, 3K]

"The first time Peter’s timer stops he is eleven years old. It times out in the middle of the night and wakes him up like an electric shock. The blank timer stares at him from his wrist as he yells and screams for his aunt and uncle." Spideypool AU with timers where Wade keeps getting killed and making Peter's timer go blank. By the time they meet he's pretty pissed off. This was certainly a summary with words, but they were not good ones. Based off a tumblr prompt that I cannot find anymore.

✦ kam's notes: Oh, this one has a delicate amount of angst and crack. Poor Peter! Deadpool-typical suicidal ideation, be warned.

BDE (Big Dick Emergency) by DerRumtreiber [E, 6K]

“Oh my god,” he says again. “Oh. My. Gaa-awd, Becky. Did you?” Wade is visibly vibrating. “Did you really say ‘giant penis problem’? Really? Truly?” “What did you think I meant the first time?” Peter asks through clenched teeth. “I dunno, wrong hole?” ~*~*~ Or, the one where Peter is in need of some practical advice, and Wade is always happy to share his ass knowledge.

✦ kam's notes: THEE BOTTOM!WADE FIC, imo. Peter has unsatisfying sex life due to his Big Problem/Blessing and Wade is determined (and super thrilled) to change that. Not to be a spoiler but he definitely succeeds.

Love of a Different Lifetime by alicat54c [T, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 15K]

In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead. ... “Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.” Wade's arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk. Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.” The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”

✦ kam's notes: And to end this fic rec, I bring you the ultimate filmverse!Spideypool fic. It rewrites both DP1 and TASM1 and it entwines both of the film’s canon together. In this fic, Peter doesn’t have his powers yet but he does meet Wade pre-cancer. They fall in love. While Wade goes into the program, Peter becomes Spider-Man. Cue Deadpool being born, Spider-Man trying to stop him, heartaching reunion and all that. Loved this one.

Oh, and also there are some Team Red moments!

As usual, I'll just add my own fics as well —

my heart is wild (and my bones are steel) [T, 9K]

Out of the corner of his eyes, MJ quietly takes the seat across the younger Peter, swiftly sliding into his place. He visibly relaxes, resting his forehead against hers. They belong together in a quietly intense way. Longing burns hot inside of him, like a branch caught in a forest fire. It’s strange. Even if this version of Peter has lost virtually everything, he still finds a way to be envious of him. He thinks of Wade. For some unfathomable reason he isn’t quite ready to examine yet, he misses the idiot.

No Way Home, but in Peter-Three’s perspective.

all the skeletons you hide (show me yours, i’ll show you mine) [M, 23K, WIP] [Just updated]

A wave of affection and longing almost makes him stagger on his feet. Just seeing him in that suit—looking less than impressive, scratching his butt—makes him realize just how much he missed him. “Wade,” Peter cringes at how his voice catches, “Hi.” Wade turns around, turns back, turns again and does a double take. He eyes Peter up and down and to his surprise, turns away snootily. “Sorry cutie, any other day, I would be super into this hipster nerd slash skater boi with an I you’ve got going on—devastating combo, by the way—I’m sadly not in the mood.”

Peter, fresh out of his multiversal escapades, gains a new perspective in life. One that includes a certain mouthy mercenary, perhaps?

The problem is, the mercenary doesn’t seem to remember him. Like at all. He has a sneaking suspicion it has to do with that spell thing Peter-One was talking about…

‣ Both are a part of the new york isn't new york without you series

#HEY GUESS WHAT YOU CAN HAVE ANOTHER ONE!!#part 2 it is!#saw this as soon as i posted the first one and was like you know what i have enough for another one #(and another one if you guys want more lol)#spideypool #sm/dp #spider-man #deadpool #peter parker #wade wilson #marvel #mcu #kam's works #ao3 #fic rec #ask stuff #anon #kamwashere

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supernatural-bias · 8 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

↳ summary: in which gabriel can be a shithead, you're awkward, and a shifter really messes up your first interaction

↳ warnings: violence, blood (mentioned), and lots of weird stuff

↳ authors note: this was a wip turned valentines day event submission for @spnfanficpond. the prompt was "an archangel falls in love with a mortal." a bit early but what the hell. for the three other gabriel fans out there, enjoy my first work of the new year.

↳ song: awful—hole

masterlist | commissions | carrd

“You know, never in my billions of years on this planet have I met someone who can avoid me as well as you all do."

Dean jolts in his seat as he looks up from his bowl of cereal, bleary eyed and slow to the draw. A few cheerios find their way onto his lap at the movement, and stick there. Through a slow blink, he stares at them, watching as his pants sop up the milk from them. Eventually he finds his voice, annoyance creeping into the groan he lets out.

"Dude, how many times have I told you to warn me before you use your freaky magic to pop in here." Dean glares at Gabriel as he tries his best to mop up some milk he spilled with the ends of his sleep shirt, giving up after a moment.

The archangel Gabriel grins down at Dean from his spot on the kitchen counter. He had on a set of unassuming clothes, looking like he might have gone on a casual stroll before dropping by the bunker. His hair fell in little curtains, framing his face like he had woken up and done nothing more than run a few fingers through it.

Dean looks down at his old Led Zeppelin shirt and mismatched socks. He grumbles.

"My bad Dean-o. I thought you would have been used to it by now, what with my baby bro practically bunking here half the time. What's up with that anyway?" Hopping off the counter Gabriel stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, sticking his thumbs out as he begins to walk around the bunker's kitchen. He pauses every so often to mess with a stray utensil or two, fidgeting with them before placing them back at an angle that Dean knew would annoy Sam.

"Uh huh." Dean ignores the question to duck his head down and take another bite of cereal. He looks at Gabriel from the corner of his eye as he gives a crunch, swallowing for a second. He takes a brief moment to debate the consequences of drawing an banishing sigil before sighing. Dean might not like the archangel much— certainly not enough to tolerate him this early on in the morning —but he also knew that Gabriel had a habit of cursing people with some bizarre spell if they didn't give him the light of day.

"I'm assuming you didn't drop by to tidy up our kitchen and go." The hunter squints, blinking some crust out of his eyes in an attempt to be fully present for the conversation. "Can we help you, or—?"

Gabriel snaps his fingers to show Dean he had heard him, turning on his heel to look at the hunter with an expression Dean didn't see on him much. If he squinted hard enough, he thought it looked a bit like hesitancy.

"Right. I was wondering where your good pal—" Gabriel said your name, prompting Dean's eyebrows to draw closer together, "—was. You know, fellow hunter? Been holed up here for a couple months? Got a maaaajorly messed up sleep schedule? About yay high?" Gabriel holds out his arm to approximately your height with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Dean watches him do it with a frown, not entirely impressed.

