#you can bet there's some Unspoken Tension between the two of them - all that time 'on the road' 😉

[starleska]

introducing my Shred Force OC, Kosmik - galactic rockstar and Nordic Bunny's old bandmate! 😉🤘🎸✨

[wildtobio]

I Bet on Losing Dogs

Finnick x reader

Summary: After the tragic loss of their tributes in the Arena, Finnick struggles with the weight of his responsibilities and the haunting memories of the Games. You, sharing the same battle scars, try to bridge the distance between you, knowing that sometimes betting on losing dogs is the only way to find each other

(Note: you can find more posts here @wildtooru)

The sun was beginning to set over the remnants of the Arena, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Days had dragged slowly since the end of the games, each filled with painful memories and invisible scars. Finnick strolled along the edge as one of the few survivors who had managed to find some semblance of peace. He had sought this moment of solitude, away from the murmurs and compassionate looks of those who had shared his suffering.

Walking beside him, you remained silent, feeling the same weight in your chest. Your relationship with Finnick had been intense and full of ups and downs, marked by the scars of the games and unfulfilled promises. Now, with the painful memories of your tributes' deaths hanging over you, the distance between the two of you felt even more painful.

"Always betting on losing dogs, aren't we?" Finnick murmured suddenly, his voice low and filled with sadness. You stopped, surprised by his words, reminding you of the times you had felt that you couldn't win, no matter how hard you fought.

"Finnick..." you began, but he interrupted you, raising a hand.

"I know," he said, turning to look you in the eyes. "I know I've been distant. I know it's been hard, for both of us. But, for some reason, I always come back to you. Even when everything seems lost."

His words cut through you, reminding you of all the times you had felt him drift away, only to come back to your side, like a beacon in the darkness. Tears began to fill your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"You always come back," you whispered, stepping closer to him. "And I'll always wait for you, Finnick. Because we bet on losing dogs, and somehow, we always find our way back."

Finnick smiled sadly, stepping forward to wrap you in his arms. In that moment, the pain and sadness faded a little, replaced by a quiet calm. Despite the scars, despite the losses, you knew that as long as you had Finnick by your side, you could face anything.

As the days turned into weeks, you noticed Finnick growing more withdrawn. The nights were the worst, the darkness bringing memories of past battles and the faces of the tributes you couldn't save. He often woke up drenched in sweat, the remnants of nightmares clinging to him like a second skin. You tried to reach out, to hold him, but he would pull away, the pain in his eyes too raw to bear.

One evening, after a particularly harrowing day, you found him sitting outside of your shared home in District 4, staring into the distance. The air was heavy with unspoken words, and you felt the weight of his grief pressing down on you.

"Finnick," you said softly, sitting beside him. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." He didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the horizon. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists.

"They wouldn't want this for you," you continued, the mention of your tributes making him flinch. "They looked up to you, and they wouldn't want to see you hurting like this."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with anguish. "I failed them," he whispered. "I couldn't protect them, just like I couldn't protect anyone."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "You did everything you could, Finnick. And they knew that. We all knew that."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. "Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, it's never enough?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Finnick's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes searching yours. "All the time," you admitted. "But then I remember that sometimes, even losing dogs need someone to bet on them."

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. "We'll get through this, Finnick. Together. No more running, no more hiding."

He closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "Promise me," he whispered. "Promise me you'll stay."

You pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly. "I promise," you said, your voice filled with determination. "I'm not going anywhere."

The following days were a blur of emotions. Finnick tried to open up, to let you in, but the wounds ran deep. You spent hours talking, reminiscing about the past and dreaming about the future. Slowly, he began to heal, finding solace in your presence.

One night, as you lay together under the stars, he turned to you, his eyes soft and vulnerable. "I want you to know something," he said, his voice barely audible. "I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone."

Your heart swelled with emotion, tears filling your eyes. "I love you too, Finnick. And I always will."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of love and hope. Despite the darkness, despite the pain, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Because sometimes, betting on losing dogs was the only way to find each other.

[w33nies]

Qué Maravilla CH.8 - 'The Point of No Return'

Previous Chapter

Miguel O'hara x SpiderReader rating: E for Everyone bby warnings: none? lots of angst tbh summary: the adventures of Spiderman and the Prowler art is not mine !!! @yunkaan on twitter!!!

------------ Ch.8 - The Point of No Return ---------------

As Miles followed closely behind his doppelganger through the city, he couldn't help but be fascinated with his suit. The engineering feats it displayed seemed to surpass even that of his own Uncle Aaron’ suit. He was blown away by his sneakers, which seemed to possess some kind of jet propulsion mechanism which allowed him to leap unprecedented heights, the robotic neon-lit helmet he was able to control seemingly like it was just another muscle in his own body. And of course, those steel claws which were incredibly versatile in combat and travel. He thought back to their fight moments ago. How he blindsided him with that spray paint bomb. Were there any other features of his suit he hadn't seen yet?

“I like your shoes,” Miles blurts out, “Are they pneumatic?” 

The Prowler pauses for a moment on the corner edge of a skyscraper, posed in a low squat next to a gargoyle. If he had been in a better mood, Miles would have joked about the resemblance in demeanor between the two. ‘Now probably isn’t the time to poke fun at him.’ He told himself, ‘Doubt this is the type of guy that can take a joke.’

“Yeah.. And?” His voice is nothing like his own. The glowing mask obscuring his face was designed to distort it. It was lower, almost machine-like, in a way that was entirely unnerving.

“That’s sick. They look pretty dope too. Better than the one Uncle Aaron used to wear,haha. ” Prowler doesn’t respond, instead blankly staring through him with that intimidating mask.

“Or..I guess my Uncle Aaron…I've neer seen…I mean…I'm sure your Unc’s shoes are dope too..”

Silence. 

Miles clears his throat in an awkward attempt to ease the tension. “Oh and those paint bombs you threw earlier. Are they activated based on a standard timer fuse or do you use an explode-on-impact type of trigger because-” 

 “-Do you ever shut up?”

‘Ouch.’

“Um okay then…”  Miles raises his palms defensively, slowing his pace so that Prowler was ahead of him. “....I’m sorry I guess?” Miles couldn’t help the disgusted expression creeping in on his face. ‘Bet he’s a real hit at parties.’ 

“Also-” 

“-What,” Prowler responds curtly.

“...Your shoe is untied.” Miles said with a grin, attempting to feign innocence for intentionally pestering him.

“I’m aware.” Somehow the robotic tone seemed to emphasize his annoyance. Then he leaped off the building, almost like he was trying to get as far away from Miles as he could.

Miles shrugged, “Just thought you should know,” he jested before following after him. 

It was not long after when they reached the subway underneath Fitz Tower. Miles found the layout of this subway to be similar to his own Brooklyn. All the tracks, tunnel, the stairs, the overhead lights, even the benches. The difference was in the small details like the colors of the terminal signs or the horde of unfamiliar graffiti tags littering the walls. The advertisements (also covered in graffiti) were almost exclusively names that he recognized. Some of them being for villains he had defeated in his own dimension. Vulture Telecom? Rhino had a casino? Kraven was running for city mayor? The thought of these kinds of individuals holding substantial power made his blood run cold. It was like his own personal hell.

After what felt like ages (though probably only minutes) they reached a locked metal gate that wore a giant sign on the front that read, “RESTRICTED AREA AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. Immediately Prowler breaks toward it.  With the added momentum of his sneakers, he leaps in the air, grabs the top of the gate and pulls himself up and over the fence in one fell swoop. Upon landing with a thud, he turns around with a grimace of impatience that makes the unspoken message clear, ‘You coming or not?’ 

Miles casually walks up to the gate. Sticking his palms and feet onto the wired fence, he climbs its side with ease. Upon reaching the top, he jumps off landing right next to the Prowler. The other boy let out a peeved ‘tsk’ before he continued forward.

When they reach the end of the dark corridor Prowler pulls down on a lever. The lights stagger on and reveal to them is a dome shaped, high ceiling room with several arches leading to who-knows-where. In the center of this room a certain mural stopped Miles in his tracks. “No expectations” it read in yellow and blue spray paint with a black, shadowy figure in its center surrounded by a background of pink and orange geometric shapes and bubbles. He and his Uncle Aaron had made this same mural, in this same spot, in his Brooklyn. He remembers that day so clearly. It was here where he got bitten. Ever since then his life has never been the same. It was the day his destiny changed for good. For better or for worse that was the point of no return. 

 Miles took a few cautious steps toward the painting. His stomach dropped. Yes, it was the same exact piece. Well…except for the silhouetted figure in the center. Instead of a blank, shadowy figure this one had a giant white dot in the center of his head and a myriad of smaller white specks on his body. It was similar to - no- it was exactly how he looked when he last saw him back in Mumbattan. The man who had threatened to take away everything he had ever cared about. The man destined to kill his father. 

For a moment he could feel his heart beating in his ears. His hands began to tremble. Every breath he took was like a blow to his lungs. ‘See you back home, spider man.’ His last words to him echoed over and over again in his head. He was all he could hear. He was all he could see. For a moment, which felt like hours, Miles remained glued to the mural with a kind of tunnel vision born only out of panic.

“Hey, cabrón…” The Prowler was about to chastise him but paused upon seeing Miles' fearful face.

 “Aye, muchacho.” Nothing. 

“Chacho!”

Miles is startled from his trance. 

“¿Estás bien?” 

“Yeah…Yeah… I’m good.” He spoke distractedly.

“...Then let’s go,” The Prowler whirls around and begins walking away before-

“-Did you make this?” 

“What?” Prowler turns to see Miles pointing at the piece, “Yeah, with my Uncle Aaron ¿Porque?”

“…Me and Uncle Aaron painted a mural just like this.”

Prowler sighed, he could practically feel the patience slipping from his body. 

“Cool, now can we-”

Out of nowhere a large blast rips through the air, startling both boys. The ground begins trembling under their feet. A blinding glare emits from one of the tunnels on their right.

“Is that-” 

“-COME ON!” Prowler books it toward the tunnel motioning for him to follow. Just looking down the passageway, Miles had to squint his eyes. The more he ventured in, the more his eyes watered from the intense onslaught. Shielding his face with his hands, he frantically tried to scan his surroundings. Eventually, he’s able to make out a tiny figure in the distance.

“HELP!” The individual screams were muffled as was their banging on the force field surrounding them. “SOMEBODY! HELP ME! PLEASE!” The figure begins the glitch violently while various pieces of debris and wreckage around behind them. 

Miles webs forward without a second. He finds difficulty due to the pushback from the ongoing, well, whatever the hell was going on.  

“DUDE, WAIT!” The Prowler shouts but Miles ignores him, leaving him exasperatingly rushing after him.

Miles fights the current, inching closer and closer until he’s finally able to place his hands on the shield (and it’s taking all of his strength to even keep them on there). Now he’s face to face with the trapped man, “PLEASE!” he begged, “PLEASE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” 

Miles musters all the electricity he possibly can into breaking the force field, the impact sending in flying backwards. Then…darkness.  After a few seconds, a few of the lights flicker back on, just managing to dimly light the room. Miles slowly brings his aching body to his feet. As he looks around he realizes he was blasted through the observation window of the collider wall, smashing several desks, monitors, computers, and other various tech. ‘Whoops. Hope that wasn’t important.’ He then makes his way to the unknown man, laying at the bottom of the spherical room which houses the collider. ‘I really hope he isn’t dead.’

Miles kneeled down and lightly shook the man by his shoulders, “Sir, are you alright?”

Nothing.

“Sir?...”. He checked the man’s pulse, it was faint. 

Miles rubs his hands together, generating a slight amount of electricity in his palms. He saw people do this in movies all the time, though he had never had to do it himself before. ‘Please don’t have me kill this man,’ he prayed silently. Warily, he puts his palms to the man's chest, shocking him. 

“Oh my god!” he ye;[ with a start, his outburst startling Miles. As he began painfully scrambling to his feet, Miles followed suit. The man opened his mouth to speak before holding a finger in the air then subsequently bending down to support himself with his hands on his knees, loudly wheezing.

“Are you alright?” Miles asked, hands held out ready to support him in case he were to collapse.

“Thanks to you I am,” The man grabs Miles's shoulder, stabilizing himself. “I thought I was going to die in there,” he continued to gasp through deep breaths. “Thank you. Truly. Thank you.” Once he finally regained his breath he scanned the masked vigilante up and down, bewildered. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of saving my life?” 

Miles studied the man before him, the spitting image of a scientist. He’s pretty tall, taller than him, with a lanky build. His dark hair was a wavy and unkept mess atop his head, except for the sides which were completely shaved. He wore an oversized lab coat that reached all the way down to his knees with tan khakis and a baby blue button up underneath. As well as a soft, welcoming smile that crinkled his eyes, showing sincerity. He wore large square glasses which rested on the bump of his aquiline nose.  Behind them sat heavy-lidded brown eyes with deep set bags. His hand was extended for him to shake, Miles took it. 

“I’m spider-”

“- Jonathon. Ohnn.'' The Prowler’s booming voice cut through the air, making himself known before he was visible to the two men. The menacing sound of debris crunching under his feet follows as his large shadow creeps on the wall. 

“Oh, no.” Ohnn shields himself behind Miles.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to blow up my city?” 

“No! No, no, no, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Ohnn frantically waved his hands in the air, “I-I was just, uh, running some tests!” 

“Running tests my ass. If our last talk didn’t get it through your thick skull,” The prowler flashed his clawed gloves, taking menacing strides towards Miles and the man, “I guess I’ll have to knock some sense into you.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Easy now.” Miles attempts to mediate, but Prowler practically ignores him. 

“I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.” Jonathan speaks, still cowering  behind the boy.

“Which is?”

“Um…Well, heh, it’s a looooong story… ,” Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“We got time,” Prowler crosses his arms impatiently, “Say your piece.”

“Um, I-” Jonathan tries to get up, slipping on the floors of the cylindrical room. 

“Here.” Miles shoots a web towards the broken observation window embedded in the wall. 

“What the-”  

Before Jonathon can finish Miles grabs him and slings both of them through the window, and into the wrecked lab behind it.

“Wha-What the… I mean, thank you young man.”Ohnn musters, completely frazzled. 

“Don’t mention it.”

Before Ohnn could ask any of his burning questions, Prowler lands next to them with a thud, “Spill,” he says, “Before I make you.” 

“Well, uh, I can put on a kettle!” Jonathan makes his way to a ruined desk to a ruined desk pulling out a portable electric stove along with a now heavily dented kettle. “Do you like tea?I have Chai!”

An amused smile tugged on the The Prowlers lips “Do you have anything… stronger?” 

“Like…Oolong?” Ohnn asked sheepishly, holding up another box of tea.

“Like whiskey.”

“Um, well, I work here so…no.” Jonathan spoke through nervous laughter, “I like to keep my brain sharp! ”

“WHAT? YOU DRINK?” Miles interjected. He put his hand to his chest, borderline offended, “Aren’t we 16!”

“Ugh, let's just get this over with”, In a swift movement Prowler snatches Ohnn and slings him over his shoulder and begins to walk away.

“AH- WOAH MY GOD!”

“What are you doing!?” Miles runs after him. 

 “I'm just gonna ask him some questions,” Miles-42 plops Jonathon into a nearby wobbly office chair and begins to duct tape him. 

“You don’t have to tie him up to do that! He was cooperating! He was just about to tell us what happened!” 

“What do you mean we?” the boy scoffed, “Our deal is done man. There's the collider right there. Just zip-zap-zop it back on, or whatever, and leave. Go home.” 

“Oh no, no, no, no. I wouldn’t do that.” Jonathan leaned forward as far as he could given his whole bottom half now taped

“Why not?” the boys asked in unison.

“Ha, well, you see….uh…,” Jonathan sighed, “Okay…Full disclosure…I wasn’t just running tests earlier.” 

