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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

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Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys

Hello Lovelies! I circled back to my element and wrote a more traditional Mikaelson Boys fic. Did I reuse the theme of a ball? Yes, I am a weak and lazy woman. Did I make the fic completely implausible and touchy? You know I did, they’re vampires and I will let them touch whoever they want (with consent of course). Anyway, it’s honestly just a cute, kinda steamy romance. I altered some of the points from the universe but you have to squint to see where. You know, my entire gambit. You could use this as a prologue for my other fic, Big Decisions, but this is more than fine as a standalone. Anyways, I hope you are all doing well and that this story brings you joy! Until next time <3

Description: Y/n is part of a founding family and gets invited to a Mikaelson ball. Somehow she manages to enamour three of the brothers. They soon discover she has a few secrets that they’re more than willing to indulge.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: Kudos to me I think there are none

Word count: 10k (oops)

Tags: Fluff, smut if you squint (more like nudity)

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You smile softly at her, swiveling in your chair, “what event? My parents haven’t said anything to me.”

Your family is a founding family, just like Lily’s is. That’s how the two of you became best friends, it was practically destined. You were babies at the same time and your parents brought you to every meeting together. You were inseparable long before you can remember.

Lilly yawns, curling her legs to her chest, “I think it’s some sort of ball. I’m not too sure, I think we got invitations,” Lily rolls her eyes as if the concept of a hand written letter offends her very being, “and they probably just forgot or assumed I would tell you. Isn’t your mom, like, the head of the committee now?”

You nod at her, closing your own eyes for a second, “yeah she’s always got something going on. I swear she forgets she even has a daughter half the time.” You let your mind drift to the other half of the conversation, “Invitations? That’s exciting.”

You don’t have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes again. You crack an eye open anyway just in time to glimpse her do that very thing. You giggle lightly, shaking your head.

Always one for theatrics, “careful, Lil, your tomboy is showing. What would your mother think if she could see you up in arms over a silly, little note, hmm?”

She scowls at you before letting the grin crack through, flipping her middle finger up at you and mouthing bite me.

You lean your head back against your chair, “I’m not even sure if mama wants me to come. She hasn’t said anything about this to me. She called me yesterday and it didn’t come up once. Maybe I should just stay here.”

“Not true,” Lily curls her fingers at you, beckoning you to join her on the bed, “she’s just busy these days. Remember how she was when we were little?”

You move to the bed, curling next to your best friend, “you mean how she was always around? She went from helicopter parent to too busy to text me back.”

You yawn, closing your eyes and letting the lullaby of sleep on your limbs sing a little louder. Lily cuddles closer to you, almost gone herself. You wish you could hold onto these moments. These fleeting minutes of comfort in your best friend’s arms. It’ll be gone all too soon. You almost don’t want to fall asleep. Laying next to her feels like the calm before the storm and you want to soak up as much of it as you can. Your heavy eyelids, however, have other plans.

“You’re coming. If I have to go then so do you. I’m sure this weekend will be different,” her voice is the last thing you hear before you drift off, “I can feel it.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sure enough, when you pull into your parent’s driveway after dropping Lily off at her own house, your mother bursts through the door, a wide smile on her face. You let your own smile drown the nerves you’ve been fighting for the last three hours, practically falling out of the car to get to her. She wraps you in a hug, her familiar honeysuckle and lilac scent trickling around you.

“I missed you, mama,” you whisper against her shoulder and she squeezes you tighter for a second before letting go.

“Oh honey,” she crinkles her nose at you, her face the picture of serene joy, “what’s to miss? I’m always right here. I, however, missed you so much.” She leads you into the house, her arm around your shoulders tight, “Tell me all about everything!”

You suck in a breath as you enter your house, letting your shoulders sag as you pass over the door frame. You’re home, finally. You glance around quickly at everything you’ve missed for the last few months. You glance at family photos, most of which include Lily, and the random trinkets your parents have collected over the years. There are a few new ones and you make a mental note to look at them later.

You settle on a stool at the kitchen counter, leaning your head in your hand, “you first, mama. What’s this about a ball? And an invitation, hmm? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Her eyes widen, telling you everything you need to know. She forgot. You really aren’t that surprised. It makes you feel better, at least the reason she didn’t tell you wasn’t because she didn’t want you to attend. Lily was right, you’ll have to let her say I told you so when you see her next.

“Oh shoot,” she snaps her fingers, rushing to the foyer, her voice floating to you as she turns the corner, “I’m so sorry honey, it completely slipped my mind. I barely had a chance to glance at my own invitation,” she comes back into view, now with two envelopes in her hand, “here you go!”

She hands you the envelope and you almost gasp at how luxurious the paper feels in your fingers. The cardstock is definitely of the more expensive selection and you blanche. Who on earth could be sending this? You read your name on the card drawn in an elegant script. Handwritten. You had been joking with Lily when you thought that but now, looking at it first hand, it almost offends you as well. You could never write like that.

You open it carefully, making sure to not taint the red seal. You’re pretty sure your heart would collapse if that happened. This has to be one of the most beautiful things you have ever touched. You pull the equally luxurious note from the envelope, your eyes dancing over the paper.

Please join the Mikaelson Family this coming Saturday at seven o’clock for dancing, cocktails, and celebration.

Your heart stops. This coming Saturday. Saturday. As in today Saturday. You whip your head up to stare at your mother, your mouth falling open.

“Mama,” this time your eyes widen, “this is tonight!” you hiss, your brows shooting up, “I can’t attend this! There’s no time, it’s two in the afternoon already!”

She rolls her eyes and for a moment you picture Lily and how she would call you dramatic. You can practically hear her voice. Just wear jeans you princess. You scoff at imaginary Lily. You can’t attend a ball in jeans, not that that would stop her at all.

“You can and you should attend,” she places a finger under your chin, drawing your eyes to meet hers, “the Mikaelson’s are new to town and have invited us. It’s only polite that we attend. Besides,” she winks at you and your cheeks flood with heat, “they are quite the handsome bunch. Perhaps you can end this dry spell? Give me some grandbabies?”

You choke at her words, pulling your face from her fingers with burning skin, “oh my god, mama! I’m almost certain you should not be condoning grandbabies! Besides, I have nothing to wear so I highly doubt I’ll be the one pulled from the crowd. Reproduction rates are looking slim, I am sorry to say!”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling, and you can’t stop yourself from joining her, “alright, alright. No grandbabies. Yet. However, I’m not so sure how you can be so certain when you haven’t even looked at what I picked up for you. I quite think you’re going to change your mind, honey bunch.”

Your laughter stops abruptly as she leaves the room for the second time. You hear her jog up the stairs and your interest is officially peaked. She never jogs. What on earth has she done? You rack your brain, trying to picture what she’s going to show you now. You don’t have much time to sit on your thoughts, however, because soon you can hear her feet on the stairs again, still jogging, now humming a tune you can’t place.

When she comes back into view, your mouth falls open. In her hands is a gown. No, not just a gown. In her hands is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It’s a black, sequined number with a full skirt and a slit that looks like it will rest a touch lower than your hip. The straps keeping it on the hanger are thin, almost nonexistent, and the bodice has a deep but modest dip. When she moves it sparkles like a diamond, catching the sun rays pouring in through the kitchen window. She holds it up, letting it flow to its full effect in front of you, and you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth.

You can feel the tears prickling at the edge of your vision and you silently scold yourself for being so emotional, “mama, where did you get this? It’s too much!”

Her smile falters, minutely, but you still see it and curse silently, “you don’t like it?”

You stand quickly, your eyes wide, “no! That’s not it,” you take the dress from her, afraid it’ll disappear if you don’t touch it, “this must have cost a fortune is all! How can we afford this?”

It’s true, the dress looks like a million bucks and probably costs as much. You’re a founding family, sure, but that doesn’t instantly equate to old money. It doesn’t even mean new money. Your family has never struggled to get by but you also know that something this extravagant would have definitely set your father back a pretty penny. You don’t want your family to waste their hard earned money on something this frivolous, even if it is the most stunning thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Your mother’s smile returns to its full brilliance and she shakes her head, “it didn’t cost me a thing, honey, don’t worry. Mrs. Jackson down the street owed me a favor and I asked if she had anything particularly pretty laying around. She pulled this from her closet. She also told me to let you know that it’s yours if you would like.”

You hug the dress tiger to your chest, your mouth gaping further, “I can keep this?”

Your mother giggles, bobbing her head up and down quickly. She looks like she’s ready to start jumping. You don’t blame her, you’re half a second away from doing the same thing. You could scream from how ecstatic you are.

“Come, honey,” your mom grabs your hand, dragging you up the stairs with her, “I think it’s high time we start getting ready for tonight, don’t you think? You have some Mikaelson’s to wow!”

* * * * * * * * *

When seven o’clock rolls around you’re standing outside the biggest mansion you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Its white pillars taunt you, each one large enough to hide your body. Twice. You’re alone, spare the people around you milling in and out of the large doors. Your mother had dropped you in front while her and your father went to park the car. Never before in your life has a house made you feel this small. This alone. You pull your shawl, a sheer black number, around your shoulders and shrink slightly.

A hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, spinning around quickly only to be greeted with Lily, whose face is twisted from the laughter pouring out of her. She clutches her stomach from the force, wrinkling the red satin dress she’s wearing. You take a moment to admire how much it suits her. It’s a little bold for your tastes but she wears it like no one else could. Her hair is twisted on the top of her head, a few curls falling to frame her face. She looks amazing, not that you had any doubts.

You lightly smack her shoulder, finally letting a few giggles loose, “you scared me you idiot!” You turn your eyes back to the mansion, swallowing the lump of nerves growing in your throat, “take a look at this place, will you. It’s huge! Have you ever seen a house this big? What could someone possibly need a house this big for?”

“Yeah it’s something alright,” her eyes drag down the hulking facade before meeting yours once more, a naughty smirk now on her red lips, “and I’m sure the inside is even nicer! Let’s go!”

She grabs your hand, all but dragging you over the threshold. Light pours over you, catching the sequins on your dress and making it sparkle delicately, something that would usually make you squeal however your attention is currently elsewhere. That elsewhere is the dual grand staircase in the center of the room. It’s encased in pillars, the feature leaking in from the exterior of the mansion. It’s bronze railings are strung up with thousands of twinkling lights. The staircase is easily the focal point of the foyer.

But not because of the lights.

Lily digs her nails into your hand, pulling you to a screeching halt, “are you seeing what I’m seeing right now?”

Her eyes are glued to the same place that yours are, dragging up and down the staircase with little care to whoever might be watching her little show. You choose a less outright form of gawking, opting to look all around the room while still making little glances at your main focus.

“Yeah, Lil, I think I am,” you gulp, your eyes training on three sinfully gorgeous men, “mama said they were handsome but this,” you let the end of your sentence drop, not having nearly the vocabulary to explain the Mikaelsons.

In total, there are five people on the staircase. Four men and a woman. Each one is gorgeous in their own right. You mull over the woman first. If you thought that you looked nice before you left, that’s pretty much gone now. She’s absolutely stunning. Her blonde hair lays in a sheet over her shoulders, winding almost to her base of her spine. She wears an emerald gown, one fitted to every dip and curve of her body like it was spun by Aphrodite herself. You have to look away, she’s the kind of pretty that makes you feel like you’re not worthy of seeing it.

Your eyes travel to the man next to her and your mouth goes dry. He’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice. If you were next to him he would easily tower over you. Not just because of his height, though. You shift your focus to his arms and the way the sleeves of his tux hug them tightly. You have no doubts this man could rip you in two if he wanted to. He stands at ease, his eyes wandering the faces of those closest to him as he lifts a hand to smooth over his brown hair. At least he doesn’t look to be in the killing mood.

Behind him is a man with blonde hair. Even from across the room it looks softer than silk and your palms itch to run through it. He leans against the railing, a glass of champagne loose in his fingers. His eyes are on the others but he has the appearance of a man who is a thousand miles away. Your heart hurts at the thought but you brush past it. You don’t know him and you’re most likely wrong. Still you give him another brush over, wishing slightly that he would crack even a hint of a smile.