"Why do you want to know where they are?" He slurps back some more cereal, eyeing Gabriel as he did so. "They've got stuff to do. Monsters to gank. How would I know where they were? And more importantly, why do you of all people want to know?"

Gabriel sucks at his teeth.

"Can't a guy just ask a friend of his a few questions?" He gives a dazzling grin; a stark contrast to Dean's bitchface. Gabriel had taken to calling it the Winchester Special long ago, and looks at Dean with a poorly concealed smirk.

"We're not friends, twinkle toes." Dean stabs at the air in Gabriel's direction with his spoon.

"Owch." He fakes a wince, sighing dramatically. "Point taken."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I just want to get to know them a little better." The angel seemingly concedes, now leaning his hip against one of the kitchen counters and looking at Dean with a bite to his lip. "Form new friendships with like-minded people and all that."

"Like-minded people?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "You met them a week ago."

"Hey, they like killing monsters, my whole family tree is full of em." Gabriel holds two hands out, tilting them up and down like scales. "I'm sure we can find common ground in there somewhere."

"I knew letting you come on that last mission was a mistake." Dean grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"Whaaat, that last one? With the shapeshifter? No way you regret that, amigo! I totally helped you nail that sucker." Gabriel grins knowingly. Dean suppresses a shudder at his use of Spanish, images of Casa Erotica surfacing in his consciousness before being forced away.

"Let me rephrase that for you: I knew that if you ever met one of our friends, you'd do this." Dean ignores Gabriel's previous comment about helping, the likes of which wasn't entirely wrong. Although you'd be hard pressed to hear a Winchester ever admit when they were wrong.

"What? Be charming?"

"Be annoying." Dean glares. "It's already bad enough we have to deal with you ourselves."

"You know I'm just gonna pester you until you give me a hint, right?" Gabriel tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. Dean looks away, struggling to come up with an excuse to get the cosmic being to leave him and his breakfast alone.

“If you want to talk to them so much, why don't you use that mojo of yours everyone is always trying to kill us over.”

“You know I can't do that, smartass.” Gabriel stares Dean down with a squint. “You three made sure of that when you went around branding all your friends with angel magic."

Dean returns the look, only breaking away when he thought about how soggy his cereal was getting. He turns back to his bowl just in time to see a cheerio sinking beneath the milk, letting out a pathetic bubble or two as it went.

"They're on a hunt right now." He finally relents with a sigh. He figures that he could apologize to you tomorrow about pointing the angel your way. "Don't ask me where, I don't know. They said they'd be back today."

He looks up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at Gabriel. "Whatever you're about to do, just make sure to do it far away from here. Last time you fucked around in the bunker, it took us a week to clean up. Cas is still finding confetti in his damn coat pockets.”

"Who said I was doing anything?" Mirth dances behind golden eyes. Dean opens his mouth to respond, but finds the words dying upon arrival.

"Stupid angels and their stupid wings." He mutters to a now empty kitchen. The sound of fluttering papers was the only thing to answer him.

Whatever. Gabriel was someone else's problem now.

Picking up the cereal box in front of him, Dean frowns and goes to pour himself another bowl of cheerios.

"Ooh, honey nut."

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Sleep was the one thing you miss most from your old life, and everyone knows it.

Before vampires, and ghosts, and all those new monsters of the week that seem to pop up anytime you relax, it had just been you, your bed, and the occasional night shift. While you don’t miss those late nights spent dealing with fussy customers, you certainly did miss your old bed sheets— the kind that never seemed to be too hot in the summer, and kept you perfectly toasty in the winter. At least, they had been, until you used them to choke a werewolf out in your dorm room. They had been sort of ruined after that.

Since then, your back has been plagued with one too many nights on a shitty motel mattress for it to be concidered anything other than torture. The Men of Letters Bunker is certainly a nice change of pace from the looming threat of bed bugs and airborne illnesses, but even their mattresses are far from perfect.

You can’t entirely blame the old guys. You doubt you'd be concerned with the exact thread count of a few bed sheets if the hideout you were building was for that of doomsday. It couldn't have killed them to stash a bit more memory foam around, though. God, all you wanted these days was a bit more memory foam.

With a grunt, you open the door to the bunker, and stumble in with a somber expression.

You don't say hi to Sam or Dean as you trudge down the steps to the bunker, and if they know anything about you, they wont seek you out for a hello either. You feel way too sore to be indulging in civil small talk at the moment. All that's on your mind was is hot bath, and the inviting arms of your mediocre bed. A warm welcome back from a successful vamp kill.

It takes you approximately twenty minutes of blissful, soapy heaven before you reach sight of your bed, now accompanied by an unusual addition: leather jacket and all.

"For someone who supposedly lives here, you are really hard to find. I'm starting to hate that chicken scratch on your ribs."

Your hand is still on your bedroom door knob when you walk into Gabriel propped up on your bed. Little droplets of water are sliding off of your skin and onto the floor as you stand there, and they splatter against the hardwood unceremoniously.

"...Gabriel?"

"The one and only." Your visitor grins, shifting on his spot on the bed. He looks as casual as one can be, and it stirs something up from within you.

You pull your eyebrows together in the beginnings of a glare, but relax them at the last moment. You’re too tired to get angry right there. Instead, you decide focus on his clothes, desperate for any sort of distraction.

He looks like he’s ready to walk onto a movie set, with a smooth shirt and comfy pants, sitting there in a leather jacket and with that smile of his. Or at least something of that caliber.

Suddenly you are very aware of your disheveled appearance.

"Uhm—" To say you feel a little unprepared for this visit, both emotionally and physically, would be an understatement. You’re in sleep clothes that have far too many holes peppered in them, and your hair sticks to your forehead in the shape of damp curls. Hardly ready for any type of chatter. "Did Sam or Dean let you in?"

"You could say that." Gabriel sighs, shooting you an award winning smile as you scratch the back of your neck. You accidentally dig a little too hard, and pull away before you can draw blood. If Gabriel notices, he doesn't say anything.

Your phone buzzes from inside your pocket. You spare a glance at it, reading the notification with a set expression before slipping it back inside your pants.

"What are you doing here? Did you need something?" You ask as you step into your room, leaving the door ajar behind you. You try not to stare at him too hard as you crossed the room, heading straight for your desk chair. It has an unfamiliar jacket draped across it haphazardly, probably one of the Winchesters, and you slip it on, feeling a bit better once you zip up the front. You see Gabriel hop off your bed out of the corner of your eye as you do so. He brings his hands out his pockets, rocking on his heels while looking up at the ceiling.

"Man, you and your pals with all these questions. Is it a crime to make friendly conversation around here?”

You stare at him.

“The last, and only, time we talked was in a sewer, Gabriel.” You remind him, purposefully keeping your answer short. He smiles, seemingly not put out by the memory, even if you grimace at the mental image.