“Go figure,” Prowler said sarcastically.

“I was going to destroy it.” 

“Huh?” 

“The collider?” Miles asked in disbelief. 

“ Yes..” the man said ashamedly, “Well, I was trying to corrupt the files but then I got distracted when this random signal appeared on my radar … from another dimension. Earth-50101 I remember it said.  Location was a place I had never heard of… ManMumb? MamBatt?”

“Mumbattan?” Miles asked worriedly.

“Yes! It was something like that. Anyways, when I investigated the signal the strangest thing happened. This…,” Jonathan paused with a deep breath, “...I don’t know what it was- computer virus or a major malfunction or ghost of sorts took hold of everything. All the computers turned on by themselves, screeching and glitching horribly. Showing nothing but white screens. I tried to reboot the system, but none of the computers would, corporate… So I went to investigate the collider itself. Out of nowhere it too began to power on by itself.” The scientist shuddered, “For hours, I was stuck in here while that thing turned glitched on and off. Matter from that 50101 dimension even began merging with our own…” Jonathan motioned with his head for the boys to turn around. Scattered around were miscellaneous items fused together , violently glitching in and out. 

“Yeah…” Prowler concurred grimly, “Some of that stuff was randomly happening around the city. That’s why the boss called.”  

“While I was trapped…I even  began hallucinating. These black dots clouded my vision. I even saw a figure covered…It was like he was talking to me…”.

“What did he say?” Mile’s asked, his voice was laced with anxiety.

“Most of it was a garbled mess, um…” Jonathan shuts his eyes in concentration, “...Something along the lines of… ‘Won’t they be sorry?’... Well, he was very upset, that's for sure.”

“Yeah,” Miles mumbled to himself, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Look, I’m not a spiritual man, but that has to be an omen of sorts. We can’t turn that thing back on.” Jonathan pleaded, “Even if it hasn’t somehow been fried in the blast, who knows what we’d be risking. If our dimensions keep merging and trading matter…”

A foreboding silence takes hold. Miles feels his body run cold. “Black dots…” he recalled, “You said you saw black dots everywhere?” 

“Yes.”

‘Shoot.’  Miles cursed under his breath. Spot did this. He’s the reason why there was that black hole swallowing Mumbattan. He thought about Pavitir, the shame of failing to stop Spot back then hitting him full force. It was all his fault, and now he had inadvertently ruined his own chances of getting home.

‘Wait a minute.’ Miles thought, ‘If Spot is responsible for the chaos in Mumbattan, then… it wasn’t because I disrupted the canon.’ Miles found himself with a renewed sense of hope, ‘Canon’s really can be broken. As long as I can figure out a way home, I can save my father.’ 

He straightened his posture and gave a deep exhale. “My name is Miles… Miles Morales. I crashed here by accident-” suddenly the boy glitches violently. This one left him gasping for air, holding his stomach on the floor.

 "-From another dimension,” he finished with a strained voice. Prowler, stunned for a moment, helps him up, awkwardly pats him on the back.

“Thanks,” Miles huffs

“Yeah. Whatever.” Prowler mumbles dismissively 

“...Those dots you saw. I know who’s responsible,” Miles continued holding his side despite himself, “His name is Spot. He’s dangerous. The spots you saw can open a portal to anywhere, dimensions included, and this guy is covered in them. If I don't leave, a lot of people including my father will be in danger.”

“Another dimension…,” Jonthon is fascinated, attempting to take in all this newfound information all at once, “I want to help you young man, I really do but…” Jonathan shoots a nervous glance at the collider just ahead of him, “It’s too risky. I’m sorry…”

“...Let me look,” Miles pleaded “I’m sure I can figure out something.” 

“Ummm-” 

“-I got an A in Physics and Auto-Robotics. Oh, and I can do this,” Miles generated some electricity from his fingertips, putting on an impressive display of blue lighting,“I’m sure that can help somehow.”

“...I don't know.”

Prowler steps forward and cracks his neck from side to side, “I’ll take it from here.”

“I know you want the collider, but please understand what's at stake-,”

Jonathon tries to protest, but to no avail. The Prowler smashes down on a big red button. A loud grating sound pierces the air as a walkway stemming from the observation deck to the collider inches forward at an agonizingly slow speed. Once finished, The Prowler simply just picks him up and wheels him down the path giving him a front row view to the machine.

 “-I wasn’t asking.” Miles-42 simply strolls up to the contraption and starts tinkering away. 

As Miles steps foot onto the metal walkway, he’s finally able to take in the surroundings of the lab. It was a lot more rudimentary than his own in brooklyn. It was an odd mix of retro and futuristic elements. The desk he had been flown into possessed a lot of older equipment, those blocky computer monitors and chunky keyboards. And yet there were also damaged, futuristic holograms flickering on and off as well as some more recent looking laptops and tablets. He looked out onto the collider itself. It was a lot bigger than the one in his own dimension, more intimidating. It took up most of the space in the room, its massive and intricate metal casings covered in various wires and panels residing on the flat walls of the cylindrical room.  If he had to guess, this collider was probably more powerful than the one at home. He thought back to Jonathon and what would’ve happened if he hadn’t saved him in time. He shuddered at the thought, ‘No wonder they had to make an emergency shield for this thing.’

“Cabrón!” Prowler shouts, “Are you helping or what?” 

“Yeah. Sorry.” Miles quickly webs over to the opposite side of the machine and begins probing at the machine. 

 “Amazing…,” Jonathan watches Miles with bated breath, “Your suit young man, is that what’s responsible for your powers?”

“Nah, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, which gave me powers,” Miles walks along the side of the machine, parallel to the ground, to further prove his point. “But the spider that bit me was a spider from this dimension, so when the machine that was to send me home scanned my DNA-”

“-It brought you here instead.”

“Exactly.” Miles squats down and lowers himself into the tunnel leading inside the collider. 

“Unprecedented. Hence the webs and…electricity?

“I can also turn invisible!” Miles yells, his voice echoing from inside the tunnel.

“Oh…my…If you don’t mind, I have a ton of questions. Are you half-spider? Do you have heightened senses? Do you excrete webs from your posterior as well?”

“No. Yes. And no, but I did have a dream about that one time and it was very… unsettling,” Miles recounted with a shudder

“Tell. Me. Everything.”  Jonathan says eyes wide through his glasses

“Please don’t!” Miles-42 speaks up, finally poking his head out from the inside of the machine. 

Jonathon turns his attention to The Prowler. He attempts to swivel his body in a chair, rolling forward using the tip of his shoes,  “And you,” he gasped slightly.  “Your weaponry is amazing. Pneumonic shoes, steel claws and a full automated retractable helmet-”

“-Not steel,” Prowler corrects, “Titanium-alloy, actually.”

“And you made it yourself?”

“Some of it. The blueprints already existed. I just… made it my own,” The Prowler shrugged halfheartedly, his interest being with the machine in front of him. He pulls out various tech parts in large clawed handfuls, “The generator Is completely fried and the motherboards are burnt to a crisp. They’ll need to be replaced completely.” He continues looking inside, “The vacuum seal and conducting coils are also out of alignment, but it shouldn't be impossible to fix.”

“Same over here!” Miles concurred, “The blast was probably what did ‘em in!”

Jonathon tries, in vain, to get a good look inside the machine from his chair. “I’d have to see it myself but if what you say is true then…yeah. It should be an easy fix.”

Prowler leaps back on the platform landing next to Jonathon. “¡Chico Araña!

Miles pops his head out the contraption “Yeah?”

“You focus on the seals, and I’ll fix the generator. Capiche?”

“Why are you helping me?” 

“I’m not. There’s a lot of money riding on this job. I’m Not quitting now.”

“Right…” Miles says clearly unconvinced

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I think I know a bit about you. We have the same face, same age, same birthmarks probably-”

“-How do you two know each other exactly,” Jonathon cocked his head to the side “What are you…twins?...Clones?,” 

“Not exactly. I’m him from another dimension,'' Miles clarified. 

Jonathan looks back and forth, fear slowly turning to fascination. “Wha-WHa-What!? Well…This is…Miraculous! Unprecedented. Could I- May I please study you?”

“Um,I don’t know....” 

“...No.” Prowler immediately declines.

“No?” 

The boy gestures to the collider, “We got work to do, bobo.” 

“I can assure you there is valuable information, in studying the two of you-” \

“-It’s a waste of our time.” The Prowler shoved a thumb towards the inside of the machine, “We don’t need to study. We just need to fix this el hijo de puta so he can leave and I can get my money.”

“OH PLEASE! PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE!” Ohnn thrashes around excitedly, his chair to wobbly bounce  up and down, “It would only take just a few seconds. This-is-a-once-a-lifetime-opportunity-I-would-be-absolutely-HONORED-if-you-allowed-me-even-an-IOTA-of-your-valuable-time-I-”  

“-Alright. ALRIGHT!” The Prowler relents, “Before you go and give yourself a hernia.” He jumps to the deck and grabs one end of the tape and begins spinning Jonathon around at a furious speed, all the way until the tape is unraveled. 

“Thank…you,’ Jonathan dizzily wobbles off the chair before falling at Prowler's feet, “Your shoe is untied…by the way.”

“I know,” he spoke curtly, “it's a choice.” 

Once sober, Jonathon runs over the metal walkway, climbing through the broken glass window to get to the lab. 

“Careful puto!” The Prowler tsked after him loudly. 

Jonathan continues forward nonetheless, rushing to his lab with reckless abandon. “Thank god this still works, just gotta…” the scientist smacks the large monitor with his fist, “There we go.” He then hastily goes to one of the few working computers, “Alright. Now I just need DNA from the both of you.” 

The two boys look at one another with pause. 

“OH. I could turn around if you-”

Before he could say another word, the Prowler’s mask began to recede into his suit. Miles watches in bewilderment as the stone-faced boy nonchalantly pulls a strand of hair out and hands it to the man. 

“Thank y-”

Prowler places a stiff hand on his shoulder, “-You tell anyone what I look like and I will kill you.” 

Jonathon gulps and nods in response “You have my word.” Swayed, Miles peels off his mask and plucks a hair as well.

Jonathan takes both hair strands and lays them on a machine that resembles an office scanner. “Do you guys mind if I just…,” Jonathon grabs a large handheld scanner tool (Miles giggled at how it just looked like a supermarket tool) and scans both the boy's faces and then their entire persons. “Thank yooou.” He says in a sing-songy voice, giddy with glee as he ran to his computers to input more data.

 After some back and forth between typing into the chunky keyboard and eyeing the projection screens, he finally speaks. “Incredible,” the scientist mumbled under his breath, standing in marvel at the data on his huge monitors. The everchanging calculations and numbers reflecting at light speed against his glasses. 

Ohnn clears his throat “Physiological speaking, you guys are essentially 100% carbon copies of one another. Except for specimen-1610 who possesses interdimensional DNA.” 

“No shit,” Miles-42 chided.

Just then a notification pops on the screen. “Wait a minute.” Jonathan examines further, typing diligently, “I guess not. It says here that specimens from Earth-42, that’s you,” Jonathan points a sassy finger at the Prowler, “has…5 cavities.”

Miles giggles, “Really Miles?” 

Miles-42 pouts and elbows him in the side, “Shut up, Miles.” 

“Miles and Miles?”  Jonathan shakes his head like a dog, slightly disoriented his glasses, “This is going to get confusing,” He readjusted his lenses.  “How do you guys differentiate between each other?”

“Um, we don’t,” Miles said with chuckle 

“We literally just met soo…” 

“I see,” Jonathan thinks hard with his pointer finger on his chin, "How about…One of you is Miles… and the other one can be Wiles.” 

“UM-”

“-Absolutely not.”

“We’ll workshop it,” Jonathan says with a wave of his hand. Jonathan sees Prowler’s confused face through the holographic screen, making eye contact. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it, young man?”

“Why didn’t you just sell the collider? You would’ve been set for life. Easy.”

The scientist exhaled softly, “There are some things more important than money…” Jonathan stares off into space before coming to, “...Now may I ask you a question Miles?”

Both boys point at one another in confusion.

“Um…Miles of Earth 42.”

The boy snorts, “Shoot.”

“Did they…” Jonathon absentmindedly fiddles with his glasses, “...Were you sent here to kill me?”

Prowler’s eyes widen with surprise, but then he quickly composes himself. “...I’m sure you know the answer to that. You really pissed ‘em off,” he chuckled grimly, “Calling ‘em fascists and what-not.” 

“I see.” Jonathon gave a dejected laugh, “...Can I ask you another question?”

The Prowler nods. 

“Why do you do it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You have engineering skills that can rival some of my colleagues. You possess a technical prowess that would have any major tech company begging to recruit you, yet you use those skills to do some… questionable things.” Jonathan sighs, “You are, truly, a brilliant human being, Miles. So why?... Why do you do it? ” 

 Prowler’s usual scowl softens, just for a moment, before shortly resuming his tough exterior, “Because it puts food on the table.” Prowler shifts his attention to his untied laces, “It’s not lost on me ya know, the kinds of people I work for…The less I know the easier it is to do the job.”  Miles-42 meets Jonathon’s gaze through the translucent, blue toned holograms “Never had anything against you Ohnn, but you know how it is. It’s every man for himself.” 

“You don’t know?” The scientist stumbled backwards in aghast, “You don’t know what they want to do with this?”

“No? That’s why I said-” 

“-Miles…” Jonathan scans the boy’s face in disbelief.

“...What?”

“You really have no idea?” 

“What is it?” Spiderman Morales speaks up, “What are they gonna-

“-It doesn’t matter,” Prowler interjects. “That’s none of my business.”

“Tell us,” Miles insists. However, Prowler has already begun walking away, “Well I'm not listening.”

“Bro are you serious right now-”

“-Deadass.” 

“ don’t you think it would be-

“-NEEDLESS TO SAY I KEEP HER IN CHECK, SHE WAS A BAD-BAD NEVERTHELESS” Miles-42 begin to sing noisily, hands covering his ears like a child.

“I think you’d really want to know this Miles,” Jonathan tries to reason. Undeterred, Prowler continues his tone deaf belting, mumbling over some of the lyrics before skipping to singing the few he actually knew, “OOOOOOO SOMETHINGS SHE JUST CAN'T REFUSE. SHE WANNA RIDE ME LIKE A CRUISE-”

“-Miles please-”

“-AND THEN YOU’RE LEFT IN THE DUST, UNLESS I STUCK BY YAAAH-” 

“-What are you so scared of?” \

“...Excuse me?” The Prowler finally unplugs his ears, shooting daggers into Miles’ direction. 

‘Damn, hit a nerve,’ the boy thought to himself. “I just think that maybe you’re a bit afraid to-”

“I’m not scared of anything, pendejo,” Prowler steps up to Miles instinctively straightening his back, sneering into his face. Miles puffs his chest and stands his ground. 

“Too scared to listen apparently.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, cabrón,”  "You wanna play hero in your own Brooklyn? Good for you. You go do that, but don’t come here on your fucking high horse talking some shit about boy scout-good samaritan crap.” The Prowler puts a claw to Miles' chest, “You’re in my city, boy. We play by a different set of rules here.”

Miles tried to hide the grimace on his face. He hated being called kid or boy on any given day, but this especially grinded his gear. This boy was the exact same age as him and he was still being looked down on. He still saw him as naive. Miles really couldn’t catch a break, not even from himself. 

“Then why don't you want to know? Will it kill you? Or is it because you don’t want to see how badly your actions are affecting the city you pretend to care so much about-”

“-Watch your mouth.” Prowler sneers, face dangerously close to Miles. The boy was preparing for a fight.

 “You have a choice. I know you want to be good-”

Prowler cuts him off with a violent shove, “-YOU. DON'T. KNOW. ME.”