You shake your head, moving to the man at the top of the stairs. He’s alive with something fiery, speaking to the others with animated hands and laughing hard. You can’t hear him over the crowd around you but, gods, you wish you could. It’s probably nothing important but, by the looks of him, he could make anything sound special. He throws his head back laughing, his brown hair flopping wildly. You can’t look at him for long either but not for the same reason you couldn’t look at the woman. No, you can’t look at him because you’re afraid if you look any longer than you’ll be sucked in forever.

When you look at the last man you shiver. It’s not the kind of shiver that makes you feel exhilarated though, it’s the opposite. Your blood runs cold when you look at him and, when his eyes meet yours, you look away instantly. You can feel his eyes burning into your back for a few moments after and you hate it. Unlike the rest of them, this man makes you feel ice cold.

You tug on your best friend’s hand, desperate to get away from the man, “come on, Lil, let’s go find the champagne.”

Lily’s eyes light up at the thought, instantly taking the lead on this new expedition, “girl you read my mind!”

You take one last glance towards the staircase as she pulls you into another room, momentarily catching three pairs of brown eyes before scampering around the corner. Your cheeks are hot when you’re finally out of their vicinity. You hadn’t realized how heavy the air around them had been. Now that you can’t see them your bones feel marginally lighter. Something nags at you though, a loss of sorts. You rub a hand over your chest, massaging the ache away.

Lily pushes a cool glass into your hand, lifting her own to her lips. You follow suit, breathing in the sugary scent before letting the sweet bubbles flow down your throat. They pop, soothing your flaming chest.

“Shit,” Lily breathes, “everything about this screams money. The invitations, the house, this damn champagne. What’s next? A pool of synchronised swimmers?” Her eyes wander the room, her fingers tight around the glass, “I’m not used to this Great Gatsby level of wealth. It’s making my head spin a little. This is my parent’s scene, not mine.”

You nod lightly, her words everything you’ve been dying to say. It’s magnificent but you’ve never felt more out of place. Not even the founders day balls are like this. At least Mrs. Lockwood has the good sense to cater to the modesty of the town. Before you can answer, however, a voice joins your conversation.

“My apologies, my brothers like to go overboard when throwing parties. It’s not quite my taste either, a little too stuffy if you ask me.”

You spin around to the sight of the woman from the stairs and your heart pounds hard in your chest. She’s even more beautiful up close, like a Van Gogh masterpiece. Her voice is accented and smooth, impossibly so. You feel like a peasant in her presence but her smile is light and it helps to soothe your nerves a touch. When you look at Lily, though, her cheeks are beet red and her eyes are wide.

“Oh my, I am so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would hear me besides,” she nudges you lightly, the smile she’s plastered on her face sheepish, “this one here. It really is gorgeous. Perhaps university has lowered my standards.”

You watch Lily fumble her words and you don’t blame her. This girl seems like she was made to insite insecurity and you mean that in the very best of ways. Despite her slight enthusiasm, though, Lily’s eyes flow over the woman slowly. You can tell she’s interested. By the way her stares are being reciprocated, you would say she isn’t the only one. You smile at that.

The woman laughs, her eyes filled with mirth, “your standards aren’t low, this party is just a nightmare. I’m Rebekah, one of the many Mikaelsons you will surely encounter tonight,” she looks over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, “and it looks as though you’re going to get the immersive experience.”

You, too, look over her shoulder and your heart stops. The three men from the staircase, the ones who didn’t make your blood run cold, walk towards you slowly, stopping here and there to welcome guests. The tall one catches your eye and you freeze, a deer caught in the headlights. He says something to the other men and they join in looking at you. You swallow hard, your insides doing somersaults at the sight of them. A deer caught in three headlights, it would seem.

You look back at Rebekah, your eyes blown wide from the panic rising in your chest. She isn’t looking at you, her eyes still locked on your best friend. They’re in the middle of a conversation that you haven't been paying attention to. You tune back in just in time to hear Lily ask about the gardens behind the house. You scrunch your nose. What gardens?

“Yes, they’re marvelous,” Rebekah leans towards Lily, a glint in her eyes, “and much less crowded. I could show you around them if you’d like?”

Oh no. No no no. You can see the gears turning in your best friend’s head and the smile that blossoms on her face. You know what’s about to happen and for a moment time stands still. She’s really going to do it, isn’t she?

She looks over at you, tossing you and apologetic squint before meeting Rebekah’s wondering eyes, “I would love that! Lead the way.”

You watch in slow motion as your best friend wanders away, once more looking over her shoulder to mouth a quick I’m sorry. You roll your eyes at her, murmuring a silent you owe me. You close your eyes briefly, tipping the remainder of your champagne into your mouth. You set your glass down as the alcohol swirls in your stomach, adding a kind of weightlessness to your movements. You embrace it, your eyes scanning the ornate walls. What the hell are you going to do now?

A breeze swirls around you, a myriad of spices hitting your nose just as a honeyed voice breaks your daze, “this house was built in the seventeenth century. As a matter of fact, those are the same walls. I do apologize, we’re a little slow when it comes to modernization. I know it can be a lot to take in, if you need another moment to confront them I do understand.”

You turn quickly, your cheeks hot to the touch, and you find yourself inches away from one of the men from the staircase. You bite your cheek, you really need to figure out their names. Up close you see that you were right about him, he does indeed tower over you. You have to bend your neck significantly to make comfortable eye contact. You almost wish you hadn't, though, his dark eyes flooding your chest with butterflies.

“I think I’ve had my fill of the walls but thank you for your consideration,” you pull your wrap tighter around you, clutching it like it's the source of magic that is helping you keep your composure, “and for the history lesson. This house is beautiful.”

He smiles widely, an action so doused in beauty that your head spins, “thank you, it was my father’s. I am Elijah, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” his eyes flit across your face and you can feel the blush begin to creep down your chest, “something which I’m beginning to understand is a terrible misfortune on my part.”

Your heart pounds painfully, your throat dry. This man clearly has a deep grasp on words and knows exactly how to use them. You wonder for a moment to what extent. What would he sound like in a more intimate setting? What words would he use when no one else could hear him?

Your eyes widen, your chest burning at the thought, “I’m y/n. Perhaps you’ve met my mother, Mary-Anne?” you glance around, trying and failing to locate your mother, “She’s around here somewhere, she has a hand in most of the happenings around town so it wouldn’t surprise me if you do know her.”

Elijah’s carmel eyes fill with recognition, “ah, yes, I believe I’ve seen her in town. Never you, though.”

Though he doesn’t ask, the question is clear in his tone.

“I attend university out of town,” you clutch your chest lightly, your fingers curling around the top of your dress, “I’m actually only home for the weekend. My mother was adamant I attend this evening.”

Elijah tilts his head, his eyes flitting quickly to where your fingers slip down your dress. When he looks back at you his eyes are a touch darker than before. Your heart pounds harder as well and you bite your lip slightly, thankful your mother didn’t make you wear lipstick.

“I see. I suppose that means we must give you a night to remember,” his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and the heat that was swirling in your chest sinks lower.

“Indeed we shall, brother,” a voice from your left pulls your attention.

You’re greeted with the blonde from earlier, the one who looked like he was on another planet. Standing in front of you now he looks much more aware. His eyes, a touch lighter than Elijah’s, skim down your dress, lingering on the high slit on your hip before meeting yours again. You suck in a breath but there is no oxygen to be found.

“I do hope my brother is giving you a proper welcome,” his eyes flash, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips, “I wouldn’t want you leaving here tonight without a proper taste of the Mikaelson charm.”

The way he says the word taste, the way it rolls of his tongue, is positively sinful. It hits you straight in the stomach, spreading like poison through your already airy body. It anchors you to the ground, to him. You glance at Elijah who’s already watching you like a hawk. You feel naked under his gaze but, for some reason, it isn’t a wholly unwelcome feeling. You actually kind of like it.

You smile lightly at him before turning back to his brother, “I think he’s doing a marvelous job. His introduction skills, however, need a little bit of a touch up.” You giggle at the glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows from the corner of your eye, “Too much talking about walls for my liking.”

“Ah, there you two are,” a third voice joins your arsenal of men, standing on your right and piercing you with a voice accented enough to make the gods fall to their knees, “hogging all the pretty girls tonight, are we Klaus?”

You meet the eyes of the third man, the one who made laughter look like a gift, and your heart sings. He grins at you, his eyes, much like his brothers’, a warm brown. Having all three of them this close to you is more intense than you could have imagined. They make the room feel smaller. Intimate. You’re not sure if you want to run away screaming or move closer to them. They’re magnetic, you’re just not sure if being pulled in or pushed away.

He takes your hand, an action that sends your heart into overdrive. His eyes light up, as if he can hear every rapid beat of your pulse. You scold yourself inwardly. Don’t be stupid, y/n, that would be impossible.

“I’m Kol,” he brings your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that renders your knees weak against your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure.”

Your heart thunders at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You feel like a schoolgirl, dizzy from the slightest touch from your playground crush. His lips are warm and soft. Is this how princesses feel? God, you need another drink.

“So,” Klaus steps towards you, his eyes swirling with something barely contained, “what’s this I heard about us giving you a night to remember?”

Your heart stops on the spot and you almost choke, not missing any of the implications behind his tone, “I have to head back to school tomorrow is all,” you breathe, trying to play off some of the heat swirling under the surface of your skin, “please, don’t let me keep you from the rest of your guests. I’m sure there are quite a few more important people than me here tonight.”

Elijah chuckles, the sound piling on top of the many other ones you’re already holding tight to, “the guest list is merely a formality, it would really be my pleasure to show you around.”

He holds his hand out to you, his eyes warm but challenging. You swallow thickly, a string of indecipherable emotions rushing through your chest, circling your lungs. You know it’s just a gesture so why does it feel like something more? Why does the thought of taking his hand feel like stepping into the rest of your life? You take a breath, squaring your shoulders and slipping your hand into his. Bring it on, destiny.

“Wait just a moment brother,” Kol’s fingers slip around your wrist, dragging down your palm until your fingers are locked together, “stealing her away from me so soon? I’m not sure I can let you do that.”

Elijah and Kol stare at each other, something wild brewing in their increasingly dark eyes. You tense, feeling like the rope in a game of tug of war. This doesn’t feel like a game, though, this feels real. You’re not a rope to be fought over, you get to decide what and who you want. Even if that’s all of them.

You squeeze both of their hands, drawing their attention back to you, “I’m sure this house is big enough for us to all comfortably go for a tour.”

Elijah’s eyes widen, dragging over you once more as if seeing you properly for the first time all night. He, like his brothers, lingers on the most delicate parts of you for just a few moments longer than he should. It’s a hole in his armor, a hint past the gentleman front. You want to leap at it and pull until all that’s left is the darkness swirling beneath his surface.

You glance at Kol who meets your eyes head on, a toothy grin already on his face, “marvelous, darling. What a great idea.”

He begins pulling you, and by default Elijah, out of the room but you halt, feeling a tad off. You look behind you at Klaus and sigh, your heart heavy. He stands tall but you catch his eyes and the way they glance at your hands, both of which are still being occupied. He squeezes his hands into fists, shoving them in his pockets. You tilt your head, pouting slightly at him.

“Mr. Mikaelson, are you coming? Time is of the essence,” you nod your head toward the foyer, a coy smile on your lips, “we can’t can’t afford to waste any now.”

His face lights up instantly, walking towards you with flames dancing behind his eyes, “time isn’t real, love. Tonight we have as much of it as we want. As much of it as you want.”

You swallow hard. You want it all.

Kol pulls you towards him, twirling you slowly, making your dress spin around your legs like a ribbon, “where to first, darling? What do you want to see?”

Your hands land on his chest, your cheeks flushed and legs wobbly from the spinning. His other hand goes around your waist, his fingers squeezing gently, his thumb pressing into your side in a way that makes you want to draw his body closer to your own. Your thoughts from before ring through your head. He makes everything sound special. More than that; he makes everything feel special.

“Everything,” you can’t tear your eyes away from his, you don’t want to, “show me everything please.”

He leans down, his forehead inches from your own. You can feel the heat rolling off his body even through his tux. It’s luxurious and mingles with the last dregs of the champagne. When combined with his scent, a nutty blend of cloves and cinnamon, you feel lightheaded.

“Very well, darling,” his eyes flit to your lips, “everything it is.”

