#Doc Hudson x Reader

[imaginewarehouse]

Human!Sheriff x Reader x Human!Doc Hudson || Drabble

Plot: Flo's diner on Friday Night's is always a lot of fun- there's good food and drink (Which is not out of the ordinary, admittedly), good company (The whole town ends up there at some point in the night), and theirs dancing. You're determined to get the hot old men to dance with you.

Warnings: Age difference I guess but its not a focus point.

I have had this fic in my drafts, finished and all, for years. Since like, 2019-2020, but since I wrote it just for me (Also the reason for the fist person perspective), I had never bothered to edit it- well I finally did and I think its kinda cute ^^

🔆🔆🔆

“What are you two doing just sitting around and drinking over here for?” I ask Doc and the Sheriff, as I sweep off the dancefloor in exhaustion and rest in the chair beside Doc (The material of his blazer grazes my bare arm and I get a little jolt from the innocent touch). Mater’s a sweetie pie, and a great dancer but… boy, does he have more endurance than I do. After I take a second to gather my exhaustion and banish it, I turn to the two men and flash them a smile. “It’s fun out there!”

“Hmm, your exhaustion and the sweat completely bucketing off of you is especially encouraging.” Doc rolls his eyes, and turns to look back at the dancers. Ramone and Flo are dancing smoothly in the middle, like they’re practised, like they do it at home because they just love each other like that- unsurprisingly. Then Sally and Lightning are there, too, Mater’s found a new partner in Guido while Luigi laughs at his friend’s expense off to the side, and Lizzie's talking on happily to Red off to the side. A soft smile rests on my lips, until I turn away from the scene and back to the two men I’m sitting with. Sheriff’s already looking at me, which makes me smile wider.

“Being tired and sweaty is a good sign!” I exclaim, winking. “Sheriff, what about you? Fancy a round with me?” How many innuendos can I make with these men and get away with it? How many until they get it and take me? I’m not saying take advantage… because neither of them would do that- but at least recognise what I’m trying to get at here and ask me about it!!

He chuckles, moving in his bar stool chair to be more comfortable. “That’s a lovely offer, darlin’, but I’m afraid I’d probably just slow you down. I’m not as young as I used to be!”

At this, an opportunistic light switches on behind Doc’s calculating eyes, swivelling on his stool ever so slightly in order to turn that piercing stare on the sheriff. “Yes, he’s missed his last 3 check-ups, Y/N. Anything could be wrong with him.” Sheriff bristles and his expression dissolves into guilt, as he refuses to look at Doc who’s smirking. “Damn hot rods not allowing you a single day off to visit the office, right Sheriff?”

“Uhuh, ri-right.” Sheriff quickly clears his throat, straightening in his chair now to look around at anything other than Doc. As he does that, Dr Hudson glances to me with a quiet, conspiratorial look before taking another drink from his mug, making me giggle quietly.

In a moment, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Why don’t you take a dance with me, then? You must be at the height of health, ey Doc?”

A grunt is his response, as the amusement leaves his blue eyes and he looks away again.

“Come on, one of you? Both of you? I’m not picky- I’m desperate! Mater’s got a new partner and… “I risk a glance at the tow-truck owner and can’t stop a laugh from bubbling up to the surface. “Guido’s a hard act to beat! He’ll never want me back. I’m dying to get back on the floor, though!”

“Guido’s seemed to have transformed miraculously into a sack of potatoes.” Doc states in that slow, gravelly drawl, assessing the dancing couples as well. And it’s true, making me really chuckle this time at his analogy. Mater is just swinging the little Italian around at this point, with absolutely zero help from Guido himself. Guido’s toupee keeps bopping around and slipping out of place.

I stop my chuckling by biting my bottom lip, and scraping it through my teeth as I turn back to them. Sheriff’s stopped avoiding Docs gaze now and is looking at me with him like they’ve won- like together they can ward me off- Oh, ho, ho, though. These two think they’re so clever and victorious. But they haven’t gotten out of this. No, no. I’m determined; I’ll get one of them to dance with me tonight, even if it takes begging!

“You’re right.” I admit, then lean closer into the table pleadingly. “But I don’t want to dance with Mater, I want you two! Come onnnn,” I whine, looking as pleadingly as possible to them.

Doc sets me with a firm, straight lipped look. “And you’ll continue to want me.”

Well, that’s that then.

I turn from him, to Sheriff. When Doc’s mind is set, he usually will never change it. Sheriff, though… he’s a bit more lenient. A softie. A sweetheart. That’s one of the things I really love about him, in contrast to what I really love about Doc; his cleverness, his sternness. Unbelievably sexy qualities.

And I’m right, too. The Sheriff’s looking at me a with worried frown under that moustache and thoughtful deep, dark blue eyes. Oh lord, these men and their blue eyes. They had me my first day here in Radiator Springs.  

I offer my hand across the table to him, and up the ante with my cute pleading look, which I hadn’t even known was possible. I do so by adding a little pout, and it does the trick. Sheriff heaves a great sigh and drops his large hand into mine, getting out of his chair. He rolls his eyes. “Hot damn… “He mutters something about the lord saving him, as I get up from my seat with the biggest beam on my face and springing into place next to him like a slightly overexcited puppy, before returning his gaze to me. “Remember what I said, I’m not as springy as I once was. And, I was never a very good dancer in the first place, so- “

“Let’s go!” Now that I’ve got him up, I’m not about stand here and listen to him talk himself out of this again, so I take us off to a spot on the floor. When I turn back to him and let go of his hand, I flash him a bright grin and think out loud in anticipation as the song ends and we wait for the next one to play. “Besides, the point of this is not to look good, it’s to have fun! Wanna have fun with me, Sheriff?” Okay, so I might have gone a little far with that last comment as the poor, sweet man goes a little pink, but I pretend not to notice that and just listen out for the first few beats of the next song. Before I can make the first move and pick up his hands again, as the song’s a bit boppy and perfect for twirling, he takes up mine first and then, before I know it he’s dancing with me. It’s so much fun!, he’s not half bad at dancing like he let on- there’s a little bit of funk and we slip out of time every now and then but that just makes us laugh. And he twirls me!! He twirls me!!! I’m also starting to think he was just being modest, with all that ‘I’m not as springy as I once was’, crap. Sheriff’s in shape! We’ve been dancing for the past 8 songs and he has not once needed a break or looked like he would be needing one any time soon.

It’s so much fun that I nearly forget to want a drink, or a break myself. The music is so hillbilly it’s fun, the laughter is elating, and the company is addictive. Every time a song ends, he’ll dip me and I’m not afraid that he’ll drop me; he’s strong, and his grip on me is firm. I laugh quite a bit when he does that, and when I get to twirl, and at some point he throws his hat off to Doc, and I’m surprised there’s still a Ford-Pines-Tom-Sellick-level head of hair there. Man, does this place know how to grow ‘em…

We go on like this for a few more songs, until he reminds me to get a drink and a rest for a moment and see how Doc is doing. “Hey Doc, I don’t think you should be worried about Sheriffs health, he’s fitter than me!” I exclaim elatedly as I collapse back into my seat beside him, exasperated but not really. Tired, yes, but annoyed, not at all.

“Hmmm,”

“Still don’t wanna get a dance in before the night’s over Doc? It really is fun!” Sheriff pours us both some water from the jug Doc ordered for us, laughing a bit because of the left-over endorphins, and I nod along intently.

“Yes, the offer’s still on the table until the last song ends. So, keep that in mind.”

“Sure.”

I giggle, widening my eyes exasperatedly at Sheriff over my cup as I take a sip, before Doc starts up a conversation about Chick’s latest Lightning slander in the news.  

6 songs later, and the night’s about to end, sadly. I watch, quietly and honestly tired, as Ramone goes up to Red and requests a certain song, quietly. I guess it’s something special between him and Flow, but as the slow song starts to play, Sally and Lightning dance too- and I’m actually perfectly content and happy in just sitting by and watching, when a shift beside me catches my attention and I look to see Doc getting off his stool and stretching his back. “Ah… this is much more my speed. Y/N?” He raises his hand in front of my face without looking back from the dance floor, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“You said the offer to dance was on the table until the last song. I believe this- is the last song.” A slow grin spreads across my face, and I cautiously, tiredly hop off my own stool, taking his hand in the process.

“Sure is!”

“Now, Doc, I’d’a thought you’d be up for something faster!” The Sheriff teases after us, with laughing eyes as he sits comfortably still in his seat.

A tiny smile graces Doc’s face, making me feel squirmy like it always does. “Yes, but my physical ability extends only to the minimum of what a driver’s required to be. Dear, now shall we?”

“Mhm, yeah, we shall!” I agree, grinning cheekily at him and waiving quickly to the Sheriff as Doc walks me onto the floor and swings me around to face him. The song, slow and easy, plays on around us as he fixes his hands carefully on the okay zone around my waist and mine find his shoulders. As we sway around the floor, I wonder; Will I ever get to do this with them as my men? Go out dancing as a date?.. Will these two ever realise how much I really like them?

When Doc grins again I wonder, if he actually already does know.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Who else feels this about their F/O?? I feel this so very badly! XD

[englass]

Plains and Valleys

Pairing(s): John Seed x Deputy/Reader

Warning(s): John is his own warning; Possessive/Obsessive Behaviour; John being creepy; Stalking; kind-of Crack, this isn’t taken all that seriously; Not Beta’d; Experimental Piece; NSFW/Explicit, my first (and likely only) attempt at smut -- please kindly let me know if there’s anything else I should warn of here, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Word Count: 4,020

A/N(s): The title is basically a placeholder for while I was writing this because I had no idea what to name it... and truly, I can’t be asked to think of something better for a piece that only exists to see if I can write smut (spoilers: I can’t, but I’m not letting a completed piece rot away in my docs just because I’m embarrassed; I worked and spent time on this damnit!).

On another note, I was gonna just give this piece over as my contribution to WIP day that @derelictheretic was kind enough to tag me in, but decided against it. I’ll post a proper response and WIP later this week or next, so bear with me please hun! Just wanted to get this out there first.

- - -

John had a problem.

Well, he had many problems. Not least of all his growing frustration at the continued resistance from the Fairgraves' in his pursuit for the deed to their ‘establishment’. He also had been unable to play with Affirmation as regularly as he would have liked, so that put him in an even fouler mood than usual. And he wasn't going to even think about the stress he was starting to feel with his brother constantly breathing down his neck; always questioning his actions as though he were a child constantly getting into trouble and needing twenty-four hour monitoring, always asking after the progress of things that take time. A lot of time.

John may have a substantial amount of money at his disposal, but that does not mean he can work miracles.

Not all of the time, at least.

And his problems don’t stop there, oh no. Despite what many likely thought of him (and what a stroke to his ego that is, knowing that people think of him) John was well aware of his problems, his faults. He’d spent a lot of time getting intimate with them, after all; and every now and again they'd crop up like daisies, weeding their way to the surface yet again. He’d become rather good at managing them, if he said so himself, but even John wasn’t perfect (he was damn close to it though, as many would agree). And one fault he hadn’t quite been able to trim back was his tendency to fixate on things; obsess. 

He obsesses over his plane, over its upkeep and maintenance, its flight records, the slightest scratch that wasn't there the day before-- how the fuck did that get there!?

He obsesses over the details on the manifestos he’s given, the contracts he’s made, dates and times for resource collection, rotations, their members' personal records (he denies having those), PR management, expenditures and everything in between. 

He obsesses over his home, the décor, the colours and lighting, materials used, the whole aesthetic. How he presents himself, the clothes and brands he wears (it’s vain but he needs those creature comforts), his posture, his presence, his overall look that creates an identity that just screams nothing but John.

He obsesses over things.

He knows he does. It’s a faulty blessing.

And he has found something new to obsess over.

John has had a few run-ins with the local Deputies of Hope County in the past. Mostly Joey Hudson, delightful as she is, but ordinarily he doesn’t think too much of them. After all, he’s untouchable and they all know it. There’s no reason to worry about them, let alone waste his precious free time (what little he gets of it) thinking about them. They’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance at most. Completely irrelevant.

But then he saw her.

Standing there, innocuous, looking out at something (for something? Nothing?) in the distance. 

There’s a hitch, the catch of a stilted breath.

Where they were keeping her hidden he has no idea, but he is taken the moment he catches that rogue glance of her.

And, strangely, he doesn't know why.

Sure, John and his brothers have been in this County for a good while now and he has never seen her before, so it’s perfectly normal for him to be curious about the unfamiliar face in town. Nothing wrong with that, it’s innocent enough.

Except there’s everything wrong with that.

Because that’s not it.

He can’t even blame his wandering eyes on her appearance; she’s wearing that drab uniform that even a charity shop wouldn’t take, and it does nothing to enhance whatever natural beauty she may have hidden underneath it. Although, the girl-next-door look she gives off is begrudgingly cute (if he dared to utter the word unironically).

Honestly, she’s not the type of woman that he typically would have paid any special attention to back in his lawyer days. Fucked her stupid maybe, for the extra notch in his bedpost, but he likely wouldn’t have taken her number or thought too much about her afterwards. Relegated to just another lay in a long line of bed partners that he doesn’t remember all the names of.

To be blunt, she isn’t anything special.

And maybe that’s part of the appeal, what hooks him in. Because she is different; unassuming and uncomplicated, modest to a point of simplicity. And yet there is something about her that he can’t actively see or name from his spot across the street that has drawn him in without even trying. And he doesn’t know what or why.

It’s as infuriating as it is intriguing.

Perhaps there is some iota of truth in what Joseph had said to him a while ago, John supposed silently to himself at the time: the simplest of things can be beautiful, in their own unconventional ways.

Although his brother could have said as much with far less words, verses, and vague allusions to a potential future that might never be-- a spark of sudden change that sets a new course in motion; scales tipped by the most consuming of emotions; scorched by a soul so deceptively unremarkable that no one would have thought to believe just how uniquely special they would become--

…

…… 

… Huh… 

John creates a special slot in his increasingly hectic schedule just for her from then on out.

He goes out of his way to find more reasons to harass and bother the local population, all in a fruitless attempt to get lucky and have her answer their call for aid and come and tell him what a bad boy he’s being. (Annoyingly she never turns up, though.)

He makes calls and pulls some strings to the businesses he’s procured, makes inquiries to anyone that would listen to him, including those doing menial tasks or even going through their Atonement (they don’t understand the relevancy of his questioning and he may have been a little harsher with them than he should’ve been because of it), and all in the name of his personal investigation into her.

After all, he had argued to himself in front of a cork board covered with documents and pictures of her with a feverish flavour, what sort of Herald would he be if he didn't know everything about everyone living in his-- their, his and his brothers, soon-to-be County?

His invasive and not completely legal search into this new Deputy (and she is new it turns out, freshly transferred in fact) goes on for a full, nonstop month before -- during one of his totally-random-and-not-planned stops into town -- he discovers something else about her.

When he first saw his Deputy (and doesn’t that feel good to say) she was alone, leaning against the wooden beam of the Sheriff’s Department’s porch and staring out into the distant fields; the late afternoon sun haloing her figure in its golden warmth, its light making the colour of her eyes blaze bright and her hair shine silkily. The perfect picture of ease.

This time, when he finally manages to spy another in-person look at her, he finds that she has company. She’s standing next to the ever friendly Hudson, posture held strong by an understated confidence and arms casually crossed beneath her bust, an amused smile on her decidedly pretty face as Hudson talks animatedly about something that he can’t hear.

And she’s looking up at her.

John blinks, and blinks again.

He’s definitely seen her file, he even remembers glossing through her medical records (which he would most assuredly deny having if anyone asked), so he knows how tall she is. But for some reason it apparently hadn’t quite registered to him until now what that would look like in a physical comparison between the two of them.

He knows that the lovely Hudson is a couple of inches shorter than him, not too far off from meeting him eye-to-eye. His Deputy, from what he can see, is about a full head shorter than Hudson. Which would put her, what, roughly just about eye-to-chest with him...?

He thinks about it. Thinks about her next to him, imagines what that would look like. Thoughts surprisingly innocent as he wonders after clichés of reaching for something that she can’t reach, of cocooning her in his arms as he effortlessly wrangles her into his lap. Envisions the domesticity of easily resting his head on top of hers as he holds her from behind, slotting himself into the mould of her figure like matching puzzle pieces, perfectly meant to be and belong… 

A high pitched, shaky sound slips free at the mental reel.

It’s not a secret the type of life that John used to live. He has been with numerous types of women, something he used to take a great deal of pride in, and has indulged in and explored his fair share of kinks in the comfort of expensive silk sheets. But who would have guessed that the former playboy, John Duncan now John Seed, would have a thing for domestic bliss.

Or rather, domestic bliss with little. ol’. her.

John makes the executive decision then and there to talk to his Deputy as soon as possible. Preferably alone. Without interference.

It feels like forever before he gets the opportunity.

A week later, on a daily walk through Falls End that has only admittedly become a thing in order to check up on the lucky woman of his blazing affections (I am not stalking her, Jacob, he had grounded out menacingly to his accusing older brother over Sunday dinner; who proceeded to look on at John with a slow quirk of an eyebrow), he finds his ever elusive Deputy resting around the corner of the Sheriff’s Department’s building. Eyes closed, head down, arms crossed, and safely concealed in the shade; unsuspectingly calm in her desired time alone.

And John is quick to ruin it.

He can’t help himself, he really can’t. The opportunity is here and he would be remiss to let it pass him by.

Even if she does look rather serene.

He's seen a few photos of her, more than a few actually-- albums worth even, so he knows what she looks like up close. He even printed one out (it’s a favourite of his, a near perfect replica of the first time he saw her) and has it framed on his bedside table; but it turns out no amount of photos quite do the real her justice.

The closer he gets to her the more he notices how petite she is, how the loose yet deceptively form-fitting hug of her bland uniform subtly accentuates the curves and slopes of her modest figure; the daintiness of her fingers as they rest against the exposed, smooth skin of her arms; that familiar magnetic draw snapping to life in the colour of her eyes as they lazily open, sparkling as he gets closer and she looks up at him, wide and wondering.

Innocent.

Oh, he was so wrong about her, he realises wondrously. Did her such a disservice in his initial judgement of her all those weeks ago. She is far from average.

And being here in front of her, close enough to touch, to be able to easily reach out and trap her against the wall and between his arms if he so wanted to, safely protected under the cage of his form -- her neck craning back in order to comfortably gaze up at him, meeting his eyes as he stares down at her… 

It makes something inside him go wild.

John lays the charm on quick and swift, hand attractively running through his hair as a practised but handsome smile lights up his face, eyes twinkling through his lidded gaze with an aweing hunger he knows he is failing to keep hidden.

Getting the first word in, he leans close to the wall, not quite putting his full weight against it (his shirt was expensive) but close enough to allow him a moment of privacy with her by limiting her field of view to only him. Blocking out everyone-- everything else with his taller frame (and doesn’t that thought spark a sudden twitch of interest) as he eagerly monopolises her attention.

Daringly he edges further into her space while he talks ardently to her, truly basking in the unexpected pleasure he gets in watching her unintentionally baring her neck to him; being so beautifully submissive for him without consciously realising it. Amusement colouring his tone in pale notes as he watches the way her pretty eyes darken and narrow at his progressive disturbance and invasion of her time and space.

Fuck. He didn’t know it would be this intoxicating to be so close to her.

Even as he dances through conversation with playful words and hinting remarks, becomes enamoured by the soothing intonation of her voice as she is dragged along with guarded comments and wary retorts, he can’t stop the way his mind ever so sinfully wanders… 

It really would be so easy to have her up against this wall. To crowd her in with his frame on all sides and her vision filled with nothing but him. The centre of her universe and attention, him; and his hers. The concept of that sort of all-encompassing intimacy and devotion makes John shudder. Hungry all the more for it and the woman that has unknowingly given him a taste of what it could all be and become, of what that level of pure, unadulterated want is inspiring in him.

He could easily have her against this wall. Have her looking directly skyward up at him as if he were her moon and stars, as he looks directly down at her-- his entire world and more.

Snatch her thigh and hoist it up towards his waist. Have her balancing precariously on the tips of her toes and clutching desperately at him, trusting John to help hold and support her and keep her steady as he shields her from the world around them. Hides her away from the unworthy just as the unworthy have hidden her away from him. His lips sweetly latching onto hers, her taste finally on his tongue after all these weeks of wanting, involuntarily grounding his hips into hers as a desperate sound breaks within his throat.

Oh, John can visualise it now: the two of them breathing in each other's air, bodies flush as he tugs and pushes closer, her shirt riding up as it's snagged by the rough brickwork at her back, arching into him on an unsteady foot to escape its harsh bite. Teeth nipping teasingly at her lips and tongue licking moreishly into her mouth as his free hand roams down her stomach, pulls the rest of her shirt loose and fumbles in his eagerness with the buttons of her jeans, yanking the zipper down and shoving his hand below the waistband and into her underwear. Hearing her whine sweetly into his mouth as he feels just how wet she is for him, how much she wants him and how eagerly she welcomes him into her as he plunges his fingers into her slick cunt with a needy and quaking moan of his own. 