“You know what...Fine.” Miles relents. He straightens his posture forcing Prowler to step backwards. “You know what? You’re right about one thing, I don’t know you. Maybe you don’t have a choice. Maybe this,” Miles says with a gesture to the Prowler’s suit, “is all you have. I’m not trying to tell you how to feel when you got the short end of the stick. But what I do know is that people need you Miles. Mom, Uncle Aaron, hell even Jonathon.” Miles points to the scientist, who gives a sheepish wave to his doppelganger. “

“So maybe you’re not a good guy, but I can tell you're not heartless. At least not as much as you like to pretend to be. So please man, for them… Just, hear him out. Please” 

Prowler takes a moment to mull over his words. After a prolonged silence he annoyedly clicks his tongue. “Fine… Since Softy here wants to hear a story so bad...” Prowler crosses his arms and turns to face Jonathon, “...What’s the deal with this collider?” 

“Alright…Well…” Jonathan takes a large gulp, hands placed on his desk to steady himself. “I’m sure you’re familiar with rapture.” 

“...Yes.” Prowler responded grimly

“Um, no I don’t.” 

“It’s a highly addictive drug,” Jonathon pulls up various monitors with diagrams and pictures, “Most commonly injected, but it can be ingested in any form. Smoked, snorted, you name it.”

“Symptoms include anything from hallucinations, feelings of euphoria, anxiety, paranoia.” Miles-42 adds, “Withdrawal symptoms are even worse…Half the patients my mom treats are on it.” - Prowler

“Your boss or shall I say bosses are behind it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“They've been distributing it all around Brooklyn. They’ve been bribing the police and the mayor to turn a blind eye.”

“Yeah I’m aware.” Prowler scoffed, “But there’s an antidote If more people could afford-”

“-They make that too. That’s their whole scheme. By making the poison and the cure…’-

 “...They’re making lambs for slaughter” 

“Exactly. Unless, of course, they can pay their way out.”

“I see.” Prowler clicks his teeth, stoic face.“What’s this got to do with the collider?” 

“Everything. If the Sinister Six get this collider they’re going to distribute the drug into every multiverse they can get their hands on. And they won’t just stop there. Internet, casinos, technology, politics even. They want to monopolize every industry they can get their hands on and they won’t stop until they have complete and total control. Once they take Brooklyn… No one is safe.

 “Mierda…” Prowler mumbled under his breath

“Scorpio Pharmaceutical has even made a new, more addictive batch. Who knows how long before that strain hits the streets-”

Prowler interrupts with a loud sharp inhale. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he paces around for a few moments, eyes scanning the ground like a vulture looking for scraps. 

“FUCK!” Miles-42 shouts, brutally kicking a piece of glitching material

“Dude-”

”-FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING! FUCK!¡MALDITA SEA!”

Prowler has angry tears, hiding his face in his clawed hands  “I don’t want to deal with this shit again”. 

Jonathon and Miles concerned glances, “Again?” Jonathan says. 

Prowler doesn’t budge. Instead, he just looks at the two with red teary eyes and a despondent frown

“Whatever you say here will stay between us.” Miles assures “Promise.”

Prowler takes a deep breath, speaking with his eyes glued to the ground “My dad used to investigate the rapture cartel. He was incredibly passionate about it, said it was the main reason he joined the force."He gave a somber chuckle, “I wanted to be just like him. I would sneak out in my own homemade Prowler suit and steal medicine, dropping it off at my mom’s hospital. Everyone was telling him to lay off it . Even my Uncle Aaron. One time these big scary guys came to the house with these suitcases full of money trying to bribe him. You wanna know what he said, he told them to fuck right off,” Miles-42 recalled with a bitter laugh. “Man, nothing could get that man down…One day during a haul I messed up. Big time. The police were called and he got caught in the crossfire and…” 

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard… I-I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, Just know it’s not your fault.”

“...I know” .

“It doesn't have to be this way man. I’m sure we can figure out another way to do things. And I'll do whatever I can to help. I promise.”

“It’s too late for me...I’ve given up too much to stop now..” 

    “Just…” Miles pats him on the shoulder reassuringly “Sigue adelante hermano.”

Miles-42 chuckled, “You know, you talk like a gringo.” 

Miles shrugs embarrassedly “Well, I did get a B in Spanish.” 

 “Aye Dios Mio,” Prowler cringes, “If my mom found out she would tear me a new one.”  

“Nearly killed mine,” Miles chuckled, “Long story short, I’m grounded…For a month”

“Aye.” Prowler shook his head, “Sounds like ma. ”

“At least she’s stopped using the chancla.” 

Prowler shuddered at the thought, “On the culito?’

“Yep.” Miles instinctively rubbed his backside at the thought. It had been years since he was spanked by his parents out of discipline. Luckily, they grew out of the practice. They got more results out of him just by talking to one another as opposed to hitting him. Though, that’s probably not how they felt right now. His heart ached at the reminder of his last conversation with his parents. How he left without saying a word. They were probably worried sick about him. He definitely deserved the chancla from them, that was if he ever saw them again…

“She would alway say ‘I’m doing this because I love you.” Miles recalled out loud with a shake of his head, 

“Or when they would be like, ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“YES!” Miles exclaimed, “What was with that? As they're literally whooping my ass, like, UGH!” 

“Damn,” Prowler chuckled, “Never thought I would have anyone to talk to about this.”

“Good to know that some things stay the same across the multiverse.” 

 Prowler looked stunned, his demeanor softened “Yeah… Yeah. Of course.” 

   “Okay, so I’m not usually supposed to tell people this buuut, Scorpo sends a lot of their products to Alchemex for…,” Jonathan bit his lip, “...Testing. If you catch my drift. I’d bet money that there’s a batch sitting in the medical laboratory on the bottom floor.” Jonathon gave an innocent, yet knowing shrug. “Soooo, do with that what you will…”

“I’ll get it,” both boys spoke up in unison. 

“No way man.” Prowler refuses.

“I can turn invisible, it’ll be a lot safer.” Miles refutes, “Plus you’re probably the smarter one out of us two. I'm sure Jonathon can use your help here. ”

Prowler shook his head “Yeah but this is my problem, not yours.” He pointed towards the collider behind them, “Don’t you want to make sure this goes off without a hitch? That it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

 “I trust you.” Miles spoke amicably with a shrug and a smile, “I promised to do whatever I can to help you out. And I meant it.” he playfully patted his arm. “See you in a bit, man.” 

As Miles turns to pull on his mask, it hits him.The spider senses. Not the usual kind. This one was more rare. It felt like…family. Community. It was similar to when he first met Peter Parker, the spider predecessor of his own Brooklyn. What would usually be a comforting feeling instead sent his heart into overdrive. 

‘They found me.’ 

“I need you guys to listen to me very carefully.” Miles' carefree attitude has been swapped for a more frantic disposition.

“What is it?”

“Que?” 

“There’s these people, this interdimensional spider cult, and they’re trying to keep me some saving my dad-”

“-What? Why?”

“Because of this weird algorithm they follow. They believe if I save him, it'll be the end of the world. If they find me they’ll lock me up.” 

Prowler and Jonathon looked stunned and at loss for words. They share a look of disbelief amongst themselves before returning their gaze back at Miles. 

“Interdimensonal cult?” Jonathan asked. 

“They’re gonna lock you up?” Prowler inquired amused.

“Just tell them that you haven’t seen me. Whoever comes here looking for me, they can't be trusted.”

“...Okey dokey...” 

“...Whatever you say man...”

“Thank you guys.” Miles pulls them all into a quick hug which Jonathon willingly returns. Prowler, whoever is completely caught off guard, his arms remain stiffly at his sides. 

“You guys are the best!” Miles shouts before shooting a web and 

“Yeah, whatever,” Prowler mumbles to himself  before he resumes working. Feeling watched, he turns to Jonathan who, low and behold, is looking at him, beaming with delight.

What?”

“It’s just- When you first came here you came with the intention to do god-knows-what to me. Now look at you, spoiling the Sinister Six’s plans and helping that young man find his way home. Forgive me for saying this, but you’re a lot nicer than you let on.”

“I’m just returning the favor,” he spoke dismissively, intentionally avoiding the gaze of the man next to him. 

“Which means you’re a decent man.”

“You say that when I was sent here to kill you.”

“And you didn’t! Even when I saw your face. You may put on a tough act but deep down you’re like a cute little cinnamon roll!”

Miles wrinkled his nose, “Call me that again and I just might.”

Jonathan let out a boisterous laugh, “You’re funny.”

“Yeah…You too I guess… Maybe there's another you on Earth-1610.”

“Perhaps, given the two of you boys exist.” Jonathan begins filling a kettle with water, “I wonder what I’m like. OOH! What if I have super powers too? And I’m like a superhero-super scientist.” He readjusts his glasses, running a hand through his hair, “I bet I’m really handsome.” 

“Really?” 

  Jonathon chuckles, “Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m pretty handsome by scientist standards.” 

Miles snorts, “I’m sure you are, Ohn.”  Jonathan beams and resumes his work. ‘What an interesting turn of events’, the scientist thought to himself. Not too long ago, he was sure he was going to be murdered, noe; he felt endeared to the young man and his identical counterpart. Plus the new found discovery of new dimensions and… multiversal cults? The man shook his head at the thought, it was all definitely a first for him.  ‘Nonetheless, it's a new dawn.’ He assured himself,‘Good things are coming, I can feel it.’

sorry for the long wait. new chapter soon. happy new year :)

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

In the nook of a valley that looked like it was ripped straight out of a postcard for “Adventurer’s Paradise,” Vannak-134 and Riz-028 stood awkwardly side by side. The scene was something out of a nature documentary, except the majestic beasts here were two supersoldiers in state-of-the-art MJOLNIR armor, not exactly blending in with the scenery.

Vannak, towering and clad in dark blue that screamed 'I’m here to party, but also I might accidentally demolish your house,' wore his EOD-variant helmet like it was part of his skull. Riz, on the other hand, was a study in black and subtlety, her armor sleek and adorned with a helmet that was more 'mysterious avenger from a sci-fi serial' than 'standard issue.' Those antennas on her head? They screamed 'I'm listening to your secrets, but also, I can't get good radio reception here.'

They were supposed to be scouting, or patrolling, or some other military term that meant 'walk around and make sure nothing explodes.' But there they were, staring at a waterfall as if it held the secrets of the universe, or at the very least, the secret to breaking the ice and admitting, "Hey, I kinda like you."

"Bet I can beat you to the top," Vannak said, breaking the silence with all the subtlety of a grenade in a china shop. His voice had that deep, rumbling quality, the kind that in ancient times made people think, 'Yep, that’s a leader,' or 'Maybe he’s a god,' but now just made Riz roll her eyes so hard she might've seen her brain.

Riz turned, her posture all 'challenge accepted,' but with an air of 'I’m also judging you.' "Wanna bet?" she threw back, her tone light, her dialect crisp with a hint of mockery, as if she was saying, 'Oh, we're doing this again? Alright, Shakespeare.'

The air between them, usually charged with the electricity of unspoken things and the lingering question of 'What are we, really?' was now laced with the anticipation of their ridiculous challenge. It was their thing, finding the most absurd ways to compete because apparently, talking about feelings was too mainstream.

"Okay, hotshot," Vannak chuckled, the sound muffled by his helmet, "loser buys dinner. And not just any dinner, but something from the black market of the mess hall."

Riz’s laugh cut through the sound of the waterfall. It was clear, almost musical, if music was made by sarcastic supersoldiers. "Deal. But when I win, I want one of those steaks you swear are 'just as good as real meat.' You know, the ones you talk about with the same reverence most people reserve for holy relics."

"You’re on," Vannak shot back, his stance ready, like a knight of old, if knights were into futuristic armor and making bets instead of jousting. "Prepare to be disappointed when it's your turn to raid the kitchen."

They squared up at the base of the cliff, the tension palpable, if you ignored the fact that this was all over a race to the top of a waterfall. "Ready to eat my dust?" Riz taunted, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a boxer ready to enter the ring."In your dreams," Vannak retorted, with the confidence of a man who has absolutely no idea if he can actually make good on his words.

Then, they were off, scrambling up the cliffside like two oversized mountain goats with an affinity for heavy metal—music or armor, take your pick. They climbed, occasionally slipping in their haste, the sound of their armor clanking against rock mixing with the constant roar of the waterfall. It was a symphony of chaos, a testament to their stubbornness and perhaps, a metaphor for their approach to personal issues—climb first, think later.

Halfway up, Riz nearly lost her grip, her foot slipping on a wet rock. Vannak reached out, grabbing her arm in a move that was part knight in shining armor, part 'oh no, we’re both going to die.' For a second, they locked visors, the world narrowing down to this moment of accidental intimacy.

"Thanks," Riz muttered, yanking her arm back like it was on fire, her tone a mix of gratitude and 'I'll never live this down.'

"Don't mention it," Vannak replied, his voice a weird blend of smug and genuinely concerned, like a puppy that's just saved its owner from tripping but also kinda caused it in the first place.

The race resumed, with more caution this time, as if they’d both been reminded that, yes, gravity still existed and, no, their armor couldn’t fly. When they finally reached the top, panting and probably a few dignity points lighter, they collapsed side by side, looking out over the valley below.

"So, about that dinner…" Riz started, breaking the comfortable silence.

"We'll see," Vannak replied, his tone light, but his unspoken words heavy with the promise of more than just a meal....

This was excellent. Your gift for imagery continues to astound me, and the ridiculousness of this event was so fun! I love the idea that Riz and Vannak are so bad at talking that they’d rather beat each other up than ask each other on a date.

The pining is adorable and the competition is even better. I loved it all.

[incrementumxmaxima]

The respect and love that Baolin had for Jae couldn't ever be quantified, much less put into words. Alongside admiration and aspiration, there was appreciation with Bao remembering the first time Jae had taken him to the gym with him. Sure Bao hadn't quite ever reached the same impressive physique as Jae, the rest was history and now Bao stood as another titan in their local community. The Lee Brothers were local celebrities and Bao ate it up, if anything because he was part of a packaged deal with his brother. Bao was sure that their relationship crossed some boundaries at some point - namely thinking of Jae's compliments to how well his ass and crotch filled out various shorts and pants - but it was mutual and, so long as Jae didn't mind, neither did Bao.

The more reserved of the brothers, Bao was a stickler for routines. Even though their parents had gone, throwing his afternoon and evening routines up in the air, the man still completed his morning tasks. General chores he did for their parents mixed with the few things he needed to do for grad school meant that Bao was in his usual place in the kitchen come Jae walking to the pool. There was little doubt in Bao's mind than his older brother knew that was where he'd be, not missing the way he chose the speedo that was a glorified thong to wear. Ever since the two of them had began to work out and their adonis-like features were celebrated, their relationship had shifted. There was a definite tension there that neither of them would break, often leaving it to be the subject of Jae teasing Bao and vice versa, complete with Bao often leaving lingering touches on Jae's muscles. Neither minded but, equally, neither seemed to want to cross that unspoken boundary.

Bao matched his brother's grin and laugh as his pecs were grabbed at, fondled and pushed together. They were always something of his crown jewel, the only part of his body that could rival Jae's. "Never given a pecjob before, maybe I should start," He said with a grin, the thought running through his head. What he didn't mention, of course, was the thought of him giving Jae the pecjob, wanting his brother to be a moaning mess all because of his pecs until he painted them with his cum. The idea was so good, it nestled itself among Bao's most dirtiest desires, among them being the idea of smothering Jae with his pecs before spending however long under his brother's ass. His cock firmed at the idea and Bao simply nodded and watched as Jae went to the poolside, breath hitching as his ass was smacked. His brother's actions were nothing less than a scene out of some porno, nude and flaunting. It was hot, made even better by Bao's knowledge that Jae didn't care who oogled at him.