An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you away from whatever mischief is brewing beneath Kol’s honey eyes. He tilts his head at the person who grabbed you, his aura turning from playful to down right frosty.

You turn away, breaking the hold of one Tyler Lockwood. Your ex. You squint your eyes. If you were a cat, your hackles would be raised. You wouldn’t claw his eyes out but you would be damn close. Memories from your senior year pour through your mind, twisting your gut painfully. You blink them away. Contrary to Klaus, you don’t have time for this.

“Tyler,” your voice courteous but cold, “what is it?”

He doesn’t catch your tone or, if he does, he doesn’t act like it. He reaches towards you again, no doubt to pull you into a hug, but you back away. Unlike with Kol, you don’t want to touch him. You definitely don't want him touching you. That part of your life is over.

“Y/n,” his voice is light, happy, “I didn’t know you were back! Mom didn’t say anything. How have you been?”

The atmosphere around you thickens. You don’t have to look at the Mikaelsons to see that their shoulders are tense. You feel them take a step closer to you, surrounding you with some much needed warmth.

You clench your jaw, forcing a smile on your face, “yes, well, I didn’t know if I was going to be home this weekend or not. University and all, I’m sure you understand. I’m fine, thank you.”

He nods enthusiastically and you grind your teeth slightly, wishing the floor would just swallow you whole. You dart your eyes to the side, briefly skimming Klaus as he rolls his eyes. Lily would be proud. Kol and Elijah don’t look amused either. You’re not sure how you know but you have to get them away from Tyler as fast as possible. The air drops another few degrees and you shiver.

“Oh well, no harm done!” Tyler steps closer to you, “say, how long are you in town? We should grab a bite at the grill.”

You drop your fake smile, your heart stinging slightly, “sorry, Lily and I are heading back tomorrow morning.”

You feel the boys once again tense, as if they don’t like the information you just shared. You don’t have time to think too hard about it though before Tyler closes even more space between you, grabbing your hand. You flinch back, hitting something hard and warm. The smell of pine trees, a whole forest of them, swirls around you as a hand circles your waist.

Tyler scrunches his brows, his smile slightly faltering, “tonight, then? I would really love a chance to talk. Catch up a little.”

You almost laugh. He just isn’t giving up. He can never make it easy for you, can he? The hand on your waist squeezes and you look over your shoulder, your heart stuttering. Elijah is staring at Tyler, something swirling under his irises. Whatever it is looks untamed. Not in the good way, like how he was looking at you earlier. No, whatever he’s feeling right now is dangerous. Time to go.

“I really can’t, my night has been spoken for. Maybe next time, Tyler,” you turn to Elijah, “Elijah, did you say that you saw my mother looking for me? Would you mind showing me to her?”

Elijah’s eyes sparkle, clearly taking your hint, “indeed, she was right this way.”

He pushes you gently, blocking you from Tyler as he leads you out of the room. You can hear Tyler call out to you but you keep walking. Two other sets of footsteps join you, Kol grabbing your hand and twining your fingers together once more. When you break into the foyer you let the anxiety that had been building drain. That was more exhausting than you would like to admit.

Elijah leads the four of you silently to a room off to the side of the foyer. He pushes the large mahogany door open, ushering you in before shutting it again. The smell of ink and old pages hits your nose and your mouth drops open at the sight. You’re in the biggest library you’ve ever seen. It’s like something out of The Beauty and The Beast, the ceilings high and the walls lined from top to bottom with shelves upon shelves of books. You break away from the boys, your fingers itching to touch what is no doubt an impressive collection of history.

You hear a chuckle behind you but you don’t turn, your fingers skimming an older looking manuscript. Upon closer inspection the handwritten inscription on the cover reads Vonya i mir. Your heart stops and you quickly pull it from the shelf throwing all common courtesy out the window. This can’t be what you think it is. You flip it over in your hands, taking care not to crack the spine too much. Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy.

You whip your head up, meeting three curious glances with wide eyes, “this is War and Peace! Like, the original manuscript. This is,” your heart pounds, your eyes glued to the yellowed pages in your hands, “this is history. I can’t believe I’m holding this.” Your heart stops, “Oh my, I should not be holding this! This belongs in a museum! What am I even doing, holding it like it’s nothing.”

You set it carefully on a desk behind you, looking apologetically back at them. Your cheeks heat rapidly. It’s very much not like you to go into a stranger’s home and start groping their collectables. You pull your lip between your teeth, lowering your head.

A hand gently grabs your chin, “you didn’t mention you’re a classic literature major, love.”

A small smile toys on Klaus’ lips, his thumb skimming over your jaw. Your heart stutters when he says love, warmth spreading through your chest. You reluctantly move your head from his hand, turning to motion at the manuscript.

“That’s because I’m not. I am a history major, with a focus on Russian culture. I’ve read War and Peace more times than I care to admit,” you smile lightly at the book, thinking about the hours you’ve spent pouring over it, “never in Russian, though.”

You glance back at Klaus, your hand flying once more to your bodice. He studies you carefully, his head tilted to the side.

“And what do you think of it? Do you prefer the war or the peace?” He steps towards you, his words filling the almost nonexistent gap between your body and his.

Your breath catches. He’s close enough to touch and, gods, do you ever want to just reach out and pull him against you. First Elijah, then Kol, now him. You’re really gunning to end that dry spell in one night and three ways aren’t you? Heat creeps up your neck, your ears flaming at the thought.

“You can’t have one without the other,” you glance over his shoulder at Elijah and Kol, both of whom are hanging on to your every word, “war is inevitable but peace,” you look back at Klaus, “peace is fundamental.”

Klaus brushes a strand of hair from your cheekbone, sending shivers racing up your spine, “fundamental to what, love?”

His voice is low, his accent wearing down any reservations that you had at the beginning of the night. Your mother’s voice rings through your ears. Give me some grandbabies. She had clearly been joking but your body clearly has no concept of satire, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of making those babies. You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath. It does nothing to quench the heat. You’re in the thick of it now and there is no escaping the white hot fire growing inside of you.

You sink your head into his hand, “happiness.”

An arm hooks around your waist, spinning you into a pair of spiced arms. Kol. You crack your eyes open and, sure enough, you’re correct. You shouldn’t have been able to guess that already. You’ve known them for no longer than an hour. This is insane. He lowers his face towards yours and your heart slams against your ribcage, his lips inches from yours. You swallow hard, your hands finding the lapels of his jacket. Instead of kissing you, however, he rubs his nose against yours. Oh. That feels nice.

“What makes you happy, darling?”

You laugh softly, his question catching you off guard, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I haven’t had many opportunities to find out.”

“Well then, If you could do one thing that you think would make you happy what would you do?” Kol lifts a hand to your face, his thumb, like his brother’s, skimming your jaw.

You don’t have to think about it, the answer is on your tongue as soon as he asks the question, “I would leave this town,” you glance down, the truth of your statement making you feel all too guilty, “and I’m not sure that I would ever come back.”

His thumb stills and you hold your breath. Perhaps you should have answered with something a little less full on. You haven’t even told Lily that you want to leave and never look back so you honestly have no idea why you just divulged one of your greatest kept secrets to three men you just met. Maybe because it doesn’t matter. Who are they going to tell, right? But no, that doesn’t feel right. You didn’t just tell them because. You had a reason, you just can’t put a name to it.

“I see,” he draws his thumb over your lips, an action that both surprises you and steals the air from your lungs, “and where would you go?”

Again, your answer is effortless, “everywhere, Kol. I would go everywhere.”

Kol smiles, his eyes lighting up with his grin. Your heart skyrockets, fireworks shooting through your chest from the slightest tilt of his perfectly red lips. They look soft; perfectly kissable. If only you had half of his self-assurance. What you wouldn’t give to run the tips of your fingers over his lips.

His hands draw back down your sides, “what was going on back there? You didn’t seem pleased to be speaking to that,” Kol clicks his tongue distastefully, his accent thickening, “boy. Is he the reason you want to leave?”

You pull back slightly, your hands tightening on his coat. How are you even supposed to answer that? The story is a long one and there are very few enjoyable moments to lighten it. Tyler is not the reason you want to leave but you surely wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by staying for him either. He’s part of a long past, one you’re not going to tell them about. Not today, anyway.

“It’s a long story,” you gently remove yourself from his hold, “one that I assure you none of you would care to hear. But to answer your question, no. Tyler has nothing to do with me wanting to leave. That’s entirely my own, for better or worse.”

He nods, the understanding clear in his honeyed eyes, “in that case, darling, tell me something else.” He pulls you back to his chest, “Do you like the stars?”

* * * * * * * * *

They left the party. Their party. They just up and left the party that they were hosting. You’re shocked. You were shocked when they dragged you out of the mansion and you’re still shocked now, laying on a blanket a few miles away with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t thought anything of it when Kol asked you about the stars. You thought he was continuing with his little game of twenty one questions. You didn’t think he was serious! Who the hell just leaves the party they’re hosting?

Elijah shuffles his hands through your hair, pulling pins from it left and right and letting the hardwork your mother put into it fall. Yes, indeed you’re laying across the lap of one of the most eligible bachelors you have ever come in contact with, your face pressed against his warm thigh. Your fingers are wrapped around a bottle of the sweet champagne from earlier.

“You know,” you murmur quietly, your eyes locked on the spray of stars above your head, “when you host a party, it’s usually expected that you attend. Running away is frowned upon.”

He laughs and you can feel it through your entire body. It awakens the butterflies sleeping in your chest, sending them fluttering to your guts where the beating of their tiny wings create an inferno so large it sets you on fire from the inside out. You always wondered what it would feel like to be burned alive. You would have never guessed that it would make your toes curl.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he drags his fingers through your scalp, the final blow to your once styled hair, “to run away. Here’s a start.”

You rub your cheek against his thigh, your face heating when he tenses at your action, “we’re pretty terrible at this running away thing then,” you hum, pulling yourself to your knees, “we only made it five miles. If I focus I think I can still hear the music. We’re lousy escape artists.”

A breeze blows over your shoulders and you shiver, your thin shawl doing nothing to veil you from the night. You’re just thankful it’s still warm enough to be outside at this time of night. Soon the nights will be getting colder and you won’t be able to do this. It’s one of the many reasons you long to move away. A pair of hands draws over your shoulders and you shiver again, this time from something entirely unrelated to the elements. You smile lightly. Maybe not. The Mikealson’s have more than proven that they are a force of nature.

Klaus’ voice is like ocean waves in your ear, cresting your skin with every low syllable, “well this is just the beginning, love. How far we go is up to you.”

He’s joking, of course. He has to be joking, right? You turn to look at him, seeking out his eyes in the darkness. They burn into yours, no hint of humor anywhere on his face. His gaze pierces through the night and your breath catches, your heart pounding at all the possibilities of what he meant. You bring the bottle to your lips, using the cool liquid to stall while you gather your feelings.

Kol takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth, “So, darling,” he kisses one of your knuckles, his lips like heavenly fire, “how far are we going?” Another knuckle, another kiss, “what is it you want?” He nips lightly at your fingertips and you gasp, the feeling akin to tiny zaps of lightning against your skin, “where do you want to go?”

Your head is spinning, the champagne settling once more over your bones, “I wouldn’t know where to start. There are too many places,” you swallow hard, “too many things.”

Klaus’ fingers toy at the straps of your dress, skimming down your arms with them in tow, “the first place that comes to mind, love. What is it?”

Elijah pulls you towards him, his hand sliding up the slit on your thigh and curling around your hip. His fingers whisper over your bare skin and you tighten your hand on the bottle. Not out of fear, though. No, you use the bottle to keep your hands busy. If your hands were empty you can’t be sure where exactly they would be. On who they would be.

Elijah squeezes your hip and you gasp again, this time louder, “New Orleans,” it’s the first place that comes to your mind, “I want to go to New Orleans.”

Time stills when you finally answer the question. You can hear the wind rustle through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. Three smells, each of their own element, wrap around you. Klaus’, like water, pouring over your back. Kol’s, like fire, burning up your arm. Elijah’s, like earth, sliding down your hips. You, the air, curl around each of them, pulling them close with your very essence.