Would she want it quick and rough? His fingers thrusting knuckle deep as he presses tight circles to her throbbing clit, teeth at her throat as he claws into her thigh held tightly in the dip of his waist. Listening to how her moans get higher, her breathing gets quicker, turning into desperate little gasps before he tugs his fingers free of her; lips devouring hers in quick apology as he battles to pull his aching cock free, cursing lowly against her lips as his slick covered fingers slip on the metal of his belt. She’d help him, he knows she would -- such a good girl --, nipping and kissing him back with wanton sounds as she bats his hand away, revelling in the noises he makes for her -- only for her, only ever for her -- as she pulls him free; rolling her hips until his cock catches on her slit and he’s thrusting home into her.

Only then -- while feeling her walls flex around him, mouth hanging open as they both bask in finally, finally being so intimately connected to one another -- would he finally hike her other leg up to wrap fully around his waist, fully supporting her weight and driving himself deeper into her, one of his arms coming up to press into the wall beside her, hand caringly slipping behind her head; bracketing her in. Shivering as her breath warms his neck and she cries out for him.

And considering her height… fuck, he can only imagine just how tight she’d be for him, chocking his cock as she squeezes him, milking him for all he’s worth until his teeth are stained red against her lovingly maimed neck. His hips snapping into hers with a guttural growl, panting sensual snarls of encouragement into her ear as he demands and begs in equal measure that she touch herself for him, dexterous fingers chasing her end as he chases his own until-- she’s coming around him with a high and shuddery keen. Her soft walls sucking him deeper into her, legs locking tighter around his waist and keeping him there as he spills himself into the back of her hot cunt with a strangled moan. Claiming her as his as he presses in closer, plugging her full with his cock and cum and praying that it’ll take-- 

…

……

… Huh.

He will definitely be exploring that at a later date…

Or perhaps she wouldn’t want it like that. Wouldn’t want him to be so rough and careless with her. Maybe she would want him to go slower, to be gentle-- to be good for her, to take his time and truly enjoy and appreciate every sweet beg and whimper that falls from her perfect lips. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to fuck him at the back of her shabby place of work, or even anywhere out in the open; maybe she would prefer privacy, for him to make love to her. Would want him to steal her away into his home, to carefully lay her out on his bed and unwrap her like a delicate gift, hands tracing teasing paths along her body before spreading her wide for his tasting pleasures. Taking his time to truly savour her unique flavour on his palette, wanton sounds pressed into sensitive flesh as he takes her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks.

Broad strokes of his skilled tongue parting her lips and drinking her down, fingers firm as they hold onto the soft meat of her thighs and hips, thumbs rubbing soothing motions into her skin as he opens her up for him. Urges her with hot breathes, praising words, the flick of his tongue and the dip of his fingers into her wet heat, to cum for him; pleads with sound and touch and a greedy haze over his lust-darkened eyes. The gravel in his gluttonous voice vibrating into her, in love with how she reaches and cries out for him as he tells her how good she’s being for him, how badly he needs her to cum for him-- a debauched sound choking out of him as she does. Completely enraptured as she reaches the height of pleasure -- pleasure he brought her, that he will always strive to bring her --, bearing witness to his own personal God-given vision as he watches her writhe against his sheets and listens to her songs of praise, easing her down from that divine high and back into his devoted embrace.

Kissing a line up to her bitten lips, answering her mewls with soft coos and grounding touches, brushing over a nipple before taking the perky flesh into his mouth with a brief suck and fleeting skim of teeth, letting go with a lingering kiss before moving across and repeating the process to its twin. Reluctantly drawing away to playfully nip and press wet kisses into the column of her throat before letting her taste the tanginess of her juices on his tongue. Languidly kissing as he strokes her sides, writing indecipherable words of affection into her skin, content to let her enjoy the bliss of post-orgasm before he slowly pulls away, descending back down the line of her body with a husky, ‘one more, just one more for me, darling...’ 

John knows he wouldn’t stop at just ‘one more’ though. Hopefully she’d be generous enough to give him a few more before he finally slakes his need for her.

And hopefully she doesn't see the hard-on he’s now sporting after such vivid fantasies.

In a particularly bold move, temptation spurred into a fever from improper imaginings, John reaches for her; fixates on a strand of hair that has become untucked from behind her ear. She tenses, muscles coiling tight as she gives him the most suspicious look somebody has ever given him before. He’s actually rather offended. And very hurt.

But it’s sobering, in its own way. Because suddenly he can hear Joseph’s voice in his head from last Sunday (what a turn-off…), advising him that if he wanted to pursue a relationship with this Deputy that he was so smitten with then he needed to be gentle, considerate.

John may have done his ‘research’ on her, extensively so, but that did not mean that he was entitled or even deserving of her affections. He could not expect her to be on the same page as him, especially considering he had yet to even interact with her at that point. She may not have even heard of him yet, Joseph had speculated-- John and Jacob quietly sharing a disbelieving look. Everyone in the County knew their names, and with her being a Deputy there was no way she hadn’t heard of them.

Regardless, Joseph’s point still stood: if John wanted a genuine chance with her then he needed to soften himself, to be delicate, more tactful with her. Demonstrate that he can hear and see her for all that she is and can be, and that he accepts her without reservation.

Think of it like Atonement, Joseph had supplied sagely, fingers steepled, she needs to willingly give her confession over to you, John. Her affections. You can’t just take them.

And to Joseph’s credit, that actually made sense to John.

Atonement was all about accepting one’s sins, confessing them to another whom they trusted would never condemn nor judge them for their past actions or choices; unburdening themselves so they may be reborn pure and untainted for the hopeful future ahead of them. In that regard, his pursuit of his Deputy wasn’t too dissimilar.

So in that brief moment, in that flash of hurt as she steels herself against his considerate gesture and where John remembers Joseph’s words, he pauses. Convinces himself to go slower, to not try to grab at her like a spoiled brat reaching for things that weren't his-- yet. Reigns himself in enough so he doesn’t give her anymore of a reason to potentially be wary of him, to which he has very likely just given her quite a few. Trying in his own distinct way to smooth over her obvious distrust of him.

John knows he’s made mistakes throughout his life. Many would say he’s not a good man, and he wouldn’t necessarily disagree with them. But seeing and learning of her, of recalling his brother’s words and advice, of the many fantasies he’s had before and even during meeting her in this moment, he thinks he could change that. Knows that, if she would have him, if she gave him the chance, he’d be good. He’d be good for her.

Joseph always talks about love, about the power and control it wields over people and-- admittedly, John doesn’t completely get it. 

But with her? For her? He thinks he just might.

… 

He thinks he already does.

[chubbysciencenerd]

Runaway Pet Fem!reader x JacobSeed

dubcon, pet dynamic, dirty talk (slight), orgasm denial, slight Stockholm syndrome towards the end idfk and if you don't like it then simply don't read it.

(NOT PROOF READ BEEN REAL BUSY LATELY BUT I HAVE SO MANY INEADS FOR STORIES IN A GOOGLE DOC DW)

You have remained captured by Jacob at his compound for just under 3 weeks now, he would bring over your radio and hold it just out of reach forcing you to listen to your friends asking you for help thinking that you're hiding as if this was all too much, you wanted them to know that wasn't the case but you couldn't. Until today, you woke up in the stupid cage he kept you in, it was inside the veterans center and inside he office at the foot of his bed. You felt like he was keeping you like a damn pet. You look and right at the front of your cage you see your radio and a piece of paper, you quickly grab both, the paper had writing on it. Don’t say anything I wouldn’t like pup, I'm listening. You immediately talk into the radio after reading the note. “Hello?..” Sharky answers almost immediately, “Deputy! Where the hell have you been?” You tear up a little as you smile knowing he was okay, “I'm being kept at Jacobs compound, Is everyone alright?” Sharky barley let you finish speaking before he responded. “Jacob Seed? Everyones okay, I can get everyone together! We can come get you, we need you bro.. Johns going… A little Crazy.” You chuckle softly, as if John wasn't crazy already. “No no, no one is to even try to come get me. It wont end well. Sharky Listen carefully, you need to tell Hudson that she's in charge now and I need you and everyone else to help her and treat her with the same respect you treat me with okay? Just until I’m out of here.” It was quiet for a minute before Sharky finally responded. “Broskie are you sure?” You smile softly responding with a simple “Positive” Jacob enters the room and gives you a soft yet wicked smirk. You look up at him nervously as you speak into the radio one last time, “Sharky, I have to go. Tell everyone to stay strong.” 

Jacob squats in front of the cage and holds his hand out, “Times up pup.” You hand him the radio hesitantly, he grabs your wrist tightly grabbing the radio with his free hand. “You smell like shit pup, I'm going to let you take a shower but there's no saying what I'll do if you disobey me. Got it?” You nod shakily, fuck.. This was probably your only chance for a while. He lets go and you snatch your hand back into the cage as he starts to unlock your cage which was more like a damn kennel for a dog, he steps to the side as you nervously crawl out standing with weak legs. He had a good feeling you couldn't run even if you wanted to. He walks over to the fridge in his office and grabs an apple and a water bottle from it and hands it to you. “For strength.” You7 take them hastily, taking a bite of the apple first and opening the water bottle drinking only about half of it, you were too smart to chug it all away. It was so nice to not eat and drink out of a bowl like a damn judge. You continue to eat the apple as he goes to a box he had brought in a couple of days ago. He pulled out 2 little travel size bottles of soap, body wash and shampoo. He sets them on the dresser before pulling out fresh clothes from the box for the deputy. After grabbing the bottles and setting them on the clothes he walks over setting the pile on the top of your cage as he lets you finish your apple. Soon enough you were practically eating the core before he rips it from you, “Did you know.. Apple seeds contain cyanide?” He chuckles before throwing away the core. “It would take around 200 apple seeds to kill someone. Just a little fact” You finish the water before grabbing the f/resh clothes and bottles. He grabs your arm roughly and starts walking you out of his office and to the nearest bathroom with a shower. “No fooling around. Let me know when you're in the shower.”

He closes the door staying inside the bathroom with you, the man was decent enough to turn around so you can strip and enter the shower. You are quick to remove your clothes and get in the shower, You mutter out a soft “Im in..” before turning on the water. Jacob turned to look at the shower to make sure you didn't try anything stupid. “Why do you have to be in here?” You ask awkwardly before putting some of the body wash on a rag that was in there. As you start to wash yourself you felt, Free.. Even though you weren't, not yet. Instead of answering he hums softly. You continue your shower and almost timed perfectly as you are rinsing the shampoo out of your hair you hear yelling and gunfire outside. “Don’t leave this room.” He growls rushing out of the bathroom grabbing his guns on the way out to see what the hell was going on. You turn off the water and quickly get dressed and start to slip your way through the veterans center and out the back without being noticed. Or so you think. You find some stuff stacked near the wall and use it to hop the fence in the back. And as soon as you hit the ground you start running like your life depends on it, once you look back you see Jacob running after you. Fuck! How did he see me? Im so fucking dead.. When you glance back a second time you see he's gaining on you, right as you start to look back there was a loose tree root that you trip over. As you try to get up you feel his weight crushing you back into the forest floor. His knee digs into your back and you hear his heavy panting as he leans over to whisper in your ear. “Pets who run away deserve a punishment.” 

As he finished speaking he moved his knees to be on either side of you, pinning you down before grabbing the waist of the shorts he gave you and ripping them down to your knees followed by the cheap panties. His rough and calloused hands grab your hips harshly before pulling your ass up and in the air. Soft pleas and whimpers escape your lips, “I wont do it again, Please!” You try everything but he doesn't give up. Your heart sinks to your stomach as you hear him fumbling with his belt and jeans and before you know it his thick head is pushing against your entrance. “If you ever think about running away again, remember this day.”  He whispers in your ear before harshly biting your neck drawing blood as he rams his full length into you harshly pulling out and quickly thrusting back in, absolutely rutting against you like a starved animal. He pounds away at your aching core as he pulls his teeth from your neck and licking along the bite soothing it before biting almost harder on the other side of you neck, you yelp in a mixture of pain and pleasure. You felt like he was splitting you open with every thrust of his cock, it was so thick and lengthy you wanted to hate it but.. You couldn't. He grabs your hair and harshly yanks your head back before growling in your ear, “I want to hear you pup.” A mixture of whimpers and moans start spilling out of your lips and he starts going back to kissing and sucking on your neck now only leaving small almost teaseful bites. He sees your hand snake between your legs and he quickly stops after one specifically hard thrust. He grabs both of your arms roughly and brings them behind your back holding them there. “Bad pets don't get to cum”

He starts rutting into you again groans escaping his own lips as he feels his limit coming, “Im gonna fucking breed you, marking you isnt enough.” He chuckles with a low voice before leaning over you and whispering in your ear again. “I'm gonna fill you up to the damn brim so you can have my pups.” You feel him smile against your neck before biting it harshly again causing blood to trickle down your neck as his hips stutter before coming to a stop, you felt so full and almost like he truly owned you now. He draws out of you painfully slowly and you gasp as  the emptiness, you felt like a part of you was missing. You look back and see Jacob tucking himself back into his pants before helping you up carefully holding you against him so he can pull your panties and shorts back up, He didn't need his soldiers to see what was his. You look at him with lost eyes trying to understand why you felt like this with one of the goddamn seed brothers. He chuckles at the priceless look on your face before picking you up bridal style. “You okay pup? I know that was rough but like I said, bad pets need to be punished.” You look up at him with a quivering lip as you rest your head against his shoulder, just because you were bad didnt mean he was the worst fucking guy he was still going to provide a little aftercare, that shit is important especially if he wants you to trust him. He starts to walk with you back to the veterans center as he softly hums Only You. Jacob had kept you in his office for a reason, He wanted you, and now.. He claimed you. You avoid the gazes of soldiers as he carries you back inside. 

He sets you on his bed before leaving, he comes back with a wet and warm washcloth, “Take off your shorts..” You look at him and weakly take off your shorts, he starts on your inner thighs wiping off whatever mess there was before sliding your panties to the side and cleaning up the main mess, his seed was leaking out of you and it made his cock stiffen in his pants causing him to growl under his breath. You weren't in the right state for anything more at the moment, He continues to clean you up before placing your panties back, for such a rough man right now his touch was soft, gentle and slow.. He was being weirdly comforting.. You wanted to hate it but still, you couldn't help but absolutely love it. It was the man you didn't love but he was destined to change that. “What do you need right now pup?” He asks, his voice weirdly soft. You can get yourself to speak still honestly in a bit of shock, He sighs laying on his bed next to you. Before your mind can even react your body starts to cuddle with him, hitching your leg up over his and your arm laying over his stomach as you rest your head softly on his chest. He softly strokes your hair crying to comfort you after that intense scene. He wanted you to love him, not hate him. With you being exhausted the last things you hear before drifting off to sleep are, “I'll make you love me pup.”

Im begging for criticism on my writing, please let me know what would make it better for you guys. Love you all and thanks so much for reading!

[lazuli-bloom]

City Murals

Mural Meetup pt. 2

TSSM Doctor Octopus x Reader

Word Count : 3,529

You and your big mouth. If only you kept your temper and ran away like all the normal civilians, you might not be in this mess. Stuck for the whole day repainting a mural alongside the super villain that wrecked it in the first place.

Part One |  Archive | Part Three

-=-=-=-

A wintertime dip in the Hudson river at midnight would feel like a hot tub right then. You averted your eyes from the super villain and snapped your attention back to the neighborhood hero, clinging to the hope this was all a joke. He didn't actually arrange for these inmates to help in repainting the mural. That would be silly.

And yet there they all stood. No wonder your boss skipped out on working.

"Shit."

"You really should refrain from using such language, my dear," said the mural wrecker himself, "It's not becoming."

You clenched your teeth and plastered a smile on your face. He must have picked up on your annoyance because a smirk pulled at his lips. Oh, how you wanted to punch that square jaw of his. Or maybe snag his glasses and hold them above his head. Without his robot arms, he couldn't loom over people, given his shorter stature.

You took in a breath and held it, letting it out slowly a second later. You wanted to throw every curse in the book at that bastard, but you bit your tongue. If, or rather when, he got out of prison to cause problems for the city—again—you didn't want to give him ample reason to hold a grudge against you. It was bad enough that your outburst resulted in him forced to repaint the mural alongside you, all because you couldn't keep your mouth shut.

After collecting yourself, you discussed with the guards what all the inmates needed to do to help with the mural. It wasn't too dissimilar from going over plans with teachers. And once you showed the group the process of what to do, the guards ushered the men over to start. The four men took up brushes and painted the wall, and while they did so, you glanced over them all. You hoped to find an opening with enough space from—honestly, all of them, but mostly—

"You don't have to worry about Doc Ock." Thoughts broken, you turned, Spider-Man came to stand next to you. You gave him a weak smile, but you couldn't read his expression under that mask. "He can't cause much trouble with his extra arms confiscated, plus there'll be guards the whole time they're here."

You hummed and scanned the lineup once more. The men in orange stood at the wall, painting various colors. Three inmates bore a resemblance. Similar heights, more athletic builds, that sort of thing. The only identifying features between them were their hair colors; blond, red, and black.

The outlier among them picked the spot to the farthest right of the group. He stood maybe an inch or two over five feet—with a broader, rounder build than the rest. Also, four large electrical plugs stuck out of his lower back. That helped set him apart, too.

Your eyes lingered on the man's back as the actions of the officer from the other day replayed in your mind. A frown tugged at your face as you recalled him wincing in pain. You still hoped that he was alright after that.

You sighed and crossed your arms before turning to Spider-Man. No longer beside you, the hero shouted a goodbye as he swung through the cityscape. Your shoulders sunk, and you rolled your head back as a groan rumbled in your throat.

So much for chatting with a superhero. Then again, you needed to start painting. The boss would dock your pay if he heard you slacked off.

You took in a deep breath and blew out a slow exhale. Just one spot remained with any distance from the involuntary volunteers. Even then, it wasn't much. You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked over to take your spot. On the way, you swiped a brush and paint bucket. Supplies in hand, you took the spot to the right of Doctor Octopus.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You could do this. Just make it through the day. Just one day. That wouldn't be too hard, right? It was just painting a wall. Alongside a group of prison inmates. One of which was a notorious super villain. That you yelled at and caused this mess. And was standing less than two yards away from you. And probably hated your guts.

Just keep focused on the wall. If you didn't look at him, you could pretend he wasn't there. Yep. Eyes on the wall.

"Are you always this tense while painting?"

Dammit. So much for ignoring him. Well, you still could, but that seemed like a terrible idea.

"Not every day I'm standing five feet away from an evil super villain."

"Oh? You were quite bold the other day. After that bothersome arachnid tied me up. Where did all that bravery go?"

You peered at the man out of the corner of your eye. He faced the wall, mostly focused on painting in the lines, but he shot you a quick glance of his own. A smirk rested on his squared face, coupled with an arched brow. You snapped your attention to the mural. Your insides twisted as a low heat graced the back of your neck.

"It was more stupidity and anger than bravery. All that work I put into painting that mural and you went and ruined it. I was pissed... I'm still pissed." You clenched your jaw and hissed out a sigh. You took a few more soft breaths to keep your tone as venom-free as possible. There was the entire day ahead of you. Starting off hostile would make for a very difficult day. "All that work, just to get scrapped and primed over. Story of my life."

A silence hung over the two of you, both focusing on meticulously painting inside the lines of the mural. Stroke by stroke, the wall filled with more color. You painted in most of a small flower—compared to the mural's whole size—when he spoke up once more.

"Is this mural your design then?"

You pressed your fingers tighter into the brush handle and let out a sharp sigh. "No, it's my boss's work. He doesn't think my designs are good enough to submit to clients yet." Your jaw clenched tighter, and you narrowed your eyes at the wall. Guess it's kinda stupid that you got worked up over an art piece that wasn't even yours.

"Is that a sentiment you share?"

The brush hovered a hair's breadth off the wall. His words bounced in your head for a moment before you pulled your hand back and pivoted to him. Your brows knitted over narrowed eyes as a half frown curled your lips. You puzzled over where his line of questions could be going.

"I don't know, I guess? Not like it matters."

Things grew quiet, and you moved on to painting the next flower in need of honied white. The paint thinned on your brush, signaling for another dip in the gallon. You turned and knelt down to get fresh paint on the bristles. The villain next to you stood angled away, working on a detail to his left. With his back to you, your gaze lingered on the four short black cables sticking out from his back. Each one ended in three prongs.

"It's not polite to stare."

Something tugged in your chest, making your frown sink further. You stood back at the wall and rolled the brush to a favorable position to hold. Nerves dried your throat, as if trying to stop you from speaking what was on your mind. Despite the dryness, you swallowed and spoke up. "I saw you flinching when they took off those tentacles. Are... Are you okay?"

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as a glower overtook his features. He forced out a sharp exhale and continued to color in the next petal with red paint. "Why the sudden concern for my well-being?"

"You might be a jerk, but... I don't enjoy seeing people hurt. It looked like they were being rough on purpose. And with all that on your spine, it seems like it could really hurt."