He gave it a few minutes before he followed suit; walking outside and shedding his clothes, lathering up in SPF and taking his place on one of the other loungers nearby. "Maybe tanning was a good idea bro," Bao hummed, settling with his arms behind his head. A silence settled between the two as Bao waited for Jae to be too engrossed in tanning before he made his move. Walking over and straddling Jae but sitting on his lap, Bao's hands began to massage and push together Jae's own pecs, ignoring the other man's hardening cock against his ass. "I look pregnant? What about you bro? Bet you could give me some competition in the pecjob department." His hands ghosted against Jae's nipples, fingers moving to pinch them before pushing upwards again. "We really gotta get this SPF worked in, can't have your tits being burnt, can we?"

The Lee brothers we infamous in their town. The two were incredibly athletic and were notoriously talented and local mainstays at their city's biggest gym. Jaesung, more commonly known as Jae or Jason, was the older of the two and definitely the biggest, as well. He seemed almost part-Ox with his bulking muscles and his incredibly powerful frame and that earned him a lot of natural awe and respect in the community. He knew his brother looked up to him and while it was undeniable that there was nobody he cared for more in the world, they had quite a playful relationship, and he couldn't help but always be teasing Baolin, who he affectionately called Bao. Although, many of the things he considered 'teasing' to his brother, were definitely things that others might consider crossing a line.

It was a beautiful summer's day and the Lee parents were out of town on business which left their boys home alone and at their own devices. Jae decided he was going to fully take advantage of the beautiful weather and pulled out a piece of clothing that would be a speedo on any regular sized person but between his large muscles, bulging cock and giant glutes - it looked more like a tiny, teasing thong holding on for dear life to contain all of Jae in it. He slipped on a pair of sandals and threw a towel over his shoulder and grabbed his sunscreen as he began to head out.

On his way he passed his brother, immediately snorting in greeting, "You sure you're not pregnant, Bao? Because these mommy milkers of yours are out of fucking control, man!" he grinned, laughing as he reached out and groped his brother's admittedly very impressive pecs, "You know, I'd bet you'd be able to give the best pec job with these," he said, pushing the other's cleavage together, "You definitely got the most fuckable tits out of everyone in this city, that's for damn sure," he laughed, finally letting go of the other and smacking him on the ass as he walked past, "I'm gonna go tan if you're lookin' for me!" he called over his shoulder as he made it out to the back, finding one of the loungers beside the pool and kicking his sandals off, tossing his towel over the chair and squirting a generous amount of SPF into his palm and beginning to cover himself in it, making his already massive and attention-grabbing muscles glisten and gleam in the morning sunlight and to top it off, the speedo need not have worried about being able to hold together because it soon came off as well, leaving Jae in the complete nude.

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Finishing Your Novel

April’s session of Camp NaNoWriMo is drawing to a close, and you might find yourself nearing the end of your novel. If you need some tips on writing and polishing the ending of your story, author Derek Murphy is here to share a few! Plus, you can check out the rest of our novel-finishing resources on our #NaNoFinMo page. 

You won NaNoWriMo and have a 50k collection of scenes and sentences, but how do you clean it up and get it done? How do you make sure it’s finished, satisfying and enjoyable? Here are 5 powerful strategies for finishing your novel and some helpful writing tips that will push you past the finish line.

1. Give it a satisfying resolution.

In order to have a powerful story, your book should probably focus on a main character’s change or transformation. There’s an inner war, a.k.a. the character’s emotional healing, and an outer war: the conflict that forced the reckoning. If it’s a purely symbolic internal realization, you can mirror that with actual conflict in the real scene: the breaking of a dish, a fit of rage, a sudden ray of sunlight (or a storm… this should not be pleasant; It’s a breaking point and spiritual death/rebirth).

You can clarify the moment of change by setting up an illustrative contrast, a before and after, that shows how those internal changes have resulted in real-world consequences or benefits. Each character’s unique challenge will match their personal weakness or fear. The price for victory is the one thing they have so far refused to do, or something they cannot give up or bear to lose.

Make sure your protagonist has gone through a transformative struggle to arrive at deep insights, knowledge or awareness. Find a way to deepen the incidental scenes so that they become instrumental to a deeper purpose, leading towards an identity-shifting event.

The plot is what happens, and it’s important. But you can make it more dramatic and meaningful by making sure you demonstrate how hard it was and what it cost. It matters, it is remarkable, because it forced your protagonist to change.

Your conclusion might include:

Physical tension as allies perform a tug-of-war battle against resistance, that shows how difficult this struggle is, and how much force is required.

The consideration phase, as characters are tempted last minute or the price for victory is revealed: the sweet memories that give them awareness that this fight is worth the cost or risk (you need to show them making the choice, knowing what they will lose).

The final flashback, as the full backstory is revealed so we can see exactly why this conflict is so difficult or meaningful for the main character.

2. Add (unresolved) conflict.

Your story is made up of the events and scenes, where something happens. Each new event will push the characters further into the plot. Slow scenes where nothing is really happening can be red flags, so the first thing to focus on is increasing conflict, drama, suspense and intrigue. This is what creates urgency. The full reveal, demonstrating why THIS challenge is so difficult and powerful, should happen just before the final battle or resolution.

You want to make sure every scene, especially in your conclusion, has enough conflict. I recommend these three:

Outer Conflict (threats): Challenges or obstacles that prevent the character from achieving goals.

Inner Conflict (doubts): Moral struggles, decisions, guilt or shame, anger.

Friendly Fire (betrayal): Strong disagreements between allies or supporting characters. 

You want to extend and deepen the potential conflict, without resolving it too easily. The biggest destroyer of conflict is conversation: when your characters just sit around and talk to each other. Most conflict involves a lack of information, and a desire for clarity. A lot of conflict is perceived or imagined.

The most important information needs to come last, and come at a great price. The information that has an emotional impact, and influences their actions and decisions, should be big reveals at dramatic peaks. A surprise or twist should be treated as an event: each scene is leading towards a change or new piece of information that provokes the protagonist to respond.

3. Fill plot holes with character motivation.

After you’ve made sure that “what actually happens” is intriguing (opening questions and raising tensions without resolving them) you can focus on making sure the plot holes are filled, and characters are properly motivated – these two things are usually adjacent.

You can find and fill plot holes by asking:

Why are the characters doing this?

Why does any of it matter?

Basically, readers need to respect the main characters enough to care what happens to them, so their choices and actions need to make sense within the given information. If there’s a simpler, easier solution, readers will get stuck up on “why didn’t they just…”? To fix plot holes and gaps in logic or continuity, or make the story go where you need it to, you can add urgency, fix the mood of the scene (bigger stakes require bigger justifications), show characters in a weakened mental state, or raise concerns but have them dismissed, with an excuse or justification.

You need rational characters to make plausible choices that lead to dire consequences. You need show why they don’t do something easier, or nothing at all, or why they face clear challenges, despite potential obstacles.

They’ll also require a deeper motivation, for why they’re willing to put themselves in identity-destroying conflict, rather than just giving up or running away. Why do they stay in THIS fight, when they’ve run from similar ones? If they weren’t ready at the beginning, why are the ready now – what changed in them, as a result of your story’s journey?

Your protagonist needs to have a strong, consistent internal compass, and it needs to be revealed through incidents that establish their character. This is who they are. Without this reliable core identity, we won’t be able to tell a story that forces them to change. 

4. Let readers picture your story with detailed description.

In the final stages of revision, you can begin improving the description with specific details.

It’s smart to start – or end – a chapter with a vivid, immediate scene. You want to leave readers with an image they can see in their minds, hopefully connected to the feeling you aim to evoke. You can close a chapter with a reference back to a motif or image, with a deeper or more reflective context; applying meaning to the metaphor. This will help readers feel engaged, be moved, and leave a lasting impact.

Vivid scenes are mostly a matter of detailed description, so add the specifics about the story environment. Be precise, not vague. Instead of “she put a plate of tea and snacks on the table” you can write “she gently placed an antique porcelain teapot on the table. I could smell it was Earl Grey from the scent of bergamot. The half-sleeve of Oreos and can of onion-flavored Pringles seemed incongruous with the fancy dishes, but I knew she was making an effort to welcome me.”

Focus on the sensations and feelings; but also zero-in on any potential sources of conflict or internal emotions or states of mind. In my example above, the host might be nervous or ashamed of her spread; or perhaps she has a degenerative brain disease and doesn’t notice the incongruity. Tensions are unspoken, potential sources of negative feelings. They hover in the background of your description.

Readers will remember the pictures you put in their heads, not the words on the page.

Description should serve and be bound to the story, not distract from it.

It should be squeezed into and around the scene action, when the protagonist is using or exploring.

Show what’s different, not what’s the same.

Leave space for readers to fill in the gaps, but get them started in the right direction so they aren’t surprised later.

Sidenote: be careful about your metaphors, analogies and similes. Each one will put a picture into readers’ minds, and it can quickly get overcrowded with imagery. You’re asking them to ignore your real scene and think of something else. Use them to confirm and amplify the scene you have, and limit distractions.

5. Prepare to publish.

Typos are bad, but perfectionism will ruin you. This section is about editing and proofreading, but I don’t have time for all that, and you don’t either. The real problem with a story is rarely the number of typos. A very clean book isn’t better if people stop reading.

You can solve a lot of common writing problems, with my big list of 25 common writing mistakes, and self-edit your manuscript to make it as good as possible. After that, a copyeditor or proofreader isn’t always the best investment (and it can also be the biggest publishing cost).

Instead, use an editing software (I like Grammarly) to root out obvious mistakes, but don’t dwell on the small stuff like perfecting every word or rearranging the commas. Spending a very long time wrestling a poorly-written manuscript in shape is less effective than getting something (actually) done to the point where you’re comfortable sharing it.

This may be difficult at first, but you can’t learn and improve without genuine reader feedback (from people who aren’t your mom or best friend; nor the short-sighted opinions of a self-proclaimed literature enthusiast). You need to find readers who enjoy your particular genre, and the sooner you find them, the more valuable feedback you can get.

Shorten the feedback loop: Get over the fear and focus on learning by getting feedback early and often. However, this doesn’t just mean joining a writer’s club: writers are brutal and might focus on trivial things. The safest bet is to make it public, on Wattpad at least. Or get a cheap cover and throw it up on Kindle, Draft2Digital or even your own blog.

Making it public is scary and vulnerable, but it’s better than letting the fear of messing up keep you from the brutal, necessary experience of allowing readers to tell you what they liked and disliked about your writing. Will some people be critical? Yes! But guess what, you’ll get negative reviews even if you’re a brilliant, famous writer. Those are inevitable. And the first negative reviews may teach you more about writing than 10 years attempting to self-edit, afraid of putting your book out into the world.

PS. You can use resources, like my 24-chapter plot outline, as a way to spot story gaps in your manuscript and improve the structure (especially if your book suffers from a “soggy middle.)

Derek Murphy has a PhD in Literature, writes urban fantasy and is the founder of the alliance of young adult authors. More recently, he’s started sharing writing tips on http://www.writethemagic.com

Top photo by Adegbenro Emmanuel Dipo on Unsplash.

[idanit]

possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit 

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K  I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well. 

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time. 

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics—really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K  No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.  “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[zevlors-tail]

Poly Villain Deku x Reader X Dabi HC’S

I’ll come back and title this something more creative when I think of a better name for it. These got pretty long...whoops- What do I even tag this as???

A/N: As per usual, all characters including the reader are aged up 21+ in this. First time writing for Dabi. Hope you enjoy my niche interests as much as I do!

***

-How this happened is beyond the three of you. You’re an unlikely pair match for sure; not even the three of you saw this coming. Although maybe you should have, considering how it happened?

-It all started when Deku dragged you into the mess that was the League of Villains. After you joined and got to know him better the two of you started dating.

-But at the same time, you got oddly close to Dabi without even really trying to. Maybe it was the fact that your personalities were a little similar, but you actually managed to get him to talk sometimes and the two of you ended up becoming unlikely friends.

-You and Dabi banter back and forth a lot playfully but there was always a sort of tension under the surface of your friendship that you never really talked about. Sometimes it would even lead to arguments between the two of you. You could be jokingly calling each other names one moment and then all of the sudden you might be right up in his face, quirk or weapon at your ready while his fingers are spouting blue flames.

-Izuku would often break it up before it turned into anything serious but he swears sometimes the two of you might kill each other. 

-Deku always got along fairly well with Dabi. And because of the chemistry between the three of you, you often get sent on missions or jobs together. Over the course of time, you slowly get to learn more about each other and discover little things that are unique to each of you. 

-For example, your personal hobby or past time that you entertained yourself with when you weren’t busy with the league. In Deku’s case it was the story behind the single emerald stud in his ear (he claims it was his mother’s). For Dabi...well. He was always somewhat mysterious, and you don’t get much out of him anyways, but he talk more often when he’s alone with the two of you, and that’s enough for now.

-The real start of it all though was when Deku got sent out on a solo job for a few days alone. As soon as he leaves, you’re left lonely and without even realizing it, you end up getting a little more cozy with Dabi than you probably should.

-After a lowkey night, accidentally falling asleep against him, and spending the night in his room, it hits you both that the unspoken tension you’re always feeling around each other is, in fact, because you have feelings for each other. Something just clicks and now you can’t not see it. Naturally this only makes things escalate. It gets so bad that Shigaraki has to step in and hold you back from obliterating Dabi while the latter is just laughing at you and your attempts to murder him.

-You try to ignore him for the rest of the time Deku is away. None of that matters when Deku comes back though because the second he does, Dabi is up in your space trying to stir shit up and pick a fight with you, and it works. Before your boyfriend can even put a stop to this one, you end up in a brawl with Dabi.

-It takes both Deku and Shigaraki to separate the two of you, but not before you got a good few hits on each other. Somehow though, when he’s got you pinned under him and his hand is at your throat menacingly, you feel some of the tension drain. If it wasn’t obvious before then, it’s obvious now. There are clearly feelings that neither of you want to talk about.

-Later when you’re alone with Deku, he’s the first to bring it up. He’s not an idiot; he can see you pining after Dabi clear as day. But rather than be offended or jealous, he suggests something else entirely that surprises the both of you, if you’re being honest. Why not date both of them?

-The relationship between the three of you is...unique to say the least. At first it’s more of you dating both of them at the same time and them tolerating each other, but over time they grow closer.

-You catch them on multiple occasions sharing food and taking naps together. Not that they’re cuddly, but the fact that they trust each other enough to sleep unguarded in the same room says a lot.

-Sometimes it’s only you and Deku spending time together, other times it’s only you and Dabi, and sometimes it’s all three of you. Date nights are frequent when you don’t have work to do and mostly consist of video games and food with a healthy side of cuddles.

-Games get extremely competitive. Mario Kart somehow always gets chosen and it’s nothing short of sheer chaotic violence. Compress and Twice have banged on your door multiple times and have yelled at the three of you to keep it down. You will not. Not then, not now, not ever. It’s all or nothing.

-You have a winning streak at first. Dabi’s coming in second, and Deku is...well, he’s straggling in 5th. Dabi is cursing up a storm, Deku is growling, and you’re just sitting there with a smug smile on your face as you fly through the finish line. “FUCK!” “Shit! Fourth!? This is bullshit!” “Ha! Fuck you both!” Dabi throws his controller and almost breaks the damn thing, and Deku looks like he’s about to smash his to pieces.

-”I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Y/N!” His threat is not unwarranted, and before you know it he really is kicking your ass. And to make matters worse, Deku is slowly catching up to you as well. You end up coming in second, and you don’t get your winning streak back after that. Dabi’s a sore loser, so it really can’t be helped; he would have cheated by pushing you or Deku to the floor or not so subtly bumping into you on “accident”. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it...