And then, with a far off howl, time unfreezes and Klaus rips the straps down your arms, “New Orleans, hmm,” He sweeps your hair back, his nose skimming down the side of your neck, “a woman after my own heart. When shall we go?”

You laugh, the sound breaking through the almost reverent atmosphere, “we can’t just leave, Klaus. You have to plan things. I can’t just drop everything and run to New Orleans.”

Kol pulls your arm through the strap, furthering the tantalizingly slow process of peeling the dress from your body, “but you want to, darling. Am I right?”

His lips find the crook of your elbow and you almost moan, “of course you are but it’s not practical.”

Elijah tugs at your hips again, pulling you onto his lap. Kol and Klaus move with you, clinging to you like shadows. Kol’s hair tickles your arm, the soft strands brushing against you as his blazes a trail of open mouthed kisses up your arm. Klaus nips the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped in your hair and pulling lightly. It should feel wrong, you know it should, but by god how could something this ethereal possibly be wrong. Your body feels like it’s made out air and for the first time you’re free to breeze wherever you choose.

“Neither are we. It’s simple,” Elijah leans down, grabbing your jaw and steering you to meet his eyes, “would you like to go, y/n?”

Your heart stops when it hits you that they’re dead serious, “to New Orleans?”

It’s dark but you can still make out the smile on his face. It says it all, his words only reaffirming what your brain has been screaming at you.

“Not just New Orleans, darling, everywhere,” Elijah murmurs, his lips just in front of yours, his peppermint breath fanning your face delicately, “do you want to go everywhere?”

Just like that, your heart restarts, a rush of adrenaline spreading over your bones. Very rarely in life are you presented with the opportunity to go everywhere. You can’t even fathom what everywhere means. Surely there isn’t time to go everywhere, right? You suck in a breath, one that makes it feel like before this moment you were never truly breathing at all. Who cares if there isn’t enough time, you think to yourself.

You slide your arms around Elijah’s neck fast, nodding your head furiously in lieu of all the words that refuse to form a coherent sentence. You tangle your fingers in his hair, the strands like silk against your skin. You don’t take your time to admire it, though, you just yank his mouth to yours, smashing your lips against his and hoping it says everything that you can’t.

His hands squeeze your hips again and this time you don’t hold back, moaning into his mouth with the force of the tropical storm building under your skin. Your dress feels much too tight all of a sudden, the sequined material biting into your flesh. You shuffle, pulling your other arm from the strap before wrapping it back around Elijah’s shoulder, your fingers digging into his back through his tux jacket. That needs to go too. Now.

“Darling,” Kol’s husky voice whispers against your skin, his face buried in the other side of your neck, “as beautiful as you look right now I’m about half a second away from ripping this dress off your body.”

His words barely register but you catch the important parts, peeling your lips from Elijah’s just far enough to utter, “please don’t rip it, it’s the prettiest thing I own.”

His hands, which are curled around the back of your bodice, stall momentarily, “well that won’t do, now will it?” He muses, his mouth skimming your shoulder with each word, “New Orleans is fine, you won’t need many clothes at all I’m sure. But Paris will demand more of us, darling. We’ll have to fix this.”

Your heart shudders, along with your body. Paris. Surely now he’s joking.

He opts instead to use the zipper rather than tearing it apart, his knuckles softly skimming your bare back as it becomes exposed to him. Inch by inch, cool air wraps around your skin. When he gets to halfway, his mouth begins following his hands. He nips at the bumps of your spine, biting down harder when he gets to the base. Your hands, which are still on Elijah’s shoulder, tighten as flames roll through your body.

Klaus’ hands slip around you, tugging this time at the front of your bodice and pulling it down to reveal your bare chest. He pushes the fabric down your stomach, trailing his fingertips over your ribs as you arch into his chest, a string of incoherent praises falling from your lips. You’re pretty sure you murmur his name somewhere in there though, because his chest rumbles against your back and, before you know it, he pulls you up to your feet.

“Klaus, what are you-” your words are cut short from the night, swallowed instead by lips which taste too much like oranges and rum for you to even consider trying to repeat yourself .

His tongue slips into your mouth, his hands flying into your hair, pushing it away from your face and using it to tilt your head to an angle that makes you see stars. The cold air sweeps over your breasts and you shiver again. It doesn’t last long before a pair of hands are sliding up your exposed sternum and over your chest, cupping your breasts. Kol’s cinnamon musk furls in your lungs as he pulls you into his now bare chest. His skin is hot against yours but you wouldn’t expect anything less from the flame made man.

Klaus detaches from your lips, pressing them once more against your swollen mouth before moving down your neck. He pulls your skin into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the dip in your throat. He courses a river down your front with his mouth, stopping to leave little love bites all over your collarbones and shoulders before heading south. He falls to his knees, shrugging his jacket off before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts.

You moan, loudly, and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him harder against you, “god, you’re too good at that,” you roll your head against Kol’s shoulder as Klaus lips flow over your skin, finding your nipple between Kol’s fingers, “we should not be doing this.”

Another pair of hands, the last pair, pulls your face to a pair of lips, the last pair of lips, “Is that what you think, darling? Do you want us to stop?”

Elijah’s lips skim over yours as he speaks, sparks igniting with each touch. You don’t have to think about his question.

“No,” you press your mouth against his assertively, “please don’t stop. Never stop.”

With that Klaus pushes the rest of your dress off your body and, well, the rest of the details of that night remain between you, Kol, Klaus, Elijah, and the stars.

* * * * * * * * *

You lean your head against the cool leather of the seat, your eyes closed as the wind whips your hair behind you. You’ve never ridden in a convertible before but, much to the trend of Mikaelson fashion, it’s luxurious. Elijah slings his arm around your shoulders and you smile, cracking your eye open to glance at him. His hand is on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. He looks peaceful. Happy. He looks over at you, tossing you a wink before turning back to the road. Butterflies flutter through your chest and you welcome them with open arms.

You glance in the rearview mirror, your grin growing when you see two sleeping men. Kol is leaning back, his mouth half open as soft snores fall from his mouth. You giggle quietly. Last night must have exhausted him. He wears his slacks still but now, instead of his jacket, he wears a wine colored hoodie. His hair is mussed and you swallow thickly, thinking back to how it felt between your hands.

You move to Klaus, shaking your head slightly to defuse your slowly heating skin. He, too, no longer wears his jacket but, unlike Kol, he only has a t-shirt on. His arms are folded under his head as he leans against the seat. His body is relaxed, his legs spread in front of him. You yawn looking at him, fighting the urge to crawl over your own seat and into his lap.

“Are you tired, love?” Elijah’s voice mixes with the wind, floating over you like music.

You meet his glance for a moment, smiling sheepishly, “yes but it’s nothing.”

“You should try to sleep,” his voice is slightly concerned, his eyes slipping over your bruised skin before turning back to the highway, “we still have about seven hours before we’re even in Louisiana.”

You stifle another yawn, pulling the sunglasses on your head over your eyes as the sun breaks over the trees blurring past you, “not yet, Eli. I don’t want to miss anything. I’ll sleep when we get there.”

You hear your phone beep from the bag at your feet but you ignore it. That’s another thing that you’ll wait until the Louisiana state line for. Instead you lift the book on your lap, your fingers skimming delicately over the words on the cover. Vonya i mir. Your heart warms as you open it to the first page, settling into the leather seat. Elijah looks over at you and chuckles, the sound even more musical than last night. This is going to be the easiest seven hours of your life.

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hd-cluefest · 3 years

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H/D Clue Fest Masterlist

Cluefest Headquarters are finally unveiling the investigators of our cases. But before we do that, we want to thank each and every one of you that contributed to making this fest such a huge success, be it as a writer, podficcer, reader, listener, or reblogger and reccer. You wrote the most amazing fics, brought fics to life with your voice, and gave our creators lots of love with kudos, comments etc. Fair warning: This post will be very long because we couldn’t control ourselves and made reveal banners. We would say we’re sorry, but we must not tell lies.

0430, T, 8.7k

Author: daughter_of_nemesis/@daughter-of-nemesis

Harry disappears at exactly 04:30 in the morning. Hermione and Ron intend to figure out why. And Pansy's certain has something to do with Draco.

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A Hogwarts Detective Mystery, E, 19.3k

Author: ActorPotter/@actorpotter

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year with Ron and Hermione after defending Draco Malfoy at his trial over the summer. Malfoy has returned too...but he's acting incredibly suspicious. So, naturally, Harry decides to stalk-er-follow him when he leaves the Eighth Year Common Room after hours one evening. It turns out that Malfoy has noticed something is amiss at Hogwarts, and he and Harry must work together to solve a mystery of disappearing portraits, randomly changing house colours on uniforms, and the Gryffindor Common Room suddenly appearing in the dungeons. What is happening to the castle? Will self-appointed detectives Harry and Draco discover what secrets are lying within the walls of Hogwarts...and their hearts?

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A House on Fire, E, 8.4k

Author: p1013/@p1013

For the last five years, Auror Draco Malfoy has walked into his office with hardly a glance at the illusioned window taking up the back wall. It looks out over an imagined London, a perfectly bright and brilliant view of the city that hides the smog and rain and dirt that clings to the city like a patina of time that can never be worn away. It's always a perfect summer's day with soft, white clouds that float through the painfully bright blue sky like a dream. He likes to imagine the gentle breeze that ripples the surface of the Thames brushing across his skin, since he'll never be able to actually feel it. After all, his office is located on the second floor and is, therefore, underground.

Or at least that's what he did before the seventh of October, 2009.

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A Little Bird Told Me, M, 18.6k

Author: Cibee/@cibeewastaken

Harry and his partner are called to investigate a murder that occurred at an exclusive getaway hosted by Muggle patrician Robert Morton in his own house. The surviving six people are now both witnesses and suspects. There is just one problem for Harry: Draco Malfoy is one of them.

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a meeting of minds, M, 8.2k

Author: saltwatergarden

When Harry Potter starts hearing someone else's thoughts for several minutes a day, at first he chalks it up to his own bad luck and he tries to ignore it. But the longer it goes on, the less Harry can ignore it. Whoever it is, the person whose thoughts he's hearing needs help. Harry finds himself indignant at the mistreatment of the man taking up space in his head, and feels a sense of closeness to him that he cannot explain.

How can he find out whose thoughts he's hearing? And what exactly will he do when he finds him?

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Cruel River, T, 67.7k

Author: eleventy7/@tinyhistory

Draco inherits a castle deep in the Scottish highlands, and discovers it’s haunted by more than just ghosts.

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Dear Stranger, T, 22.7k

Author: iero0/@iero0

The one thing more pointless than falling in love with an anonymous wizard over a correspondence is falling in love with Harry Potter when you’re Draco Malfoy.

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Draco Malfoy and the Case of the Smuggled Gossip, T, 6.9k

Author: A_Professional_Protagonist/@aprofessionalprotagonist

It's eighth year and someone is selling gossip about Harry Potter and his friends to the new trashy wizarding tabloid. Can Draco discover how the gossip is getting smuggled out of the castle? Will he and Harry grow closer in the process? Will there be kissing? (Spoilers: yes.)

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For Now, 6.7k, T

Author: Samunderthelights/@samunderthelights

At first when Harry gets sent a mysterious notebook, he thinks it's a gift. But when he starts to write in it, he finds that someone can see what he writes, and the stranger is writing back to him.

Over time he finds himself opening up to the mysterious stranger, but how is he supposed to fully trust him if the stranger won't even tell him his name?

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He makes saints out of sinners, M, 32.8k

Author: miafancies/@miafancies

Harry grows with the turn of the tide. Draco contends with his ghosts.

This is a chronicle of inevitability.

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It might take an army, it might just be me, M, 15.5k

Author: slytherinnbitch/@slytherinnbitch

Five years after the war, Auror Potter goes out on a seemingly routine mission to check up on some pardoned criminals. He doesn’t come back. Immediate suspicions are cast on Draco Malfoy, one of the charges he was to be visiting. But unbeknownst to everyone, the two of them have been in a secret relationship for over six months, and Draco is beside himself with worry and so is Hermione and Ron. Together they try to get their best friend back. But there are surprises on their ways which none of them even expects of.

Can they get their best friend back or is he gone forever?

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Long story short, G, 4.6k

Author: time_streams/@time-streams

Someone's written about Harry's secret raspberry jam recipe. Also, they write fanfiction about him. Obviously, he using his investigative prowess to find them.