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Blood and guts covered you head to toe. Shapeshifter skin was clumped in your hair, and you had been stomping around in the sewers for what felt like hours.

The hit you had taken to the face earlier had been embarrassing. Even more so when your nose had started to bleed all but immediately, gushing down your front like a faucet while you attempted to stab the creature on top of you to an unsuccessful degree.

Dean had volunteered to cover the front of the group when the shapeshifter had gotten away, signaling at you to watch everyone's backs. You had listened without much of a complaint, falling back with a nod and taunt muscles.

All of that had happened in the span of five minutes. That's just how it went as a hunter. Expect the unexpected, and when it eventually happened, try to keep your head on straight.

Speaking of the unexpected.

"So, what's a fella like you doing galavanting around with these two chuckleheads?"

You attempted to hush the angel next to you awkwardly, using the stealth of the hunt as an excuse for your lack of conversation. Gabriel shot you a look, gesturing forwards at Sam and Dean; who were both chattering away about something heatedly while the two of you trailed behind.

"I don't think I'm the one who's going to get us caught in this situation, sugar." He cocked a brow. A smile appeared when you pursed your lips, joy overriding his deadpan look.

"Why are you even here again?" You pivoted, taking extra care to avoid a clump of what looked like teeth by your foot.

"Oh, boredom, curiosity, a hankering for my monthly dose of flannel— take your pick, really."

Your lips twitched upwards at that. Gabriel watched with a twinkle in his eyes, only for it to fade when you forced down the smile.

When Sam and Dean had told you an angel would probably be dropping by, the last thing you expected was a sly, shit eating grin accompanied by honey brown ringlets of hair. You might not be as well versed on the topic of heaven as the brothers were, but you had certainly expected an archangel of all things to be, well, more serious.

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“Well, forgive me for thinking you might have alternative motives for breaking into my room.” You bring yourself back to the present. Leaning against the wall, you settle on watching him meander about the room. “I’ve heard some stories from Dean and Sam that don't exactly paint you as a model citizen.”

”Oh, what, the time loop thing? That was years ago. Pretty long by human standards.” He smiles. Your mind lingers on the 'human standards' part of his statement for a second too long as Gabriel waves a dismissive hand at you, using the other to rotate a picture frame.

It’s the one with you, Cas, and the brothers in front of Bobby's house. The afternoon after a successful hunt, if you were remembering things right. Bobby himself had been missing from the picture, too busy making sure the camera had all of you in its sights to make his way over in time.

In the photo, your arm is slung as far over Cas’s shoulder as it can go, and you’re sporting a pair of bunny ears thanks to Dean. Sam is mid laugh in the photo, and Cas’s eyes are half closed. It’s a horrible picture.

But it’s still framed and sitting on the dresser you barely use.

”That really happened? A whole ass time loop?" You clear your throat, not wanting to think about the picture any longer. Gabriel seems to pick up on your change in mood, and spares a glance at you.

”Doubting my abilities, are you?” He sets down the picture frame gently and moves on to something else, saying nothing about your small appreciative sigh as he does so.

”More like doubting Sam’s ability to tell a story.” You snort despite yourself. “I sort of lost the plot when he started talking about the piano that fell on Dean.”

"Ah. That." Gabriel sighs like he’s recalling a fond memory, refusing to elaborate with anything more than a smile. At this point, you don’t even want to know.

"Anyways—" The angel had gotten closer to you sometime during the conversation, now on the same side of the room as you. "I gotta say, you did catch me. I am here for more than just a quick chat." He holds his hands up like a criminal caught in the act, pursing his lips while he does so. You let him play the situation up as you wait for him to go on, your old friend curiosity rearing its head inside of you as he waits.

"Remember the shifter case?" Gabriel tilted his head your way when you don’t respond, prompting you to nod.

"..the one we were just talking about?" Your eyes are narrowed at this point.

"The very same." He clicks his tongue.

"Yeah. Kind of hard to forget." You hum as casually as you can, trying not to give away any of your feelings. Gabriel notices how you’re now avoiding his gaze.

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Moonlight from a sewer grate above your head illuminated your path. Ripples of water disrupted the puddles at your feet, and there was no one there to cringe at the smell of it but you.

When the shifter had jumped you all from around a corner, Sam and Dean had taken off after it, chasing the creature down too many twisting tunnels for you to count. Gabriel, who had stuck with you nearly the entire time, was much faster than he seemed. Even if you thought you had a few inches on him, he quickly outpaced you, eventually leaving you to wonder if the boys had taken a left or a right at that last impasse. And you were pretty sure you had taken the wrong path, if the empty stretch of sewer in front of you told you anything.

Either way, you were lost.

"Shit." You cringed uncomfortably as you stepped in something especially squishy. "Sewers. Why is it always fuckin' sewers. Can't I ever go on a hunt at a nice resort sometimes?" You spoke to no one in particular. Maybe if you prayed to Chuck tonight, he'd write a nicer adventure for you. One with hot towels and massages.

You frowned. Nah. Probably not.

A sudden noise pulled your attention away from the unfortunate scene by your feet. The sound was faint, barely even there, but the curved walls of the sewers amplified it.

It sounded, well, wet for a lack of better words.

Images of blood, loose skin, and barred flesh flashed through the backs of your eyelids. Imagination and memories blurred together, and it raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

You raised your gun steadily. Holding a flashlight in your other hand, you crossed the two items over each other as you stalked in the direction the noise was coming from.

The stone battered walls around you began to slant outwards. Against your better judgement, you followed the movement of them, taking one step after another until eventually it led you into a bigger part of the sewer.

"Sam?" Dean?" You called, venturing further into the opening. The sound was amplified, now louder than the water that had begun to flow by your feet. It spilled out into the giant room of pipes before you as you crept forward. "..Gabriel?"

Nobody answered you. Just more of that noise.

With a heavy gaze, you squared your shoulders, and prepared for a fight.

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"Well, I wanted to talk about what happened." Gabriel's gaze is piercing as he looks at you. If you were anyone else, you might have squirmed underneath it, but you hold steady. Er, try to at least.

Gabriel rocks on his feet once more as you stare at a wall. From the corner of your eye, you see him clearly looking at you, and it lights a dangerous spark to something you’ve been pushing aside. Emotional constipation sort of comes with the territory of being a hunter, if you’re being honest, and in times like these your issues were certainly no help.

"Hey, if you're mad that I managed to get the final kill and not you, there's probably some angel therapist out there you could find to work out the kinks in your ego." You go for the humorous route, shrugging nonchalantly as you attempt to swing the conversation in a direction other than the way it was currently barreling. It’s your attempt to give him a way out.

"That's not what I mean and you know it." He doesn’t take it, pushing forward.