-COD Zombies might also be a popular choice. It’s somehow less violent than Mario Kart but that still doesn’t stop the three of you from yelling out like you’re actually in a zombie apocalypse. “Y/N, get the door to the right!” “Then watch my back, Dabi!” Of course Deku volunteers to do so instead. “I got it, I won’t let them touch you.” 

-Cuddles aren’t your typical cuddles with your two boyfriends. Deku is particularly clingy and possessive when it comes to you, so he constantly has his arms around you whenever you allow. Dabi can’t really explain it, but seeing the two of you like that makes him feel the need to be involved, so then it turns into a sort of competition to see who can cling to you the most. It’s ridiculous, really.

-Most of the time it ends with the three of you crashing in Dabi’s bed with empty snack wrappers and pop cans littered around the room. You get sandwiched in the middle of Deku and Dabi; Deku likes when you snuggle up against him and bury your face in his shirt, and Dabi prefers holding you from behind. The funny thing about this is that Dabi usually isn’t cuddling you when you fall asleep, but you somehow wake up with his arms wrapped around you every single time, without fail.

-Small arguments happen from time to time, mostly between the two boys. It’s always over silly things, like who took the last slice of pizza or what game you’re going to play. Somehow it doesn’t surprise you that Dabi is always the one who starts them, and it’s equally as unsurprising that you’re always the go-to for making final decisions. “Don’t put this on me! Can’t you two figure it out?” “Yes!” “No.”

-Both Deku and Dabi can be insanely flirtatious when they want. Don’t be surprised if they make a bet on who can get you flustered the most. And neither of them back down from a challenge, so...take that as you will.

-When one isn’t around, you’ll always have the other to rely on. It’s hard to deal with sometimes, but the occasional solo job does happen. Dabi is more than willing to keep you warm when Deku’s not around and vise versa. If you happen to be the one who leaves on a job, you might come back to find them passed out on the floor together in an awkward mess of limbs and bedhead. 

-It’s funny, really; Dabi seems almost annoyed, like he’s trying to pull away from Deku who’s absolutely clinging to him for dear life. They’re both asleep, but still the same as ever.

-Jump on them. Please. It’s payback for all the shenanigans they’ve put you through.

-Assuming you joined in their small cuddle pile, one snuggles right up to you and the other just casually relaxes into you. The world just feels right again.

-It might be a mismatch, but it works somehow. It’s the best thing that the three of you have in this cruel world. But you can make it through as long as you have each other.

[dangerdangerhighvoltage]

Night Off (MC x Kojuro x Tsunamoto)

MC and Kojuro are trying to navigate their relationship after finally hooking up, only for Tsunamoto to crash the party with his chaotic ass. it's double daddy duty featuring one of supporting cast's finest. nsfw!

You never were one to concentrate on one thing at a time. 

As you scooped porridge into a bowl, you mentally listed all the letters that were awaiting a response from Kojuro. You carefully laid the soft doughy orb of mochi on top of the porridge while noting you needed to track down that retainer to get his report on how the crops were faring this season. As you attempted to remember the name of some Western book Lord Masamune had requested, the boiling water you meant to pour into the teapot had instead landed on your hand. 

“Ahh!” you hissed. Chastised by your own folly, you finally focused on the task at hand, assembling the tray for Kojuro’s afternoon tea break including an extra tea cup for yourself. It had been a few weeks since the incident, and you were relieved that things were starting to feel normal again, if not a little awkward.

The month before last, the clan embarked on a particularly brutal campaign. Upon their return, an abnormally shaken Kojuro promptly made love to you, after a year of working closely late into the night, nursing each others’ hangovers, confiding in each other different ways to help Lord Masamune not be so hard on himself. Kojuro fucked you on his desk on the heaps and heaps of his letters and notes and then again in his bedding, drawing from you something he had left on the battlefield. You were genuinely surprised Kojuro had made good on the attraction between you, but the next day, you could have sworn you overheard Shigezane distributing to a handful of retainers what sounded like payouts for a bet. 

You and Kojuro decided that while you both enjoyed yourselves that night and were clearly well suited, it was not the best time to pursue something real, not with the Ashina acting up as they were. The others teased Kojuro endlessly about making an honest woman out of you, and for some reason, a part of you believed he actually wanted to. But the thing about Kojuro was he would never be forced to make a decision about you so long as he had that endless pile of work on his desk to hide behind. 

It’s not as if you wanted to be an honest woman anyway.

And so it was as though you started your relationship from scratch, relearning boundaries and reacquainting yourself with some professional distance. The only acknowledgment of your intimacy—other than the fact that he ceased referring to you as his “precious girl”—was the fact that you had started to join him for his afternoon tea every day. And that’s exactly what you were looking forward to doing when you walked back into his office, tray in hand, only to find a brawny, effortlessly disheveled, scar-faced sight sitting in your spot.

“Look what the winds blew in,” Kojuro said to you mischievously.

“Lord Tsunamoto!” you exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome man before you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

Whereas Kojuro was seated rather formally at his desk, Tsunamoto sat back outstretched, his chest peeking through his signature, generously loose robe. You’d always been a bit nervous around the man, his lingering eye contact, and general aversion to modesty. You dismissed him as not your type more as a form of self protection, like a chest of gunpowder dodging a spark. Despite being polar opposites, he and Kojuro were thick as thieves when reunited, Kojuro bringing a calm patience out in Tsunamoto, and Tsunamoto reviving a roguish edge in Kojuro. 

“Surprised to see me?” Tsunamoto declared more than asked. Why did everything about him seem flirtatious?

“Did you send a letter?” you asked, knowing he hadn’t. “I’d have planned a feast if I knew you were visiting!” 

“No need for the fanfare. I’m just passing through for a few days.” 

"Too late, I already have a menu in mind,” you said, picking up the teapot. Tsunamoto’s eye locked on the second cup as you poured the tea. Your face heated up as you watched him realize the second cup wasn’t meant for him, that maybe he was interrupting something. You wondered if from just one mundane piece of ceramic, he deduced everything about your and Kojuro’s past. Tsunamoto cocked his head, and directed an inquisitive smile toward Kojuro who was suddenly couldn’t seem to drink his tea fast enough.

"I suppose there’s no point in trying to stop you,” Tsunamoto relented, graciously accepting the cup you offered.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Kojuro quipped.

“Uh huh.” Tsunamoto noted. His gaze flickered to you.

“Let me bring you some oshiruko,” you said with a firm smile and a desperate need to catch your breath. 

“No need,” Kojuro waved away. “Bring him his favorite dessert.”

You cocked your head at him in confusion. The two men looked at each other in a way that made your cheek tingle. 

“Sake,” Kojuro said slyly.

The next morning, you arrived at training, where Tsunamoto had stepped in to lead. After sparring one-on-one with every retainer, he finally approached you. 

“Solid form,” he offered as your wooden swords cracked against one another. You had been on the defense the whole time, allowing him to gain ground or at least think he was. Luckily for you, his strength made him slower, and as his body twisted to strike at you, you quickly maneuvered under his swing, striking him in his side in a full low lunge. He let out a laugh as you smiled shyly to yourself. 

“I’ve taught her well, huh?” Kojuro called out from afar, who had apparently stopped by to observe training.

“Technique was always your strength,” Tsunamoto called back to him. 

You resumed sparring, Tsunamoto hitting a bit stronger and moving much faster than before. With every step you took, he met you there, almost predicting your movements. The confidence you gained now sputtered out as you barely dodged his attacks. Running out of ideas, you tried a new gambit Kojuro taught you but as you spun around, you felt yourself caught in a vise-grip, your back to Tsunamoto’s chest as if he was simply waiting for you to fall into his trap. His arms easily restraining yours, he brought his lips to your ear and lowered his voice, looking directly at Kojuro who was watching the two of you intently.

“See, I know a few of Kojuro’s weaknesses as well,” he said, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“Besides, who do you think taught him?” He let you go and jogged back over to the rest of the retainers as if nothing happened. Straightening out your hakama, you looked over at Kojuro who hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After a full day of cooking and preparing, you tried to make yourself scarce during that night’s feast. You spent the evening running back and forth between the kitchen and main hall, hauling food and empty dishes until someone, you weren’t sure who, grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit between Kojuro and Tsunamoto. Despite your initial protests, the two of them finally convinced you to stay and enjoy your own handiwork. You relented, and jovially ate, drank, and chatted with the rest of them, until you remembered something.

“Hells, I never spoke to Shiroishi about the crops today,” you confessed with a grimace. 

“Yeah, I'm not sure Shiroishi is in any state to discuss much of anything,” Tsunamoto said. Across the room, the retainer in question was somewhere between laughing drunk and falling asleep drunk.

“What kind of master am I?” Kojuro bemoaned. “My own page sitting here thinking about work when she should be enjoying herself?”

“She learned from the best,” Tsunamoto joked under his breath. 

“Milord,” you started, “You’re a good ma—”

He turned to you, his face serious. “I want you to forget about all your work. Take the night off and just have a good time, okay?” Since you and Kojuro slept together, “good time” had become something of a loaded term. 

“But Milord,” you teased. “Who will keep your desk clear?” 

“I can keep my own desk clear for one night, thank you very much!” 

“You didn’t even clear it when we—” 

You cut yourself off abruptly and bowed your head in embarrassment, suddenly realizing how much you had drank. Tsunamoto let out a satisfied laugh, and you thought Kojuro would strike you down then and there for your slip up. But he merely smirked at you, amused. It’s not like anyone else had heard outside you three—by now all the retainers were completely intoxicated and Lord Masamune had excused himself long ago.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time, precious girl,” Kojuro fired back with a small, unbearably winning smile. You were at once delighted and flustered by Kojuro’s familiarity and Tsunamoto's presence. You didn’t know what to make of him playing witness to this charged tête-à-tête. 

Sensing the tension, Tsunamoto spoke up. "That’s our Kojuro, always with the last word.” 

“You see what I have to work with every day?” you fussed, turning to him with a big smile.

"You poor thing,” Tsunamoto said, playing along and touching your cheek. You were surprised by the gesture, but played it off well. You happily sipped your sake, oblivious to the glance Kojuro and Tsunamoto shared, an entire unspoken conversation transpiring above your head.

It was late into the night when the last of the retainers drunkenly shuffled off to their quarters for the night, and Kojuro asked you to bring a jug of sake to his office. When you arrived you were astonished to find the two of them seated across Kojuro’s desk boisterously engaged in a heated match of arm wrestling of all things. Only Tsunamoto could convince Kojuro to engage in such nonsensical activities.

“So these are the brilliant, visionary advisors of the Date clan,” you huffed as they cheerfully welcomed you. You sat down at the edge of the desk and looked back and forth between them before pouring the sake. With great effort, Kojuro finally pressed Tsunamoto’s knuckles into the wood. 

“Damn,” Tsunamoto grumbled. They downed the sake and immediately put their elbows back on the table, ready for another bout. You poured more sake and sipped on your own. "Alright, this is the tiebreaker,” Tsunamoto said, flexing his fingers.

“And what is the prize?” you asked. 

“A kiss from the beautiful page,” Tsunamoto cracked. 

“And smart,” you added.

“Right, a kiss from the beautiful and smart page,” Tsunamoto beamed.

Kojuro looked up at you, concerned. “[Y/n], you don’t have to—”

“Okay,” you said simply. Kojuro was dumbfounded.

“What?” 

“I said okay. I will kiss whoever wins this stupid competition,” you said with a shrug. Did those words just come out of your mouth? The two men looked at each other again, and again you felt that tingle in your cheek.

“You heard her, Kojuro,” Tsunamoto said.

“I suppose I did.”

The two readied themselves on Kojuro’s desk, grasped hands and began, but this round was different. For the first time since Lord Tsunamoto arrived, the two men went silent as they strained to defeat the other. 

“Kojuro, finally putting up a fight. Desperate for a kiss, old man?” Tsunamoto jeered.

"Put as much effort into training as you do into talking shit and you’d have unified Japan yourself by now,” Kojuro taunted back.

Unable to fathom the scene playing out in front of you, you simply took another shot of sake. It was a total deadlock for minutes until suddenly with a loud crack, both men were sent to the floor. Apparently Kojuro’s poor desk gave out from the pressure of the match or perhaps it had simply lost the will to live after years of neglect and misuse. The three of you devolved into a fit of laughter as you pieced together what had occurred.

“A draw!” Kojuro howled. 

“We both lost? How pathetic!” Tsunamoto asked, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and trying not to laugh again, though you sensed he was relieved at the outcome. The two men sat up on either side of the broken desk, looking down in amused pity.

“Or maybe,” you said timidly. “You both won.” 

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. What you had just implied. The two men froze and looked at you, waiting for the catch, for you to burst into laughter and exclaim, “Gotcha!” and tease them endlessly for thinking twice. But you didn’t. 

“[Y/n]?” Kojuro asked softly with a nervous smile. 

With the latest shot of sake taking effect, you leaned over to him and gave him a firm kiss. His body froze before you, and you instantly cursed yourself for being so stupid and so forward. What were you thinking? You expected him to pull back, graciously reiterate the need for professionalism, and dismiss you for the night, but to your surprise, he dug his fingers in your hair and deepened the kiss. His tongue grazed your lips hungrily and bit your lip the same way he did when you first kissed just weeks ago, and you felt the same rush of sensual relief.

The two of you parted with a small, uncertain smile. You took a breath and looked deep into the torrent of Kojuro’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss him now,” you said. “Is that alright, Milord?”

“Of course,” Kojuro said with a genuine smile. “He earned it just as much as I did.”

Kojuro watched as you leaned over to Tsunamoto. For perhaps the first time ever, Tsunamoto looked thrown off, almost nervous, which exhilarated you. You lips brushed over his. He looked over at Kojuro questioningly, and Kojuro nodded encouragingly. Satisfied with this, Tsunamoto closed his eyes and drew you closer, hungrily lapping at and biting your lips. You expected him to be an aggressive kisser compared to Kojuro, but there was also a sweetness about the way he gently swept his tongue against yours. 

Tsunamoto broke the kiss before you were ready. You hadn’t even noticed that Kojuro had moved the broken table aside and moved closer to you. The two men stood up and pulled you up between them. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Kojuro asked. You looked at the dizzyingly handsome men on either side of you. “Want us?” 

“Yes,” you panted as you kissed Kojuro again, grabbing his collar. You felt Kojuro loosen your obi as Tsunamoto stood behind you and began to kiss your neck, his hands loosening your collar. You reached to grasp at both of their hair as Tsunamoto opened up your kimono, exposing your breasts. 

Kojuro leaned back and took the sight in before leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth. From behind, Tsunamoto took your other breast into his hand and possessively turned your head to kiss you. 

“Nghgh,” you moaned as both the men worked your breasts. Kojuro finally removed your obi and your body was completely exposed. He licked his fingers and placed them between your legs, where he began stroking you. You were already wet, but you had to admit you missed his touch. Tsunamoto slid the kimono completely off your shoulders, his hands trailed down the sides of your body and he grabbed a handful of your ass. 

“Fuck,” Tsunamoto exhaled. “You have this parading around your office all day?” You caught a glimmer of pride in Kojuro’s eyes as you set to work on Kojuro’s obi, freeing him of his robes. You were pleased to find he was already hard. You grasped him, and looked behind you to find Tsunamoto removing his own robe. 

“Come here,” Tsunamoto said as he lowered himself to the floor and lied down. Kojuro guided you to Tsunamoto’s head and gently pushed you down onto your knees until they flanked Tsunamoto’s ears. You could feel the warmth of Tsunamoto’s breath on your slit. Kojuro stood in front of you, his member in hand. You grabbed it and held it to your lips, teasing his tip with your tongue as Tsunamoto ran his fingers in and out of your folds, spreading them. You finally took Kojuro fully into your mouth just as Tsunamoto pulled you down fully onto his lips and eager tongue. You immediately felt a pulse of pleasure shoot from Tsunamoto’s tongue to your extremities, and you let out a loud moan around Kojuro. 