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Love's Sake, Evermore, E, 9.6k

Author: wanderingeyre

Someone is doing nice things for Draco and that someone seems to know an awful lot about his habits and favorite things. Draco can't imagine why anyone would do these things for him because he still thinks he has something to prove. Some days he thinks he’s going to spend his entire life spackling over the mistakes of his youth and the sins of his family.

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Memory Lane, T, 9.7k

Author: mortenavida/@mortenavida

Draco Malfoy has been happily living in the Muggle world for nearly a decade, far away from any Wizarding responsibilities they might try to enforce on him. He planned on leaving that world forever, save for making sure his son received a proper education, but things didn’t exactly go to plan. On his doorstep, one night, Harry Potter showed up. Except Harry Potter was supposed to be dead for the last seven years.

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Mine O'Clock, T, 1.2k

Author: PhenomenalAsterisk/@phenomenalasterisk

Harry Potter is missing and Ron and Hermione are going spare.

How can Draco enjoy his lazy weekend with their nonsense cluttering up his front steps?

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[podfic] Potterotica, E, 20min

Podficcer: EvAEleanor/@eva-eleanore

original fic: Potterotica by Elle Gray/@diligent-thunder

The first story, and you could barely call it that, had appeared in the communal bathroom overnight. It was stuck to the mirror, one above each sink, like it was expected people might casually read it while brushing their teeth.

Except, there was nothing casual about reading explicit erotica in a communal bathroom while shoving a lubricated brush in and out of your mouth.Blaise had been the first to find it, or rather, to gleefully admit that he had. He’d burst into the common room in his pants to declare, 'There’s fucking porn in the bathroom!' Someone's writing smut and signing it with Harry's name. Hermione isn't buying it, and she has a plan to expose the true author. She also has her hand in her pants in a wardrobe.

A (ridiculous) response to AO3s (valid) new co-creator rules.

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Repairing his world, M, 34.8k

Author: AhaMarimbas/@mars-bar81

15 years after his father was arrested, Scorpius uncovers his case file at work. Desperate for answers on why his family was torn apart all those years ago, Scorpius looks into what happened. But is he ready for how the new evidence will change his life all over again?

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Reverie in Green, T, 51.7k

Author: dynazty/@dynazty

Draco just wants to get away; Harry just wants his dog back.

There's a small wooden bridge in the middle, somewhere, curved over a stream that never stops flowing. All they have to do is cross it.

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Secret Admirer, E, 12.3k

Author: Cassiopeias_shadow

Fresh out of training, Harry discovers that life as an Auror isn’t at all what he’d imagined - it’s much better actually, and there are stickers. As he settles into the team, a case lands quite literally on his doorstep... who keeps sending the Knight Bus to his house?

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Sleight of Hand, E, 15k

Author: TheStarryKnight/@the-starryknight

It’s another one of these horrid Ministry affairs, and the only interesting thing is twinkling from Draco Malfoy’s finger. Can you really blame Harry for being fascinated by the gorgeous emerald ring and those long, elegant hands, especially when he’s certain Malfoy is up to something?

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[podfic] The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard, E, 1h45min

Podficcer: laughingd0g/@jovialobservationanchor

original fic: The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard by tasteofshapes/@tasteofshapes

Draco thinks he’s hallucinating the first time when he opens the door to the office pantry and finds Potter there instead, looming out of the shadows of what appears to be a cupboard like some deformed gargoyle. Things don’t go much better after that.

Or, three broom cupboards, two times they get it on, and one love story.

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The Mysterious Case of the Missing Yoghurt, E, 24.5k

Author: manixzen/@manixzen

Newly-hired Flying Professor Harry Potter is happy to return to Hogwarts for a fresh start after several failed careers, but nothing is going as planned. His classes are a mess, he has to find a way to work with Draco Malfoy (annoying git extraordinaire) and now, in an act of villainy and depravity, someone keeps stealing his yoghurt.

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Through the Blur, E, 27.7k

Author: anachronic_mai/@danbrokethesoundbarrier

Sleep doesn't come easy to Harry. Despite taking regular doses of Dreamless Sleep for years, he hasn't managed to get rid of the nightmares. Things can't get any worse for him when Potions Master Draco Malfoy comes to him for help after mysterious attacks to his apothecary.

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[podfic] to heal a fracture (to bind a life), M, 33min

Podficcer: bluedreaming/@porcelainsalt

original fic: to heal a fracture (to bind a life) by glittering_git/ @glittering-git; meandminniemcg/@meandminniemcg

Who you gonna call? Harry has become one of the foremost Spiritual Exterminators in Britain. Draco has a spirit that needs extermination. But what seems like a simple problem ends up becoming far more complicated when the spirit is identified. The secrets that are exposed and the history that is uncovered leads both Harry and Draco into uncharted territory.

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To Live & Die in LA, E, 28.8k

Author: fwooshy/@fw00shy

Someone is blackmailing Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father hires Harry Potter, P.I., to get to the bottom of the scam. But how is Harry's errant ex-boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, involved? And why did Draco run to Los Angeles in the first place?

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Two Hearts Divided, T, 18.6k

Author: iero0/@iero0; Ladderofyears/@ladderofyears

Draco Malfoy, the celebrated Ghost Clearance Expert is in Germany, trying to solve the tricky little matter of a stubborn ghost called Clara von Kellern. Exasperated after trying every spell he knows, Draco sends an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in London, requesting their urgent help.

Little does Draco know that the clerk who willingly grasps his letter is Harry Potter.

Injured in action, Harry enjoys a quiet, deskbound existence and sees Draco’s letters as a bit of excitement to brighten up his dull days. Harry has no idea that investigating Clara’s life, and that of her beau (and potential murderer) Ernst Wernet will lead to the beginnings of a love affair all of his own.

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Violent Delights, E, 20.4k

Author: primaveracerezos/@primavera-cerezos

Draco Malfoy's life should be going very well. He's engaged to a wonderful man and in line for the Head Auror job. He's been made lead investigator on a serial murder case, trying to figure out who is killing off the scum of the wizarding world, one by one. So what if he's kind of miserable? Things always get better.

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Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm?, E, 15.4k

Author: alittlewicked/@undersummerstars

As sad as it was for a family to come to this point: no one would put it past the others to be able to raise their hand and wand against a cousin, an aunt or even a son.

Merlin knows, it had been happening often enough in the House of Black.

So that left the attendees with one question.

Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?

Harry & Draco are Walburga Black's guests at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find the one, true heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. What had the potential to go terribly wrong, went one step further and culminated in a dead body and twelve suspects.

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#hd cluefest #drarry #drarry fest #draco/harry #drarry fanfic #drarry podfic #hp fest #hp fanfic #hp podfic #masterlist

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Intro to Caitlyn 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Summary: Caitlyn is a thief looking for the next big score. Used to taking wristwatches and wallets from rich folk, she's aiming to take down bigger game as she discovers the hidden magical world within her hometown. Her first mark is an unassuming shopkeeper and his collect of ancient relics. All set with a plan, Caitlyn makes her move. Though plans rarely go off without a hitch.

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are all well and staying safe. So the next chapter of my little side project is here! Honestly wasn't planning on getting back to this so soon but I was having fun worldbuilding and character creating and here we are. You can blame my friend @hains-mae for enabling me.

Right so the next thing I write will probably be the part two to this then the next chapter of the Underground. Umm that's really it for me so have a great week, be safe, wear your mask, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Please feel free to reblog, share, leave kudos or leave comments with things you liked or feedback if you read it on a03. I promised I'd try to promote myself more and it feels weird haha.

E is out, have a great one everyone! and here’s the link to the doobly do

---> https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/76014323

There was an arrogance that seemed deeply etched into every aspect of the magical world. She stood among valuable, ancient relics from throughout human history: Vases from Greece lined the shelf above her. A row of Roman gladius blades in various states of decay with only a flimsy glass case between them and Caitlyn’s pocket. Tarnished Victorian era slivered lockets left about like loose change.

Millions dollars worth of the past and she, a stranger, was left unattended with it all.

Technically she wasn’t supposed to be in here with the locked door and close sign but the fact in the 5 minutes it took her to pick the lock and scout the first floor without a single soul attempting to stop her really was a testimony to the haughtiness of the ‘shopkeeper’.

It had been only few months since she saw past the false reality that was superimposed onto hers and she was still readjusting: Magic was real. Elves, dwarves, little halfing folk? Real. People shooting bolts of lightning and flames while riding storm clouds? Real. The guy who kept awkwardly hitting on her every time she tried to get a hotdog from the cart at the corner? Just a regular creep BUT could’ve been magical.

Even their currency was a show of their excessive wealth: Sliver, gold, platinum coins Actual platinum traded away like it was nothing! People starving and helpless on the streets and these bastards just walked with some of the rarest metal on the planet in their pockets like chump change.

Anger bubbled within her stomach along with self righteousness and a bit of her breakfast but she took a deep calming breath, closing her bluish gray eyes. ‘Calm down Cait’ she scolded herself ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen excessive wealth squandered and wasted. You’re here for a job so do it and never come back.’

She glanced around the waiting room she found herself in. It was off to the side of the shopping front andthere were very few things of interest in the tiny room: Some old, tattered chairs that had seen better days. A very, very tacky abstract painting hung over a bricked up fireplace. There was a scattering of magazines older than her with loose stables and free roaming pages everywhere.

A place of show and very little use.

“Hello my angel.”

Caitlyn seized up. She had been so caught up in her rage she hadn’t been paying attention to anyone coming down the stairs. Three stories with a handful of people about and nary a sound could heard. Must be some sort of magic.

She shook herself out of her stupor, slowly exhaling to calm her nerves. She forced her lips to curve into the cutest, lost smile she could muster. She opened her purple jacket a bit further so the guy could get a clearer view of her tight white tank top and running shorts.

“Helpless. Remember you’re helpless.” She whispered to herself before whirling about, her long black hair with dyed purple coloring flowed behind her gracefully as if she was an actress in those stupid hair product commercials.

“Oh!” she spoke with mock surprise, scrunching her face cutely as possible “I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m lost and the door was open and sorry!”

She leaned forward, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck as she gave whoever it was a better view of her outfit.

Hook, line and sinker.

“No problem sweetie. No need to lie to me.”

Hook, line and sunk apparently.

She blinked, unsure if she heard what she thought she heard. She glanced up to find a strangely dressed man with the goofiest grin.

He was cute in a ‘I dress as an obscure, indie character for cosplay’kind of way: His messy, unkempt black hair sat under a black fedora. He wore a long black trench coat that had seen better days. At least he preferred more colors than black on black. His collared shirt was a nice baby blue with an equally nice light brown vest. Black dress pants because men’s fashion is incredibly boring and shiny loafers to completed the look. Whatever the look was.

She expected him to be taking a good look at her attire.

What she found was him staring at her.

His warm dark brown eyes were soft, gentle and he refused to break his gaze from her bluish grays even though there were more tempting sights on offer.

She was on the back foot. No wandering glances, no self pleasured smiles. Not even a creepy chuckle. Just a strangely dressed, inch shorter guy looking like he just found the love of his life in this moment.

“I…” she cleared her throat “Umm….did you hear me?”

He gave a quick nod “Yeah. You broke in and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

It wasn’t that he guessed correctly what was she up to that threw her off. It was how casually he said it. More discussing the weather than committing a felony.

She raised an eyebrow, not sure how to proceed from whatever this was. There were always some people who caught on about her intentions fairly quickly but no one had ever been so….indifferent about it.

“I don’t work here.” the man offered, slowly closing the distance between them but leaving the doorframe wide open “I really don’t care that you’re here to rob the place.”

This has to be a trap. This had to be. No one was ever this….laidback. Were the other goons on the side waiting to jump her when she bolted? Was she on camera and he was letting her go knowing full well he had all the evidence he needed to track her down?

Or maybe he really didn’t care. He seemed more interested in talking than stopping her and there was this strange presence about him. A calm she’d never felt before even when her parents were alive. It was odd and foreign to her but she felt safe. Protected.

She shook her head, slowly inching closer to the doorway. The man made no attempt stop her. He just stood there, smiling, hands in his pocket.