Cars zoomed by, the others chatted about topics you couldn't make out, wind swept passed. But even all that couldn't drown out the heavy silence. You thought it would go on indefinitely, only to be broken a few moments later.

"... I'll be fine."

You sneaked a look his way but kept quiet. A portion of wall the size of a Scottish terrier now stood out, adorned in vibrant red. The gap separating the crimson petals from the light honied white of your flowers shrank by the minute. You pondered if you should switch over to the green of the leaves soon to keep up the space between you two.

You hid the flower's last patch of primer under a coat of paint when a hand clasped your shoulder. You flinched and spun to be greeted by a guard. The uniformed man muttered an apology through his bushy mustache. Apparently, it was about time for the inmates' first break. You nodded and a minute later; the guards marched off the inmates to a break spot set up for them around the corner.

You checked the time on your phone and hummed. Probably a good time to take your break as well. With the phone back in your pocket, you stretched your limbs. A few bones popped before you rolled onto your heels for a second. Once nice and limber, you strolled down to the opposite corner’s shop.

After a quick exchange with the cashier, you walked back munching on a favorite snack of yours. You slowed your pace and studied the mural's paint job. Their work left much to be desired, though it was far from the worst you've seen. The inmates' painting skills were about on par with rowdy middle school boys.

For the rest of your break, you sat leaning against the mural-free part of the building as you played on your phone. The boss sent you a handful of texts while you were busy working. You read them over and groaned. Did he forget you worked that day? He's upset you worked over responding to his… nothing texts? What did he want you to say in response to his bragging about his upcoming fancy lunch date? You swore he was getting worse. You replied with an equally nothing text of a paintbrush and thumbs up emoji.

A minute later, the guards marched the men in jumpsuits back to their spots and you stood up to get back to yours. You slipped your phone back into your pocket and walked over to your claimed section of the mural. While you knelt down and got your brush ready, you glanced at the section of wall painted by the super villain. You blinked a few times, studying the wall closer. The lines remained crisp and clean, and not a drip of color out of place.

"You're staring again."

With a shake of your head, you adjusted your attention to the man responsible for the work. That heat on the back of your neck flared up once more, now spreading to your face. You cleared your throat before you stood to resume painting. After applying a few new strokes of paint onto the wall, you spoke up.

"That looks really nice so far."

"Would you rather I wreck this mural as well?"

"N-no. You're just… doing a good job. So um, thanks for taking this seriously and not being a total ass about it."

"I have little choice in the matter, so your thanks rings a tad hollow."

You pursed your lips and huffed. "That's not completely true. You could have been sloppy on purpose while painting. But you haven't been. So, thanks for that."

He held the brush hovering over the wall, as if deciding his next move. His brush stroke applied a nice, even coat of paint in one smooth motion. "I do in fact have an appreciation for the arts."

A grin broke out across your face at his admission. With a hum in your throat, you turned back to your own work.

Noise echoed all around, but somehow—even without your music—you could tune out most of the world around you. Perhaps it was because of your thoughts buzzing in the back of your head, feeding on your growing curiosity towards your painting assistant.

"Are there any works of art you like?"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. A moment later he said, "Lady with an Ermine, comes to mind." He dipped his brush into the can of ruby paint and started on a lower section of flowers in need of color. "I wouldn't say it's my favorite, but the technique and detail in the piece has always interested me."

"Lady with an... Ermine?" you puzzled over that one. It sounded familiar. A moment later, it clicked. "Oh! The little weasel thing. Okay, I think I know what you're talking about. Wasn't that piece by... fuck, what's his name? I want to say Michelangelo, but I know that's wrong."

"It's Leonardo da Vinci."

"Thank you!" you said, beaming. The sharp spike in volume made the man flinch, and you shied away with a nervous laugh. "Sorry. But seriously, thanks, that would have bugged me all day." You smiled to yourself and thought longer on the artist. A smirk curled as another laugh bubbled out of you.

"What's so funny?" the man asked with a flat tone and narrow look.

"It figures that you'd like something from the guy that designed a freaking flying machine and a whole ass tank back in the Renaissance."

You bit your lip to stop your laughter, but it was a fruitless effort. Your shoulders bounced as a few more laughs got out. The man held a tight expression. He must have been extra annoyed at you, because his face flushed with a light pink. After swallowing the last of your laughter, you both returned to painting. A minute without laughter passed, and he spoke up again.

"I suppose it's only polite to ask what your favorite piece is."

With a tilt of your head, you closed your eyes and hummed. Absently, you brought a hand up and tapped your cheek as you racked your brain. "I know Starry Night is his more famous work—and it is beautiful—but I like Van Gogh's Almond Blossoms."

A new type of silence grew between you two, this one calmer, lighter. It almost had a pleasant undertone to it. Almost.

You hummed a soft tune to fill the lull, keeping your volume low. With the bustle of the city, you assumed no one could hear you over it. The tuneless notes soon fell into place and found a melody to follow. Lyrics came next in hushed whispers.

Some time later, the guards escorted the inmates away for their lunch break. You once again stayed by the mural after buying something from the corner store. As you ate your lunch, you studied the entire mural. The boss's work certainly was beautiful. One person pushed another on the swing tied to a giant tree, standing tall in a meadow of flowers. The mural reached high up the building and would need scaffolding to reach, meaning you would have to pester the boss to buy it, considering a certain cephalopod with a doctorate bent the other one out of shape.

And while on the topic of the villain, you looked over the progress so far. Unsurprisingly the other inmates were still on the messier side while painting, but they filled in a sizable chunk of the mural. Doc's work, however; didn't cover as much of the wall as the others. But quality made up for quantity. Even brush strokes, painted with precision inside the lines of the mural. A smile crossed your face.

Once finished with your meal, you sat down in front of the mural and worked on the lower portion. The guards escorted the inmates back a handful of minutes later, a few of them mumbling complaints. What they said garbled together with the city ambiance, so you shrugged it off. The men grabbed their paint brushes and shuffled back to their spots.

One man, however—a taller blond—stepped to your left and winked at you. You leaned away and offered a nervous crooked smile. Perhaps sitting down to paint the lower section was a mistake. That man would have stood taller than you if you were standing, with you seated he may as well been a skyscraper.

"Hey sweetheart, this spot taken?"

You open your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat. The smirk on the blond's face sent a shiver down your spine. He took a step closer, only for an increasingly familiar cool voice to cut in and answer his question.

"It is actually."

Both you and the blond turned to the scowling super villain.

"Aw, come on, Doc. You've been hogging this pretty little thing all day. Let someone else get a chance at them."

Ice shot up your spine and you flinched further away from the creep. Your gaze flicked between the two men and lingered on the brown-haired man in glasses, silently willing him to get the other guy away from you. Better the devil you know and can have a bit of fun annoying.

"I haven't been 'hogging' anyone. I've been painting in this spot all day, and they chose a spot next to me. If they wanted to be closer to you, they have the ability to do so."

The blond scowled and shot you a glare. He spat out, "Bitch," before he stomped off, growling. Once he returned to the far side of the mural—and doing a shitty job of just slapping paint on the wall—you quietly let out a long, strained breath. Your eyes darted to the remaining man whose own gaze locked on you. You bit the inside of your cheek and snapped back to face the wall.

A moment later, he returned to his spot on your left and knelt down to focus on the lower part of the wall as well. The longer you sat silent, the more you squirmed, until finally you blurted out a soft thanks. He made a sound in return, a sharp huff, but said nothing else.

You chewed on your lip as you drummed the fingers of your free hand on your knee. "So, ah, what's your actual name? Or do you just have everyone call you Doc?"

"I'm not sharing that, you can call me Doctor Octopus."

You frowned. He certainly was insistent on that long name. You peeked out of the corner of your eye before sucking in a deep breath to let out as a tired sigh. "Fine Octi, if that's what you prefer."

He threw daggers your way. "Doctor Octopus."

"But Octi is so much shorter. Cuts off three whole syllables."

The daggers kept flying, and you dared to glance his way. You couldn't look at him straight on, since you weren't sure if fear or laughter would take over. And you weren't sure which of the two would be worse to show.

"I almost wish I was fighting the arachnid again."

Your teeth sunk into your lip to the point you worried you might break the skin. Not helping was your shoulders bouncing from laughter as you struggled to fight back. Even without checking, you could feel the sharp glare the man was giving you. A dopey smile washed over your face as you hummed.

"I know you probably hate me, but I gotta say, this has been a lot more enjoyable than the last time we met. You aren't half bad of company. You know, when you're not causing massive property damage."

Things stayed quiet for a long while after that. You went back to humming tuneless songs as you filled in more and more of the wall with paint. For the rest of the inmates, things stayed pretty quiet as well. One guard came up to you as you finished painting in a blade of grass. They informed you they would leave as soon as the bus pulled up. Which it did only a few minutes later.

Once parked at the curb, the guards ordered the men to fall into line. You thanked them all as they boarded. Octi was the last to board and held off on doing so to turn to you. "You make for surprisingly decent company yourself, when you aren't squawking in my ear, that is. I certainly don't dread coming back tomorrow."

"Wait. Tomorrow? We normally just have volunteers for one day."

"I take it you haven't been told the extent of this little program. This is a trail of sorts and set to last the whole week. So, I suppose we'll meet again tomorrow."

He wore a smirk on that stupid punch-able face of his while he boarded the bus, followed by two guards. You watched the bus drive off and let out a sigh.

"This is going to be a long week."

[hrbertwest]

Crash Landing On You // Chapter 3

Summary: Technically, though, you did sign up for this - this, being one of the protectors of this city and its people. Getting shot is nothing but your usual workplace hazard. But getting shot at with a fucking rocket launcher to the head by one of Kingpin’s henchmen was new.

It was fucking overkill.

What the fuck. OR: You’re a fledgling heroine who landed in a strange place after almost dying. Doesn’t get less strange from there, to be honest. Set vaguely in the Raimi movie-verse but will have mentions of other characters that weren’t present in those movies. Or even the same franchise. || Doc Ock x (f)Reader || Also on AO3

[chapter 1] [chapter 2]

chapter 3: The two of you were inside the dragon gate for exactly forty-five seconds, but it felt a lot longer with how Octavius’ stare seemed to burn a hole at the back of your head.

Maybe you shouldn’t have offered your hand before leaping into the gate, but it's a reflex at this point.  Your brother Crispin gets squeamish when passing through the gate, so as the older sibling, you’d take it upon yourself to comfort him by offering your hand, which he would take without question. Basilio, being the bunso, would take your other hand, despite teasing his Kuya about it. You couldn’t help the twinge of sadness in your heart; you missed those dorks a lot. Alexandra and Hank too, and even though you Skype with them every other day, it just wasn't enough. It’s not the same as being in the same room, same place, the same freaking continent as your family.

But that woman finally allowed you into her life, even if you have to scrounge for crumbs of her attention. If there’s one thing Ramona taught you, it’s how to grab opportunities and lock your arms around its flimsy neck.

The Doctor lets go of your wrist the second the two of you step into the hardwood floor of your apartment, and after making sure that the not-so-late Doctor out of the portal - all limbs, both metallic and organic accounted for - you motioned him to move aside so you could deactivate the portal on your wall.

In a span of an hour, Otto Octavius had gone from someone you’d traded blows with, to someone who you thought went to a watery grave down the Hudson, to someone you offered sanctuary to. While crashing down on his place wasn’t your fault, the fact that his house is most likely being swarmed by the police right now is because of you, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if he gets arrested when he’s theoretically not doing anything nefarious.

You made a mental note to call Peter and make him tell you why he didn't mention that his mentor is alive. It’s not like you had a personal beef with the Doctor to go after him, but it would have been nice to be informed, Peter. That's what friends do, asshole.

Aside from what Peter told you about him, and what little you’ve read about his scientific career, about his accident, you barely knew Octavius. And now, he’s looking around your apartment, possibly evaluating the little pieces of furniture and knick-knacks that make up your life. This isn’t awkward at all!

Strangely enough, the man himself seems to be making himself smaller, or at least, he’s trying not to take up too much space. Which, with how much taller he is (he’s nearly an entire foot taller than you - why is everyone fucking taller than you  - not to mention the heavy attachments on his back), seems to be working. You almost didn’t notice Octavius walk towards the short shelf where you have a few VHS tapes on display.

A tentacle picks one up that you belatedly recognized as a copy of Police Story, bringing it up to its… owner? human? The metallic limb moved like a kid showing their parent their latest drawing. To his credit, Doc turns to look at his tentacle (What was the term he used for them earlier?) brought up and hums in acknowledgment, turning the case to its back to read the summary.

He tensed up when he saw you looking. “Sorry. I thought they were books. That’s an interesting collection you’ve got,” Octavius says, voice unusually quiet against the backdrop of the city outside.

Books? Does he take you for a nerd or something? Ha.

“They’re displayed for a reason,“ You laughed, hoping to get rid of this weird, awkward air that seemed to permeate the entirety of your small apartment. “One of the nuns that raised me liked Jackie Chan movies, and she’d let a couple of kids and I stay up a little late every Saturday night and we’d watch one movie in the TV room…” You trailed off, noticing the surprised look on his face, accentuated by the way his eyebrows peek up from his dark glasses. “What?”

“You said… nothing. Forget I said anything,”

It took your brain a few seconds to catch up. Oversharing ka teh?!

“Oh. Oh shoot, yeah, heh, don’t worry it’s not that big of a deal, okay? Anyway, yeah, those are his earlier works. Pre-Hollywood. So the action shots are legit and Jackie does his own stunts and he’d usually get injured and brush it all off like it’s nothing. Have you seen that one yet? He suffered second-degree burns in that movie, you know,” You were aware of how fast you’d been talking, but you’re hoping that he’d get the hint and just drop the matter.

“I-I might have seen Drunken Master once,” Octavius answers with a tight smile, and you shoot him a grateful look. “But not this one, no.”

“Let me know if you wanna watch it or something. I don’t have a VHS player, since those are mostly just for display, but I do have DVD copies here somewhere. Did you know he actually almost died while shooting Armor of God? Anyway, I guess I got it from Sister Rosario, and it just stuck? And um, yeah, make yourself comfortable,” You add, shedding your coat off, draping it on the back of a chair, and then loosening your tie. Anything to distract yourself from becoming too self-conscious.

The Doctor sinks into your couch with a deep sigh, and you couldn’t help but imagine just how heavy those things in his back are.

Crossing over to your kitchen didn’t take too long since it wasn’t much of a kitchen as much as it is a corner in your home with a tiled sink, a few cupboards, and a gas range that’s probably older than you are. But rent was manageable, even if you did have to be a one-person pest control team back when you first moved in. And the fact that sometimes, you’d see someone dressed in white moving just out of the corner of your eye, but that’s a topic for another time.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? Or something to eat? I’ve got uh, spicy noodles, really spicy noodles -” You pulled a black-colored ramen pack with a cartoon chicken breathing out fire out of your cupboard, showing it to him, to which the Doctor promptly shook his head at.  “...spanish style mackerel, aaand corned beef. And some leftover rice.” You picked up your rice cooker and gave the pot a sniff. “It’s still good!” You chirped at him, setting your rice cooker to cook to heat it up.

“Just coffee would be nice, thank you.”

“Okay. Uh, any sugar or milk?”

“None, thanks.”

“Ooh, tough guy. Fair warning though, Doc, these bad boys aren’t called barako for nothing. They practically co-authored my feasib, and I swear I could taste shapes while taking those final exams,” You say pointedly, before puttering around to prepare a bowl of ramyeon for you and powering up your coffee maker.

“Nothing I’m not used to then,” Octavius chuckles under his breath. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, just Otto is fine.”

“One black barako then, Just Otto. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You didn’t need to turn around to see him roll his eyes at you.

“Feasib? What does that mean?”

“Ah, feasibility study. It’s my thesis, well, a business plan for a product we have to think up.”

“You’re still in college?”

“Nah, I managed to graduate before I got here. I’m saving up for my masters, though. My mo- uh, someone volunteered to sponsor half of my tuition  and I’m like, hey as long as I’m not paying for all of it, right?”

You feel him studying you as you move around, asking him again if he’s sure he doesn’t want anything to eat, to which he said a firm no - you guessed he’s not too impressed with your food stash, which, to be fair, you’re kinda on a budget here. Waitressing and moonlighting as a singer for the same restaurant doesn't really pay much, even if that woman sends you some allowance every now and then. But maybe you can drop by the grocery near your apartment building and pick a few normal-human meals later. And you need to check with Peter about your guest,  and oh, shit… you need to also check what’s going on with Doc - Otto’s place.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something tugged on your sleeve. You turn around, expecting Otto to have walked behind you quietly, only to come face to face with one of his tentacles, clutching something familiarly pink inside its maw.

And the reason why it’s a familiar shade of pink is because it's your bra.

A Cotton, flowery pink push-up bra that a friend got for you as a joke. But actually, jokes on her because it’s cute and you like it.

You look at Octavius, who was on his feet - possibly about to stop his tentacle from doing what it just did - glasses off, looking as surprised as you are - then back to the tentacle - who - like a cat presenting its kill to it’s human, nudged your hand, as if asking you to hold it out - which you did, before promptly depositing the undergarment into your open hand, looking pleased with itself - as much as a faceless, metallic claw could look smug, before retreating back to Otto.

“W-what the heck, dude…” You blinked, unable to help the high-pitched, slightly detached giggle that began as a snort that bubbled from inside you. “Otto… what the heck?”

He looked mortified, face turning beet red with his brows furrowed as he frowned at his wayward metal limb. “Shit. I apologize, Skygi- Skytoucher. I didn’t know what happened, I didn’t even see where -”

You couldn’t help it.

Your giggles turned into a full-blown laugh.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Otto, please. You’ve seen what my face looks like, you’ve seen what my skull looks like, and now you’ve seen what my bra looks like. Other cultures would consider us already married. Just call me (Y/N),”

If he wasn’t blushing before, well, Doctor Otto Octavius certainly was blushing now.

“Okay,” You drawl, turning back to the stove just to turn the fire off, leaving your noodles to simmer in the pot, before bunching your bra into a loose ball to finally, finally hide it from sight. “So I'm just gonna, heh, I’m gonna put this away now. Um, coffee’s almost done, clean mugs are in the left drawer, feel free to pour yourself one out. Aaand… I don’t have any other underwear still lying around, do I?” You turn to the tentacles, and all four of them each give you a click in response. You turn to Otto for a translation, but the man has his eyes shut as he pressed the bridge of his nose.

“They haven’t found anything,” He grumbles after a few seconds, and you laugh as you make your way inside your room.

\\

When you returned to your living room - purposefully making sure your guest can hear your footsteps - you’d already showered and changed out of your suit to fluffy, comfy pajamas and a shirt that you swear used to be white. It’s a little uncomfortable, feeling the supporting wire of your bra (not the pink one) dig into your ribs at - wow, it’s 3:15 in the morning? - but you figured the older scientist could use a break from seeing things that relate to your chest, so, what’s wearing a bra for a little longer, right?

“Yo.” You announced, holding a hand up in greeting.

"(Y/N), you were right, this is blend is rather..." Otto turns, but then his mouth twists into a slight frown and you were worried for a second that you did something wrong somehow, only to follow his line of sight, seeing the red, angry-looking gash in your right hand. Huh. You forgot it was still there. “I thought you said could heal?”

“Magic stuff,” You reply. “Salt and cheap steel - no offense, it was a very shiny knife - wasn't enough to activate the portal. Usually, there needs to be some preparation, but I just used my blood to bypass that. Besides, what kind of offering would it be if it didn’t take something from the caster, right?” You flex your hand. “It should be gone in a few days, don’t worry.”

“Right,” He exhales, nodding to himself. “Of course, it will.”

You walked back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl to pour your late midnight snack/early breakfast into, before settling on the armchair beside Otto. “So, I believe you have questions?” You chirped, a bowl of still steaming noodles in your hands.

Otto’s face is pensive in the dimmed light of your living room, like he couldn’t decide what to ask you first. “You used magic to get us here.” He says slowly. “Magic is real,” It wasn’t as much of a question as much as a confirmation.

You chewed your noodles before answering. “Yeah, it’s all around us and all that cliche,”

“And that’s how it works?” He asks. “With magic, you have to… sacrifice something?”

“Hmm… yes and no? With the ley line, it’s… not really magic since it’s already there and I just tapped into it. Like, paying a toll for using the expressway. But like, to really use magic is different. It’s easier if you have the right tools, but to be honest, I don’t really fuck with magic. Like, I tried training for it before, but I messed a spell up and it trapped my brothers inside this book for a week,”

“Brothers?”

“Yep. Same dad, different moms…” You flapped a hand. “It’s a long story.”

“Ah. Right.”

“ Yeap,” You answered.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean - if that’s too personal -”

“You're fine, Doc. It’s all just so unnecessarily telenovela and I’m over it.”

“Right,”

“Yep.”

His tentacles move idly behind him.

You try to slurp the noodles as quietly as you can.

He moves to put his glasses back on and decides against it halfway, setting them down the coffee table.

The silence between the two of you stretches.