You started to squirm, but Tsunamoto held you in place like a clamp as he lapped you up. There was clearly no escaping your own pleasure—the only thing you could do, really, was take it out on Kojuro. You furiously swirled your tongue around him. Cursing, Kojuro ran his fingers through your hair and pushed further into your mouth, which in turn, made you grind your hips harder on Tsunamoto’s face, who moaned as he sucked on your clit.

“Ride him,” Kojuro growled and you looked up. “I want to see.” He was wearing the same face he was when he watched you at training earlier that day. Feeling your climax start to build up, you began to ride Tsunamoto’s face harder, thrusting your hips back and forth whimpering, his fingers clenched deep in your hips, his tongue unabating. You started to lose focus and could barely hold onto Kojuro, abandoning his pleasure in search of your own. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, captivated, as you grabbed your own breast and unraveled before him on Tsunamoto’s face with a full-throated sigh. 

You got off Tsunamoto and collapsed as he got on his knees. "God I hope she feels as good as she tastes,” Tsunamoto said, licking the corners of his mouth.

“He would know,” you said boldly staring down Kojuro.

“Find out for yourself,” Kojuro said. The two men looked at you and you nodded.

Tsunamoto pulled you to him. He sat back on his heels and guided you into his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his tip teased your opening before pushing himself in. 

“You feel incredible,” Tsunamoto uttered in amazement. He stretched you out gently.

You surveyed the scar that trailed down Tsunamoto’s brow and onto his regal cheek. Your gaze locked on his other eye and as he began thrusting in earnest, it suddenly became so clear why Tsunamoto carried himself with endless confidence. You watched him roll his hips tantalysingly slow and deep into you, hitting all the right spots.

“How does he feel, precious girl?” Kojuro asked. He was stroking himself at the sight of you. 

“He feels so—uuuunnnh!” Your response was interrupted by a particularly deep plunge Tsunamoto took. 

You looked back at Kojuro and reached for him, but he leaned back just out of reach with a mean grin. “You need to learn to focus on the task at hand,” he said lovingly. He watched as Tsunamoto drove into you harder and faster, his strong arms essentially keeping you floating as he slid in and out of you. Kojuro was completely entranced, savoring the way your eyes glazed over as his oldest friend in the world fucked the woman he loved if only he'd let himself, wondering if the most precious things weren’t meant to be shared. 

Tsunamoto slowed down in an attempt to stave off his own climax. Kojuro kneeled behind you, steadying you as Tsunamoto pulled out of you and you got your bearings.

“Are you alright, precious girl?” You nodded, catching your breath. 

“Good. All fours,” Kojuro directed. You did so, swaying your hips in an attempt to further tempt him. Kojuro sidled up behind you and caressed your back, kissing the dimples on your lower back. Your eyes met Tsunamoto’s as Kojuro positioned his cock between your folds and pressed in. You let out a long, lusty moan that bloomed more for every inch he filled you. He hadn’t taken you from behind before, and you wondered how you’d be able to work alongside him anymore after this.

You lost yourself in Kojuro’s languid thrusts and found yourself again, grinding back against him. He whisked you up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest. 

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” he professed softly into your ear. “That I haven’t dreamed of feeling you like this again.” He wrapped his arm around your torso to keep you in place as he dove in and out of you. Tsunamoto crawled over to you and bent down, pressing his tongue squarely on your clit.

“Ahhnn!” You cried out as he raked his tongue up and down from your clit to your opening where Kojuro was thrusting into you. 

The sensation was too much too soon, so you grabbed Tsunamoto’s hair, pulled him to your face, and gave him a frantic, sloppy kiss as you took his cock and stroked him. You felt Kojuro lean over your shoulder, and you pulled away.

“She taste as good as she feels?” Kojuro asked as Tsunamoto approached. You watched as the two men took each other by the lips. You joined in, the three of you licking, biting, sucking each other as you pumped Tsunamoto to Kojuro’s rhythm.

Tsunamoto stood up in a frenzy and placed his cock on your lips. You knew he was close, and you took him into your mouth. “You are taking us so well,” Tsunamoto said as you devoured him. As Kojuro devoured you. You whined as you felt the electricity build up in your core. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m so close!” 

Kojuro managed to fuck you even faster and harder. He brought his hand between your legs, his fingers fluttering on your clit as Tsunamoto all but fucked your mouth. Kojuro groaned as you screamed in pleasure around Tsunamoto’s cock. 

“I’m coming,” Tsunamoto rasped as he ejected into your mouth. You did your best to take it all as you reached your own climax. You felt feverish, heat tearing through your body and cracking you open. 

“Come for me my precious girl,” Kojuro snarled in your ear. 

You let out a cry as the pleasure rushed through you, leaving you trembling. You tightened unbearably around Kojuro’s cock, and he finally released into you with a curse.

The three of you collapsed on the floor, sprawled in a heap of pleasure and exhaustion and a giggle or two. 

“If only every trip to Oshu was this fun,” Tsunamoto simpered. You sighed a chuckle in response.

Kojuro reached up for his kiseru. You caressed his back, muscular by training, worn by war. “You know, [y/n],” he panted. “You should take the night off more often.”

You and Tsunamoto shared a knowing look, both helplessly endeared by the precious, precious man. 

[uponrightful]

You brought this on yourself 🤣 I love how you give Crosshairs point of view so often, but I gotta admit, I was wondering what Dutch was thinking here…it’s all about the spicy longing for me… so

Carefully he wrapped his arms around her, and covered her hands with his own; Caging in her upper body to stabilize the little shake of the gun by taking some of the weight off her arms.

“Confident?” He asked with a hint of mockery to hide his weakening resolve.

She settled back against him tighter, and with a resolved breath she answered;

“With you…? Definitely.”

Such a good fucking girl. He sprawled over her hips with his own, and pulled himself tight against her. Steadying his breathing just long enough to make sure she could follow it easily enough.

“Then take your shot.” He ground out heavily against the shell of her ear.

Crosshair watched the shot leave his rifle, and could already tell she’d made a direct hit. It was actually perfect, and he couldn’t help but loose his concentration from the sensation of her body jolting back against him. She’d handled it flawlessly, but he didn’t miss the little whimper that escaped her when the gun rocked back into her shoulder once again. He wanted her to take one more shot, begging for another just one more excuse to feel her underneath him. To Cross’ utter shock, Duchess began laughing happily at the mere sight of finally hitting her target.

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

* send one in here *

*cracks my knuckles* "Ask and you shall recieve my loveley" I say as I chuckle deviously. In no way does my fianceé send a worried look in my direction as I start typing furiously.

***

To begin, Dutch chose to lay prone for a reason. It's actually not the best position for herself -fundementally- and she chooses to ignore that because it's how she pictures Crosshair doing it. That mental image of his shooting like this is ingrained in her mind, and Dutch has too much interest in him to try and position herself any differently. His rilfe is longer than standard, weighs at least six pounds more, his trigger is softer, and the scope sits a little too high to see from it clearly at this angle. All of that comes within seconds of holding it, but Duchess ignores all of that against her better judgement. It's a taunt, as much as it is an impulse to put herself in his preverbial shoes. She can literally feel Crosshair watching her, and althought that's a very distracting thought, Dutch is set on impressing him.

Note: This choice -of positioning- was made not just for logistics, but also because it fits her personality. Duchess isn't shy, and she is certainly not inexpereinced. I thought about this being a "standing" scene but Dutch wouldn't let me. 😅 Although she is extremely independent, her character's biggest weakness is a strong desire to impress -or be accepted. This stems not only from her time with Phantom Squad, but also from the lack of times in her life that someone has told her "good job". When she chooses to lay down, she's literally opting out of the security she would have of making an accurate shot, just to take a chance on impressing Crosshair. That's a risk/guess... But Duchess isn't afraid to try anyways.

The whole time she's actually a lot more concerned with making her shots than anything else. Constantly checking her form and doing anything she's learned in the past to prove that her size isn't a limiting factor like Crosshair says it is. Her shoulder hurts, and although it would otherwise be enough to make her stop -she has her own career effectiveness to worry about- Dutch isn't leaving until dominates this gun. It's not until she hears Crosshair's sigh that it clicks in her mind that he's still watching her struggle, but not taken the oppertunity to stop her from continuing.

Note: Weapons mirror their users. And when I created Duchess, I made the serious decision that a lot of her ability to characterize others would come from their armor and weapons. That's just who she is, and what she knows best. So, in this scene... Dutch is literally equating Crosshair's rilfe, as to a part of him. If it's harsh, that means he is as well... If it's a sensitive model, that says something about Cross. If she can't control it easily, that's an indicator of the man who wields it. Really pay attetion to the way I compare Crosshair to his 'Puncher throughout the fic. I do it with extreme purpose, and although it's not always easy to spot, there are many times I allude to their symbiotic nature.

The moment Crosshair is close enough to touch, all of that subtle teasing about his weapon from earlier is gone. Ultimatley, Duchess can have a smart mouth, and know how exactly how to use it. But Cross presents a whole new kind of intimidation that she doesn't know how to handle. For Duchess, power only comes in two ways: Physical Prowess, or Rank -wheather that by government facilitated, or sibling rank due to the Phantoms. She's never experienced the way Crosshair acts twoards her. Duchess knows he respects her -because of he he listens to her seriously- but he also challenges her to do things she'd be otherwise criticized for with a hint of disbelief. (Like mouthing off, or betting that she couldn't shoot his rifle, despite that being against regulation.)

The moment he puts his leg between hers, Dutch is a ball of nervousness. Sex is nothing new to her, but that kind of confidence in particular, is completely foreign. Normally she's the one who initiates things like physical dominance in personal space. Dutch is so caught off guard, and her whole body freezes up, because she's realising that she likes Crosshair doing that. It's a release of power that she's constantly holding up, and that kind of vulnerability is hard to let go of after making such a habit of about being the strong one. After all, since Phantom Squad, she's had to depend on herself alone.

It's when he grabs ahold of her jaw and tells her to relax that she's really down bad. 🥵 She knows it should be nothing but a technical comment on her form, but he's commanding about it . Literally ordering her to let go, and release that tension. That feels fucking amazing to hear and feel, coming from a stoic guy like Crosshair. She knows his rifle is harsh, and occasionally he is as well; But that's becoming all the more desirable the more he directs her. Pushing her down against the floor, guiding her back against him... Doing simple things, but silently demanding she follow his orders. Duchess doesn't have to do anything -or think about anything- other than letting him take the lead, and she's daydreaming about if he's like that in other areas.

Note: Duchess takes a fully submissive role here. She's fully receptive to Crosshair's leadership, and it's because she enjoys being thought of as weak -or little- on occasion. Her background is full of war accolades, and confidential missions she knows to be successful. All of it culminating in this unspoken war register of a badass woman who fights like a clone trooper. But that's not realistic to uphold all of the time. Everyone likes to be taken care of sometimes, and Duchess just happens to really like someone taking control every once and a while. And with Crosshair, she feels safe enough to let that happen, and also enjoy the sexual aspect she's been thinking about all this time as well.

Duchess admits to feeling confident with him here for two reasons. Number one, she's still trying to be a little teasing. It's natural to have a little fight in her all the time, and with Crosshair, she thinks that flusters him. (She's right by the way...) But secondly, it's her desire to show trust. Crosshair might be fit right up against her, whispering sexual innuendos in her ear, but Dutch ultimately feels safe like this . The rifle isn't going to hurt as bad, she's going to hit the target, and Crosshair's weight is emotionally grounding. They might be attempting to do some target practice, but Duchess is literally getting the equivalent of a weighted blanket and reassurance that her true self isn't unworthy of attention. Plus, it's coming from a man who otherwise appears completely disregarding of anything with a noticable flaw... That's something Dutch will never forget. The best sniper in the GAR is helping her... And he's happy to do so, by getting as up-close and personal as a man could get.

His hands cover her own, rough and calloused, but they're unbelievably gentle. Cross is almost hesitant, and Duchess can tell he's actively trying to ease her tension. The way he speaks is soft, and quiet... Making her feel like jelly. Being asked to follow his breathing pattern, his arms tight around her, legs somewhat twisted into hers, his thigh tight against her core... It's all seductive, and essentially surrounding her body with him. And Dutch can't help but eat it up. She wants more. No one has ever done something so simple, but effective in drawing out her desire to think of herself as something worth coddling -in a sense.

Duchess might hit that target in the end... But the only reason she did was because Crosshair had relaxed her enough so he could aim . (She didn't make that shot. Crosshair did all the work, she just pulled the trigger.) It was the first time Duchess felt like she was being tended to fully, and that's that had her acting so lighthearted at the end.

***

I fucking love writing these. Please don't ever stop sending them in!😅🤍

[missroserose]

WIP snippet meme!

@redmyeyes tagged me to share a snippet of my WIP! (Luckily, she didn't specify which one.) I'm going to tag @paperbodiesamongthestars, @twobrokenwyngs, @sirsparklepants, @withoneheadlight, @trashcangimmick, @wendigosam, and @keziahrain—let's see what y'all are working on!

As for me, while I haven't actively worked on Act III of Waters for a while, it's been haunting my ruminations for some time now. So here's an early version of one of the early scenes. It's the week after Billy and Steve got together in secret, and things have been a little rocky between them—and then, of course, there's school...

---

Steve thinks about skipping the lunchroom, maybe going out to his car for a smoke—it’s been a while since he did, Nancy didn’t like it, but Nancy’s in the lunchroom and not out in his car, and frankly that seems like as good a reason as any. But Tommy’ll be there, and Eric, and the rest of the guys, and even if it is unseasonably warm there’s something of an unspoken rule that they all eat together in the lunchroom come December. So he shows up fashionably late, grabs a tray, takes his apportioned apple and slice of pizza and pint of chocolate milk—

A round of applause interrupts his good old fashioned pity party. Sends his attention towards the corner of the cafeteria where the guys from the basketball team are sitting—all clapping, whistling, giving those weird hooting gorilla grunts combined with a spun arm of approval.

All at Billy, standing in the doorway.

Billy’s staring, hostile, mean, but then Tommy runs up to him, slaps him on the back—“hell yeah, stud, like father like son“—and of course he misses the flash of anger this sends across Billy’s face. Steve crosses the room, careful to put a careless saunter in his step, and stands at the end of the table, watches as Billy takes the guys’ semi-sarcastic congratulations. Leans over, where Dan Miller’s sitting, stabbing at his rubbery pizza slice with a plastic spork. “What’s going on?”

“Something about his dad,” Miller responds. “It’s dumb but Tommy got it into his head that it’d be a funny joke.” He looks over at Steve, half surprised. “I would’ve thought you were in on it.”

“What, like Tommy can’t think up unfunny shit on his own?” Steve elbows Dan, gets a half-smiling chuckle in response, straightens. Returns his attention to the drama playing out at the head of the table, hears snatches of conversation. “Lydia Hayes—“ “God, I’ve had a crush on her since middle school—“ “those tits though—“ “shame her daughter didn't get those, huh?”—this last greeted with a round of knowing nods and chuckles.

“Hargrove, what the hell? You weren’t going to tell me it was your bachelorette party today?” Steve bumps his way in through the receiving line, gives Billy an elbow in the ribs.

“Ha ha. Save your congratulations for my asshole father. Apparently he banged some bitch's mom that these idiots have been drooling over for years.” Billy’s eyes slide over the rest of the team with unveiled contempt—most of them have gone back to eating at this point, the joke over.

“Not just some bitch. Lydia fucking Hayes, dude.” Tommy, never one to understand when a joke’s been stretched to its limit, claps Billy on the back. “Loud and proud enough that his wife went nuclear on the Hayes’ holiday decorations over the weekend.”

“It was a public service, really,” one of the guys cracks.

“Jesus, you hicks are hard up for entertainment,” Billy mutters, and stalks off to go grab a tray.