Now you’re the one fiddling with your stuff. You feel like your suffocating in your own room— Gabriel's presence practically taking up a whole corner of it without him even realizing. You briefly wonder if that was an angel thing. A mental image of giant wings crowding around you and your belongings comes to mind the more you think about it. It makes you angry.

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Each step you took into the room felt more and more coated with danger. The air was practically thick with it. You were struggling to breathe through the stench.

You saw shoes. Two pairs. One looked too familiar for comfort. Had Sam been wearing those? Or were they Dean's? A giant, rust ladened pipe blocked everything else from your view, obscuring the answer.

The sounds were only getting louder. Something— someone —whimpered.

"Goddamnit— Fuck this."

You rounded the corner at the end of the pipe, finger twitching over the trigger. You nearly shot, ready to fly into a fight, only to see—

Yourself. Kissing Gabriel.

And doing a damn good job at it.

You watched as a pair of lips the exact shade and shape as your own devoured him. The two of them had both hands on the other, trying to find purchase in the fabric on their bodies. There was no doubt in your mind anymore what those noises were, and a part of you found yourself wishing it had been something bloody. You even weren’t sure if they knew you were standing across the room from them, gun hanging in your limp hand as your eye twitched uncontrollably.

"What the fuck?"

Your identical twin was the first one to react at the sound of your strangled voice. Their head snapped back from Gabriel's, mouths parting as they turned to look at you.

Nausea rolled over you in waves as you looked into your own eyes. Everything about them we're perfect. You reckoned if you went as far as to count the number of eyelashes you had, theirs would have been the same. Not a single detail was off: from the clothes, down to the few strands of hair you could never get tamed.

"Oops. You caught me." The shifter caught their breath enough to grin, birding holes into your eyes. They even managed to embody every bit of inflection you put into your voice when you talked. You felt a little bile claw its way up your throat.

They were still holding onto the front of Gabriel's jacket, standing there. Gabriel's chest heaved from under their grip as he looked between the two of you. His lips were parted slightly, and his hair was messy; no doubt from the shifter running a hand through it. The sight of him gave you a small pause in your movements, and for the life of you, you didn't know why.

Both you and the shifter stared at him, the latter of you waiting for him to catch up. You were still trying to process all this yourself. Eventually, he found his voice and your wide eyes.

"So.. that's not you I take it?" Gabriel pointed lamely at the carbon copy standing a mere few feet away from him.

"Pretty safe to say yeah." You gave him a look that was borderline crazed.

"Ah. Well."

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Later, you didn't tell Dean or Sam how exactly you'd managed to gank the shifter in that pipe room. It was believable enough that you had managed to tackle it, letting Gabriel take over with the smiting from there. A whole lot easier than admitting you had chopped it's head off in one short go, a burst of confusion and anger aiding your rush across the room at the time as you cut of whatever evil speech it had been preparing to give about killing you all— something to do with impersonating you and striking when everyone’s guards were down.

You didn't bother coming up with a lie for why Gabriel's shirt was buttoned back up wrong. He could do that himself.

The angel had played along with your lie at the time, only commenting with a smart ass quip or two when Dean sent a hard glare his way. It was a good lie overall. You knew the brothers, Dean particularly, would blow their tops if they knew exactly what had happened. And sometimes, what the Winchesters didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.

You remember emerging from the sewers after that, Sam and Dean already talking about the quickest route out of town so they could avoid local law enforcement. You remember sitting down on a roadside curb as they talked, staring at the soiled ends of your shoelaces. You remembered thinking about what had happened, and not being surprised when Sam came over to tell you that Gabriel had already taken off, saying something about angel's business he had to take care of.

You just hate that the one thing you couldn't stop remembering was the look in Gabriel's eyes when he had pulled away from the shifter.

What more, was that you hated that that very same look was the one currently staring you down from across the room, directing all of its owners undecided attention to you.

"Look, let's not play dumb here." Gabriel chooses to be the one to break the silence. You’re partly grateful, but his opening quickly dispels any thankfulness.

"Dumb." You echo back. You feel your upper lip curl a little. It wasn't a question, just his own word thrown back at him. Gabriel nods, but you see him hesitate.

"You're angry." He says slowly, as if testing how the words fell on his tongue.

"Sure, yeah. Because if I'm remembering correctly, one of us walked into the other kissing a monster down in that shithole and then took off. And it sure as hell wasn't me." You can’t decide if you should raise your voice for emphasis, or lower it to disguise the slight shake you knew he was hearing. You settle for neither.

Gabriel doesn't have a witty response prepared for that. He opens his mouth as if to say something, before closing it without a word. You knew from Castiel that angels didn't sweat or blush, much less from embarrassment, but staring at Gabriel, you’re damn sure that he was wrong.

"Did you come here to explain yourself, or just bring up something that happened weeks ago without elaboration?" You chew at the inside of your cheek furiously, trying desperately to focus on anything other than the heat rising along your neck.

Gabriel doesn’t seem to like your sudden accusation. He tilts his head down slightly with a frown, his flush now completely gone as he bites at his own cheek subconsciously. He mirrors you without even realizing it. "Uhm, sweetheart, from what I can recall, shifters tend to tap into your hidden desires."

"I don’t want to hear it from the guy who couldn't stick around long enough to clean up his messes." You ignore the spike of anxiety you felt all of a sudden, choosing to keep your voice devoid of any emotions as you pin him in place with one look. You refuse to confirm or deny his statement.

Neither of you seem to know what to say after that. For the first time since you had met him, Gabriel was anything but smiles, and you couldn't decide if that made you uncomfortable, or sad.

You watch as a handful of emotions shadow his face. Some you can pinpoint— anger, hesitation, guilt —and some you can’t. You aren’t sure if the same story is currently being played out on your face, but judging on the way his eyes soften after finally taking a proper look at you, you bet that was the case.

He takes a deep breath, letting it out as he carefully makes his way to sit on the edge of your bed.

"You want to know why I really dropped by?" He watches you as you nod at him quickly, pushing him to continue. "To apologize."

Gabriel almost calls you sugar, but stops himself before he could. Now is not the time. Not while he's thinking about how tight your grip is around your jacket sleeves right now, and most certainly not while he's remembering how it felt when the shifter walked up to him with your smile, offering him something he hadn't thought twice about refusing.

You don't say anything. You don't do much of anything but breathe, letting the rise and fall of your chest mark each passing second. He takes that as a sign to continue, despite how much he wants to snap himself away at the moment.

"I'm not exactly a model citizen. Or angel. You've probably gathered that much." He says in one quick breath, slurring his words a little more than normal. "I make stupid decisions, and I don't exactly have the best track record about cleaning them up."