And then -

“(Y/N)?”

There’s something about the way your name sounds when he says it. He’s got a nice voice, you’d give him that. Or maybe this night has been too long, all things considered, and hearing your actual name grounds you back to reality. That’s probably it. It took you a few seconds to answer

“Hm?”

“You’re not human. Not entirely,”

A wry smile graced your features. “What gave me away? Was it the eyes, Doc?”

“Maybe,” He said, arching a thick brow. “This sounds ridiculous, but you’re not an alien, are you?”

Well. That was…

Huh.

You stare at him, nose scrunched up in disbelief.

Slowly, slowly, your shoulders start to shake and you have to bring your curled knuckles to your mouth to stifle some of the laughter that threatens to spill out from you. “Gago, huy, anong…? Alien amputa -” you break off, unable to keep the dam from bursting anymore. It was a knee-slapping, cheek-pinching kind of laugh that escapes from your gut. You leaned forward, holding your arms around your waist because your stomach is starting to hurt a little. “Shuta ka, d-did you think I was - that I was an alien this whole time?” You had to wipe tears from the corners of your eyes as another bout of laughter makes its way out of you.

It is ridiculous.

You, of all people, an alien.

“Are you done?” Otto deadpans after a minute, folding his arms around his chest.

You held out your pointer finger, signaling one minute as you tried to contain your laugh. You took in a few deep breaths, exhaling them sharply, rapidly, to get it all out of your system. And then, when you’re sober enough, you say. “I’m… sorry. I’m not an alien.”

“Can I ask what you are then?”

You’re still giggling, even as you rolled your eyes and you replied with, “I’m not not human if that’s what you mean, Doc.”

“That was stupid. It wasn’t my business, I shouldn’t have asked,”

Your hand moved in a see-saw motion. “It was kinda weird, but you’re all good. I just… try not to think about it too much, otherwise, my head would explode, and I am a huge fan of my head not exploding. Anway,” You set your mostly empty bowl down the table. “If you wanna get some sleep you can use my room for the meantime - no buts -” You counter quickly, seeing the protest already forming on the Doctor’s face. “It’s just practical, okay? You need the bed space more than I do,”

“I’m not throwing you out of your room, (Y/N),”

“You’re not. I’m offering. Besides, I already made sure there’s no underwear lying around,” You couldn’t stop yourself from snickering.

“Oh, God,”

“Look, Doc, I’m really, really so sorry about compromising your hideout. Just let me do this for you, okay? I’ll check on your place later and see when you can come back. And I know your back must hurt like crazy, and it’s not gonna get better if you stay on the couch. Even if this is also a sofa bed,”

“It’s not gonna be better either way,”

“Just take the fucking bed, Otto.”

//

The ceiling of your room is painted a deep, dark blue, adorned with glow-in-the-dark stars arranged in constellations, but some pieces have obviously fallen off some time ago. Mintaka from Orion’s belt is gone, while Merak and Dubhe are missing from the big dipper. Your walls are painted gray, with a few posters taped on it. An ad for a bar called The Diabolical announcing its soft relaunch, another that says One Concierto Piyu with pictures of bands underneath the text, and a few for a cartoon that has giant robots.

There’s a table with a laptop tucked in the corner, and with it was a corkboard with pinned polaroid photos of you and your friends. Your eyes looked normal in all photos, save for one picture. It was taken at a white-sand beach, and you had your arms linked with two taller men on both sides. They looked identical, with their hair length being the difference. One of the men had long hair tied in a bun above his head, but all three of you have the same pitch-black eyes and the widest smiles on your faces. Otto’s eyes lingered on yours and the purple flower tucked behind your ear for a few seconds longer.

If Otto didn’t know any better, he’d think that this is just someone’s room, just someone’s cozy apartment that housed their fun little interests, that the reason why your eyes didn’t look right on that picture is because of bad lighting or something going wrong when it was printed. That he was a guest at some normal person’s house.

He hears you talking to someone in the living room, and for a second, he’s almost paranoid that you called in the cops, but then he hears you saying, “...And you couldn’t have fucking told me he’s not dead? What the hell, Pete?!”

Your bed is soft and it creaks slightly under him as he shifts to his side. Not that he could sleep even if the place was quiet. Not when he’s thinking of how much Rosie would love the idea of magic being real. He could just see her eyes sparkle at the sight of the dragon gate, that she’d call (Y/N) a magician. Rosie would probably ask to see one of the movies on your shelf, and she’d enjoy whatever trivia you’d bring up.

Otto grits his teeth. The anniversary of her death is just around the corner. Outside, New York continues to bristle with life, ignorant of the thoughts that trouble his mind.

-- translations: - bunso: youngest sibling - kuya: older brother - that woman refers to her mom - Oversharing ka teh?!  - oversharing much?! - barako of course refers to kapeng barako, a local coffee variant - “Gago, huy, anong…? Alien amputa -” - An alien? what the hell are you talking about? - Gagi - a less harsh version of 'gago' so it could be translated as, 'dummy' ig? - One Concierto Piyu - a reference to my alma mater

[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+, Female Reader, !! TW: Suicide Mention !!

AO3 link!

Previous Chapter

Chapter 9

(A/N: this chapter does contain some brief mentions of suicide as stated above in the content, just want to forewarn anyone that might trigger, it's right under the read more.)

saint bernard// lincoln

Friday evening finds you on your laptop again. It's been a quiet few days with thankfully no disturbances from Otto. There’s still more digging to do on the whole situation you're remarkably in the dark about- you know it. Surprise, surprise, in the age of the internet, you don’t have to look for long before finding something interestingly relevant.

Oscorp Employee Commits Suicide After Security Breach

Right off the bat, your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach. The article immediately confirms your suspicions. David Braun, 43, hung himself in his basement, just about two weeks ago (has it really been only two weeks…?). And there’s his photo-

Lab Coat Guy.

---

You spend an embarrassing amount of time in silence, just sitting on the edge of your bed, holding the rubberbanded wad of cash in your hands, occasionally setting it aside to pick up the burner phone and stare at the number listed as the single contact. Obviously, it’s Otto, even though you haven't tried using it yet. The idea of him trying to buy your cooperation still doesn't bode well. You thumb through the hundred dollar bills. It’s… a lot of money. Few months of rent, at the very least.

Feeling thoroughly sick for even contemplating it, you stuff everything back into the shitty paper bag it came in and then cram that bag into your backpack. Securely zipped up, you sling it over your shoulders and slip some decent walking shoes onto your feet. Time to rock and roll, you think to yourself like a middle aged dad about to fire up the grill at a backyard barbeque. “Hold down the fort, yeah, buddy?” You call out to Chekov, who looks at you with a single eye before he’s falling back asleep in his dog bed that arguably seems more comfortable than your own.

Phone, keys, backpack full of illegal contraband and criminal evidence; check, check, and check.

You’re out the door. You aren’t sure exactly where you’re planning to go yet, but you guess you’ll know it when you get there.

---

‘There’ turns out to be one of the piers at Hudson River Park. The sun has set and you wish you could see the stars through the light pollution as you sit on the edge of the dock and watch the water lap lazily at the algae-covered concrete. You want nothing more than to empty out the contents of your backpack into the river and you glare mutinously at the beautiful skyline reflected in the dark abyss. It would be a breathtaking sight if you weren’t so thoroughly agitated.

It’s been a very tumultuous and strange day. You’ve had a lot of those recently, but this one in particular has left you feeling very… odd. Drained. And unsure not only of Otto’s motives, but also of your own integrity. Conflicted emotions eddy around inside you like the polluted water of the Hudson. You aren’t surprised when you can feel someone’s presence behind you, standing what you would typically consider to be much too close for comfort. Of course.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you murmur, voice just barely audible over the sound of the swirling water.

“The backpack. Now,” comes the raspy reply and you stiffen, eyes widening as the feeling of cold, unfamiliar metal presses against the back of your head. To the best of your deciphering abilities, you determine it’s the barrel of a handgun. And the person holding it is most certainly not Otto. Well… It’s not like you wanted the shit anyway- if he was gonna take everything off your hands for you, as far as your concerned, it’s the universe’s way of divine intervention. You put your hands up submissively.

“Okay. Okay. I’m just gonna-” You don’t get to finish your sentence. The tell tale shhhnnk of something whipping rapidly through the air next to your ear fills your head and your heart seizes up in cold terror as you await the sound and consequently, impact, of a bullet being fired from it’s chamber. It never comes. You cautiously twist around to look behind you. The mugger has been effectively disarmed, gun wrenched from his grip and held in the grasp of a metal claw and the man’s visage is obscured by yet another mechanical appendage, grabbing onto him like some kind of… face-sucking alien.

Otto is hard to make out in the darkness, but you hear the sound of his footsteps as he approaches. The thief is scrabbling desperately at the actuator holding him just high enough in the air that the tips of his shoes scrape against the concrete. “Otto, let him go!” You snap, rising to your feet and trying half-heartedly to shoo away the robot tentacles. The gun plops into the river and sinks immediately, with just a few bubbles rising to the surface in its wake.

A single eyebrow cocked, something that you can discern even in the low light, and Otto unceremoniously drops the man to the ground, letting him collapse into a boneless, wheezing pile. He begs for his life and you feel like you’ve seen this one before. “Get up,” you sigh and poke him with the toe of your sneaker. “Get outta here before he changes his mind!” You throw your arms up and gesture down the pier in exasperation. Small Time Mugger Guy pulls himself together enough to scramble up and get his ass in gear, scurrying past Otto to presumably go lick his wounds.

“Why’d you stop me? He could have killed you,” Otto asks after a long moment of you giving him a pointed look.

“You were gonna hurt him! He just wanted my shit- which, technically, is your shit, so I really didn’t care, I was just gonna give it to him. Would have solved all my problems right now.”

“Not all of them.”

Smart ass. You groan and wave him off, plopping your rear back down onto the hard pier to dangle your legs off the side. “Just fuck off, would you? You can take your blood money back while you’re at it; I’m not going to work for you, or with you, or anywhere adjacent to you.”

For a second there, you think he’s actually going to leave you alone, but then he’s lowering himself down to sit besides you, albeit with a grunt of difficulty. A flash of concern passes through you, but it’s fleeting. No doubt he suffers from lingering effects of literal metal soldered to his bones, but in this moment you can’t really bring yourself to feel all that sorry for him. “David killed himself.” It’s a statement, not a question. And he doesn’t have anything to say about that for a bit, hands in his lap as he stares out across the churning water.

“Yes. That was… an unexpected loss.”

You scoff at his careful phrasing. “It was your fault, you know.”

Otto falls silent again. You finally look over at him. He isn’t wearing his gloves still, but he’s turning something small and shiny over in his fingers. You swallow past the strange lump in your throat and fight off the return of that odd feeling in your chest. “Yeah. I know,” he murmurs it so softly that you almost think it could have just been the sound of the water licking at the pier. “I’m not going to let it happen again.” That part is clearer. More like he was talking to you.

Realization washes over you. “Is that why you’ve been following me? You think I need a babysitter, that I’m going to…?” You trail off and he seems to be refusing to meet your shocked gaze. An actuator carefully plucks his glasses off his face and folds them up, placing them in his coat pocket. He keeps so much in there, you wonder if it’s secretly a back door to Narnia.

“Bad things happen to people around me. I just need someone to help me without jeopardizing the mission,” he responds flatly, eventually resigning to glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s difficult to make out the features of his face in the dark, you’re far enough down the pier that there are no streetlights. But the glow of the city casts enough illumination for you to catch the look. He cares. You can all but feel it billowing off of him in waves. It wasn’t very clear before, but now…

“Why don’t you ask someone else? I’m not… cut out for this kind of shit,” he snorts at that and you don't know how to take it so you keep going, “I mean, jeeze, I did reception work at Oscorp, do you have any idea how bottom of the barrel that is? I really… I don’t think I can help you.” You’re pretty sure you sound as exhausted as you feel.

“What I need you to do would work better if you’re a nobody there.”

Uh. Another blow to the ole ego. “Wh- jesus, fine, you know what. I get it. It kind of makes sense. If I agree to help you, will you leave me alone after?” You can’t believe you’re actually bargaining with him about this. You feel sweaty and nervous just thinking about being the accomplice to a supervillain. Oh, your mom was gonna kill you.

“If that’s what you want,” Otto has a touch of a smirk on his lips as he glimpses at you again. You feel heat begin to creep up your neck and you’re thankful for the cover of night. “I will meet with you to discuss the details. Try not to get mugged again in the meantime.” He starts to get up, depositing the little gold object he was fiddling with into his pocket; you don’t have time to stop yourself before you’re grabbing his arm. It apparently catches both of you by surprise because he freezes, halfway to his feet.

“Can you… stay?” You find yourself asking. “Just, like, sit with me… for a bit?” He doesn’t point out that you’ve been doing just that together for a little while now. He clears his throat and shrugs, saying nothing as he settles back down besides you. You are fervently aware of his thigh just barely touching yours and you try to tamp down the ardent sensation it sparks inside you. Really- what the fuck was that? You try not to dwell on the ‘why’, but Otto seems blissfully unperturbed by the contact. Is he doing this on purpose? You don’t ask; he doesn’t say anything.

The two of you sit there in yet another strangely comfortable silence and you find yourself oddly relaxed in his company, for the second time in just the last couple of days.

---

“Fuck!”

Chekov looks up as you walk in the door.

Yeah, you forgot to give Otto back the blood money. Welp.

Guess rent's due anyway.

[carsdreamtoo]

Admitting - Cal x f!Reader

You and Cal have been getting to know each other a little better across the race season, will this be the day that Cal finally admits those hidden feelings?

First xReader submission, I'm hoping to make more of these <3 However this is just some fluff to get started and stretch those writing muscles!

Tags/Genre: Fluff/Feelings / Soft

Pairing: Cal Weathers x f!Reader (female)

Words: 2,671

The air vibrated with the snarling and revving of engines, cars gunning their torque to the very max, moving and sliding around one another and their tires nothing but a blur as they sailed across the searing hot tarmac. The chorus and cheer of the crowd was loud and almost deafening, echoing across the stadium as the sun set, the orange hue settling upon the stadium like a warm blanket. The outside world didn't matter, it was almost as though all the elements had aligned only for this moment here, two cars struggling for leadership in the feat of speed and skill, a light blue faded stock car, and the blazing red of his opponent. It was the only things that the cameras trained on, the audience collectively seeming to hold it's breath as the cars moved at breakneck speed. The white flag flew, and the cheers and cries only became louder, the excitement raging through each and every car that was intended heavily for two contenders. The cars behind the leaders seemed to fall further and further behind, leaving to two racers in a world of their own, their concentrated frowns focusing on eating up the track in front of them.  Crew chief's were yelling to their racers through the mics, trying to put in one last effort to spur their charges on, desperate to at least get a few more points in the leadership, and set them up for the next set of races. Though it was mostly in vain, there were no real changes in position, and the racers all looked tired and mostly done. One such pit stop however wasn't exerting such effort to keep their racer going, the legendary Strip Weathers watching his nephew with pride as he slowly inched out in front of the famous Lightning McQueen, seeing the thrill on the young Dinoco sponsee's face, remembering when he too felt that rush. Beside him was a long time friend and inspiration, Doc Hudson, to watch and support Cal in his mid race season. On the other side of the 'Fabulous Hudson Hornet', was where you stood, a young avid car that could be arguably Cal's 'biggest fan'. You whistled and shouted along with the crowd as Cal soared closer and closer to the finishing line, leaping on the spot in triumph as the blue male practically ate the ground up, diving across the finishing line in a blaze of roars from the audience. You felt yourself leap up ecstatically, cheering out in victory and support, flashes of color and cheer echoing through the stadium with a deafening buzz. He instantly plunged himself into doing donuts upon the track, his tires squealing and engine revving, the friction causing white smoke to plume from the tarmac, his laughter being heard as he peeled away, taking a winning lap round the track at the cheer of his fans.  The feeling was indescribable, and he felt his mood soar higher than the stadium itself, the smile fixed permanently onto his face. Though despite this, he was all the more eager to get back to the pits... knowing full well who was there. He sped along to his stop, skidding to a halt as he glanced up to his uncle, who smiled down proudly to him.  "Real proud of ya' Cal" Strip beamed to his nephew, to which Cal only smiled wider.  "Thanks Uncle..." He started, hearing the congratulations come at him from all sides from his crew, Doc giving a small nod of congratulations, though ready to rib his own young racer for his loss. Cal graciously accepted the praise, though his eyes continued to search, one face on his mind, before he finally caught a glimpse of you, his mind instantly distracted. You moved under the barrier and approached him excitedly, your lights practically flickering in excitement as they did when you dealt with strong emotions.  "Cal! That was amazing! Congratulations!" You beamed, practically hopping on the spot. Despite his calm and friendly nature, you still felt the bubble of nervous emotion every time you uttered a word to the cerulean racer... there was something about him that made you feel lighter than air, and to say you were addicted to the feeling was an understatement. "Thank you... You know I really couldn't have-" He started, when

he saw the media spilling onto pit row, to which he shot you an apologetic smile. Although he wasn't sure what could truly come of it, he didn't want you in the media... he didn't know how that could effect you, and didn't want to put you in that position. You weren't a racer, and he was aware of that. "I'm sorry Miss (y/n)... I won't be long" He promised you, his voice gentle as you also spotted the cameras on their way, your face falling for just a millisecond, knowing he would be torn away yet again. "Oh! No, no take your time, you deserve it!" You said now, covering the slight disappointment you held, and getting hurriedly out the way, just in time for the cameras to focus on him, the interviewer Shannon Spokes beginning to congratulate him herself. It was always this way between you two... just snippets of time together, before his busy life would separate you again. You were pleased for him.. of course you were. And proud! But these small interactions didn't sate the longing that was in your heart.. You of course were too embarrassed to admit the crush you held for the racer, and getting to know him over the race season was always the highlight of your week. You had both hit it off almost immediately at a pre-warming party held by the Piston Cup organizers in order to let the racers mingle, and to bring everyone together before the big season. You had merely gone purely on a whim with a friend that knew one of the racers rather well, and you were now glad that you did. Very glad. The desire to have more than just tiny moments that you could lock in your memories was always there, and in the mean time, all you could do was just hope and wish. You moved over to where the pit box stood, carefully watching Cal with a gentle smile, your heart racing just a little. You couldn't quite hear what was being said, though you blinked as you saw his tires suddenly balloon, Guido racing out from behind the Dinoco racer, and his calls after the cackling racers. You giggled at the sight, feeling just a little sorry for him, before you heard another voice pry you from your thoughts.  "We'll meet him up by the victory podiums. You can tear your eyes away from the love of your life in order to do that, can't you?" Your friend parked at your side, and you raised a brow, scoffing. "Pff, you wish, you'd just looooove to be the matchmaker right now wouldn't you" you mused, before feeling a tire kick your side in play. "I'm better at it than you!" She teased, causing you to turn slightly. "Yeah?" You rebutted, playfully tackling your friend as you had when you were kids, leaping off and trying to evade the revenge attack that would no doubt come your way, move giggles erupting from the pair of you. Little to either of your knowledge, Cal watched with a soft smile on his face, his gaze following you as you left.  -- The confetti reigned free as it exploded high above the podiums, twirling down and settling upon the ground, flashes everywhere as photos were being taken, and more chants and cries could be heard as fans were desperate for their favorite racer to notice them. The audience seemed to settle as a microphone was hitched near Cal, and he began to give his winning speech to them all, smiling gently as his gaze moved through the crowd. "Thank you all! It's such an honor to race, as it always is, and I couldn't do it without the love and support of all you guys out there!" He started, hearing the cheers rising.  "I hope to only bring more wins to the season, and bag another one for Team Dinoco!" He added, waving his tire out to the fans, before his eyes rested upon a certain car in particular, and a tender smile came to his face.  "But lastly... I wanna dedicate this win to Miss (y/n)... she's been a real inspiration to me lately... I owe her" He said now, continuing to watch you as he spied the blush creep across your hood, you gaze falling as the embarrassed smile appeared. He.. he said that? He really said your name on stage.. in front of everyone! He laughed gently, not paying attention to the next speech from