The rational part of her brain said to run. This whole thing was botched and it was better to cut her losses than find out first hand what magical creatures could do to her. The less rational side of her head told her to wait, to talk this guy. Lying was obviously pointless but she had a feeling he would answer any questions she’d had and she had plenty.

“So…” she rose a suspicious eyebrow “Not gonna stop me?”

He shook his head “I wish you’d stay but I understand if you don’t want to be found in Andor’s shop. He’s one of those new elves. Less honor more power.”

She blinked. He said elves right? Just threw it out there like it was an everyday matter of fact and not a deeply held secret of her hometown.

“Elves aren’t real.’ Caitlyn said matter of fact.

“We both know better than that.” The man gave a bright smile.

“What do you want?”

The words spilled out of her mouth despite her best attempts but this guy was throwing her off so badly she forgot how to function.

“Talk to you of course.”

The worst kind of people were the sincere ones. They were sappy and gooey. They just so happy it was sickening. They had to be up to something. They had to some scheme or scam or something they were waiting to drop on you. No one was that happy, that purely honest. They were the liars who were so good they convinced themselves they were good people. No one was good and everyone had a dark corner in their soul they hid from the world.

Caitlyn knew she had plenty in whatever was left of her ratty soul.

“And if we talk? Will you let me go?”

The man nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caitlyn licked her lips anxiously “Promise?”

Promise? What was she 12? No one kept their promises. Not even her.

He placed his hand over his heart “Cross my heart.”

“Let’s talk,”

He jerked his head towards the door “Outside. Don’t want you to ruin your heist.”

-----

Today was not going how she was expecting. She was thought she was going to break into an elf ran front, scout the area and come back in the middle of the night. She hadn’t been expecting to have coffee and bread with a random stranger on the street.

Well she had coffee, mystery man opted for hot chocolate.

They stood in a strangely comfortable silence a block from Andor’s. The man offered to pay for whatever she wanted and she took him up on it. Couple of baked goods, a sandwich for lunch, some water and of course her cup of wake up juice. If he was mad at her for her splurging at his expense, he hid it well. He just took his coco and some fancy elvish bread. Looked good but Caitlyn wasn’t up for trying other beings food. She didn’t know how it would sit with her stomach.

The elf who ran the cart, a few months ago human to her, waved goodbye to the pair as he counted the human cash the man gave him.

The trench coat cosplay stood patiently, sipping his drink and waited for her to break the silence.

She refused to break the silence first. Not wanting to sound too eager. Eagerness was a weakness and this guy was already throwing her off her rhythm.

“I’m Finnrick by the way.”

She turned to him, unsure if he was messing with her or not.

He gave her the same goofy smile “Finnrick Drift, private investigator.”

“Ah huh.” She nodded slowly “So you’re a magical P.I.? Like elves cheating on their wives, dwarves dodging their taxes P.I.?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged his shoulders “Ironically elves like dodging on their taxes more than dwarves.”

“Right.”

“You’re new to the whole other side of Newton Haven huh?”

She glanced at her coffee “Lived here my whole life. Really makes me wonder if I lost my mind.”

“Don’t worry, we’re all mad here Alice.”

Why was she talking to him? Why was she being honest? This was weirder and getting weirder every passing second.

Finnrick changed subject “So, robbing Andor? Any particular loot you are after?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes “Trying to fish something out of me Finny?”

“Guilty as charged” He beamed with pure happiness “Don’t want you wasting your time on shiny trinkets he cares nothing about.”

Caitlyn remained silent. She wasn’t used to such transparency. Normally this would be the point where the guy would lie or pretend to not have heard or awkwardly switch the subject but Finnrick answered openly and honestly. So far.

“So” Caitlyn straightened up, pulling her jacket wide open “What do you think? Great outfit right?”

Finnrick turned to her with a grin, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue as his eyes locked onto hers “Your body is absolutely lovely but your eyes even more so.”

Caitlyn could feel the flush coming. She coughed loudly, focusing on her drink as she willed the embarrassment away.

Finnrick chuckled lightly but returned to his drink. The silence returned, still comfortable as before.

This is was bad whatever this was. She needed to regain some level of control and stop acting like a teenage girl on her first garbage fire of a date.

“So” she cleared her throat “Mister P.I. what would you recommend taking if not all those millions of dollars of historical items he leaves about?”

Finnrick crushed the foam cup effortlessly as he gestured to the third floor of the shop “His office has a pretty simple safe. He keeps loads of paperwork. His various contracts, accounts, treasure hoards”

Caitlyn scoffed in disbelief even though her eyes shone with excitement “Treasure hoards? Elves? I thought dragons were the hoarders. Weren’t elves supposed to be above all that lovely corruption?”

“No one is above corruption.’ Finnrick answered “Elves are just like everyone else.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and leaned back with a cocky swagger “And why, pray tell, would I care about boring paperwork?”

“Because it really hurt him in the pride.”

Damn Finnrick was good. Not only she was eager to learn more, she could already feel the smug satisfaction of bringing a powerful prick down a peg fill her cause.

Finnrick seemed to notice this because he went on “Andor is a young elf. 100 years give or take.”

“A hundred years is young?”

“When you live a thousand years every other race is a child to you. Andor’s old man is a swell guy. He’s one of those good elves you see in Tolkien.”

“Tolkien?” Caitlyn furrowed her brow “He wrote the books that those Lord of the Rings films are based on right?”

“Yeah actually.”

“Oh and the Hob…”

“We don’t talk about that.” Finnrick quickly added “But see the problem is Andor’s old man doesn’t know his son has become the small time crime lord. Thinks he’s running an antique business selling off old junk that was gathering dust in the family’s attic.”

Something clicked into place for Caitlyn “Wait. Junk from the attic? You mean all those relics on the shop floor?! THAT’S OLD JUNK!?”

Finnrick gave a casual shrug “Elves are weird. Andor don’t know shit about selling, all his money comes from his illegal business practices. That’s how he keeps the shop afloat.”

“I see” Caitlyn spoke, her bluish grays sparkling with mischievous intent “If those records disappeared, his shop sinks and he has to run back home to daddy.”

“And out of the city” Finnrick finished with a smile “And those records are pretty valuable to loads of people. Easier to fence and less messy to explain than a long lost Greek vase showing up in someone’s private collection. You’d get good prices for those hoard locations alone. Better than trying to carry tons of stolen and lost treasure back to your house.”

Caitlyn eyed Finnrick carefully “And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Trying to do your ‘civic’ duty to our fair city?”

“Among other things” Finnrick admitted “But mostly for the greater good.”

“Pfft, greater good? Yeah sure buddy. Like you know what’s the greater good.”

“Will you do it?”

Caitlyn paused, allowing all this information sink in. It was much better than she had planned and while she wasn’t sure of Finnrick’s angle, he seemed honest enough. Of course everyone seems honest enough the first time you meet them.

“Let’s say I do” she spoke, placing her hands on her hips to play the part “What’s in it for you?”

“A favor” He replied simply.

She rose a curious eyebrow “A favor? It’s not date with me, is it?”

“No, I plan to earn that one myself.” Finnrick answered cheerfully.

Caitlyn coughed “Fine, good. Not a date. Least you’re not a creep. But a favor is pretty vague.”

“It’ll be simple I promise.”

Caitlyn narrowed her gaze suspiciously “You promise?”

Finnrick put his hand over his heart again “Cross my heart.”

Caitlyn took a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

Caitlyn offered her hand towards the trench coat cosplayer “You got yourself a deal.”

He gently took her hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. She was surprised when, as he pulled back, she felt a strange metallic item left behind.

She looked at the crystal butterfly hair clip he placed in her hand: It was a beautiful with sliver hues and multi-colored shards of glass across its wings.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Caitlyn felt uneasy with the ornament in her palm: It felt cold and distant like it was feeling her out and wasn’t liking what it found.

“It’s attuning to you.” Finnrick explained “It’s syncing up to your whole aura.”

“Aura?” Caitlyn shot him a glare of disbelief “This isn’t one of those new age hippie things is it?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s a magical item. Yours specifically. Everything alive has a deep and very convoluted to explain connection to this plane. The hairclip is trying to match yours so you and only you can use it.”

“It feels wrong.”

“Because it doesn’t know you yet. It will.”

Caitlyn felt unease about whatever this was. Part of her wanted to toss it as far as she could. The worst part was she felt the item probing at her, changing temperatures as if trying find a comfortable setting for both of them. Burning one moment and too cold the next. This was magic and it made her felt like she knew nothing.

But part of her felt it slowly and subtly trying to match her, focusing on her and on her place in the universe. It felt more natural each passing moment and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious what mister detective over here was letting her borrow.

Caitlyn blew a strand of hair out of her face “How long does this usually take?”

“An hour.” Finnrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone “Oh shoot I have a meeting to get to.”

He turned to leave and suddenly Caitlyn felt alone. Awkward just standing in the street without someone to talk to.

“Wait!” She reached for him but quickly pulled back when he faced her “….any advice?”

Finnrick scratched his chin for a moment “Red tiles. Avoid them or they’ll blast you off the roof.”

“G-gotcha.” Caitlyn didn’t want to know what blast off the roof was code for “A-and the hairclip? What’s it do?”

Finnrick gave a cheeky grin and Caitlyn could feel her face flush “I guess you’ll have to find out angel. Bye for now. May we meet again soon.”

And like that, he was off. Strolling down the straight with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.

Caitlyn glanced at the ornate hairclip in her hand.

Turns out there was a lot more to this magical world than she thought.

#Mirror's edge #Original Work #original story #my work

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

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thanks for tagging me @flowercrown-bard!

Fanfiction tag game

how many works do you have on Ao3?

36 (which is honestly a lot more than I’d have thought)

what’s your total Ao3 word count?

244,36. Fun fact: most of that was written between August and December last year

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Of Witchers, Bards, and Broken Hearts. So far no surprises. This fic got wildly popular and at this point I’m still not sure why

Toss a Coin to your Lover. The first witcher fic I ever wrote! I vomited out 1k words at 2 am and then look what became of me...

The Best Laid Plans. Ahhh, yes. The mistletoe fic. One of my personal favourites.

Handsy Strangers and Clever Bards. This is a very short fic of mine in which Jaskier is hit on by a stranger and says that Geralt is actually his boyfriend. Not a lot happens but it’s pretend relationship, so I get it

To Find Warmth Where There Is None. The Kaer Morons cuddle pile fic! I love that one

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to, but I tend to forget. I just love interacting with the author when I’m writing comments, so I imagine my readers might feel a similar way. I also love interacting with readers, getting to know their opinions, theories, etc.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

See, here’s the problem: I don’t really do endings, I reach a point where I don’t know how to continue and slap that thing on the internet. Besides that, most of my fics just end with the couple getting together. But if you’re looking for a fic with a particularily sappy ending, I’d recommend my entry for Zutara Week 2020.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

ahhhh, I think this would be this angsty baby here. Geralt apologises to Jaskier after the mountain, but they have to keep their relationship secret, feat. a beautiful (albeit very sad) artwork by @spielzeugkaiser

do you write crossovers?

no, I don’t really see the appeal

have you ever received hate on a fic?

I think I might just start to cry if I ever did, so I am very glad that I haven’t

do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I tried writing smut a couple of times and am absolutely unable to read any of it again. I’ve said so several times but the only Geraskier thing spicier than a tomato I’ve got is this

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not a fanfic, no! But I’ve got a 200k monster with @parttime-creative (that I have to continue, whoops)

what’s your all-time favourite ship?

Zutara. It’s almost been 10 years since I lost my heart to that ship

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Probably We Were Born Sick, just realistically speaking. I’m not as invested as in OWBABH and the drive is kinda gone...

what are your writing strengths?

Honestly, I think that is more a question for my readers than me. But judging from what I’ve been told before, I’d say it’s creating secondary characters? Oh, and another thing that I enjoy immensely to write are dreams and visions.

what are your writing weaknesses?

I would say body language. Not that I have problems envisioning it, but then turning it into words is driving me nuts. Also, travel logs. These are also the most boring things for me when I am reading.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

So, here’s the thing: as a reader, I don’t particularly care about that, I can just skip it. Only when it’s like crucial sentences, then I’m all for it (ASOIAF with Valar Morghulis/Valar dohaeris my beloved).