Steve nabs the seat next to Tommy, does his best to change the subject. Remembers his own words to Billy, earlier. “So, what’s your family doing for Christmas?”

“My family? Skiing again. Lame-o.” Tommy gives an exaggerated yawn, stretching one arm up as if flagging for the entertainment. “Luckily, I’ve talked my way out of it. Told the ‘rents I’ve got way too much homework over vacation. Wouldn’t want to risk my GPA, maybe get my college acceptance withdrawn.”

Steve flashes his best Risky Business smile. “So you’re throwing a party?”

“Fuck yeah I’m throwing a party. Friday night. You coming?”

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, all teeth. “I’ll bring the keg.”

“That’s King Steve.” Tommy punches him in the shoulder approvingly. “Wonder if we can set up two. Get you and Hargrove in direct competition—that’d be a hell of a draw. I bet we could sell tickets.”

“Psh, a kegstand’s no draw if you don’t have girls.” A thought occurs to him. “Can we get the girls to hold us up? Like wrestling champions. That would bring in the crowds.”

“What’re we bringing?” Billy’s returned, alotted pizza slice and milk carton and fruit cup all perched on his tray.

“Your A-game!” Tommy, never one to wait for an idea to finish baking, practically crows the words. “This Friday, man. Start-of-Christmas-vacation party! We’re gonna knock the socks off these hicks.”

Steve would swear he could see Billy’s eye twitch at Tommy’s easy appropriation of his personal vocabulary. “I’m not sure I’m really in the mood for partying, Hagan. Besides, didn’t Kristie just throw a kegger last week?”

Tommy scoffs. “Hardly. It was sad, man. There were, like, five people sitting around in ugly Christmas sweaters. Not even enough to play Spin the Bottle.” He shakes his head, expression as tragically pained as someone looking at those pictures of the starving children in Ethiopia. “You going to tell me we can’t do better than that? We’ve got the whole team!” His voice rises on the last note, as if he’s expecting the others to cheer, but he barely garners a couple of glances before the rest of the guys go back to their conversations. Steve can’t blame them—nobody cheers for Tommy other than Tommy.

“So what’re you gonna do if the team’s all who show?” Steve glances over at Billy’s sharp tone, realizes he’s got that look on his face—eyes narrowed, tension across his shoulders, and (Steve would bet) at least one fist balled up beneath the table. “Can’t play Spin the Bottle without girls.”

“Yes! Exactly what Steve here was saying.” Tommy nods, as if he’s some kind of expert on girls and their partygoing habits. “So we were thinking, new idea: two kegs, and we get four of the prettiest girls to assist. Double keg-stand!” He practically crows the words. “King versus king! The ultimate battle for keg supremacy!”

Steve has to give Tommy this much credit for cunning—in the mood for partying or no, there’s no way Billy can turn down an invitation like that. His face goes easy, lazy—the sort of half-smile where you’d never see the knife hidden beneath if you didn’t know to look for it. He turns it on Steve. “Wha’d’ya say, Harrington? Shall we settle the question once and for all?”

The knife is there, Steve knows—always is, with Billy. Even if Steve didn’t know him as well as he does, he’d guess—there’s something a little too clear about the sudden sparkle in Billy’s eyes, something aggressive about the way he suddenly focuses all of his attention on Steve. But frankly, Steve hasn’t gotten where he has by backing down from a challenge.

And it feels good to have Billy’s attention on him again.

“Only if you’re ready to bow before your king.” Steve keeps his voice mild, takes a sip of milk as easily as if it were a longneck. Watches Billy from the corner of his eye.

Billy’s eyes flash, and his voice raises just a hair—nothing obvious, but enough that the whole team’s attention is on them now. “All right. Let’s raise the stakes. Loser crowns the winner, and offers a forfeit.” He takes a sip of his own milk, considering. “We’ll need a crown.”

“And a robe,” Tommy says immediately. “I’m on it. We’re gonna determine this thing right.”

A satisfied nod, Billy turning his smile back on Steve, hitting him with the full wattage. “Don’t worry, Harrington. I’m a generous ruler. I’ll only have you streak around the block once.”

Steve laughs along with the rest of the team. It’s all in good fun, after all. Just guys being bros. “And here I was gonna say, I’ll only make you call me Daddy once.”

Against the backdrop of the team’s ooooos, Billy’s face loses its smile, eyes pale as they look at Steve. “I’m gonna fuckin’ take you apart, Harrington.” He downs the last of his milk, bares his teeth, traces of white still clinging to his gums. “And don’t you forget it.”

[candycorncarl]

Right Here, Right Now

Heyyyy guysss :) Not only is this my first post to this blog this is the first time I’ve written in a long time. I was listening to Kiss U Right Now by DUCKWRTH and a small idea I got from the song turned into this! I recommend playing the song when you get to that part of the story ;))) 

Description: You've always been able to feel his eyes on you, his presence when you're in the same room is unmistakable. Yet he never gets too close to touch. Until right here, right now. Warnings: angst, case discussions, alcohol Word Count: 4.6k

Part 1

You could not wait for today to be over. It's been filled with paperwork that always seems to be never ending, which turns into never ending coffee, which turns into you fidgeting for most of the day. Unwinding at Garcia's place tonight was all you could look forward to. Starting to zone out you stare blankly at your computer while twirling your pen in between your fingers. You are finally pulled away from the screen by Emily approaching your desk. She sits on the edge of your desk and you watch her roll her eyes.

"So how many bottles of wine do I bring to girls night tonight?" She sounded just as fed up with today as you were.

You chuckle and hold up all ten fingers raising your eyebrows as you both begin laughing. As you turn to face Emily you notice Spencer looking at you. It was subtle with his head down and eyes up not wanting anyone to notice, especially you. He quickly glances away, eyes darting back to his work while biting his cheek. The two of you seemed to share these small unspoken conversations more than you actually talked. You try to focus back on Emily telling you about her bad nights sleep. Luckily JJ serves as your distraction from Spencer as she walks up to your desk.

"Garcia wants to know everyones snack choices for tonight. I'm bringing a variety pack of chips. Henry's soccer team will just have to settle on fruit snacks tomorrow." JJ says as she raises her eyebrows and tilts her head. You all giggle but you can feel Spencer peeking up at you again. You've always been able to feel when his eyes are on you.

"Well you can tell Garcia mine will be that amazing ice cream she can only seem to find." You smirk.

"You know I can't pass up the chance to indulge in some oreos." Emily says as she sticks her tongue out from the corner of her mouth.

"Ohh you kill me every time with the oreos. My guilty pleasure!" JJ groans before heading off to relay the snack list to Garcia.

Emily pats her hand against your desk a couple times before heading back to her own. Suddenly you hear Hotch announce "We've got a case" from above. He marches over to the conference room. Emily looks at you while groaning, and you drop your head in defeat.

"Well that was fun while it lasted." You mumble as you all begin making your way across the bullpen.

As you all file into the room you see Spencer right behind you. Taking a second you notice how nice he smells you say a quick prayer in hopes he sits next to you. Suddenly Rossi plops down in the seat instead replacing Spencers cologne with the smell of cigars. You glance up at Spencer for a split second and he returns the quick exchange taking the seat across the table. Suddenly he feels so far away.

"How is that every time I get a fresh set of cigars we get a case?" Rossi sighs. Normally you would joke with him but you can't help but be a little annoyed.

"Maybe it's a sign to stop." You say dryly the annoyance more apparent in your voice than you meant it to be. He frowns at you along with a few others, obviously surprised by the reply from you. Feeling guilty you go to say sorry before Spencer cuts you off.

"Studies show cigar smoking causes 9,000 premature deaths annually." He says turning to stare at the screen.

"Well I think with this job I'm willing to risk the odds." Rossi says as he leans back in his chair. The team is quiet for a second. Still feeling a little embarrassed you glare at Spencer before Garcia walks in. As the files are being passed around the table she starts explaining the case.

"3 bodies have been found around the Myakka River in Florida and they think the cause of death was poison. All random, all within the past 4 months. If the unsub sticks to his timeline we have a week to find him before he strikes again."

"Why are we just now hearing about this?" Derek asks.

"2 of the victims were found by alligators in the area. So running tests on them took longer than normal." Penelope replies sadly.

"He's betting on the alligators finding them, not people. The alligators clearly didn't want much to do with them though." Emily looks over they pictures in her file.

"So whatever they're being poisoned with is strong enough to stop hungry alligators?" JJ says doubtfully.

"It's more likely that the alligators were able to detect they were sick in some way before fully... continuing further." Spencer says as the team groans in sympathy.

You wait for Hotch to give the go. "Alright, wheels up in 30."

                                       ________________________

Stepping onto the jet you notice the back of Spencer's head in his seat. You make you way over and sit in the seat next to him.

"Um so why did you defend me earlier? I was kind of a bitch to Rossi back there." You peer at him still feeling slightly embarrassed from the team seeing what happened. Your thumbs twiddling in your lap. He just stares at his book and scrunches his nose. You wait for a response before letting out a sigh and standing up.

"Just making sure he knew the facts." He stays focused on the book and doesn't elaborate any further.

You move to the back of the jet waiting for the rest of the team. It's so hard to read Spencer. He doesn't talk to you as much, but you can always feel his presence when you're in the room together. Frustrated in him not wanting to talk more you rest your head on the back of the seat and twist your hair around your finger, he glances at you one more time as the team files in.

After going over the case on the jet Hotch starts pairing you off into groups. "Prentiss and Morgan head over to the M.E to see what else you can find. Rossi, JJ, and I will head to the dumpsites. Reid and Y/n set up at the station and start working on a geographical profile."

You felt your breath hitch for a moment as you glance over at Spencer to acknowledge the pairing. He keeps his eyes on Hotch. As the flight lands everyone begins pairing off into their groups. Getting to the SUV's Spencer climbs into the passenger seat and you quickly start driving. You were feeling a little nervous with Spencer now. It had been awhile since you've been teamed up even though you two tend to work well together. Despite the lack of personal conversations the two of you had, working with him was easy. The silence was finally broken when you worked up the courage to speak.

"I noticed you were writing down some notes earlier. Do you want to share?" You asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

"Why were you watching me?" He looked over at you finally.

"I- I wasn't watching you. I just happened to notice." Furrowing your brows you glance over at Spencer.

"The bodies all seem to be within a 15 mile radius of one another. There's something within that area of the lake he's attached to." He says with a frown staring out the window.

"Well we've ruined whatever plans he's made finding his dumpsites." You start to call Garcia.

"Sugar, spice, and everything nice. Hello Blossom to my Buttercup!" She says with such excitement you can hear her smile.

"Um I'm pretty sure you're Blossom, Garcia." You reply letting out a little laugh. Moving your phone to its car mount, your arm gently brushes against Spencers for a second. He quickly moves his arm to rest by his side and tugs on his seatbelt. You notice a heat rushing over his cheeks.

"Garcia you need to do a search for anything of significance that has happened in or around the lake in the past year." Spencer speaks up.

"Okay, but lets try asking a little more politely?" Garcia replies in an annoyed tone.

"Uh- please." Spencer clears his throat.

"There we go. Your wish is my command!" She says before hanging up. You can't help but let out a quiet laugh. He frowns at you before looking back out the window.

Making your way into the station you greet the local PD. They go over the latest victim and you are led to their conference room. You start putting notes together and pictures on the board. Spencer is staring intensely at the map, his finger held up to his mouth.

"Can I borrow that marker?" He sticks his arm out waiting for you to hand it to him.

"Wow for an eidetic memory you sure do forget to say please a lot." You turn your head to him as he looks at you slightly annoyed. Instead of just handing the marker to him you take a step over and look at the map. Keeping hold of the marker you begin pointing.

"So he's dumping the bodies here, here, and here?" You turn your head with the marker purposely pointing at the wrong spot. As you turn to look at him he's still staring at you. Locking eyes you notice his jaw clenching.

"No, here." He says still staring at you, leaving barely any space between your hand and his. It starts feeling hot in the room. You normally don't act like this with one another, but you feel something stirring inside you. Feeling your nerves take over, you can feel your cheeks blushing deeply. You stand there for a second longer before you finally hand him the marker.

"Thank you." His eyes look you up and down before marking the map.

Becoming flustered you turn and tuck your hair behind your ear searching the table for something to break the tension. A breath of relief washes over you as Emily and Derek enter the room. Sharing their new found information you start putting more pieces together. Eventually it's time to head to the hotel.

Grabbing your keycard from JJ you plan on taking a nice long shower to clear your mind. Stepping off the elevator onto your floor you say goodnight to JJ. You notice Spencer down the hallway, your nerves rising back up. As you approach him he slows down and stops at the door which happens to be across from yours. You can see him peek at you from the side of his eye as he unlocks his door. You begin to open your door and turn back to look at him. He stares back at you before closing his door.

Dumping your bag in your room you try relaxing your muscles and take in a deep breath. Quickly undressing you head to the bathroom bringing your toiletries with you. Turning the shower on you bite your lip thinking of the feelings between you and Spencer today. He always seems to be slightly frustrated around you, which made you feel confused. It's hard to ignore the way you feel when you catch him looking at you, but you try to calm the butterflies down convincing yourself he doesn't feel the same way. Stopping yourself you step into the shower and feel the warm water wash over you, taking your mind off of how confusing today was. Finishing your night time routine you make your way to the plush bed, scrolling through your phone before trying to fall asleep without thinking of Spencer.

                            ____________________________________ 

As Spencer closed his door he let out a loud huff and put his bags on the bench in the room. He stuck his arm out to lean on the wall. Dropping his head down the need to feel her touch is firing off of him. His pent up frustration caused his pants to grow tighter. Thoughts of her keep racing in his mind, all the times he catches her before she catches him, when she softly brushes past him in hallways, the way she plays with her hair while she's deep in thought. He starts taking deep breaths to try and stop thinking about her. Still too afraid to admit his own emotions to himself he steps into the bathroom. Feeling hot while trying to ignore his growing bulge he undoes his tie and pulls his sweater off. Rolling up his sleeves he starts splashing cold water on his face. Leaning over the sink he lets the water drip off his lips and nose. Something about the way she catches his attention scares him because he feels like he could lose control at any second. He closes his eyes and continues breathing slowly. After cooling down he dries his face and goes to change. Grabbing his book from the plane along with 2 others he makes his way to his bed, forcing himself to read.

                             ____________________________________

Waking up to your 5:15 am alarm clock you groggily turn it off. You get a text as you pick your phone up.

    Hotchner: Good morning everyone. Be up and ready in 30. We will meet down in the lobby.

You begin to scroll over the rest of your notifications until you jump out of bed and stretch your arms up. After getting your thoughts together you go through your morning routine with a slight jitter in your hands as you begin to think about Spencer. Luckily it wasn't enough to keep you from messing up your eyeliner or mascara. You slip on a pair of black jeans, your favorite black boots, and a white tee shirt. Completing the look you holster your gun, and pop your blazer on. Giving yourself one final scan in the mirror you finish with a quick spritz of perfume and head out the door. Stepping out in the hallway you notice Spencer waiting down by the elevator. Dressed in his usual sweater, button down, tie combo you take him in. He's fiddling with his bag and doesn't seem to notice you nearing.

"Good morning..." You say softly hoping not to startle him. He continues searching his bag without returning a hello. Biting your lip you can't help but ask what he's looking for.

"Did you lose something?" You keep your voice quiet not wanting to annoy him or the people still getting to enjoy sleep so early in the morning.

"No." He finally replies, giving up on his search. You nod and the elevator finally dings, its doors open. He looks a little more tired and stressed than usual so you choose to stay quiet.

"It's just a small bottle of some cologne. It was a gift from my mom, otherwise I wouldn't really care if it went missing." He presses the L button and the elevator starts moving. You were a little surprised he elaborated on his answer.