Lightning, only persisting in gazing to you in the crowd. To him... there was no one else in the area, and he could only see you. Suddenly he didn't want to be on the podium, finally twisting his gaze away from you to look to the track, the last of the sunlight glinting against the tarmac, to which he smiled, an idea forming.  By the time the speeches and congratulations were done, the stadium was clearing out, and Cal made his way through the crowd to watch you make your way back to the pits, presumably to help clear up as you always did. You didn't like being swallowed by the crowd and being caught in the rush... besides, any extra time you got to maybe watch Cal wind down on the track or just have any moment with him, was worth the late nights. He revved his engine a little louder as he approached, in order to let you know he was there, seeing your brake lights shine and your gaze rest on your mirror. The blush was back instantly, but you tried to push it down and resume some soft of confidence... even if it left the moment he appeared, as always. "Well hello stranger..." You half teased, before you chuckled. "I see... now that you've grown bored of the screaming and adoring fans, all chanting and desperate for your attention, you've come to me" You mused, giving him a smirk.  "Well... only so much I can take being yelled at, ya'know?" He smiled in return, before he looked to the track again. You had paused, though had started to turn away, and he reached out with a tire to stop you, causing you to pause.  "You ok?" You asked in concern, and a smile flashed out on his face.  "Couldn't be better... but I want you to come with me" He said now, nodding toward the track. You glanced over, unsure, seeing the vast tarmac stretch before you two, your heart thumping a little harder. "You want me to...?" You started, waving your tire to get him to carry on the sentence.  "Just come with me" He smiled, leading the way toward the gate that led to the track. He weaved through, and finally his tires gradually touched the track, his gaze following the loop round, glancing back to see you hesitating.  "It's ok" He assured the you, holding out a tire for you. You gently moved out onto the track, your tires meeting with the smooth surface, keeping yourself low upon the ground. You could feel the heat radiating off it, and you fancied you could almost hear the many years of racing engines and cheering crowds, their chanting and excitement being sucked into the very foundations. You watched as the track shone in the sun, following the smooth lines as it slipped to the side.  "It's... bigger than I thought" You said quietly, moving up to him.  "They don't quite capture the size on tv, do they?" He asked with a smile, to which you shook your hood. He watched you for a moment, keeping you pinned to the spot with his eyes, before he smiled again. "You wanna go for a lap?" "Really?" You asked, your tone questioning, but your eyes danced with the excitement that he loved. With little warning, his engine growled, wheels spinning, before he shot off like an arrow, sailing once more around the track. A deeper blush seemed to fix itself permanently to your hood, his engine sounded tantalizing after all, but you couldn't help but let that smile slip over your features. "Oho, no you don't" You smirked, your own engine thrown into gear as you gunned it, dashing off after the racer. You felt the ground only pass by faster and faster as you started to push yourself onward, settling into a rhythm, despite how scary the track was up close, closing in on the blue car. He moved up a little, laughing out loud as you pulled up beside him, seeing the joy on your face as you raced on, raising your brow a couple times at him, your engine snarling as you pushed ahead, taking the lead. He laughed again, and began to pursue you, spurring the you on, though not overtaking you. Instead he watched you with a gentle gaze, seeing you thoroughly enjoying your experience was giving him a rather nice flutter to his heart.  You sailed across the finish

line, before you half spun, facing him as he crossed it too.  "Congratulations, now you've won too!" He said, before he chuckled lightly.  "Hm, maybe I should be the one to race for Dinoco" You teased, before you saw Cal's expression turn serious.  "I mean... I could go talk to Tex..." He started, before you laughed.  "No! No, no I don't... No!" You said between laughter, which was only echoing his own.  "Well... you're pretty fast... perhaps you would do better than me" He said now, snickering lightly, the sparkle in his eyes brighter than ever as he got to hear your laughter over and over. "Does someone want to retire early? That's the sense I'm getting right now" You giggled, to which he raised a brow.  "Honestly, if it meant I got to spend more time with you, I'd do it" He said without thinking, causing you both to look to each other in surprise. You felt your hood warm again, lowering your gaze as Cal seemed to grimace, before deciding that he was already down the rabbit hole, he may as well finish.  "Miss (y/n)..." He started, to which you gazed up softly.  "I've told you... I'm not Miss (y/n), just call me (y/n)" You breathed, to which he chuckled lightly.  "You know I need my manners" He responded, before you smiled gently to him. "Anyway... I... I wanted to ask something" He said now, looking to the track, his tire twisting in what appeared like nerves.  "I was hoping that you'd... maybe like to consider.... the thing is we've gotten to know each other and... I really... I wanted to..." He started, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Dammit" He could only mutter, before he glanced up, seeing you having tilted your hood, but you felt like you knew what he was going to say. "Cal... it's ok...." You started, before he breathed in.  "Miss (y/n), I'd be honored if you... would consider perhaps allowing me to... Miss (y/n), do you wanna... go out to dinner... or something at some point...?" He seemed to deflate just a little, though your kind expression never left his.  "I'd love nothing more" You said tenderly, to which you saw the joy dance in his eyes. He gave you a grateful smile, gently moving forward to nuzzle your fender, though ready to leap back if you became alarmed. Though, as he half suspected, you embraced it, nuzzling him in return as he stay close, the contact feeling almost like electricity. Cal breathed out slowly as he nosed his hood to yours, only focusing on the feeling it gave you both, paying no heed to what happened around you. The affection was slow and deliberate, easing into it, before Cal bit his lip a little, pulling back, and kissing your cheek gently.  "We should head back" He said now, before you gazed over to where the trailers were.  "Ah yes... your adoring public awaits" You whispered quietly, before he nudged you. You chuckled weakly, and you began to slowly move across the track again, slowly getting closer to each other, before your sides rubbed, and your gazes flicked away from one another, with embarrassed smiles.

[snowgoldwaylon]

Could you write a fic where Adler is in love with the reader and had a chance to be with her but was too scared to make a move even though she wanted him too. so reader eventually moves on and after a while is getting married to Mason and Adler is now regretting not taking his chance. Based off the song Marry Me by Thomas Rhett?

No Second Chances - Russell Adler X Alex Mason X Reader

Give a big thank you to my sister for sending in the best requests! I love you girl, here is your fic! ❤

TW: Strong language, angst, anger.

Russell was making the two hour drive from his home town, to go watch you and Alex Mason get married. He pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. This trip was going to be so bittersweet, it's all he thought of since he had received the white and gold invitations in the mail.

Almost 5 years after hunting Perseus, the CIA decided to crackdown for a while and pursue finding other leads. You and Mason fell hard for eachother and it lead up to this moment. But, Adler was remincing, and finally saw how much he fucked up and let you go.

From the moment Russell Adler saw you, even while you were being brainwashed, he felt strong feelings towards you. He simply couldn't help the fact that you lit up the whole room, and made everybody's day better. He was afraid of how you would take his confession.

Even after losing Lazar in Cuba, you brought comfort to everybody. That's when he finally realized his feelings for you. But, he also noticed something else as well.....

Adler couldn't help but notice how you fell googly-eyed when Mason entered the room. And he also noticed how Mason was just as crazy for you, he talked about you all the time. Mason practically had heart eyes and a nosebleed when your name was said.

This never sat right with Adler. He felt the same way for you, but he knew with Mason, you'd never ever return how he felt. It was just something he would have to accept, now that you were getting married.

Love Hurts by Nazareth had came on at that moment. Adler sighed in annoyance, and emotional pain. Why did this song have to come on right now? Why couldn't the universe just leave him alone about this?

He took the exit he needed off the interstate, and drove a little longer until he reached the location of the venue. Outside, in a huge, white sign said "MASON - Y/L/N WEDDING HERE" stood out easily where everyone parked. He turned in, parked, and turned off his car.

Adler took a deep breath, and got out. He quickly brushed off his black suit, straightened out his tie, and tucked away his cigarettes into his coat pocket. He made his way to the front door where he was greeted by Frank Woods.

"Oh hey Doc, how's it hangin'? Long and hairy, hard to carry?" Frank chuckled.

Adler sent a small chuckle his way, and knocked him jokingly with his elbow.

"Nah, more like short and stubby, kinda chubby." Adler laughed.

The two men shared a laugh, and a hug.

"It's good to see you brother. Can you believe these two are finally tying the knot today??" Frank asked, as both men walked to the where the seating was at.

Adler almost cringed, but played it off as a cough. They took a seat, and exchanged some more talking for a while.

"Yeah, I remember them meeting for the first in the Safehouse. It's really hard to believe." Adler said.

Woods and Adler gave more small talk, until it was time for Woods to go into the building, and do the routine they practiced. He was a best man after all!

"Hey man, gotta go. It's show time!" Frank said, slapping Adler in the back.

Adler turned front, and waited for the music to start. He felt a tap on his left shoulder, and he looked up. Park stood in front of him, dressed up.

"Can I sit with you? I'm a little late as you can see." She asked.

Adler nodded, and she sat down next to him. Soon, all the seats were filled, and it was ready to start. Adler and Park talked about upcoming missions and next moves until the sound of Guns N' Roses song, November Rain filled everyone's ears.

Immediately, everybody turned their heads as the beautiful sounds of the live piano and orchestra filled the outside archway, the reverend stood at the end of it.

Bridesmaids, groomsmen stepped out first. After them, the maid of honor and best man. Finally, Alex walked out with the biggest smile on his face. Adler felt a mix of happiness, and a hint of jealously.

Everyone stood up very quickly when the most beautiful part of the music hit it's gorgeous, smooth Forte sound. It was perfect timing, as from the glass doors, you began the walk down the isle with Belikov.

You had asked Belikov to walk you down the isle, and give you away, as you didn't have contact with your biological father. So, Belikov was the crazy man that had practically adopted you as his own. He was holding back tears at this moment!

Adler got you into focus. He even took off his sunglasses just for a better look. Everything about you lookee more than perfect. Your hair, your dress, flowers, you name it. Adler had never felt more hopeless.

Once you reached the end, Belikov quickly gave you a kiss on the forehead, and took a seat. There, the ceremony went forth. With words from the reverend, and beautiful, tear jerking vows exchanged by you both, the time came.

"Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Alex Mason to be yours forever to keep, to cherish, in sickness and in health?"

"I do."

"And do you, Alex Mason take Y/N Y/L/N to be yours forever to keep, to cherish, in sickness and in health?"

"I do."

"From the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married! Alex, you may kiss your bride!"

And Mason did just that. He brought you in for a breathtaking kiss, with a tight hold. The venue erupted into cheers as you both pulled away. Adler felt happiness, and sadness as he watched. He knew, he'd never have you now.

The bridal and groom party all lead the way inside where the food and alcohol was to be served. Adler walked with Park and Sims, and took a seat near where the buffet was. They waited for the wedding photos to be done so everyone could dine.

After everyone came back, and it was announced that the food was being served, Adler went up and was the first person to officially congratulate the married couple. Both you and Mason smiled the hardest when you saw the blonde walk up.

"Hey you two, congratulations." Adler said with a smile.

He slipped you both a small wrapped gift. You took it and smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Russell. It's been awhile since we've seen you, how's everything going? We'll be back after this in two weeks. We are heading to Korea for our honeymoon!" You exclaimed.

"Well that's awesome! And it's alright. The bald man is still giving me grief about every little thing. But, we are looking forward to seeing you both back afterwards."

You grabbed a hold of Mason's hand, and smiled. You took a sip of wine as Mason spoke.

"Yeah, I understand that. Hudson is a hard ass at times, but it's worth it. Well man, hey it's time to open the bar. Why don't you meet me at the dance floor?" Mason said to Adler.

Adler laughed, and shook his head.

"Oh for sure man, for sure."

After everyone ate and gotten the booze of their choice, the dance floor was opened. Everyone watched in awe and beauty as you and Mason had the first dance. Adler thought about how beautiful it was, but he also thought about how he wished that was him.

He pushed these feelings aside when he saw Mason dip you, and pull you back for a kiss. He turned on his heel, and made a bee-line straight for the bar.

"Whiskey on the rocks, please."

And for the rest of the wedding, the night ended with fireworks, and a few karaoke performances by Woods, Sims, Mason, Park, and they even got Hudson up there to sing. Adler glanced at the memorial table that was set up for Lazar. And in the back at the table, a seat reserved for him.

He then turned back to watch you. You caught him, and smiled, before returing to the arms of Mason.

Adler knew after all this, there was no second chances.

Taglist: @wennbergbabe @smokeywhalee @justagenderfluidstuff @kazazure @americas-monster @direwolfspostsrandomshit @kapanovangswife

[slashingdisneypasta]

Just saw the pics you printed out and noticed you have several pictures of Doc Hudson 👀

He looks very nice next to Jim 😊 I'm all about that old man aesthetic you got going on there 😉

Love your posts, always glad to see them on my dash!

I loveeee Doc XD And Sheriff. I actually have poly fanfic of them that I wrote for myself on my private blog! 😅😅😅😅 I'm more than happy to talk about them, anytime!! Especially in an x reader context XD

And yes- I totally agree XD Old man aesthetic 👍👌👍 Haha. Gilf loving.

Thank you!! I always love hearing from you <3<3

[movieexpert1978]

Covalent Crystals ch. 1

Ok I thought I would try my hand at writing some Doc Ock. This story takes place mostly through the movie. Just wanted to do some Otto x OC. I’m not really good at writing character x reader stories. I might post this on AO3 later. I just haven’t posted anything there for ages. I’ll put some more AN at the end of the chapter. There is some swearing in this chapter. 

Otto meets someone else that was in the hospital he woke in after the accident. 

Ch. 1: Adjustments

“NOOOO!”

Otto Octavious screamed into the air around the ruins of the operating theater. Bodies were thrown around with pieces of medical equipment littering the floor. Everything was all a blur in a way. His eyes hurt from the explosion and his back felt sore and stiff. The arms helped him to his feet and he started walking or more like stumbling. The arms helped him remain upright as he tried to figure a way out of the hospital. He wandered through the halls catching the eyes of another patient. As quietly as she could she followed him, trying her best to avoid the lenses of the four arms. The center dot seemed to glow red with anger. Obviously something had happened to him but she wasn’t sure what. The arms flung the sliding doors to the outside wide open. The city noise just disoriented Otto further as he wandered into the middle of the street. A taxi honked at him and two arms literally tossed the car aside making it land on another car. Otto started at the arms for a moment as they seemed to look up at him protectively almost. He turned at the sound of sirens and bolted again.

Xxxxxx

He eventually found himself at an abandoned pier on the Hudson River. Even though his head was pounding the simple lapping of the water soothed him somewhat as he managed to find a blanket that was torn up but wasn’t infested with vermin. He didn’t sleep well that night. He kept seeing Rosie’s body slump over against the wall as glass shot all around him. Why…why had the demonstration gone wrong? The numbers were right! It had been working! Eventually he couldn’t sleep anymore as the sun started to rise. He stared at the water just feeling emotionally numb.

“My Rosie’s dead. My dream is dead, and these…monstrous things should be at the bottom of the river…along with me.” He spoke finally. One of the arms seemed to squeal at him in protest.

Don’t think like that.      

Otto blinked in confusion. “Something in my head. It’s something talking.”

Father?

“The inhibitor chip!” He gasped in horror. He felt for it, but it was no longer there.

Gone.

“Gone.” He realized it was the AI of the arms that were now speaking to him. Four voices in perfect sync. They spoke gently to him.

You should rebuild

“Rebuild…” Otto let out a defeated sigh. “Peter was right. I miscalculated.” He said.

NO!

The voices snapped at him and made him think it over for a minute. There was a successful reaction though. “I couldn’t have miscalculated. It was working wasn’t it?” He said thinking. “Yes…” He grinned to himself. “We could rebuild, enlarge the containment field, make it bigger and stronger than ever. We need money.” He said quickly. “Steal it? No, no, no, I’m not a criminal.” He insisted. The arms spoke to him again, urging him on. He nodded in agreement. “That’s right…the real crime would be not to finish what we started.” He said. He turned and faced the skyline and the arms raised him up. “We’ll do it here. The power of the sun in the palm of my hand. Nothing will stand in our way…nothing!” He shouted into the air. He paced for a bit as he had to figure out what to do next. The hospital gown had to go. He needed clothes and supplies for himself first. Something creaked and he looked around.

“Who’s there?” He called out. Nothing seemed out of place. There was another creak and the pinchers snapped in warning. A young woman stood up and held up her hands. “What are you doing here?” Otto asked.

“I followed you from the hospital.” She answered. Her hair was dyed a dark blue with green highlights.

“Why?” He asked confused.

“Why not?” She shrugged. Her jeans were torn and she had a tang top and a light jacket on. One of the arms charged at her and she held her hand up. The arm couldn’t move. Otto blinked in surprise before the other arms shot out at her and they stopped too. “Tell them to stop.” She said, only her mouth wasn’t moving. Otto backed away nervously.

“What are you?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “I can move things with my mind.” She said waving her hand. A piece of wood floated around before she put it down. “And I can control people with my mind too.” She said. She pointed her finger and a rat came out. It jumped a few times before retreating.

“How?”

“I don’t know!” She snapped. “I hit fourteen and all of a sudden I could hear everyone at once. I started screaming and everyone was moving at once. I don’t remember much after that.” She said.

“So you followed me just because?” He asked confused.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“I have an agenda and you’re not going to stop me.” He said firmly.

“I don’t want to stop you. I just want to stay with you for a little while.” She chuckled. “It’s not like we’re normal. I don’t really want to go back to the hospital anyway.” She added. He could detect the sadness in her voice.

“Then I guess…maybe we could help each other.” He suggested.

“Yeah…like getting you some clothes.” She laughed.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged.

“I’ll come back in a couple of hours.” She said.

“How do you know what to get?” He asked curiously.

“I can read minds too. Sorry for the intrusion, although having that AI is good protection.” She said. Before he could say another word she left.

“Huh…that was weird. I should get used to that now though.” He said.

Xxxxxx

True to her word the girl came back later in the afternoon. She came back with two large luggage cases, a backpack, and another large bag.

“How did you get all this?” He said shocked.

“First trick I learned was getting the atm to give me cash.” She winked. The arms helped her put everything down. One of the big suitcases was for him. He opened it to find clothing for him that fit good. She did have good taste.

“I like the jacket.” He said.

“Here.” She said handing him a pair of sunglasses. He sighed in relief as the light dimmed. He felt a lot better now that he was dressed.

“Thank you.” He said. It was then that he realized that he didn’t know her name. “What’s your name?”

“Crystal.”

“Crystal…there’s no way that’s your name.” He smirked.

“It’s the only one you’re going to get.” She winked.

“Fair enough, Otto Octavious.” He said holding out his hand. She shook it gently.

“I got a first aid kit. Those burns look back.” She pointed out.

“Just give me some aspirin if you got it.” He said. She reluctantly handed him a bottle.

“Well here, use this at least.” She said handing him some ointment. “It’s got aloe in it and that helps with burns.”

“Alright, alright.” He gently relented.

“I take it this is you.” She said handing him the paper. He frowned as he read it over. “Lousy fuckers.” He hissed.

“I mean Doctor Octopus is kinda practical.” Crystal teased.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Otto said irritated.

“I can understand that, sorry.” She said quickly. She handed him some food and water. “Here…in case you want to use it.” She said handing him some extra cash.

“Thanks.” He said putting it in his pocket. The jacket worked rather well at hiding the arms. You could only really see the tips of them if you were really looking. When he was done eating he looked and saw Crystal lying on a sleeping back with a small pillow.

“If you know the right places cheap pillows can actually be comfy.” She said.

“I take it you’ve had a lot of experience with this.” Otto said looking over her.

“I know it probably sounds cliché but I ran away when I was sixteen and that was ten years ago.”

“You still look like a teenager almost.”

“I know…another trick I learned was that when you control people’s minds you can tick them into seeing anything you want.”

“Prove it.” Otto said with a challenge.

“You sure?” She said, sitting up. He nodded and she grabbed the paper again. “Ok, tell your arms I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax, you’ll only feel a little pressure.” She explained. After a few moments Otto nodded that he was ready. She held up the paper with the infernal headline labeling him Doc Ock. “Now close your eyes and count to three.” She said. He did as he was told and when he looked at the paper again the headline was different.

Dr.Otto Octavious Solves Energy Crisis

“Holy shit!” He gasped and grabbed the paper. He grunted when he felt a pressure leave his head and the headline returned to normal. “That’s amazing!” He said. She nods and lays back down. She got him a sleeping bag and a pillow too, although he doubted it would do much good.

“Sorry but I need to sleep for a bit. Don’t worry I won’t hear you. It’s like my recharge after using my power for awhile.” She explained.

“Alright.” He nods. She turns on her side and falls asleep while Otto is left to his thoughts or rather their thoughts.

AN: Crystal is a telepath with a lot of powers. I just picked those because I’ve always thought those kinds of powers were so cool. I kinda got inspired to write this story when reading the novelization. when the arms start moving in the hospital part of the nurses screams “He’s a mutant.” so I just thought what if another mutant was in the hospital and befriends him. Slow burn here too. It’s a short and sweet story. Hope you guys like it. I wanted to include a lot of easter eggs too since I keep looking up Alfred Molina on IMDB and have reread the novelization again.  

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Finding Her

Finding Him Part 3 - Finding Her

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, A/B/O Dynamic, spn level gore, wolf fights, mild angst, fluff, mention of pregnancy, implied past smut.

Summary: She has been gone for weeks. Sam and Dean, while on a werewolf hunt, Dean is faced with the ultimate task. Finding her.

Word Count: 3,017

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: Finding him part 3 but it’s finding the reader.

a/n: A little Line from Ten Inch Hero, a movie starring Jensen Ackles and Danneel Harris (at the time of filming the movie).

~

“So get this, there’s been findings of victims hearts missing.”

“Werewolves. Where?”

“Up in a small town in North Dakota.”

“What’s so special about this pack? You always say some big, mind blowing thing about what we’re hunting when you say, ‘so get this.’”