You mumble something under your breath. Gabriel stops himself, allowing you a chance to speak up in case you wanted to. When you don't, he swallows, and continues

"I understand if you want to tell Dean and Sam to kick me out, hell I figured you would have done it yourself by now.” He seems frustrated— whether it’s with himself or something else, you don’t know —and it doesn't take a genius to see it. Gone is his usual bravado and pop culture references, replaced with a bouncing leg and an uncharacteristically nervous tone. “I just wanted to say sorry for kissing you. It. Them. Whatever.”

You blink.

"Wait." You tilt your head down and shake it, eyebrows furrowed with a look of confusion. "That's what you're apologizing for?"

He pauses, hands pushed in his pockets like he doesn't know what to do with them. Something akin to confusion flickers across his face.

"..yes?"

You push yourself off the wall, unfolding your arms and rubbing your face as if trying to ground yourself. He watches as your lips press into a fine line. He tells himself now is not the right time to be staring at your lips. He doesnt stop.

"Gabriel, I'm not mad at you for that."

The angel finally tears his gaze away to look opposite you, feeling more confused than he has in a hot minute. "You're not?"

"No, you giant, winged dumbass." You nearly roll your eyes. "I'm not mad at you because you kissed a shifter that looked like me. If anything, that's understandable. Weirder shit has happened to me, trust.” You pause to crack the smallest of smiles. “I’m assuming Sam and Dean didn't tell you about the time a demon kissed Sam while wearing me?” You direct your question at him, and nod firmly when he shakes his head no.

“See, I can handle shit like that. The difference between back then, and now, is that me and Sam actually talked after exercising that bitch. You just took your unbelievably big ego and flew away that night like a dickhead.”

Anger hadn’t come immediately with his departure, you knew that. Sitting on that street curb, the most you had felt faint disappointment blanketed with a weird sense of not knowing what to do. Really you hadn’t been able to focus on it for more than a minute before Sam and Dean were dragging you and your blood soaked outfit off to the motel to peel out of there. But in the week it had taken him to show up again, you had time to think. Time to go over every detail you could pull from that afternoon, and time to grow increasingly pissed off with the angel for how he left. No matter how many hot feelings the thought of your lips kissing him stirred up.

“I'm mad because you didn't stay to fucking talk, Gabriel, not because you did something I would have without a second thought. Owning up to your shit means a lot to me, and that is the one, glaring thing that you missed that night." You tell him point blank.

In the silence that follows, you debate sitting next to him on the bed for a moment before giving in, planting yourself a good few feet away from him as he tracks you with his eyes.

Gabriel looks like he has absolutely no idea what to say. He sits there, replaying your entire conversation with him in his head as if that would somehow make it make more sense. You give him time, and as you do, you inexplicably feel the last of your anger begin to evaporate.

”Wait— something you would have done without a second thought?” His eyes slowly make their way around the perimeter of the room before landing on you.

"Fucking angels and their social skills." You rub your temples with closed eyes, a bit or irritation seeping into your tone. "And I thought you were better at this communicating stuff than your little brother."

Gabriel ignores the obvious poke at his ego via Cas in favor of holding his hand out as if to signal a time out.

”Correct me if I’m wrong, but you just said you would have kissed me if given the chance.”

”That is not the point I was trying to make.”

“But one that you still made.” He points a finger at you. You don’t redden, but you feel your face become hot once more. More so out of awkwardness than anything.

“This is not how I wanted a talk between us to go.” You muttered. Gabriel tried not to show how excited he had become again over the past few seconds, stomping it down to give you a minute.

“Well, how would you have wanted it to go?” He settles on asking. You look at him like he’s making a joke, and not a very good one.

“Not in my pajamas after basically admitting to you I would have liked to be on the receiving end of that necking.”

“Humor me then.” He tilts his head. You take a moment to deduce if he’s being serious or not. When you can’t find any hint of a joke or lie, you start.

“I would have liked to talk, mostly. Figure out how you got in that position, and then ask why you stayed. And if things went well enough and the boys were still out of earshot, maybe ask if you’d like to go hunting with me again.”

”That would have been..” He hesitates. “..nicer than what actually happened.”

”That being said—“ You hold up a hand. “—that would not have been a light offer.” You tell him. “I’m not exactly the best guy to get with, Gabe. The last person who I tried to go out with ended up with black eyes, and not because they got beat up. Why do you think I talked about suggesting a hunt instead of Olive Garden?”

”You think being with an angel is any easier?” He uses his signature move, cocking a brow at you.

“That wasn't and invitation to start a dick measuring contest.” You remind both him and yourself. “All I meant by it was that this is a bigger decision than we both probably think. For one, Dean’s going to deep fry you in holy fire when he finds out any of what happened last week, and I don't even know if it's allowed for a human to go out with an angel.”

”Sweets, you basically just put a date with you on the table. Who cares if it’s allowed, I’ll make it allowed.” He offers that up like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just offer to change the rules to heaven at a chance to sit down and watch a movie with you. “As for our very own Dean? Don’t worry, I can handle him. Father knows I’ve done it before, no sweat.”

“That’s good.” You muse with a playful look. “Especially considering he sent me a text a few minutes ago about the angel trap he’s setting up outside my door for you.”

Gabriel let out a hearty laugh no sooner than when you finished your sentence. Something about the visual of Dean hunched over outside your door with a jug of holy oil in hand was more amusing than he’d like to admit.

You smile while he laughs, unable to help yourself. Any remnants of your sour mood from this past week is old news by now. ”Hey, apparently you ruined his breakfast. In the Winchester household, that's a criminal offense.”

“Good thing I’ve got a badass hunter on my side.” He peers at you from under his lashes, still laughing.

“Not just yet, casanova. Take me to dinner first, then we’ll talk.” You halt him, closing your eyes and scrunching your nose with a laugh in a way that made Gabriel want to replicate that night with the shapeshifter; only this time with the real deal.

“That’s the plan.” He says with a cocky grin, and snaps his fingers. You don't need to know anything about angels to know he’s gone, the flutter of wings echoing in your head.

You're not disappointed by his disappearing act this time.

No less than a minute later, when you’re standing up once more to stretch your sore muscles, you hear a faint yell from outside your door, followed by familiar laughter. The sound reminds you of sunshine, and everything sweet.

You smile.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x y/n #gabriel #gabriel x reader #gabriel x you #gabriel x y/n #gabriel spn #gabriel spn x reader #gabriel spn x you #gabriel spn x y/n #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #x reader #one shot

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axolistic · 8 months ago

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NEW AU JUST DROPPED BABY

The amazing digital circus x ava (I'm insane). This is based on a video I saw on TikTok and just the episode itself.

Basically this happened, and both of these dumb stick guys ended up trapped on the digital circus. Here are some important things to take into account:

They don’t remember each other, but because they are not considered people, they still retain some things from their lives. Not memories, but general vibes, like: I don’t like this person or deja vu.