"Oh, well I'll make sure to look out for it. She has good taste, it smelled nice." Your face immediately goes red, you look down in hopes your hair will hide your blushing cheeks. You could smack yourself for letting that slip out. As the doors to the elevator open you feel Spencer's finger brush against yours so softly you hardly felt it. You shoot your head up as you watch him exit, almost forgetting to get off as well.

Spencer's finger is burning as he takes off down the lobby. Clenching his hands around his strap he tries to keep his focus on the team ahead but he can't shake the feeling away. His mind is yelling at him for his actions, but his chest is about to burst. The burning from his finger getting a touch of your skin is overwhelming him. The butterflies he's kept caged forever are starting to stir. Reaching the team he hears her footsteps approaching making his heart beat faster. Tucking his hand in his pocket he takes a gulp. Hotch starts breaking down the day but as hard as he tries to listen he can't. All he can pay attention to is the smell of her perfume; sweet and warm. It matches her personality perfectly. Staring at Hotch he sees his lips moving but doesn't hear a word he's saying until he hears his name. "Reid and Y/n head to the latest victims house." He bites the inside of his cheek as he fights his feelings in his head. Preparing himself for another day of controlling his urges, he makes his way for the door. Hopping in the car he stays silent, as does she. The air feels like its on fire and he begins to wonder if he's made the wrong move.

You can still feel his touch as you grasp the steering wheel. All it took was his pinky gliding over yours to put you in a tizzy. You peek over at him but this time you're too nervous to speak. Resting your arm on the center console, he places his arm next to yours. Leaving the smallest bit of space between the two of you again. Your hand clutches the steering wheel tighter too afraid to move. You both stay silent the entire ride over.

Walking up to the house you flash your credentials to be let in. Your mind is finally able to shift gears. Entering the house you follow him into the main room carefully taking a look around. The home was filled with plants of every shape and size.

"It's a shame most of these plants are probably going to die after being so cared for." You say in a bittersweet tone while appreciating them. Pausing for a moment you feel a thought brewing. "Wait, what if our unsub is creating his own poisons? I'm seeing some dangerous plants here, I think that could be our connection." You say walking further around the house.

Spencer scans over the bookshelf in the room and calls you over. You walk over and stand closer to him than normal. He pauses for a moment before pointing to a picture setting on top of the shelf.

"Do you know what that is?" He asks quietly, still scanning the picture.

"The plant? Umm not specifically, no." You return matching his quiet volume.

"It's nerium oleander, an extremely toxic plant that is poisonous to both livestock and humans. The toxic principles are two glycosides, oleandrin, and nerioside. Symptoms if ingested can be severe, cardiac irregularities can begin, often characterized by an increased heart rate. However, a slower heart rate is often detected in the later stages. Each dumpsite had this species of flower growing around it." He says quickly scanning over the rest of the shelf.

"I think we just found our secret ingredient." You stare at him for a second admiring just how smart he is before calling Garcia.

                            ____________________________________

Spencer's discovery of the flowers lead to the break in the case saving the life of one more victim. The unsub was an alchemist abducting customers from the greenhouse he owned. Finding him didn't take long once you knew where to look. The team gleefully boarded the jet since the case was a fast one. You all were able to leave before the day was even over.

"I think a quick case calls for some celebration!" Derek says.

After excitedly agreeing you sat with JJ and Emily. You couldn't help but notice Spencer deep in thought while reading.

"What about you pretty boy?" Derek shoves Spencer's shoulder. Spencer glares at Derek and replies to get him to back off.

"I'll think about it." He says before quickly glancing over at you before looking back at his book. You turn your attention away from him and back to the girls.

Spencer feels the cage rattling in his stomach again. He tries making it stop but he doesn't want to miss the chance of seeing her celebrate tonight. He starts replaying the first time she went out with them in his head. Her laugh filling his ears over the loud music, her smile beaming from across the room. His biggest regret was leaving early when she finally sat down to take a break from dancing. She was tipsy and breathing a little heavy from dancing. When she sat next to him she let out a soft moan of relief when taking a sip of her drink. He clutched his glass harder hearing her.

"You don't look like you're having much fun Doctor!" She rested her hand on her chin looking at him and then his glass of water. He was clenching his jaw and began to remove himself from the table.

"I'm not so that's why I'm leaving." He noticed her frown before turning to walk away. He forced himself to do the exact opposite of everything he wanted to do. His fist clenched in his pocket and he stepped outside waiting for a taxi to appear. After realizing how worked up he was becoming he told himself to stop. This time there would be no seeking advice from Derek, no getting too close, no butterflies. That was the plan he set in stone and that was the plan she was now quickly unraveling after all this time.

Pulling himself back to reality he peeked at her every now and then the rest of the way home, catching her eye from time to time.

                           ____________________________________

Having a little spare time you decided to get ready with the girls at Garcia's place before heading to the bar. You always kept a backup outfit in your car for times like these. She was the best person to get ready with, always hyping her girls up.

"Y/n that dress is capital H.O.T." She beams at you while slipping her shoes on. You wink at her and pull out your makeup bag. You had to admit the dress hugged you perfectly and made you feel confident. Popping your lipstick on you turned to the girls and shook your head.

"I think we all look capital H.O.T" You smirk before turning to leave. You could feel your nerves rising as you all gathered into the car, you tried to calm down since you weren't even sure if Spencer was coming tonight.

Spencer was unsure of what to wear for tonight. After trying a few things on he opted in on a simple light blue button down and rolled his sleeves up. He was fumbling with his hair as his phone buzzed knowing it was Derek. Before heading out he made sure to spray on a little of his no longer missing cologne. Hopping in the car Derek noticed a little shift in his demeanor.

"What's got you all nervous?" Derek asks with a smirk after driving for a bit.

"Nothing, I just haven't gone out in awhile. This isn't really my thing you know." He kept his eyes on the road.

"Well maybe if you drank with us you wouldn't feel so awkward every time." Derek let out a little chuckle.

He felt his palms getting sweaty as they pulled up to the bar. Seeing Penelope's car he knew she was already here. He wiped his palms on his knees quickly before getting out of the car. Making their way in the bar Derek yelled out "Now the real fun can begin!"

Everyone cheered in return as Spencer searched the room for her. Once he found her at the bar his eyes took her in before she could find him. He's seen her dressed up before but this time he was truly appreciating just how beautiful she is. Once her eyes met him he felt his heart thumping. Spencer tried to distract himself by taking a seat hoping no one noticed his staring.

The team talked for a bit while enjoying some drinks. They finally got up and started heading to the dance floor. You felt yourself a little confused as it seemed like Spencer was avoiding you. He was quiet and didn't seem to be engaged in any of the conversations. Instead of heading to the dance floor you made your way over to the bar asking for a water.

"You know I don't think anyone has said good job to you yet on breaking the case." You held out the water offering it to Spencer. Surprised by your presence he cleared his throat.

"What? Oh... thanks. You deserve credit too." He gave you a small nervous smirk and took the water. You sat down across from him shrugging.

"Once I saw that photo it was so obvious. I can't believe I didn't notice it sooner." He frowned.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit. You can't put that pressure on yourself to connect every dot right away. Don't be so hard on yourself, please. Maybe consider celebrating with us tonight?" You smiled and raised up one of your eyebrows.

"I think I'm good for now." He pushes his water between his fingers slightly. You sigh and get up from the table.

"Well as long as you don't leave early again..." You say and down the rest of your drink before walking over to JJ, Emily, and Penelope dancing. You can feel his eyes focused on you.

Dancing for so long you start to lose track of time, letting the warmth of the alcohol take over you. Enjoying dancing with your girls after while you decided you needed a slower song to take a break. You walked over to the DJ and requested a song you knew would grab Spencer's attention. The DJ said ok and started playing "Kiss U Right Now" by DUCKWRTH. You walked back over and smiled slightly. Penelope let out a loud "OOOO! I like this!" As she began dancing slower. You found Emily and started dancing closely with her. You both giggled a little bit as you swayed your hips against each other. Feeling your dress inching up your thigh you peek over at Spencer. You knew he was already watching you, you could feel it. As your eyes met his, he got up from the table and took off towards the bathroom.

"I need to pee!" You said in Emily's ear before heading towards Spencer. She nods and joins Penelope and JJ.

As you finally made your way through the crowd you saw Spencer stepping out of the restroom. He didn't even bother to look at you but as he passed you, you felt his pinky brush against you again. You hooked your pinky around his and he stopped dead in his tracks. You turned to look at him as he stayed frozen for a second. Your heart was pounding waiting for him to make a move.

Spencer felt his entire body tense up. The small heat in his chest turned into a wildfire. He turned and pushed you up against the wall. His hand moving to the hem of your dress, his hot hand touching your thigh. He kept his other hand intertwined with your pinky. His heart was thumping as he moved his lips close to yours. He could feel your heavy breathing as his eyes were locked on yours. You gripped his pinky a little tighter to pull the rest of his body closer.

You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach as you stare Spencer down. His gaze told you everything you needed to know. The song booming as it narrated both your thoughts. He wanted this just as much as you did. You wanted him to prove it, he was killing you as he hovered over you.

"You need to get back to the girls before they wonder where you are." He whispered before letting go of your hand while backing away from you. He passes the table pushing towards the door. You glance over at the team to see if they notice, if they do they're not acting like it. You take a breath and decide to follow him.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[skinks]

ive been thinking a lot about the dinner scene lately like... they are both so unbelievably horny. like richie really said *blowjob shot* *immediately makes direct eye contact with eddie to roast him about being married to a woman* hes just like i will make fun of YOU for something that is causing ME pain and pretend its funny :) to cope :) also can i suck ur dick. and eddie is just like. SO feral theyre both like vibrating out of their chairs with tension its unreal

Richie really does that blowjob shot and then pointedly, BITTERLY casts aspersions over Eddie’s marriage like he’s not actually gay himself because either Eddie married a woman and he’s just as unattainable as ever, or Eddie married a man which means Richie might have once had a shot, once upon a time, if he was anyone other than Richie Tozier.

How do you make yourself feel better about that!! You get drunk and you get horny for one of your other hot friends right in front of Eddie’s face, but wait what the fuck, Eddie’s agreeing that Ben is hot? He’s checking Ben out?! He’s checking Ben out with the same expression he was using to stare at the side of Richie’s face so hard Richie felt he was gonna crack under the pressure just like Eddie’s death-gripped wine glass. Does Eddie clench his own dick that hard? Does Eddie jerk off like that, like his dick is offending him? Did Eddie ever jerk off back then, maybe at the same time as Richie, in different houses? Does your wife jerk you off, Eds, does she suck you off could she suck you off like I can suck off this shot glass watch me just watch me just fucking watch me I always want you to watch me Eddie listen watch pay attention is he looking

And Eddie!! Holy shit, by unspoken agreement they kept Stan’s empty place between them because he was always the umpire to their insane verbal volleys, always the sharp-eyed heron standing still and watchful as the two of them darted around each other like eager little piranhas and that hasn’t changed, Stan or no. The gulf between their seats is somehow 27 years wide and the same two feet of mandated cafeteria separation, but jokes on everybody else (as usual) because it only makes them louder.

Eddie can’t stop fucking staring and he’s sure everybody knows it, everybody always knew it and it’s humiliating but he can’t stop. Thirty years of carefully cultivated impulse control (impulse subjugation) down the fucking storm drain because suddenly he can see exactly how a round and froggy little face can hew and sharpen into something square and bristly that Eddie wants to feel crunch under his teeth like the cashews that are absolutely in his meal even though he specifically said he could die but he’s gonna die anyway.

He’s gonna die. Eddie will die. He can’t remember the last time his dick throbbed in public like this and he is going to die. If not from the grave-dug yawning trapdoor in his memory he’s sure he’s close to crashing through forever like a rotten floorboard the longer he stays in this town, then from the fucking breadth, the fucking straining violence of Richie’s shirt buttons stretched like a medieval torture rack across his chest (his rack his tits his fucking lung-holder shit what if he still smokes — is he hairy? Eddie can’t breathe, is his body as hairy as his forearms revealed when) when Richie shrugs off his leather jacket.

Sometime between the blowjob shot that Eddie felt like a phantom limb (phantom rim, Jesus) on his cock and Eddie hissing at Richie like an angry goose for pretending not to understand the plot of Inception, he shuffles one seat over. He’s sure Stan won’t mind. If Stan minded he should have bothered to show up, Eddie thinks vindictively, and it is this old and vicious and ragged braggadocio that grips the back of his hot neck and shakes him in its steel jaws, helpless prey to his own repressed instincts. It is all instinct that makes him move from wine to beer to shots to Richie, closer, sweating, grasping like some hungry thing blind and delirious in its death throes. Let’s take our shirts off and kiss he hears it slime and thinks, not it, that’s me, that’s Eddie Kaspbrak who wants to snatch at Richie Tozier’s big sweating hand with the dark flow of hair on his strong wrists, snatch it off the table and shove it down between Eddie’s legs and up infuckingside himself—

Richie’s face contorts in a grin, his tongue pushing down slick at his lower lip and followed by his crooked front teeth. They don’t look yellow with nicotine. Eddie thinks he might have wanted to kiss Richie regardless, and feels sick.

Let’s dance, Richie grins, and this grown man is the same boy that Eddie could never stop thinking about. The blue veins in their bare wrists flex against each other, and Eddie thinks, you were my first wet dream.

Richie’s grin curves the apple of his cheek up against the lower frame of his glasses, and Bill is shouting about bets. Richie doesn’t join in, his eyes only duck to Eddie’s open polo collar and back up, and Eddie thinks, I wanted you so much that I wanted to be you when you only ever wanted to be someone else, and what does that say about me?

Richie has been devastatingly, insultingly funny all night and Eddie watched him tip the viscous white of the shot down his open swallowing throat and had suddenly wanted to shove his tongue down after it with an intensity he literally has not felt since he was sixteen years old, and he thinks, we watched each other grow up. You said you’d get me away from her. You held me when I cried and I held you and you said you wanted to be my friend forever, and Eddie has held this hand before with this same love, but never before with the ruthless wet ache of arousal in his gut at the sight of Richie’s sturdy forearm muscles bunching solid under his skin, the thought slamming his brain open like a torpedo again, I want his fucking body fucking inside mine.

So abrupt and loud. Pneumatic, unstoppable. Eddie nearly chokes on the want of it, and the shock weakens him for the half-second long enough for Richie to wrench his arm over, easily. The others cheer. Eddie laughs, because the trick with Richie was never to act like there had been a competition for him to win in the first place, or he became insufferable. We weren’t competing, Eddie would always scream, and that was because he never wanted to lose to Richie, and that was because he never wanted to lose Richie. Don’t go where I can’t follow was the quote right? Luminous boy, cartoon boy, Hollywood boy. Untouchable. Richie squeezes Eddie’s beaten knuckles once between his own, and Eddie laughs, and Richie lets go to ruffle Eddie’s hair and Eddie wants to cry.

They order more shots.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I haven't really been in Johnlock scene, but I suddenly had a MIGHTY NEED for mutual pining between the two, and your fic recs delivered in the best possible way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing so much about these two! (and now it seems I'm lost to Johnlock, send help, but not really, this is awesome)

Hi Nonny!!

AHhhhh thank you for your kind words about my lists!!! I’m so happy you enjoy!!

You’re in luck, my friend!! I have a Part 2 list of my Mutual pining fics with enough to start a new list, so here we are!! Also, if you’re interested in exclusive pining, I’ve a part 2 to my Pining Sherlock list in its final stages of cleanup, so keep an eye out for that one!! <3 Enjoy!!

MUTUAL PINING Pt. 2

See also:

Mutual Pining Pt 1 

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Pining John

One Sided Pining

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and Ones, Drinking, Pining, Second Person POV Sherlock, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w., 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place