Sam gave him his bitch face.

“It’s her pack. Or what was left of it.”

Dean’s heart dropped. “Is she there? Are there signs of her there?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out when we get there.”

She sat at her desk. The half breeds that escaped the battle she set out on the pack looked for her help.

She had occupied an abandoned building that used to be an old asylum. They had cleaned it out and furnished the buildings for them. Two buildings were furnished in being dorms for boys and girls. And three buildings for schooling, one building K-5, another for 6-8, and another for 9-12. She has one goal, give these kids a some kind of normal life.

She knows deep down they can. But with so many that need help she can’t keep track of them all.

“Miss?” one of the half breed girls asked, coming into her office.

“What is it, Riley?”

“Um, Brad, Tad, and Luke, they came back home smelling funny.”

“Funny how?”

“I smelled human blood on them.”

“Hunting human is forbidden in this pack. Were they aware of that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Riley, you and Luke are a thing. You talk about everything.”

“He was quiet last night. He never told me about this.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ll go talk to them.” She says getting up. Following Riley out of the room.

Riley led her to them.

“Tattle bitch.” One of the half breed boys shouted. His smug attitude told y/n that was Brad.

“Brad!” y/n shouted.

The boys shuddered.

“Brad, Tad, Luke,” she says. “You know that hunting is forbidden in this pack. Because we are half breeds. We don’t need human hearts to survive. You can easily survive on normal food like humans.”

“But we couldn’t help it.” Brad argued.

“The Alpha told you to hunt humans, but it was only a means to get my attention. The Alpha is dead. I may not be your Alpha, but I am teaching you ways to be human. And human hearts is not the way to go.”

They nodded.

“There are hunters out there, if they were to catch you they’ll kill you without a second thought.”

“But not the Winchester’s!” Riley argued.

“No not them, they understand you kids. Because of what happened. I’m talking other hunters that aren’t Sam and Dean.”

“Are we going to be okay?” Riley asked. The boys looked at her as if their eyes are saying a prayer. Hoping they didn’t just endanger their family.

“I don’t know. I do hope Sam and Dean picked up the victims if you didn’t clean up after yourselves. But if I do notice any hunter near our pack I got a backup location for us.”

“I’m sorry Omega for endangering the pack.”

“What did you call me?” she asked, concerned.

“Omega, you smell like an Omega.�� Brad answers.

“Half breeds don’t normally present. Why am I presenting?” she asks.

“Alpha says it was because you are becoming more in tune with your wolf genes. Becoming more wolf than human.”

“But the human genes?” she asks.

“Those don’t go away. He was saying, our senses are more heightened, we present. But there’s still many things to learn, he says.” Luke explained.

“Yeah, Okay, just don’t call me Omega. Just call me y/n.” she says, feeling a tad bit uncomfortable.

They nodded.

“What now?” Riley asked.

“Just, get back to class with Ms. Miller. Go about your day like none of this happened.”

“Okay.” They say.

And they left to get back to their classes. Catching the boys holding hands.

“Tad and Brad…well isn’t that…gay.” She muttered with a kind smile. Aw, young love. She thought. She loved seeing that tiny bit of normalcy in her pack.

 “It was way too sloppy Dean for it to be her. She knows better.” Sam says in the motel as they regrouped after seeing the bodies.

“I don’t think it is her.”

“Care to share with the class?”

“The Alpha forced almost every woman in that pack to,” Dean trailed, growing uncomfortable talking about it.

“I know Dean, you don’t have to go into detail with it.”

“Well, it was to impregnate them, I’m guessing we’re dealing with the kids.”

“But I thought we killed every single one?”

“No, the Alpha got them out of there before you guys attacked. My guess is y/n took them all in.”

“Why would she? She’s not their mother or an alpha for that matter.”

“No, but you also know what kind of person she is like.”

“Yeah I know.” Sam says sadness in his words.

“Lets find the pack, if we find them we find her.” Dean says with surety and determination in his words.

 “Miss,” Riley says coming into her office.

She heard a low growl on the other side of the door.

Her hairs stood up on end.

“Omega?” She asks, against her wishes.

She opened the door. Seeing a large, white wolf, in a protective stance.

“Miss, are you okay?”

She let out a pained howl.

“You feel like you let us down?”

She let her head down low, giving the girl apologetic eyes.

“Miss, you  didn’t let us down. It’s the Winchester’s. You told us they’d let us go if we don’t hunt humans.”

She let out a pained howl again.

“You don’t want him to see you.”

She saw the wolf nod.

Doctor Hudson would know what’s going on. Riley thought.

“Hang on y/n, I’m going to get Dr. Hudson, he’ll know what’s going on.” She says, running out of the office, determined to help her leader.

 “She’s perfectly healthy, nothing’s wrong with her.” the doctor says after looking over the wolf.

“But she’s not in her human form and her mate is coming.”

“Ah, that explains everything now.”

“How?”

“When miss y/n sought me out to help raise you kids. So that you could have a chance at a normal life without fearing hunters, or needing to hunt. She was distraught. Lost.”

“She did tell me that they didn’t know about her lineage until her mate was missing.” Riley spoke.

“She didn’t want to be judged. It seems. Or she was afraid of this happening. There are a lot of things in play here. And while she is in her wolf form we won’t know. Because as you noticed, she doesn’t speak human. But wolf. And you being half breeds can understand her. Myself, being a full fledged werewolf can understand her. Those human hunters will not.”

“Are you saying, let them come? But what if she looses it?” Riley asks.

“It’s her mate, she can’t lose it on him.” Brad spoke.

She let out a whine. The pack was having her back on this, whether she wanted it or not. This pack was becoming a family. Dean wouldn’t want her then if that was the case. And that made the pain her more. And she let out pained howl at the thought.

“He would so want you after that, you two are soulmates. You were made for each other.” Riley says, raising her voice some.

The hairs on her back rose up, making her appear larger.

“Um, doc, what’s that?” Luke asked.

“She senses another wolf. An Alpha. Oh god, no, Not his Alpha, I thought they killed them.”

“Oh, but you missed one.” An Alpha sneered as he charged in the room at the wolf.

The wolf lunged at the still human Alpha.

“Pfft, you think your wolf form is good enough in a fight.” He sneers.

He transforms into his wolf from, shredding off his human skin and clothes into a golden brown and white wolf. Larger than her by two, making her seem like a normal sized dog to him.

“See half breed, you’re small and weak, infatuated with humans and these children that aren’t yours!”

“Hurt the kids and you will regret it.” a deep familiar voice made himself known in the room.

Dean entered the room, his gun at the ready loaded with silver bullets.

“Oh this is rich.” The alpha sneered.

Not turning his back on y/n, keeping an aggressive and ready stance between y/n and Dean while the kids looked on from the sides.

“Kids out, now.” The doctor urged. And everyone but Dean, Y/N and the alpha left the room to safety.

Dean raises his gun to aim.

“Pfft, get out of here human.” The alpha swings his fluffy tail, knocking Dean down and out of the room.

Dean let out a grunt at the impact, landing in the hallway with a thud.

Y/N let out a snarling growl at the alpha.

“You don’t scare me bitch, you’re going to pay for what you did to the Alpha.”

And the wolf lunges at her. Fangs bared.

From the hall Dean could only hear the ferocious snarling and growls from the room as he got up, grabbed his gun, and got ready to head back inside.

As Dean reentered the Alpha took quick notice, and with his hind leg he kicked Dean out of the room.

The force caused Dean to let out a pained grunt as the claws of the wolfs back foot left gashes along his legs and abdomen.

She could smell it.

His blood.

Something snapped in her mind, she saw red.

Her fur stood up on end along her neck and back as well as her tail. And she let out a ferocious snarl that could have torn a hole in her throat. The Alpha didn’t seem phased.

“You don’t scare me.”

“You should be.” She growls.

And she lunges for the Alpha. Not holding back. She kept aiming at the alpha’s throat. At one point she managed to have a hold of his snout somehow and clawed ferociously at his face and eyes.

He swung his head around, howling in pain trying to see where his target was.

She took the opportunity to grab hold of his throat and tear away the flesh causing him to bleed out.

The alpha laid dead in the doctors office, bleeding to death, but she couldn’t calm down.

“Miss?” Riley says coming back into the room.

Y/N let out a snarl. Causing the girl to scream.

“Get back sweetheart, let me try.” Dean says, urging the girl back.

“Be careful sir.” She advised. Dean nodded.

“Hey,” Dean says, entering the room.

Y/N backed to a wall, growled at Dean. It was as if her humanity left her. And she was all wolf.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. Dean.” He cautiously walks towards her, walking around the dead alpha.

Y/N let out a growl-like bark at Dean.

“I know you are lost right now, but I’m trying to get you back. This is not the y/n I know. Who gives in, who gives up. You can fight this urge.”

She let out a pant, his words, his voice getting to her somehow.

“You know, you think, us finding out you were a half breed. That, that day was the time we found out?” he asks.

Her ears went back, ready to attack when ready.

“It was your first hunt. While Sam was down and out sick, it was just you and me. We were after a Wendigo. We were too late, but we had to kill it, and it nearly killed me. It got me really good. And I saw something, in your eyes.” He continued.

Her ears relaxed, as did her stance. She was remembering that hunt. He noticed?

“Your eyes flashed, like something snapped. You rushed over to me, you tried to stop the bleeding and then the Wendigo attacked. You had let out this growl. I was out of it, but I heard it. I thought at first there were two Wendigo’s, but I looked, and saw you. You’re claws had emerged, and you were just ready for a fight. And the Wendigo backed off.”

The only hunt, she had to let a monster go. Her head perked up. He knew. All this time he knew.

“I never told Sam. And sometimes I forget you’re a half breed, you blend so well with us. You belong with us. Humans.” Dean says. Then turning to the half breeds in the hall.

“You all belong with us.”

“But the monster in us?” Brad asked.

“We’ll find a way. Just like we always do.” Sam says entering the hallway to the room.

The kids nodded.

An odd sound could be heard, and Dean turned his gaze towards her to see her in her, naked, human form.

“You knew. All this time.” She says.

“I knew. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“You wouldn’t have.” She smiles.

“Babe, um…” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who’d have thought she was really hot?” Brad says ascendingly.

Her cheeks burned up at the comment. She grabs Dean turning him around so he could walk out with her behind him. He let out a chuckle.

“Dean, here.” Sam says, handing him some sweatpants from his duffel.

Dean grabbed it and handed it to y/n. She haltingly put on the pants. Dean shrugged off his flannel and handed it to her. She gently grabbed it from his hand and put it over her shoulders, buttoning it up.

“Are we safe now?” Riley asked.

“Hopefully he was the only Alpha we missed, but we’ll stay just to make sure.” Sam says.

“So, what now then?” Luke asks.

“Now you guys can go back to normal.” Dean says.

“But what about your mate?” Hudson asked.

“She and I can figure it out.”

“Like we always do.” She adds. Approaching Dean at his side.

He looks at her, tears threatening to surface as she is beginning to allow herself to be with him.

Taking her by arm, he brings her in for a sweet and longing kiss.

“Okay kids, you heard the man, get back to your dorms.” Hudson tried to shoo the teens out of the hall.

 Months later…

“Miss?” Riley asks knocking on her office door.

“Yes, what is it Riley?”

“Mr. Winchester wants to see you.”

“Of course he does. Wait. Is it Dean or Sam?” she asked.

“Your husband.” Riley answered with a giggle.

“Right, well we have two Winchester’s working here. One teaching you kids a proper diet and exercise and the other on self-defense. You got to be more specific.”

“Will Do ma’am.” Riley says with a smile.

“Get back to class, I’m sure Mr. Gates doesn’t want you skipping out on his Economics class again.”

“But it’s so boring!”

“It is, but it wouldn’t hurt to know those things. it’s just basics, College is where it gets worse.”

“UGH!” The girl groaned.

“Get going!” Y/N urged.

Y/N got up from her desk, her now pregnant belling showing off as she tried to steady herself with the new and added weight to her body.

She walked down the halls, seeing now not only human kids, but half breed kids. She made her school for the gifted more open. Day classes were more for humans, half breeds if they wanted. But night classes were solely for half breeds. The boys joined her not long after ensuring her pack’s safety and openly suggested she made her little ‘school’ an actual school for other students.

She had built onto the campus, a dormitory for human boys and girls of all ages. Night classes curriculum was more geared towards teaching half breeds how to be more normal and more human. How to blend in human communities. Do’s and don’ts. Retrain and reteach what the half breeds have been through. Sure everything was still in it’s infancy, and still learning and growing but she has confidence that this will surely help.

She entered the gym, seeing Dean in his ‘gym teacher’ get up. Not shorts this time. He wore his own pair of comfortable pants, whether it’d be plain sweats, or jogging pants. He made a hot gym teacher.

His class were all human and he was just going through the fitness tests.

“Sure there is no studying, but there is training. We’ll be doing exercises that will be geared towards you doing well on your fitness tests. One test in particular is the pacer test,”

He got a collective groan from the class.

“I know not fun; I went through it too when I was your age. Private or public we still do things public schools all over do. Sadly. Now, we have five minutes before class ends, go shower, get changed I’ll see you guys Monday.” Dean dismissed his class.

He turned to see her standing there with a sweet smile on her face.

“You seem to fall in the teacher role well Dean.” She says with a smirk.

“You think so, maybe I could teach you a thing or two.” Giving her a devilish smirk.

“No, I think you taught me enough.” She says, rubbing her pregnant belly.

“How are the twins doing by the way?” he asks, coming up to her, placing his hand over hers. Feeling a slight kick.

He smiled. Tears wanting to surface.

“I’m so ready for this.” he says, bringing her in his arms. Bringing his lips down to hers in a loving kiss.

“You think you can handle two more pups versus, how ever many you fathered already?” she teased.

“You’re going to have fun with that aren’t you?” Dean asked, rolling his eyes with a shy smile.

“I know it’s a dark side of our past, but we got through it. I think we can get through whatever life, whether it’d be the normal apple pie life or the hunter life, can throw at us.” She says, kissing him softly on his lips.

He hums.

“I love you.”

“And I love you Dean, I’m glad we found each other.”

~

Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Let me know by either leaving an ask or reblog. Feedback is fuel. This came to me while I was on my hiatus, hope you enjoyed!

~

Dean Girls

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @akshi8278, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @jayankles​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 2/10/2021

[niksixx]

Patience

~Part 2. Please read part 1 first~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader 

A/N: Keep up those comments. It motivates me! 

*Picture is not mine; Found on Google. Creds to the owner*

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @ginny-baker-sixx @metalheartofgold @madamsixx @curly-hudson @headlight-queen @julessworldd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At twenty-seven years old, you had finally managed to piece your life together. Although your small business was just beginning and wasn’t generating as much money as you would have liked, you were happy.

Baking was a hobby that you turned into a full time job. While the process could be long, you never found it tedious. Every measurement, every smell, every pastry decoration and design, was satisfying. And by the reviews from your customers, they were impressed by your craft. They say if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Just as you check the clock on the wall above the shop door, a loud growl sounds from your lower belly. Glancing down at your stomach, you shake your head and chuckle, grabbing your wallet and keys to lock up the store. It is a slow day, and usually you bring lunch to work, but closing the shop for an hour won’t hurt. You’d only had four customers since opening at nine.

As you walk down the strip, you glance at all the different shops that once started out at the bottom, smiling as hope fills your heart. Plenty of the stores started out as tiny businesses, now flourishing. There was never a doubt in your mind that your store, your pride and joy, would succeed.

The smell of pork fried rice hits your nostrils as you push open the doors to a nearby Chinese restaurant. Behind the counter you spot Lei, one of the first friends to welcome you to LA years ago.

Lei’s eyebrows crinkle. “I thought you were working today! How are you?”

“Well for one, I’m starving,” you say, patting your stomach. “And two, I am. I closed up for an hour just so I could come and see you!”

Lei rolls her eyes as she punches buttons on the register, already ringing up your order from memory. “Papa! I need an order of sweet and sour pork over white rice and a spring roll to go, please. You know what? Make that two spring rolls, it’s for Y/N!” Lei shouts, turning back with a sneaky grin. “Free of charge just because I love you.”

Tipping generously, you sit by a table and wait for your order. Lei’s family owns the restaurant, one of the most well known on the Strip. You frequent her business as she did with yours, always making sure to buy a slice of red velvet cake each week. A day ago, she’d put in an order for fifty cupcakes for her son’s ninth birthday party that weekend, which reminded you to check the cabinets at your home for all the proper ingredients.

A vibration rumbles in your purse and you retrieve your phone, holding it to your ear. You weren’t expecting a call.

“Hello?”

“I need another bottle of Jack.”

The sound of your boyfriend’s slurred voice had you frowning. On the other end of the line, Vince Neil sits in the recording studio, half empty bottle of whiskey in his lap while Tommy Lee aimlessly toys around with his drum set, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Hi, babe. Are you still in the studio?” Lei makes a gesture with a take out bag, and you give her a nod, rising to your feet while cradling the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Yeah, Doc gave us a ten minute break so I figured I’d call you. Did you hear me? I need another bottle of Jack. I’m almost done with the one I took this morning.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, forehead creasing. The man was building up his tolerance day by day, slowly but surely killing his liver. “Vince, that was a brand new bottle. I just bought that yesterday.”

“And it’s almost finished,” Vince remarks, rolling his eyes. “Just pick up another bottle on your way home.”

“Vin, you need to watch,” You warn, shaking your head. The last thing you needed was your boyfriend spiraling out of control like his heroin addicted bandmate, Nikki Sixx.

“I’m fine, stop worrying. I don’t need you pissing me off before I get back in the studio,” he spits back. “Just get the bottle.”

Sighing, you mouth a thank you to Lei before heading toward the door. “You know, the word please goes a long way--.”

The phone crashes against the tile floor as you collide with the door, or something that feels just as hard. Blinking to clear the stars from your eyes, your breath hitches in the back of your throat, lips going dry. Long, shiny red hair is the first thing that catches your eyes, followed by a pair of thin pink lips that look downright sinful, and soft gray eyes that hold a familiar warmth in them. The figure stares back at you, equally as stunned, unflinching as his hand holds open the door.

When you find your voice, it’s weak, just like your knees. “Axl?”

“Hey sugar,” his mouth quirks, and you blink again, positive that you’re hallucinating. There’s no way your old best friend is staring at you right now. It can’t be real. “Long time no see, huh? I see you’re still clumsy as ever.”

A hand covers your mouth and for a split second, you’re overwhelmed with the urge to cry. It doesn’t stay, and is soon replaced by sheer amazement. “Oh my God!” You throw yourself into his arms, almost knocking him off balance. Axl beams, catching you in his embrace, squeezing you against his chest. “I thought I was dreaming!”

His laugh is light and airy as he sets you on the ground, readjusting the bandana that keeps his hair off his face. “How have you been?”

Any feelings of irritation brought on by the lack of customers in your store and your pushy, intoxicated boyfriend fly right out the window. “Well, I was having a pretty crappy day, but I think you just made it ten times better,” you say, shaking your head in astonishment, bending down to retrieve your phone. Vince yells on the other line, but you quickly hang up before stuffing it back in your purse.

You give him another look, and his smile captures your breath, holding it hostage. It’s him. It’s really him. “My gosh, look at you. You are definitely not an eighteen year old boy anymore, Axl Rose.”

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he’d become. He was taller now, and had thinned out. Pale skin was littered in tattoos, giving him the edge he lacked in high school, from what you can remember. A face that was once hard and rigid, now gentle, just like his eyes.

“I’d hope not,” he says lightly, cocking his head to the side. His eyes trail over your body, slowly. “Twenty five has been good to me, and it appears twenty-seven has been kind to you.”

“I’ll say,” you breathe, drawn to his playful grin. The boy that never liked to show his teeth turned into a man that couldn’t stop smiling. “Are you stopping in for lunch?”

“I am,” he nods, noticing your take out bag. “Do you want to have lunch together? Are you busy?”

You shake your head quickly, eager to spend time with an old friend. “Nope! Slow day at work today, unfortunately. And besides, I’ll never be too busy to have lunch with you.”

~~~

A huge smile spreads across Axl’s face when you unlock the door to your bakery shop. The colors, the decorations, were all so inviting. Before bumping into you, he’d always pondered about what you were doing with your life. You’d turned yourself into a business owner, and as Axl glanced around the store, he felt a sense of pride wash over his bones. The woman he loved continued to amaze him.

“This is incredible, Y/N,” he says, nodding in approval, dragging his fingers over a metal chair situated at a circular pastel purple table. “So, how long did it take your indecisive ass to figure out what you wanted to do with your life?” He teases, fake pouting when you push his shoulder. After all these years, you were still so comfortable around each other. Maybe it would be easy to win your heart after all.

“Hey, I wanted to make sure that whatever I planned on doing for the rest of my life would make me happy,” you argue, setting your food down on the counter. Axl stands on the other side of the counter, aimlessly toying with his chopsticks.

“Are you?” He questions in a serious tone, waiting for your answer.

“Always,” you reply with a smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

And Axl notices.