Also because of this, they sorta look like they do on the outernet, but just not at first glance.

They usually avoid interacting with each other, due to the aforementioned vibes.

TCO is easily irritated by anyone, specifically Victim. Will usually get violent if threatened.

One of the only things they have in common is their hate for Caine, a rare coincidence, how they both hate being overseen by a superior force.

Both of them still retain scars, because I think it's angsty.

Some notes about TCO’s design:

Can still use their powers, but are not aware they have them. Because of this, they got startled when they accidentally (that's up for debate) attacked Caine with their laser eyes.

Clothes were inspired by fire breathers (the act on a circus). Not a lot though, since I don't know how to draw jewelry or patterns lol.

When splashed with fire or any other liquid (excluding gasoline and substances similar to it), the flame in their head will die, but it will lit again automatically.

The pattern on their arms are not tattoos, but rather markings? I don't know how to explain it.

Some notes on Vic's design:

They are inspired by pierrot clowns and mimes, cause I thought it'd be ironic.

I made them look, or at least resemble c!Alan a bit, just for funsies (and angst).

Glasses can emote, and if you take them off the mask, it would just be those paint markings.

The mask can be taken off but with help. Victim cannot take it off by himself (he has tried).

Final Notes:

They can both speak, but they can also talk like in the drawing. (TCO by spitting letters made of fire and Victim by just... yeah.)

None of them remember their name, and I'm not sure what names to give them, it would be nice if you could give me some ideas-

Anyways, I kinda love this AU, and maybe I'll write a fic just for fun.

(Also for the Patchwork Family fic I'm writing, it's probably not gonna be discontinued, the next chapter is still a wip, but it's near completion :3)

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dollyknight · 2 months ago

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One May and June episode could be about their fears and insecurity joining the family (maybe involving FOWL remains), and how the clan tries to made them feel welcome and loved.

Since getting this ask I’ve thought of an episode where the two deal with this separately so here’s another episode description as a treat. Albeit slightly modified to avoid some spoilers

May and June learn what it truly means to have a family.

I've been doing a full re watch of Ducktales 2017 for both research and for fun and I’ve just finished the life and crimes of Scrooge Mcduck( the episode in Huey’s season before the finale being a Louie episode is a little annoying ngl) so I haven’t gotten to May and Junes introduction yet but the characterisation I have for them for is under the cut

June: I’ve kind of split parts of webby’s personality and altered them to give them each their own personality which is still a little bit of a wip for now. For June I gave her webbys initial season one enthusiasm if you know what I mean. She’s excited and bouncy and wants to try everything there is to try. I imagine she’d be interested in things like art and ballet as well as loving the ocean even if she’s not that good at sailing. She also has a lot of respect for her sister May, based on that one scene where she cuts the strings on webbys board because may said it was wrong, which leads me to thing she also does things without thinking she doesn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings she still learning. She seems like she’d be a good gift giver, the type of person who knows what people like because she wants everyone to be happy, which does sometimes lead to naivety( but don’t get it twisted she’s plenty smart)overcompensation on her part but she’s working on it.

May: mays a lot more cynical then her sister and is protective of her. She doesn’t trust easily on account of her entire world shattering. She’s got more of webby’s warrior attitude and has a similar way of looking at problems to Louie( he probably ropes her into his schemes). Even though she comes off as grumpy and cynical she loves her family and would do anything for them, she has a lot of respect for Donald and daisy as well as Mrs. Beakley and Huey( he is collecting little siblings like pokemon you guys). I also imagine she’d be interested in fashion like her mom daisy and debate. I think she gets lots of book recommendations from Huey so she’s always reading. She butts heads with Dewey a lot, partly because the entire cast kind of just gets along, they don’t often have different conclusions or shown opinions from each other( like they’re all obviously different to each other but you don’t really see them draw different conclusions from each other too often) and also because she kind of opposes his sunshine everything’s okay personality.

#ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #duckverse #dollyknights ducktales project #ducktales reboot #huey duck #June duck #may duck #ducktales huey #ducktales June #ducktales may #duck tales #donald duck #daisy duck #thanks for the ask!

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dragonchicken · 1 month ago

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Say no more.

Anti-Hero, rweoutofthewoods on ao3. Regulus survives.

Youngblood, same author, Jegulus meet in juvie and meet again nine years later when Sirius introduces his little brother, whom he believes James has never met.

Pathological people pleaser and basically anything else by rweoutofthewoods. They’re on tumblr as well and have a few wips up their sleeve, not yet 10 chapters long, but looks like they’re going there.

Art Heist, Baby!, otrtbs on ao3. Exactly as the title says. James gets thrown into a world of crime.

Debated whether or not to add Crimson Rivers by bizarrestars since most if not all know it, but adding it now if not. Same goes for Just Lovers (like we were supposed to be) and Best Friend’s Brother by the same author.

Drugs and surgical scrubs, anauro on ao3. Unfinished, wip, updated in April. Still adding it here, it’s 28/45 chapters done.

step into the daylight and let it go, serendipitysirius on ao3. Regulus survives. James is raising Harry alone after losing Lily.

Kill Your Darlings, MesserMoon on ao3. College au.

Choices, same author.

Snakes and Lions, her_smile_forges_galaxies on ao3. Remus is sorted into Slytherin and befriends Regulus. It’s also Wolfstar, but 127 chapters and about 700k words.

A Star for Summer’s Day, same author.

Meetings That Start In The Dark, writingamarie on ao3.

Anything by damagecontrol on ao3.

Carpe Noctem, evareinadeescocia on ao3. On haitus, but it’s already 700k words long and about 50 chapters. Last updated in March.

Many Are The Stars I See (But In My Eye No Star Like Thee), raynick11 on ao3. Shortest one on this list, 60k words and 12 chapters.

Mastermind, pieceofchocolate on ao3. Muggle Politics au.

Regulus Black and the Horcrux Hunt, maraudeer on ao3. 11 chapters an 70k words, last updated September, 2023.

Whatever happened to the young, young lovers?, georgia_sk on ao3. Regulus survives, defeats Voldemort singlehandedly and shows up at an Order meeting to announce his death.

Thieves, Waterloo on ao3. Ongoing, 200k words and 17/50 chapters done but last updated December 13th.

Ouroboros, futomomo on ao3. Regulus time travel fic, wip, last updated April with 16 chapters and 150k words.

You Signed Up For This, Solmussa on ao3.

Pink Lemonade, moonsybookshelf on ao3. Marauders Band au. Regulus is a photographer.

Like Real People Do, Arins_Writings on ao3. Time travel au.

Ogni Parte É Viva (Every Part Is Alive), euphorial_docx on ao3.