As a writer, worldbuilder, and linguist, however? I fucking love my conlangs. And I love incorporating them into the story. But I do realise that most readers don’t care for that and that’s okay. I don’t really incorporate it into fics anyways. (My original work/pathfinder campaign tho? different story)

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

The first fandom I wrote for (as in published a fic in fandom spaces) was for the Warriors novel series in 2010/2011 I think? Although I did not use any of the original character or even the setting! (If you ask me, I had a stellar premise and to this day I maintain that it was better than any of the later seasons. but oh well)

That was when I first became aware of fandom. I have, however, still the document of a self-insert Dragid Feuerherz fanfic from when I was about 8

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I would say it’s OWBABH, because I really love that AU with my whole heart... BUT the fic I’m definitely proudest of is For You I’ll Always Wait (very loosely inspired by my absolute obsession with Hadestown). I wrote eight entire poems for it! I analysed Jaskier’s ballads so that I could replicate the tone and the rhymes and metre and everything! And it’s almost entirely set in a dream world with weird laws of physics and deities and stuff! I even printed it and bound it as a book!

Yeah, I love that fic. I loved writing it and, what’s even more important, I love reading it.

Thanks for tagging me, this was fun!

I’m tagging @witcher-and-his-bard, @parttime-creative, @contemplativepancakes and whoever else wants to do this

#tag games #about my writing #fanfic

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ungarmax · 3 years

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writer check-in question set

tagged by @shutupreno, thanks!!

tagging: @perniciouslizard @marywhal @herbgerblin @a-big-apple @desiree-harding-fic and whoever else wants to do this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On my main AO3, I have 8. I have 2 more on a secret AO3.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

200,748

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Including crossovers:

The Adventure Zone, Final Fantasy VII, Homestuck, and Fullmetal Alchemist, on my AO3. I’ve written far more than is on there, though.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Nothing Gold

The Winter Rose

After Me Comes the Flood

Alone Among the Wreck

Burn the Maps that Charts Your Dreams

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Sometimes! I used to not because it feels like artificially inflating your comment count, but I got over that.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Burn the Maps that Chart Your Dreams is your classic “and everyone died and no one had happy endings” sort of fic. I don’t write angsty endings like that these days, but I sure did back then. I advise against reading it.

7. Do you ever write crossovers?

Not unless you count The Winter Rose as being a crossover with Beauty and the Beast. I also had an FF7/TAZ crossover in the works once, but mostly in ideas and not in writing, though I did write a nice bit of Lucretia (Tifa) finding Taako (Cloud) in the Sector 7 slums with no memory of Lup (Zack) or where he got the umbra staff (buster sword).

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not recently. I can’t remember any. People are very nice to me.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, that’s what my other AO3 is for. We don’t talk about that.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup. The person claimed that they had ‘forgotten’ they’d read a fic with the exact same theme and premise and plot, and apologized, so I guess that’s a win? They didn’t like make money off of it or something, so whatever, I guess.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I RP a lot, and one we sort of turned into a fic, but it was still basically an RP in fic form.

12. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Probably Zack/Cloud.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Babysitters’ Club was the first one I wrote it down for, though I’ve been making up stories about books I’ve read since I was a little kid. The first fanfic I ever published was....prooooobably Star Wars or Final Fantasy IV? Not sure.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Hmm, that’s a good question. I like The Garden Under Snow a lot because I feel like I wrapped it up nicely, and it’s a good all around little fic. I don’t think it’s really my favorite, though. I really like some bits of Along Among the Wreck too.

15. BONUS QUESTION: Do you have a WIP that haunts you?

The Winter Rose, no doubt. There was only a chapter left, and I decided to take a break and...never went back. At least I had wrapped up most of it by the point I stopped writing it. Maybe someday I’ll just upload a vague outline of what was supposed to happen in the epilogue.

#meme #fic writing meme #long post #feel free to skip it if it's not your thing #or to tag me as your 'tagged by' person even if i didn't tag you specifically

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self-indulgent-imagination · 4 years

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Goodbye

Characters: Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius Black, You (Y/N)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Marauder’s Era, Soft!Sirius, Emotional!Sirius, Mature!Sirius, Angst, Romantic, Interpret the end any way you want to

Summary: You have broken up with Sirius and are behaving rather cruelly with him. But why are you doing it? And what happens when he finds out the real reason behind it?

A/N: Hello, there! This is my first fic on Tumblr, and first that I’ve written in the second person, so do tell me what you think of it. (And as you can see, I don’t really know how to write an author’s note.) Oh yeah, it’s unedited. So, sorry about whatever mistakes you might encounter :(

Word count: 1642

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You exit the girls’ dormitory silently, after making sure that no one is awake. Throwing a Disillusionment Charm over yourself, you leave the common room. You sneak through the corridors and hallways and finally reach your destination. The seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by the trolls. You walk past the wall thrice, and a door appears. The Room of Requirement.

You enter to find Moody there already. “Y/N,” he grunts. You nod. He throws a jinx at you out of the blue. You side step. The next curse you deflect with a flick of your wand. And so it goes for next three quarters of an hour. He grunts to signal the end. You stop, pretend to relax, let him relax (well, as much as Moody can relax) and then throw the Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. He tumbles down like his legs are made of, well, jelly. He inclines his head towards you. You beam because coming from him, that is like a sign of admiration. “Well done, lassie. Let this be your lesson and remember. Constant vigilance!” he says. You nod.

An awkward silence takes over the room. Both of you know what’s coming. You have been training for it for past few years, but it’s still difficult to speak aloud of. But he is Moody. He takes the bull by its horns, “You know what you have to do?”

“Yeah. Go to Voldy-boy, suck up to him and join him. Then send back the intel to you however I can.”

“Yes, good. It’s going to be incredibly dangerous. Your should be Occluding all the time. If you slip up, you will die and take us down with you. So, there’s no margin for error. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t know what to say. After all, what do you say in farewell to someone you’ve trained to go in the jaws of death? You don’t know what to say either. The enormity of what you’re about to take up and how dangerous it will be hits you all over again. You hug Moody. You’ve never hugged him. But this might well be the last time you get to hug someone you like and respect. Maybe the last time you get to hug, ever.

You clutch him. He holds you awkwardly and pats your hair. “Be safe, girlie,” he says in a suspiciously choked voice. You nod and turn away from your mentor. You will cry if you don’t and you don’t want to embarrass him by being witness to his tears.

As you are leaving the room, you become alert. Someone is watching you. There’s a faint sound of breathing in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. But no one is standing there. You can’t detect any Disillusionment Charm. You pretend not to have noticed anything and walk away. You’re being followed.

You affect carelessness and walk towards the fourth floor. There’s a secret passageway behind a large mirror where you plan to apprehend whoever it is that is following you. And then it hits you. You can only hear the faint sound of footsteps and breathing. And there is no such thing as a perfect disillusionment. Invisibility Cloak.

You relax a bit. Once you’re both inside the passageway, you speak with a semblance of casualness, “Following around someone who has dumped you sounds pretty desperate, even for you.”

Sound of a cloth rustling. And then he is standing there, right behind the mirror. Sirius Black. Your heart misses a beat. You force your face to remain indifferent, bordering on cruel. You cannot let him know that you still love him. It would be too dangerous because he is recklessly protective of people he loves. And you can’t bear to have him put his life in danger like that.

You take in his face. He looks desperate, as if someone has just destroyed his life. You have seen that look on his face only twice before this. You wonder what he is thinking about. For a moment you fear that he knows exactly why you ended things with him. Exactly what you’re going to do. But no, you reassure yourself, how could he possibly know?

He still hasn’t retorted to your taunt with something cutting that you will pretend didn’t mean anything to you but will shatter your heart. After all, that is how it has been since your “break-up”. But he’s silent. You have to play your part. You raise an eyebrow and look at him contemptuously (you hope), “Not even a retort. Exactly how pathetic have you gotten?”

“Stop it, Y/N. Don’t you get tired of paying the part?”

You feign confusion. You can’t let him know how much it hurts you when he calls you a liar, a cheat, a ‘wannabe Pureblood’. You steel yourself for an acidic remark that is not going to come.

He walks towards you and stands before you. You do not back down. Something is wrong. You don’t know what’s going on. You’re about to say something when he falls to the ground. Sobs wracking through his body. You freeze. You don’t know what to do. Should you pretend to be cruel? But you know your limits. You know that you won’t be able to maintain a halfway decent façade of derision or apathy when the love of your life is breaking down like that. So you don’t say anything. Your body is tense with the effort not to reach out and hold him, comfort him.

It is when he takes your fisted hands, pries them open gently and kisses them that you look down. He is looking at you with such utter heartbreak in his eyes that you have to look away. You slowly drop the pretense of coldness. Your shoulders slump. “So you know,” you whisper, still not looking at him.

“Yes.”

You nod and sink down in front of him. You let free the tears that you had been holding back for so long. You lean into him and he takes you in his arms. You do not know how long you stay like that.

“I’m scared.” You don’t realise you’re saying it until after you’ve said it. You know that it’s true. He holds you tighter.

“You’d be an idiot if you weren’t.”

Silence.

“You’re an idiot,” he says. “You should’ve told me.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to put you at risk...”

“And?” He knows you too well.

You sigh, “I was afraid that you would blow this. I still am.”

He laughs without humour. “Just because I play pranks doesn’t mean I don’t understand the gravity of a situation. The seriousness, if you will. You forget that it is in my very name.” You groan.

“Serio - really?”

He grins through dried tears. “Sorry, darling, can’t help it. Besides, it made you smile, didn’t it?” And it’s true.

He sighs, “Anyway... I understand what we’re facing, Y/N. I know that you’re going to do what needs to be done. It’s probably difficult enough for you as it is, I’m not going to make it even more difficult by whining or trying to stop you.”

You look at him, surprised. He smiles sadly.

“I wish you had trusted me. But that’s the water under the bridge. I’m not going to ask you not to do this. I’ll keep out of your way and pretend that we’re done. I want you to know and remember that whatever cruel words I may use to mock you will not mean anything. It will all be a pretense. Don’t worry about me. Focus on keeping yourself alive and safe.”

He pauses, contemplating. Then he continues in a softer voice, “There are some things bigger than just you and me. And this is one of them. We can’t put the future of the world on line just because my blood pressure shoots up on seeing you in danger.”

You look at him with a newfound respect. You’re seeing a serious Sirius Black for the first time and you fall in love with him all over again. You kiss him gently, almost hesitantly. You lean against his chest and stay there.

“Thank you,” you murmur. He kisses your hair, an arm around you, his hand rubbing your arm.

“You’re a shit actress, you know.”

“What?!”

“Every time I insulted you, I could see the heartbreak and pain in your eyes and I would be left feeling so confused and guilty. You were acting like a first-rate bitch, but your eyes were telling a different story and I didn’t know what to believe. If you act like that in front of Voldemort, you won’t last a day.”

“Voldemort doesn’t know me as well as you do.”

“You have to assume that he does. Be prepared for the worst, not the best, Y/N, because I find that I rather like you alive.”

You smile and kiss his chest. Wordlessly, you throw a Warming Charm on both of you and a Cushioning Charm on the floor. Sirius looks at you quizzically.

“Might as well get comfortable for the night,” you shrug.

“Show-off,” he mutters.

“Learned from the best,” you grin, nudging him. He grins, too, and kisses you.

You spend the night in his arms. Just you and him and silence. This night will be your driving force for many years to come, but you don’t know that yet. For you, it is the last night of peace and love before you step in the devil’s lair.

It’s dawn when you get up to leave. Sirius stops you. He pulls you in his arms. “Don’t ever forget that I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“And I, you.” And then you part ways.

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A/N: If you’ve read it completely, kudos to you! And thanks for sticking around :) Please tell me if there’s something in particular that you liked or didn’t.

#sirius x y/n #sirius black #mad-eye moody #reader #sirius x reader #emotional!sirius #soft!sirius #mature!sirius #angst #romantic?#harry potter #fanfic #imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #sirius black x reader

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theplanetprince · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction Review

I can already tell this is gonna be super confusing bc I've been writing fic since I was 12 but have since gone through so many identity changes. But let's play anyway!