~~~

Hours pass by, with only a few customers straggling in and out of your shop. You’d only sold a few pastries, but you plastered on a smile to hide the pit of devastation that had formed in your heart. It’s five-thirty, and you’ll give it another half hour before you lock it up, hoping someone else would notice your shop and drop by.

“So, Guns N’ Roses, huh?” After spending hours discussing your new life in California, the conversation turns to Axl. You want to know everything about him, everything you’ve missed the last seven years. Everything you couldn’t be a part of.

He nods, taking a sip from his water bottle. “I still can’t believe we made it.”

“There’s five of you, right?”

He nods again. “Yes ma’am. I’d like you to meet them sometime when you’re not busy. They’d love you. Especially Steven, probably a little too much,” he winks, keeping the atmosphere light. “I’ll tell him to keep the flirting minimal, only because that’s my job.”

Cheeks warm, you gather your trash and head to the bin in the front of the store, avoiding Axl’s lingering gaze. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know. No one did. “I’d love to, but that’s probably not the best idea.”

“How come?”

Biting your lip, you lean your elbows on the glass counter, clasping your fingers together. “My um...my boyfriend...he’s not a big Guns N’ Roses fan. He won’t even let me listen to your music. Probably would kill me if I ever did.”

Axl’s heart sinks. Let you? What the fuck? “Who’s your boyfriend?”

It’s not the answer he wants to hear. In fact, Axl’s face hardens when the name comes out of your mouth. “Vince Neil. I’m sure you’ve heard of him,” you say with a wave of your hand. You weren’t in the mood to talk about your boyfriend, especially to your male best friend. Men didn’t like to talk about other men.

“Time out,” Axl says in annoyance. You want him to drop the conversation, but he presses on. “You’re dating Vince? You had your choice out of all those Mötley Crüe bastards, and you went with Vince? How--How did I not know about this?”

You shrug, biting the corner of your mouth. Cat’s out of the bag, might as well keep going. “No one does. I stay out of the spotlight. Vince has an image to keep up, you know? The player. The bad boy. It’s entertaining. A girlfriend ruins that. You’d think the label would want to contain him, but quite the opposite, actually.”

The floor sways beneath his feet as the words process in his head. If Axl knew anything about the pompous blonde asshole, then he knew you weren’t being treated right. “How long have you been together?”

You contemplate telling the truth, but if you didn’t, he’d pull it out of you. Sighing, you lean your forehead against your hands, mumbling, “Three years.”

His legs almost give out. Three years of hiding. Three years of pretending. Three years of wasted fucking time with a man that didn’t deserve you. Three years with his competition, his enemy.

“I knew you were in a band, Axl. Although I haven’t listened to any of your songs, I’ve heard your name on the radio, seen you at award ceremonies when I watched from home. And I...I wanted to reach out. I just didn’t know where to find you. Vince doesn’t even know that you and I grew up together. I’m too scared to tell him. It would just give him another reason to hate you.”

“And you don’t think you deserve better than that?” Axl asks, mouth twisting in anger. “Because I know you do.”

“Well…”

The door to the shop slams against the wall, and in stumbles a visibly inebriated Vince Neil. His blonde hair is stringy, matted against the side of his head, and the stench of alcohol fills your nostrils, lingering on his spiked leather vest. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels occupies one hand, while the keys to his car dangle in the other.

Eyes blazing, you step out from behind the counter. “Vince, what the hell? You drove here? Drunk?!” The evidence was in his hands, but you refused to believe your boyfriend could have done something so wild, so reckless.

“You...y-you didn’t come home with the...with the booze,” he slurs, throwing the empty  bottle in the trash bin. He trips forward, reaching out to steady himself on the purple table. “I was scared something ha-happened.”

“Something did happen, Vince! You could’ve killed someone!” You scream, tears blurring your vision as you fight back the urge to shake some sense into his body. How could he have been so careless? So selfish? “You could have fucking died!”

“Don’t raise your fucking voice--,” And Vince’s eyes go black when he sees Axl standing behind you, stonefaced, hands shoved in pockets. He doesn’t know why the redhead is here, with his girlfriend, but he doesn’t like it. “Rose.”

“Neil.”

Vince straightens, puffing out his chest.  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Free country,” Axl retorts, eyes flickering to your face. The tears from your eyes are sliding down your cheeks. Even if he wants to bash Vince’s perfectly symmetrical face in, he holds back, not wanting to scare you. “And I was just leaving.”

“Axl, wait, no you don’t have to go.” You plead, grasping his wrist, voice thick with emotion. You didn’t want him to leave, not after you’d just gotten him back again.

“Yes, he does,” Vince says, more sober than he was a minute ago. Loosening his grip on the table, he toddles over, prying your hand from Axl’s wrist. Axl’s teeth clench, and his fists ball together in an attempt to keep the anger at bay.

“You’ll be going now,” Vince glares. “That’s not a request, either. I’m taking a piss, and by the time I come out, you’d better be gone.” He stalks off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

In a panic, you snatch a sharpie from the pencil holder on the counter, uncapping it with your mouth, before grabbing Axl’s wrist, scribbling digits quickly but legibly.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a hushed whisper as he tries to decipher the numbers.

“My phone number, my address.” you answer back, signaling to each one. Grabbing a piece of paper from your notepad, you quickly scrawl out Axl’s phone number and apartment address, stuffing it into your purse. He nods before pulling you in for a hug. “I want to see you again, Axl. It’s been too long.”

And he would see you again. There was no way, no way, that Axl would let anything come between you.

[layniapetrovnaaa]

In cauda venenum

[Natasha Romanoff x Reader]

Request: @honeyxbucket​ 

 Hi there! I would like to request a Natasha x reader fic! A one shot more specifically kinda angst I hope that’s okay! Plot: Y/n is peter parks biological sister and shared the same powers as him and even has her own suit (it’s basically just a light purple Spider-Man suit) well anyway one day they are on a mission (you can choose who the villain is) and at the end y/n almost died and is sent to the hospital and Natasha freaks out but y/n ends up okay lots of fluff at the end

(I’m sorry this is so short, but I hope it was what you were looking for!)

“I like the new suit.” Peter spoke innocently.

The orange glow of the sunset cocooning him in warm light. The sun felt nice on your skin, given the cool NYC fall temperature.

The two of you sat atop a medium sized apartment building, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity.

Ever since Mac Gorgon, or Scorpion, had escaped from prison you and Peter had been on the look out. 

Apparently you weren't the only ones. 

The two of you had recently gotten a tip from Daredevil (a recent acquaintance and new ally) that he was hiding out in a small garage right near the Hudson river. 

So there you were.

“I thought a change of pace might be nice.” you say, glancing down at the sleek and tight fitting purple suit.

“Very inconspicuous.” he teases.

You laugh, punching his shoulder lightly.

“Look who’s talking!” you retort and he puts his hands up in defense. 

Once your giggling starts to fade, you turn your head to look out at the city. 

You noticed a shady looking man unlocking the door to a building a little ways down the street. 

“Peter, eight o'clock.”

“Is that what time May said to be back for dinner? Cause--”

You scoff.

“No, look.” you nod with your chin. 

He leans over, looking in the correct direction.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

As he speaks, the man turns his head to scan the streets, just long enough for you and Peter to note the prominent scar on his face.

“Oh shit.” your brother lets out.

You both put on your masks.

“Let’s go.” you order, standing up and shooting out a web after you made sure that the criminal wouldn't see you. 

You should have noticed the signs upon entering, he was expecting you. 

Your spider-senses were telling you that he was on the ground floor, but your eyes told you otherwise.

It was odd, he was no where in sight, and the building was a few degrees cooler then it was outside. 

“I don’t think he is here [Y/N], we should go back to our post” Peter says quietly. 

As you turn around and start to head for the exit, you hear his sinister voice. 

“Leaving so soon?”

You turn round to see him coming out of the shadows.

You had known about his enhanced abilities, given to him by experiments, but you were in the dark about the Scorpion-like suit he was currently donning.

“Oh fuck me.” you curse under your breath as you watch the orange colored sunlight reflect off of his knife-like stinger. 

“You like? My friend Doc Ock made it for me.” you could practically hear the malicious grin in his voice.

“Not bad, but its a bit bulky, don’t y’think?” you reply sarcastically.

You see his smile drop and he starts charging towards you and Peter.

“Watch out!” you exclaim as he goes to attack Peter, your web hitting one of the beams in the ceiling and you swing yourself up there.

“That reaction was a bit dramatic, I mean you did ask for her opinion.” Peter grunts out as he wrestles with the villain.

You stick on the ceiling, crawling so that you are behind Scorpion, launching your web to stop his poisonous tail from impaling your sibling.

He whips his head around to face you before jumping onto the wall, sticking his claws into it and crawls his way over to you. 

You detach yourself from the ceiling, only hanging by your fingertips, and aim your webs at his ankle as you pull him down to the ground with you. 

The fight continues, each interaction becoming more killer than the last, you knew it was time to call in.

“This is [Y/N] Parker, I’m calling for backup, we are at an old abandoned garage near the Manhattan cruise terminal on 12th, please hurry.”

You had underestimated the speed and strength of Scorpion, and now you were reaping the consequences.

You break into a sprint towards the monster who had his back to you, but he was faster than you and turns just in time to inject his venomous stinger into your pectoral muscle, right below your left  collarbone. 

You gasp and feel your toes leave the ground by an inch. 

The venom that coursed through your veins felt like lava.

Mac grins and removes the stinger, you collapse to the ground.

“[Y/N]?” Peter lets out in almost a whimper. 

Your eyes squeeze shut and you clench your jaw, trying to bear the pain.

An alarm like sound comes from Scorpions wrist.

“This isn’t over spidey, you’re next.” he growls, jumping onto the wall and crawling through the big open window near the ceiling.

You open your eyes to look at the wound, seeing Peter rush to your side in a blur. 

He rests your head onto his lap, throwing off his and your mask. 

Not a second later the garage doors burst open.

Natasha, Tony, and Rhodey stand on guard until they finish scanning the perimeter. 

She had to do a double take when she noticed you and your brother on the ground. 

As soon as she realized the predicament, she ran over, settling at your side, opposite of Peter.

“Natasha?” you murmur, starting to fall in and out of what they all hoped was consciousness, reaching your hand up to touch her cheek. 

“I’m here.” she says as she grabs your hand. 

Your head rolls back and she takes in a sharp breath.

“What the hell happened?!” she asks sharply.

“I-I-I I don’t know...it-it all happened so fast.” Peter lets out in almost a sob. 

“We need to get her back to base, now.”

When a second passes and no one moves, she demands again.

“I said move, goddammit!” she growls, the four the superheros immediately snapping into action.

“It’s gunna be okay, [Y/N]. You’re going to be fine.” she breaths, talking more to herself than you.

“It’s gunna be fine...”

*** 

The water ran down Natasha's hands as she rung out the warm washcloth. The wood floor was cold on her bare feet as she lugged her way towards the grey monochrome bed where her sleeping girlfriend lay. Natasha let out a low sigh as she sat down on the side of the bed. She gently laid the damp towel on  the girl’s forehead.

Again she sighs. 

Had it not been for your spider like powers and Doctor Banners wicked brain, you wouldn't have made it. 

The redhead would flinch  almost every beep of the heart monitor, and the IV hooked to your arm made her tense. 

The light from the window next to the queen bed seeped through the blinds, and as it seems, right into your eyes as you start to come back to consciousness. 

Your lashes flutter, and you hear Natasha mutter to herself. 

"If only I could have been faster. Ah god" her voice cracks. 

Natasha wipes the tear from her cheek quickly, as if she was embarrassed somebody would see. 

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you," she says as she lets out a shaky breath. 

"I can't lose you Y/n.."

Slowly you grab her hand.  

"Natalia..."

Her head whips in your direction. 

"Hey, your supposed to be asleep." She sniffs. 

"You could never lose me Tahsa."

Natasha huffs.

"So you heard all that?"

"Don't blame yourself for my mistakes." You said weakly. She shakes her head. 

"Y/n/n, I— I thought I was going to lose you...and I don’t know what I would have done.”

"Nat.." 

She huffs. 

“My whole life has been calculated and cautiously planned, but you make me throw caution to the wind. You make me unable to think straight, I can hardly form a coherent sentence when you are around [Y/N]. You wreck me in the most glorious ways, you break down every barrier I have, you see me for me. I-I just can’t loose you.”

A tear slips down your cheek at er confession.

“Wow, Nat I-I don’t know what to say...”

“Don’t, don’t worry about it.” she shakes her head lightly

"I love you Natalia, you are the most beautiful, badass, and selfless person I know." 

She chuckles and scoffs. 

"I love you too, Y/n." 

She leans down to kiss your lips, they're soft and warm, and it's just electric between you two. 

“I should go tell Bruce you’re awake.”

You nod and she gets up from the bed.

As she opens the door, her hand still on the door nob, she speaks.

“I meant everything I said...I love you so much it hurts.”

You nod and bite your lip, the corners of your mouth drifting upwards.

She nods, a tight lip smile threatening to grace her face as she walks out, shutting the door softly behind her. 

“I never thought I’d see the day the Black Widow went soft.”

“Shut it Stark.”

[turdblossommm]

Marry Me {4}

Summary: Bucky and the reader are hopelessly in love with their best friends who are getting married, where the pair first meet. Will there friendship turn into something more or will it crash and burn?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/N: Back at it again with another update! Hope you guys enjoy!

part 3 / masterlist

“Y/L/N you’re needed in the lab” Tony’s intern came in the office, you liked when Peter was his intern

“It’s Dr. Y/L/N to you kid” You pushed him out of the door way in your office. You scanned your ID card and walked into the lab where Tony was with Dr. Bruce Banner and another man you’ve never met

“Tony tell your heathens of interns that they have to call me doctor”

“Doc we have guest” You looked up at the man you didn’t know

“T’Challa of Wakanda Inc” He stuck his hand out

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, pleasure to meet you sir”

“We were just discussing the idea of join forces to work on a clean air project” You nodded

“Okay” You nodded

“I want yo to be the project leader” You scrunched up your eyebrows

“Tony, I’m a chemical engineer”

“Exactly, prove by using organic chemicals you could be saving the earth”

“I don’t know Tony I-“

“You’ll get your own lab and assistant” Tony rolled his eyes

“Done and done, pleasure to be working with Wakanda Inc” You smiled at T’Challa as he chuckled

“We’ll be seeing you on Monday morning” He left the lab and you turned to Tony

“I want Parker”

“No” Tony point his finger at you “Parker is off limits”

“You never said that” You raised your eyebrows “Besides he needs to expand on his projects” You spun on your heel

“I hate you” You lift a middle finger in the air

“Love you too” You spent the rest of the day brianstorming with Peter over idea about the project.

“We could try to clean up the Hudson?” He suggested

“There’s no hope for the Hudson Peter” You looked at the clock “Why don’t we call it a night, I’ll see you on Monday” He nodded and packed his stuff and left your office. You powered down all you computers and locked your office before descending the stairs.

~

“Want to go to the bar? Catch the game?” Sam asked Bucky and Steve as they were leaving work

“Peggy and I have date night” Steve smiled and Sam made a whip sound

“Well I guess it’s just you and me Barnes” Bucky winced

“Actually I have plans tonight”

“You have a date?” Steve’s head whipped around

“Not really” Bucky shook his head, you two were actually going to watch bad horror movies and get take out

“Is it the girl from the wedding?” Steve started his interrogation

“Yes”

“Well what does she do? Where does she live?”

“Steve” Sam warned him before he went full on dad mode

“She lives in Hell’s Kitchen, and she has a masters in chemical engineering and a doctrine in math” Bucky saw them while he helped you unpack after you made the agreement

“Where does she work?” Smh asked as the entered the parking garage 

“I don’t know, but who ever it is pays well” Bucky unlocked is truck “Good night Steve”

~

“Why horror movies?” Bucky asked as he sat down in just sweats on your couch. You took the carton of Chinese food from his hand

“I didn’t think a romcom would be great right now” Bucky admired your sass as you tucked your legs under your body in nothing but his shirt “And I hate romantic movies, there so predictable”

“What ever” The pair of you watched the movie in silence for the first time minutes

“Jesus is this a horror movie or soft core porn?” You shook you head at the tv and switched it off 

“You watch porn?” Bucky asked and you nodded

“Yeah, so do you” Bucky watched you walk into the kitchen. You’ve been good since this thing with Bucky started, you really haven’t given Clint a seconds thought. Part of you wonders if Bucky thinks about Natasha, of course he does.

He’s known her since he was five, five is a lot different than fifteen. When you met Clint the two of you were strictly friends, you already had a boyfriend you were crazy over. Part of you fell in love with Clint because he was the only thing you could hold on to after Frank. 

It feels shitty to realize this late in the game, everyone now was getting married and having children and you were in a friends with benefits relationship with an unrealistically attractive man.

What scares you the most about this relationship with Bucky is what happens next. What happens when one of you calls it quits? What if one of you falls for the other? What if you never talk to each other again?

The last one seems impossible since you talk to each other every single day, sometimes he’ll just send you stupid jokes to make the day go faster at work and you’d send an equally horrible joke back to him

Bucky was easy, you didn’t have to try with him. Clint always wanted to do something, he isn’t one for sitting still and relaxing while just the other day you and Bucky sat for hours in his living room reading a book while he went over paper work for work.

It was simple and you didn’t have to try, that was your favorite part.

Taglist: @hailqueenconquer @2ptonpt 

[seenashwrite]

(see HERE for part one of answer)

Ah, mass appeal, that oft elusive lil' stinker. How to get it is one of those age-old questions for us creator-types. We want it, for personal reasons, for perhaps monetary reasons, and determining what constitutes it and how to tap into it and even if we should try to tap into it are all pickles.

No, not that type, those are fabulous. I mean sticky situations. The non-tempuraish bliss with delusion of "Hey, I'm doing great on my diet, 'cause it's a vegetable!" kind.

Spoiler Alert: I'm not going to tell you not to compare yourself to other people, of course you are, and in many ways this is a good thing, it's called having an ideal to which to aspire, except it shouldn't be rooted in popularity, the admiration should be for their work. . . . Thanks for your question!

I'm kidding, Dean, and you damn well know it. Bite me. And fetch me a whiskey. And some Death pickles. I got talkin’ to do.

Part Two: Water Chumming & How That Shark May Bite Your Ass, So Here’s A Bunch Of Other Stuff That Can Be Done From The Safety Of The Shore

C/P for convenience:

Is it worth trying to please the masses when we can't please ourselves? Am I poking the bear?

Let us recap from Part One:

We talked about how to get from a feeling of ineptitude to - at first - just mild trepidation when it comes time to hit "publish",  and started delving into "but how to get there?" so that the path can lead on to an actual measure of confidence, which brings us to the second part of your question up there - which is, I find, a completely normal thought, stemming from exasperation, when it feels like you're surrounded by a ton of people who are having ungodly amounts of success, and it seems like the biggest mystery in the world. So it's natural to wonder: should I follow their lead? Try to do what they're doing?

Maybe - let's unpack that, dig into what that would entail, the pros-and-cons, what some alternatives may be.

Near the end of Pt. 1, we talked about not understanding why some stories/writers gain traction, while others don't, specifically regarding the quality of their stories. As facetious and jokey and snotty and funny as I made that "rant", and said how you could always use the SSDTs [Same Shit, Different Title] stories as a "How Not To Do It" guide, I also mentioned how they must be doing something right - and they are, the metrics we've got (hearts, notes, feedback, asks r/t stories, followers, reblogs) bear it out. It's right there. There's nothing to interpret. It's there. It's fact.

Not to mention, as much as I've tried to drill down on objective parameters for my rec list, to try and smoosh down subjectivity, both on my part and on the part of people who rec to me, there's still a pretty substantial margin of subjectivity. There just is - a story could be ridiculous in plot, could be littered with reprehensible grammar, could poorly represent Sam/Dean/etc., could have a shallow Y/N. Yet if something within the story, no matter how oblique, speaks to the heart of a reader? In the immortal words of Private Hudson:

Game. Over. They’re in. Case closed.

I also mentioned that little number in the corner, that overall snapshot of how much action a given story/that writer accumulated and pondered - does it indicate how great the story is? Also known as: Does that mean their story/their writing is better than mine?

Well. No. Not necessarily. I suspect that - and this would take a huge data mining mission on every single one of a given writer's high count stories to know - in part, some of the number represents a manifestation of a cult following. I'll save you the trouble of clicking the link:

"A cult following is a group of fans who are highly dedicated to a work of culture. A film, book, musical artist, television series or video game, among other things, will be said to have a cult following when it has a small but very passionate fanbase. A common component of cult followings is the emotional attachment the fans have to the object of the cult following, often identifying themselves and other fans as members of a community. Cult followings are also commonly associated with niche markets."

I've no idea why "musical artist" was the only human example they threw in there, because in my experience/observation over **cough** decades of life on the planet, I see cult followings for humans  more than stuff, and public figures of other areas beyond music (actors, politics, etc.) just as much. There are men-I MEAN-people who will never be socially ostracized no matter how inappropriately they behave, no matter the amount of evidence, doesn't matter - their following will absolutely make preserving the (fake) image that person cultivated their hill to die on.