I tried to avoid unfinished wips but added a few that seemed interesting. All of these are on ao3, and I can whip up more if you’d like. Most of them also on ao3, but some others I can think of are on fanfiction.net.

YOU ARE AN ANGEL SENT FROM THE HIGHEST HEAVENS FOR ME I LOVE YOU.

i’m on chapter two of choices right now and i tried to read art heist baby but i couldn’t find the right author and i didn’t want to read something stolen/copied ya know?

but seriously i owe you thank you so much :)

#regulus black #james potter #jegulus #fic rec

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paradlselost · 9 months ago

Text

CRIMSON.

JOHN SEED X FEMALE DEPUTY

Sort of a dump, I was really debating on just publishing this as a WIP but I was halfway through the smut and decided to just finish it. Not my best, but I tried to go for a more canon accurate John, which means he’s a major freak in this sorry :/

I mentioned it in the fic but didn’t go too deep, I kinda love toying with the idea of a more selfish deputy - humanizing them. If I were to ever write a longer fic with more of an oc-ized version of the deputy would anyone read? Let me know.

I probably won’t post about John Seed or FC5 for a little while after this. I have ideas for a Black Noir (my bbg) fic and then a Father Paul Hill one from Midnight Mass cause I love religious trauma as y’all can tell. I do also like indoctrinated!deputy so maybe maybe eventually I write about that.

2.7k words

content warnings: mentions of cutting into flesh. smut — dubcon, choking, blood play (John being a freak sorry), dryhumping, oral (m receiving), fingering, debauchery in a house of God.

She should’ve known from the start, when the crackle of her radio sounded, interjecting her music with his voice; that this request was nothing but trouble. But rage had blinded her, wrath seeped into every pore in her body, selfishness.

It was never the Deputy’s plan to become the symbol for the resistance, even after the blades of the helicopter stopped, and smoke and fire billowed out from the engine. Even after Dutch saved her and enlisted her help, and despite the stories from countless other resistance members, she only really had one prerogative; save her friends.

Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse. Trapped in the claws of the cult, it was her duty to get them back, and despite the help she had been giving to the resistance, those were the only three people she cared about.

He knew this, stalking her like a cat preparing to pounce, he watched every facet of her life from the moment she ventured into Holland Valley that he could. A selfish little thing, ripe for his obsession.

John Seed was a proud man, bold and brave as he had so eloquently begged Jacob to put in his song. His pedestal as a Herald inflated his ego, the knowledge that without him Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have prospered nearly as much fueled his narcissism, which is why he surrounded himself with only the peggies who would do anything for him.

He isn’t sure whether new members are supposed to pledge their lives to him and the cult, but it sounds so sweet when the floor pools with the blood of their atonement and he coaxes those little words from his new followers' lips. His tongue is coated in silver, he loves this new power, and she threatens to take that from him.

He knew she wouldn’t be as proactive if he crooned to her that he had a resistance member or two, and she would swing in guns blazing if he claimed to have Hudson right beside him. So, instead he played on her curiosity, that little nudge in the back of her mind that forced her to seek him out whenever he called. Like a moth to a flame.

“Fuck you, Seed!” Voice so filled with venom it might’ve burned a hole in the floor, he tilted his head at her profanity, a sadistic grin playing on his face.

Hope County was filled with little white churches, chapels with steeples that attempted to reach to the heavens above. She assumed they were much more lively before, now most were barren except on Sundays, when the peggies who could not fit onto Joseph’s compound would listen to him under random roofs of God.

This. He chose to be under the white ceiling specifically, to call her into the thing she had been fighting against. To hear her screams echo against the chipped painting that decorated the walls, for her blood to be stained on the old wooden floorboards.

Curiosity killed the cat. She was stupid enough to venture into his trap, falling to the ground when hit hard enough over the head, and now she was stupid enough to attempt to fight off the peggies that held either arm.

“Such profanity. You’re in a house of God, Deputy, mind your tongue.” He scolded her as if she was a misbehaving child, as if everything she had ever done could be chalked up to that. A spoiled rotten brat.

His fingers danced over the tools he had brought with him, his trusty tattoo gun being at the top, but an assortment of knives he also deemed fit for this occasion. Oh, the blood she would spill for him, he became giddy at the thought.

“Get off of me-! Woah woah woah- hey stop!” Yelping, she still attempted to fight off the peggies that held her arms, she shied away when he advanced toward her, tattoo gun in his hands. He had tried this before, she knew what he was doing.

“No one here to help you now, Wrath. Don’t try and fight, your atonement will hurt much less if you cooperate.” He was too calm for this situation, a practiced art he had been through hundreds of times. It was a skill, making people spill their most intimate secrets, a skill he had perfected.

The Deputy was a fighter, through and through, though John could understand Jacobs words. She was weak without her companions, without pastor Jerome stealing her from her atonement, or Nick Rye strafing his armed convoy, she was nothing now - and it was almost endearing to him.

With her hands bound, she resorted to spitting that same venom that she held in her words, marking his perfect face with her saliva. He grimaced, wiping it off his cheek before it trailed down to his beard, pretty blue eyes flashing with that same bloodlust that dictated his every waking moment.

It was shocking to even the peggies that held her when he grabbed her by her throat, pinning her to the ground and straddling her hips. His hands shook with anger - the same wrath that he deemed consumed her now making an appearance in himself. Two sides of the same coin, two heads of a snake.

Her head ached now, body feeling as though it was echoing. A second blow to the back of her head that surely would’ve knocked her out if the pain of his tattoo gun wasn’t keeping her grounded. She didn’t know how fast he had ripped her shirt, or how long it would take for him to carve her skin, but she was reduced to pained whines and pleas for him to stop.

And he relished in the noises she made. The blood that covered his hands and trickled down her chest wasn’t an unusual sight for the herald - but her being the one under him made it all the more exciting. His Deputy, his wrath, his perfect rival. The peggies that stood above him now didn’t matter, and what are they to him anyways? Expendable followers he could use, the Deputy was everything.

“Yes yes, c’mon, keep pleading…” How could he help it? Her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him, hands no longer bound by the peggies now loosely grabbing the wrist that held the tattoo gun in an attempt to stop him. She looked so pathetic under him, so why shouldn’t he grind himself against her when his pants were so uncomfortably tight?

Her words didn’t quite reach his ears, not as he waved his followers out - who hurriedly scrambled in embarrassment. The old church was silent, save for her soft sobs and his intense breathing. His hand still placed over her neck made her choke on her words, which only fueled his desire. He could crush her windpipe, her life rested in his hands, and maybe he would’ve if the nagging reminder that she was the only way he was getting into New Eden wasn’t playing in the back of his head.

His ticket, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.