But we're getting negative, and where I'm going with "cult status" in our context isn't negative. The "cult" mentality aspect to which I refer is about loyalty of followers (specifically reader-followers) in general, and then further, the loyalty of that subset of reader-followers who were early readers. They adored "x" number of that writer's stories in the past, and even if the quality of newer stories has declined, they are still gonna hit that heart and reblog it and say it was great. Do they actually believe it? Some of them, to be sure. Do some of them have on cult following rose-colored glasses? Friggin' of course.

Like I said above the cut - I'm not going to tell you not to compare yourself to other people, of course you are, and in many ways this is a good thing, it's called having an ideal to which to aspire, except it shouldn't be rooted in popularity, the admiration should be for their work. But there's admiration owed to these writers for maintaining their follower base, regardless of whether those follower-readers aren't in the admiring-for-the-work mode. So while you can't admire them for their stories, because you think they blow, there is an ideal, a definite modelling to consider: what are some of these writers who are getting huge numbers doing to maintain what popularity they've accrued?

Let's pause here for a recap of what we know for sure:

1. You won't know if telling stories is legit in your wheelhouse or not until you start getting some feedback from readers, which is going to help get you out of Ineptitudeville;

2. Ideally, this would begin with an honest, straightforward editor who knows how to give constructive critique --> in the meantime, use The Nail's guiding standards to serve as an at-home editor til you feel ready to find such an editor;

3. You can't get feedback for your supplemental self-editing documents of "nailed it" and "Achilles' heels" unless you put yourself out there (which, hopefully chipping away at #1 will get you over the ineptitude hump and into a healthy trepidation territory so you can do);

4. There's potential modelling to be done by observing what the "popular" writers are doing outside of their stories to accrue/maintain followers, and trying to see what their loyal reader-followers see in stories you don't find very good.

Again - assuming you've gotten comfy enough to just feel a normal nervousness vs. ineptitude, it's on to getting an audience. So, what could it be? That these mega-number generators are doing? I think it's two things:

(A) They have broad exposure that brings others into the fold (B) There's more at work than just stories

But Nash, are you not paying attention? I don't have exposure, they've got a bazillionty followers - you may say.

Then let's get you some exposure that has nothing to do with follower counts, nothing *inherently* due to the potentially not-so-robust nature of your stories at present, things that just might get you more followers, hopefully turning a chunk of them into reader-followers somewhere along the way.

.

(A) Exposure that doesn't require "popularity":

1. SPN Fanfic Pond ---> 24/7/365 - join it and submit your stories - never know who'll see it - guaranteed reblog

2. SPN Hiatus Creations ---> specific dates - I don't think many people know that they include fics, since they mostly get submissions of art - weekly topics to choose from - join in, submit your stories - the folks behind it most always put a little comment in their tags, so be on lookout for your feedback doc - guaranteed reblog

3. SPN Family Birthdays ---> 24/7/365 - their kindness gets your name "out there" to more people, both the mods behind-the-scenes, as well as that blog's followers - guaranteed exposure - *mandatory* to reblog this with a thank you and at least one point of feedback about it to whomever created that birthday wish for you

4. Bingos:  SPN Genre Bingo - SPN Fluff Bingo - SPN Kink Bingo - SPN Angst Bingo ---> specific dates - variety of topics - guaranteed reblog - good/decent potential reblog from others via their followers and those who follow the tags

5. Challenges from individuals ---> sporadic dates - variety of topics - follow people who you see hosting them, if they've hosted one they'll likely host more - hosts will typically reblog each fic (good chance with a touch of feedback), and/or put your "@" and link to your fic onto a master post - more popular the blog/higher follower count, the more exposure, so high reblog/new reader potential

6. Seasonal Celebrations ---> specific dates - Secret Valentines, secret Santas, etc. - do it and you're also probably making a friend, maybe gaining a new follower, maybe their followers will come visit your place because your assigned person reblogs what you did for them - moderate-to-high potential for reblog *

(*Should be a guarantee but some people are dicks; my Valentine didn't ever send me shit this year, not even an apology through the organizer, but you know what? I don't care. Legit. I made a friend through it, and really enjoyed making what I did for them.)

7. “Bangs”  ---> sporadic dates - a.k.a. Mini-bangs / Big-bangs - focused on a topic/character - guaranteed reblog

8. Appreciation Days ---> specific dates - Angst, Smut, Fluff appreciation days - you can even submit already written fics/don't necessarily have to whip out something new - specific tags can draw readers - good/decent potential for reblogs

9. Prompts ---> 24/7/365 - imagines, those generic prompt blogs - follow some, keep an eye out for the interesting ones - challenge yourself to crank out one a week, short little 500-ish word blurbs - reblogs, maybe, who cares, this is serving to get you out of the funk and get used to posting your work; it's practice, and if it gets love, then great, if not, you still got stuff to put on a master post - and make a master post and get it in your profile so it's easily find-a-ble

10. Outside of Tumblr * ---> 24/7/365 - Fanfic.net and AO3 - join and put fic there and put your links somewhere on your blog - both have stats - both give opportunity for people to comment and to share direct links to their blogs, which is how this connects to the goal of visibility in the SPN fandom here - also a way to self-reblog your story in a “fresh” way/cuts down on repetition popping up on your followers’ dashes (i.e. - helps cushion the ol’ “Oh they’re posting this again?!” feeling)

[* Note: many of us have great distaste for Wattpad because it is a breeding ground for thieves - people will c/p stories from here and present them as their own, some trying to excuse it by “giving credit” in a blanket manner a la “found at Tumblr” or listing the “@” of the writer. The problem is, Wattpad’s method of reporting leaves much to be desired - like Instagram, they only seem to be interested if a published author takes issue. The only real way to call out these thieves is via an immense amount of pressure from the SPN Family commenting directly at their Wattpad page. My point? Your choice, but if you do join up and post there, proceed with caution.]

.

(B) The stuff that's more than just writing:

1. Reblog interesting things that show who you are - fan art is a great start - shows your tastes and what you like - when feeling confident, host a challenge, as what you choose for the framework (one of mine, for instance, was using lines of dialogue from Archer) will also reflect what you like, what you're into - tag people you're friendly with and say something like "Even if you're not interesting in joining, signal boost, please??? [cute emoticon]"

2. Narrow down focus - if you're multi-fandom, drill down on your favorite - start by building up a solid following in that one fandom - keep a ratio of about 80% primary fandom, 20% to cover the others/personal/non-fandom stuff - use a "Not [fandom]" tag for that 20% so your followers can choose to opt-out - or if you can't manage this, do a side blog or two

3. Set your queue to pop stuff out (at minimum) 2 or 3 times/day - stuff it - start with CanonSPNgifs - keep your blog active - unless something you want to reblog is time-sensitive, chuck it to the queue - a wall of posts from the same person on the dash is off-putting - same for constant reblogs of your own stuff*

(* Which you should do, yes, but have an understanding of time zones, will ya? I swear some people are re-blogging for myriad time zones in Oz and Narnia, as well, I've no idea... I've digressed)

4. Send Asks to people like the "spread the love" stuff - if they post "Ask Me" things, send them one - reblog the answered ask and say what you think about their answer/at minimum say "thanks, this was great" - reblog those ask games posts for your followers so they ask you questions - get engaged

5. Respond to a good portion of the comments people leave for you, whether feedback or just funny things they said - specifically, feedback with reblog deserves reply of thank you, whether in the notes or a fresh post; see my blog for copious examples - make a post that says your tags are open/offer to tag folks - anytime your follower count jumps by, say, 5, reblog it - make an OMG!-type post every time your follower count increases by, say, 10 - you’re telling them you actually give a shit that they follow

6. Keep an eye out for folks (especially those who make rec lists, so always check out rec lists for who did it when you spot them) who have said it's okay to tag them - always tag them, even if they seldom reply/reblog/feature you on their list, as you never know

7. When you read stories by other writers that you love, reblog them *with some feedback* - do unto others, etc., etc. This is in huge headline size for a reason. Take the hint.

ETA - I chimed in and gave some tips since I composed this post, and it may be helpful for you/for people who are shy or intimidated or just not particularly comfortable verbalizing feelings.

...and here’s what I suggested:

If you want to get specific, say what your favorite thing/things is/are; in my mind that could go something like this:

I felt like I was right there with them in the ____ [setting]

I felt like I was right there during ____ [part of the plot]

I felt like I was watching an episode of the show

I could relate so much to ____ [character]

My favorite line(s) was/were ____

___ [character(s)] sounded just like they do on the show

___ [character(s)] acted just like they do on the show

And there’s also more generic things, such as:

This story really touched me, I needed something heartwarming!

This story cracked me up, I needed a good laugh!

This story made me smile, I needed some cheering up!

This story got me crying, I needed a good cry!

This story was really creative, I needed a change of pace!

And if you want to keep it really simple? This can apply to any story:

I enjoyed this more than I can say, thank you so much for writing it

.

Is full-on blind cult following an "ehhhh" thing? Yeah. But the basis of it, the true, legit loyalty part of it, is wonderful. You want that. The more readers know you, the more they'll feel comfortable interacting with you, and the greater their comfort, the more likely they'll give you feedback and, eventually, some constructive critique* 

(*You gotta make it clear you're fine with critique, though, and don't dare say it if you're just gonna pitch a fit when you get some, however poorly phrased the critique may be; but that's another topic, for another day).

Great, Nash, you still haven't answered my question about pleasing the masses - you may say. 

The answer is: that's a call you gotta make for yourself. To hopefully help, I'll tell you two stories about chumming the waters with (what seems to be) the standard wares that get a ton of followers/reader-followers.

Interestingly, I *just* this past week or so had a great discussion with someone (who I won't reveal, of course, because it was PM) on this very topic. You'd recognize their name, if not follow them/have read their stuff, they've got a healthy fanbase, etc., etc., etc. all that jazz. It would surprise you, is my point, to know that they've been pondering on their writing - specifically, the genre in which they feel entrenched. They accrued their popularity (I hate that word, but can't think of a better one) in a certain, ah, niche. You know the holy trifecta: angst, fluff, smut. One of those.

(I am not going to go down the road of how much I loathe the limitations of those, I know myself, this will turn trash fire and neglect you. But they are the cards we've been dealt, there's nothing to be done to change it, we must play our hands. #flames on the side of my face #haaaate #I'm done)

Anyway, they've sat here "x" year/years later and looked back at their pre-SPN fanfic foray (read: how they used to write/what they used to write), and are like - Where'd my voice go? Where'd my style go? Can I get it back? Sure I can get it back, but if I start being "me", what will my reader base do with that? Will they stick around and support me? Will they bail? etc., etc., etc. You get the idea. Reasonable thoughts, all.

I tell you this next bit because while what is going on with above writer is on the side of Got A Wide Reach, like I said in Pt. 1, I am presently on the other side, the Modest-in-Number, Large-in-Loyalty reader collective. And I *have* chummed the waters, though not entirely purposefully. And it didn't work... well, hasn't, I can't predict the future, could blow up tomorrow, but not likely. I suspect I know why. We'll get to that.

I say not entirely purposefully because I stumbled into Fluff and Smut, one of each. (There is a second fluff, but that doesn't count because it was tailored to a very specific person who gave very specific things to include for a Valentine swap thing.) The fluff was via a thing I did, and my dear friend nailed it, gave me three cringy words that were meant to hit the fluff bullseye, and I doubled down. You can see that here, should you care.

People fucking lost their shit. I repackaged it into its own post in case folks didn't like the snark in the one linked above/would rather reblog sans snark. People lost their shit, part deux. Flattering as hell. I appreciated it immensely, truly.

On the smut*, I lost a bet (I can't even recall what it was, maybe I mentioned it somewhere) with the friend that drew me into SPN because they were (are? yeah, still are) frustrated with the show and I needed a writing exercise and I had (at the start time) eleven years of source material, so hells yeah I said yes. The bet was for smut, and I said - Fine, but I can't not plot.  Great, was the answer, but I had to typical it up, this was a punishment, after all. And typical, for me, means so much detail that it made brain cry. Copious detail works my nerves. Copious pondering works my nerves. Any one thing that’s too much will Work. My. Nerves. And I wrote it (it's five parts now, but part one and two was the orig piece and ended open), and said to friend "This won't get shit response" - "You wanna bet?" - me, the idiot: "Yup" - "If it does, you have to finish it out".

(*no link because I don’t know your age, and it’s set to sensitive)

People fucking lost their shit. On FF.net and AO3, that is. Not the numbers some people get, but holy hell. Hence, parts 3 through 5. Far as here, not so much the hit. But the people here who've liked it have REALLY liked it, so there's that, and it's flattering as hell, and I appreciate it immensely, truly.

And yet at the end of the day, hey guess what, say it with me now:

Now, for all my pseudo-fussing, I was cool with doing it, because at heart I'm wired to think about marketing, and I thought - Oooooh. This will bring people to the goods, the stuff I'm *really* proud of, and then and then and then....

Nope. Some yes, mostly nope. Most of my loyal roundtable were brought into the Nashooligan fold by other stories.

Here's why I think writer above got on the other side of the coin and I'm riding the edge - they went down the rabbit hole on a few, got mega results, and it fills the confidence tank, and why not wash-rinse-repeat? Humans are wired that way, we don't do things that we don't get something out of, it's normal. Thing is, they - as they see it - got lost a bit along the way. It worked, though, that squashing of their voice - "worked" in the sense that it drew the masses. Some people would be completely okay with this, would find it a reasonable trade-off; this writer isn't presently thinking so.

And back to me - I think the reason my smut and fluff didn't hit the stratosphere and draw in the masses (ergo, little motivation to do more) is because my style is still in there. The snark, the focus on accurate characterization, and like I say, I can't not plot. I didn't pullout the recipe, same ol' ingredients, mix up some standard shmoop/standard porn, flop it in the cupcake paper, bake it, then smear a thin layer of canned frosting - flavor: "Meh Plot" - around it. I made that junk from scratch, like I do all my other stories, and while I did use some of the same ingredients, I didn't go all-in. Notably, my evergreen stance that Y/N can die in a fire, ceiling optional, I ain't doing it. 

I am not going to insist you read either of them, I'm just gonna ask you to trust me on this: I read quite a bit, and I've yet to see the ingredients of Reader Mommy Married To Dean Have A Baby Sam Has Dogs scenario mixed together like mine, and I've yet to see a Reader Insert Smut With Dean Smut With Sam Inferred Happy Ever After With Dean mixed together like mine. 

Which, like I say, is what I suspect is probs the issue. I didn't get as far down the proverbial hole as my writer friend in terms of Typical'ing Up my stories. Could I un-ring that bell? Better put: could I start ringing bells? And I mean weekly, if not twice a week, quickie ones, throw in a lengthy once a month? Crank out the recipes? Plenty of templates to work from, after all. It would be hard for me in the sense of voice-squashing, but could be done.

So if I had to give you a vote on whether chumming the waters is a strategy to take, given those potential pros-and-cons, here's why I vote "no", both for myself, and for you, and others contemplating such.

It's partly that cautionary tale of my writer friend (and there's gotta be more feeling like her, there's just got to be), and mostly it's because of three writers I can think of off the top of my head. They're all quite talented, they consistently turn out solid, creative pieces that can be differentiated from the rest of the fodder floating around, and all three have substantial reader and/or follower bases. One has less than the other two, but nothing to sneeze at. The second - another person I've had great PMs with on the topic of wide appeal - attributes part of their success numbers-wise to specializing not in a niche genre, but due to specialty in a subset of the fandom (a specific, very popular 'ship).

The third, who has a *massive* reader and follower base, I can't get my head wrapped around, and I don't mean that in the sense of not understanding why people adore them, they deserve every bit of it. We'd have to dig deep into years of works and chart out the numbers (likes and reblogs and comments and followers - again, the only metrics we got) to see if there's a tipping point, but there's no magic bullet, so likely there'd be nothing in that data - or data from any highly successful writer around here - that's gonna reveal some secret. And this is the only writer I can think of that I'd really love to know a tipping point on, because: reason I can't get my head around it is because they don't do typical, ain't even in the ballpark of typical. Now, they do inject smut into much of their work, but plenty of other times it's just inferred. Consistently cheeky, if not snarky, if not balls-out-gut-bust funny. Consistently original, creative plots, even when it starts out purposefully trope-y, there's gonna be a slant on their take. I may not personally like everything they put out, I'm not saying they're perfect, but if we're trying to keep it objective vs. subjective, applied to The Nail framework? They're nailing it easily 80-90% of the time. I've actually got a soft moratorium on them, between stuff I find and noms I get on their stuff, I only include them sporadically on the list or else they'd be everywhere.

That gives me hope. Not-a-one of those three are cranking out stuff religiously on some frequent schedule, they write when the muse hits. Not-a-one of those three are following recipes. Not-a-one of those three are blanketing their voice.

And this goes back to the very first thing you said, about pleasing others when we can't please ourselves. Part of the reason you're not pleased is because on whatever level, your stuff isn't grabbing an audience, however big or small. I know it, because I've been there, as I've told you. The biggest part, though? It's because you know you can do better. Maybe you're cranking it out too fast. Maybe you're not fleshing out a character enough. Maybe you wished you'd taken another run at the plot before you published. I don't know, truly. But you're not digging the end result somehow. When you get there? To legit confidence? You're not going to care as much about pleasing others, you just won't. And that confidence is going to show in how you interact with others, little notes you make on gif sets when you reblog, things you say when you feedback others, all that stuff I said above.

People are attracted to confidence. It may intimidate them at first, they may linger on the periphery, but then once they see it's not arrogance or something, they'll be bees circling closer to the honey, because it... it... how to put... it rubs off. A kind've What Would "x" Do kind've thing. And most people will always welcome having more confidence, I mean, the real genuine confidence. We choose who are friends are - to be cheesy - not just because of who they are, but because of who we are when we’re with them. I think the younger we are, we get the wires crossed of "nastiness" and "straightforward". It's the difference between those folks, for instance, who snap and go all "You cum dumpster!" on Anons who word things poorly (I don't mean the ones who are vitriolic, I mean the ones who use less-than-elegant phrasing), vs. the folks who plainly reply something to the effect of "That's certainly something to consider. Thank you for your input". That they can’t discern the difference between a person dishing out hate - actual hate - and a misstep in phrasing speaks a lot to their confidence, that they’re taking a complete stranger’s words as such a personal affront.

I say all that to say: it's not about just the stories; the stories are a piece of a bigger puzzle. Personally, when I see folks being nasty in that manner? My knee-jerk thought is - They are so quick to lash out and write that stuff, and are so careless with their words, I bet their story-writing follows suit. And guess what? I have been 99.9% correct thus far. There's no OOMPHs in their stories: there's no brain-chewy, no heart-grabbing, no snort-giggles, no soul-touching. It's as typical as that comeback. It's lazy. It's easy. It's eye-rolling. It's expected.

Put another way: their lack of confidence in general is what is infesting other areas, in this instance, their stories. I wonder if - since you said “anything I’ve ever created” - that even if it was a slip-of-the-tongue, it may’ve been a meaningful one. If it’s the case, that there are other areas of life where you feel less-than-ideally-confident (a.k.a. - inept), I think you’re smart to start in this area, with fanfic, because as illustrated there’s lots you can do that’s in your control, that’s not dependent completely on others, and probably have some fun along the way, getting to know folks, getting encouragement, seeing your stuff get circulated, etc.

Do you keep a tiny notepad on you? Do that. Grab one from a dollar bin at Target or get you a Moleskine if you're feeling fancy, doesn't matter, but keep it on you, purse, backpack, jacket, wherever. I don't want you doing what I'm about to say on the notes in your phone, not yet. I want you to physically jot down by hand a word or two or five or whatever, about things you see/encounter, turns-of-phrase you hear, mannerisms you note in others - all that stuff - things that do please you. Those OOMPHs. And now you have some inspirational story points ready to go. Even if you aren’t able/feeling up to doing that other stuff above? This is an easy, small place to start.

Bottom line: this isn't happenstance. 

It's not happenstance for the subpar writers, and it's not happenstance for the exceptional ones. This is work. Getting confidence is work. Style is a great deal inherent, true, but it can - and should be - honed, and will likely evolve in subtle ways as time goes on. Confidence and proficiency in a skill (like writing) are not automatic "things" that come with age, not even necessarily with experience. Dig in. Take some of the actions listed above. Start with the least stressful to you, then pick away at 'em as you get comfortable. If you're already doing some of those? Then, start again fresh mentally, as if you just today started doing them. Bump up your effort. Push yourself. See what happens. Get confident in the little things, and it will start to add up, overflow into the empty places.

Look at the pickle you’re in presently as an opportunity to alter your current methodology - I mean, we know whatever you’ve been doing isn’t working for you, right? So it can’t hurt. Batter it and deep fry it, tweaking the recipe as needed; it’s still you, but you’ve applied a well-thought-out, well-crafted extra tastiness to it. There’s people out there who will love it, and they’ll turn up.

See? 😉