He removed his hand from her neck as he finished carving into her pretty skin. WRATH, her own personal scarlet letters. He hummed, looking down at her with lustful eyes, fluttering between hers and the blood that pooled on her chest and trickled down her body to the wooden floor below.

She hated the feeling that bubbled in her chest as the pain subsided, now only a dull ache danced with the look he gave her, how he rubbed the tent made in his pants against her. No doubt, a mark had been left on her neck - his handprint, a reminder. The world felt silent at this moment, when she should've pushed him off.

Selfishness. Prioritizing that small ache he gave her over what she should be doing. Finding anything to act as a weapon against him.

But she didn’t, not as his head lowered and she was greeted with his perfectly slicked back hair, shaking hands reaching to play with a strand. A soft grumble came from his throat, tongue lapping at the blood that trickled down the valley of her chest, tasting what he had drawn out of her.

“What are you doing-?” Her voice was soft, he barely heard it over the ringing in his ears. Too long had he been subjected to resorting to his hand when he thought about her, or messing up his silk pillowcases with his pretty ropes when she teased him over the radio. He had her under him, he wasn’t going to let her go now.

“Shh.” His voice was more scolding then he meant it to be, his tongue traveling from the blood he lapped at down to her budding nipple. He wasn’t gentle, and why should he be? After everything she had messed up for him, he felt it justified to bite down on her pretty flesh, pulling at the bud as much as he wanted.

He relished in the pretty, pained moans that fell from her lips, how her back arched into it. Two sides of the same coin, both reveling in whatever pain was brought to them.

The Deputy’s head tilted back, allowing him a chance to latch onto her neck as a vampire would, smearing the blood on his lips all over her pretty skin. He bit, marking her with his teeth over the forming bruises from his handprint. His hands, decorated in the crimson from his hold on the tattoo gun traveled down her body, painting her in her own red.

He slipped his hand below the rough fabric of her jeans, being met with a contrast, soft and delicate and slightly damp. A soft grumble left his lips at the feeling; which were still pressed against her pretty neck. He felt the way her breath hitched as he ran digits over her most delicate areas. Being so close to her neck, he felt how her muscles tightened and how her breath hitched in her throat.

Lifting her hips to meet his tattooed fingers, a small admission of need. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the noises that tempted to fall from her lips - not wanting to give him the satisfaction. They were still enemies, still rivals, at least to her.

John on the other hand seemed to be on cloud nine, relishing in how she moved against his hand, grinding herself through the fabric of her underwear. He bit down once more, slipping her out of her jeans and grabbing her hips, sitting up and pressing his pelvis against hers.

“John- John cmon…” Head thrown back, panting as she grabbed at the blue silk of his top. He tilted his head down at her, a sadistic smirk playing on his features.

He always took what he wanted, no matter who it was, and the Deputy was no exception to this. To him, it was God's Grace that placed them both here, that gave him the opportunity to rut his hips against hers.

The bulge in his covered jeans met her underwear, fucking himself against her covered cunt. He leaned down overtop of her, panting against her ear. Hot breath on her neck, the sounds of his soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths, and of course his restricted cock grazing just over her clit every couple of thrusts, it was enough to make any girl's eyes roll back.

He stopped, only for a moment, but long enough for her to let out a needy whine, lifting her head to see what he was doing. Tattooed fingers worked the EG belt off, letting his pants pool at his ankles. He wasted no time once they were off, underwear meeting underwear as the outline of his dick was much more pronounced.

“Fuck fuck, put your head back. Fucking-… good girl.” He groaned out, one hand leaving her hips and grabbing at her pretty hair, pulling her head back against the cold wooden floor of the church. She ached, head pounding and echoing from the injuries earlier - but the feeling of him fucking himself against her needy cunt kept her grounded.

In this moment, she needed him, needed this feeling to not pass out.

He tilted his own head back, sweat casting a slick sheen over his skin. A hand dipped against the drying blood on her chest, gathering what he could over his fingertips before bringing them to his lips, sucking on the bloodied digits. He groaned around his fingers, muffling the moans that threatened to fall.

The head of his cock strained against the blue fabric of his boxers, hips thrusting sloppily against her as his hand tightened on her hips, leaving pretty marks in his wake. One thrust, another thrust, and finally another before white pooled at the head, spurting out of the tiny holes in his underwear.

Panting, he finally moved his fingers out of his mouth, cleaned off the blood and tilted his head down at her almost mockingly; he got to finish, the cum that leaked from his underwear dripping down onto hers, and she didn’t get to. He relished in that, that power he had over her.

“H-hey! Not fair!”

“Oh, Deputy. Come here, maybe I’ll let you get off.”

He grinned as he stood up, fixing himself before moving back onto one of the pews, watching her scramble over to him. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand as she kneeled in front of him. Her head pounded harder, eyes a little woozy.

“Poor baby, rest your head, sweetheart.” He teased, a sadistic grin on his face as she nodded and rested against his thigh, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He couldn’t help himself, not if she looked so pretty right there in his grasp.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, watching her confused expression as he moved the blue fabric off of his legs, dick springing up as it was freed from the confinement of his underwear. Guiding her head over it, watching her part her pretty lips to suck on his leaking tip.

Milking his cock, swallowing the spurts of salty seed that spilled onto her tongue. She drained him for all he’s worth, looking up at him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was soft and gentle in this moment, noises falling from his lips that told her how good she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be sucking off John Seed of all people.

He grinned as he watched her, once he was satisfied with the way she suckled on him, he grabbed her chin and pulled her off of him. Guiding her up to her feet, he let her loom over him. She wasn’t intimidating like this, he didn’t know if it was because he had just fucked her over their clothes or because she was relying on him for an orgasm, but she seemed almost adorable.

His lips found her neck once more as she leaned against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He forced her to stand, to spread her legs to allow his fingers to feel the now wet fabric of her panties. He hummed in satisfaction, moving them aside and tracing a finger over her slick folds.

A soft gasp left her lips, grabbing onto his shoulder and attempting to move back to look him in the eye. He grumbled, forcing her in that same position as he bit down on her neck, pushing a finger inside of her at the same time. He loved the moans that fell from her lips as he pumped a digit deeper inside of her.

Another finger stretched her out, deep enough to hit those nerves that made her legs tremble. She whined, shaking against him and propping herself up as he continued to pump in and out of her. He pulled away from her neck for only a moment, watching the way she buried her face against him and laughing softly.

He added one more finger before her legs fully began to tremble, grabbing onto his shoulder. Pumping more, fully reaching those nerves, which caused her to spasm around him, her orgasm flooding around his fingers. She rocked against him once or twice, chasing her high.

“Look at you, Deputy, needing me. Did I make you feel good? Use your words.”

#far cry 5 #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #smut #john seed #</3 #fc5

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