Thanks for the tag @redead-red

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My current library is 8. I don't actually write fanfic too often unless a specific idea intrigues me-- or something in the fanon just doesn't line up with me. I do have at least 4ish more stories planned and maybe a revised version of an ancient story from when I was young. 2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

166,451! Pretty neato!

3. How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Uh, in no specific order,

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (lost to purging)

Doctor Who (you ain't gonna find these)

Sonic

NiGHTs into Dreams

Dead by Daylight (<3)

Danny Phantom (my beloathed) Supernatural (my other beloathed)

and uhhhh, I think a bunch of various other video games I can't remember. For the sake of brevity I'm gonna put the rest under the cut.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is actually pretty funny bc I have so few fics released. I only get emails for certain ones all the time, so I wrote this part out by guessing, but I ended up not needing to change it. (also, don't read most of these; they're old and bad)

1. Schrodinger's Adolescent, 337 Kudos (Danny Phantom)

2. Teen Years and How to Survive Them, 97 Kudos (Secret Trio)

3. Two Fake Feds Come up the Laneway the other dayyyyyy, 56 Kudos (Letterkenny/Supernatural)

4. Brother's Keeper, 40 Kudos (Halloween, DBD)

5. Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon, 37 Kudos (Sonic)

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?

I'll be real here, I still enjoy most of the work I did for both Beach House Bummer, and Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon. I just wish I got more love for the latter bc I might be inspired to finish it lmao.

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love the long rambly comments I get on Schrodinger's because I can feel those people are giving me the same passion I put into my work-- Though most of the time I get the generic "post more" or "update plz" which I dunno I'm grateful for the interaction. Still, I don't really want to repeat like "I'm trying my best, dude." about 12 times a day.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I'll be real I only have two completed fics rn-- but I can tell you I had this one fic that I wrote when I was fourteen where the ninja turtles had to burn down a lab full of half-born mutant embryos, and like I remember writing that and then going to middle school the next day like "They don't know I'm a literary genius."

8. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Probably the Letterkenny/Supernatural crossover-- I feel very strongly about SPN and how people take it way too seriously, so when I found out it was filmed in Canada. It used famous Canadian actors from the show Letterkenny, it felt way too good to pass up. I do hope to write in that space again when I'm feeling less depresso-espresso.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. It's probably a big reason why you'll never see the tmnt fics for a while. I also used to write a lot of OC stories, and this was back in 2014 so like those were def hit the hardest. I'm glad to say it's like... subsided for the most part. I don't get hate as much as I just get really confusing and creepy comments, which don't hurt my rejection-sensitive-ass as much.

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hahahaha, no.

I am kind of bad at writing it, and I don't really like writing it. Which yeah that makes sense. My friends sometimes when they find out I write fanfic as a joke they'll send me some of the worst examples smut they can find and to test my talent I'll try to rewrite it to make it some kind of titillating-- but alas it just isn't my forte. The cons of being an asexual I guess.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Uh, yes and no? I think I had one of my older fics stolen, retranslated, and then retranslated again to English? That was so long ago tho.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd love to give it a shot sometime.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Honestly, it's sonadow. I know it's cringe but I'm free, dammit. Outside of that I guess my favorite dynamic is jock/nerd, which you've probably gleaned from my resume here fhsdkjf.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I've been working on Teen Years and How to Survive them since I was 16, I only started making headway on it when I was 19-- so I feel like that speaks for itself hskjhg.

15. What are your writing strengths?

It's been told to me that I'm very funny and I write convincing dialog that captures a character's voice. Which is extremely flattering despite the fact that I feel like I'm tricking you all.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably scenery and landscape, if I'm honest. I also accidentally keep creating scenes just for the dialog instead of action or environment.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think as long as I can guess what they're saying from context clues, and the writer is courteous enough to include body language and the like, then it's mostly harmless. I love including a bunch of references in fic whether it's cultural, historical, or just like a quote from a movie or something so I have a bunch of tabs open regardless it wouldn't be too inconvenient for me to fire up google translate or something.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Schrodinger's Adolescent, it really opened up a lot of doors for me in the DP fandom and I got to meet a lot of cool people because of it. It really cheered me up from a dark place. And despite me writing it initially out of anger and spite its grown into this soft thing that really means a lot to me.

20. What fic are you most proud of?

Honestly, I can't pick. I'm both embarrassed by them all and yet glad they bring people some form of comfort.

Uhhhh who to tag-- I don't really know

@ten0rreaper is the only one I can think of-- whoever else I guess can have at it. I'm not very good at these things lmao.

#tag game #txt

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tomiokai · 4 years

Text

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts || Spencer Reid

Masterlist

A/N: This is a fic I have wanted to write for a long time, and I have read this concept a whole bunch of times from different fandom so it isn’t my original idea. Kudos to whoever made this idea first, I love it, but I did want to write one with my own twist. So yeah, enjoy. I don’t drink so bare with me. Maybe a happy part two, possibly.

Please don’t copy my works, but if you do want to use it as inspiration please give me credit, at least tag me. I do read a lot and when I see my ideas getting stolen and then turned into new stories it really hurts me.

Summary: After Y/n and Spencer’s one-sided breakup, Y/n gets drunk on their breakup anniversary and calls Spencer and admits that she still loves him and that she is mothering his child. This is after prison Spencer so he isn’t as nice!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Angst. Not a happy ending, I really wanted it to be a happy ending but life sucks so whatever. Alcohol obviously. Have your tissues ready if you are sensitive. Swearing.

Word Count: 3.2k

“I’m sorry Y/n but I don’t love you anymore. Everything about us is just so complicated. We’re always fighting and arguing, and my job is very stressful and time-consuming, our fire burned out a long time ago and we just don’t belong together anymore. I just can’t do this with you, I’m sorry and I hope you’ll find someone else and please forgive me one day”

Those were the words that ended our 2-year relationship. Spencer didn’t love me anymore. He left me standing there in the rain outside of the BAU, 10 o’clock at night, in the dark, alone. He walked away from me, from our child that he didn’t even know about, I was going to tell him but he left before I could. And I knew that if I told him about our child I would burden him with our child. With me.

Of course the team was devastated when they were informed that we had broken up.

Garcia, JJ, Emily, and I still hang out regularly, we would go to nightclubs, and bars and all sorts of fun places together, we never lost our connection with each other. Spencer was a topic that was never brought up when we hung out, but when he was the whole mood would be killed.

Rossi and I would meet up every second Saturday of the month and we would have a nice dinner together and talk, nothing romantic, only a father-daughter relationship. He was also the godfather to Spencer and I’s child. And of course Penelope was the godmother, it was a tough decision between the girls, but since Penelope had the least dangerous part of the job she was the best choice.

Henry Y/l/n Reid was the beautiful baby boy I had given birth to on October 31 weighing 7.6 pounds. A coincidence to say the least, it was on Spencer’s favorite holiday. He took up almost all of Spencer’s facial features, only leaving Henry with my y/h/c hair, and plump lips. He looked too much like Spencer, anyone who looked at Henry would immediately assume he was Spencer’s. When I was in labor, practically the whole team came rushing to the hospital leaving Spencer alone at the BAU for a few hours. I had made everyone keep it a secret to not tell Spencer until I decided too and so when they had gone back they all had their own excuses. It has been two years since our breakup, I had raised him myself, along with the girls, and Rossi. It was hard being a single mother, 2-year-old Henry had definitely inherited Spencer’s genius brain and had on multiple occasions asked where his daddy was. Every time the answer would be, “Daddy has a very busy job and doesn’t have time, he travels a lot, but he’s coming back really soon”. And that was how it went every single day for two years.

On many occasions JJ would suggest I tell Spencer but every time I would decline and say, “not yet”.

All this time I was still madly in love with Spencer. Every night I would cry myself to sleep knowing the person I loved the most other than Henry didn’t love me back. He had moved on, on several occasions Emily would come to tell me about the girls she would see Spencer flirting with. It wasn’t something I wanted to know, but I needed to know. A very small part of my heart suggests that if I had told Spencer the night I found out about Henry he would have never left me, but Spencer had stopped loving me long before that and telling him would burden him to me. I loved him, so so much, and it was all my fault he didn’t love me back. Rossi, every time we met up would tell me it wasn’t my fault that Spencer had fallen out of love with me, but deep down inside of me it felt like it was. Maybe it was because of Maeve, maybe not.

Laying in bed crying, that is exactly what I was doing right this moment. The tears spilling out of my eyes staining the plush white pillow under my head, my body curled in the fetal position. Trembling, shaking, coldness, and the choked sobs from my lips filled the air. Henry completely oblivious of what's happening, was sleeping in the room next door. Whenever Henry saw me cry he would wrap me in a tight long hug, his small arms squeezing me tightly, his cheek on my shoulders, he never said anything, just hugged me. He truly was a smart little boy.

Tonight's tears were different. They didn’t just come out of my eyes, they poured out. Today marked the official 2 year break up anniversary, two whole years knowing the person you loved the most probably had someone else on their mind.

‘He never loved you.’

‘He’s too good for you.’

‘He hates you.’

‘He loves someone else.’

‘He wants nothing to do with you.’

‘He left you alone.’

‘YOU WEREN’T GOOD ENOUGH, THAT’S WHY HE LEFT YOU.’

‘YOU'RE A WHORE.’

‘YOU'RE UGLY.’

‘YOU DON’T DESERVE LOVE.”

The voices never stopped, slapping at my brain. The pounding just got worse whenever I tried to ignore it.

That's it. I bolted up from my bed and started walking towards the kitchen. Wine, Vodka, Beer, all those sounded great right now. And you know what that’s exactly what's going to happen. To get wasted. I’m never this reckless, but tonight, tonight was an exception, it hurt too much, the pain jabbing at my heart was too much to handle.

I stomped quietly down the halls of my apartment and swung the kitchen cabinet door that held the booze open. Nothing.

Plan b.

Grabbing the skimpiest dress I owned I threw it on and taped up on some light makeup. The dress I had on looked so slutty I almost decided to just cancel my plans, the dress was a deep dark shade of emerald green, it had almost the thinnest straps, a plunging neckline, and a skirt that stopped at the top of my thighs. For makeup a smokey eye with gold and blood-red lipstick. I grabbed my long y/h/c hair and pulled it into a slick, tight ponytail at the top of my head and turned to the bathroom mirror. I looked like a desperate whore, I had thought to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The jabbing was not going to let me rest so I threw my stupid thoughts about being a whore out of my head and called Rossi.

David picked up on the third ring.

“Y/n why are you calling me at 10:30pm?” David’s voice came from the other end.

“I’m so sorry David for waking you up so late but could you please please please come to my apartment and watch Henry for a few hours? He’s asleep already! All you have to do is listen for him.” My voice pleaded, sounding more desperate than the time I begged Spencer to come back.

“Fine, but you owe me a coffee tomorrow,” David answered shuffling around his apartment for a coat and his keys. “I’ll be there in 3 minutes.

“Thank you, see you,” I said into the phone and hung up.

Three minutes passed and as Rossi promised he showed up.

I swung the door open as soon as I heard the knock on the door.

Rossi just stood there looking at me with a disapproving look on his face. I could tell he already knew what I was up to. After all he is a profiler.

I stepped aside so David could step in.

“I’m only doing this because I know you need this,” Rossi said stepping in.

“Thank you,” I said a small smile on my face.

“Be safe okay? And don’t do anything you’ll regret.” David said, taking off his coat and sitting down in the armchair by the tv.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few hours and the guest room is always open.” I said grabbing my purse and closing the door.

I called a cab to take me to the most popular night club. The more people the better. The driver kept eyeing me throughout the entire car ride, and I get why, I did dress like a lady that wanted nothing but attention.

When we stopped in front of the club, I jumped out and threw my money to the driver before he could say anything and walked away and into the club.

The club was crowded as I had suspected, this was good this way I blended in.

As I made my way to the bar part of the club, I felt insane amounts of prying eyes on me, but I chose to ignore all of them.

“I’d like the strongest drink you have here,” I said to the bartender as I slapped down a few bucks.

“Break up?” The bartender asked as he picked up the money.

“You can say that,” I said holding the tears back.

I waited as the male bartender, Elliot I had read on his tag, prepared my drink. All around me were couples dancing and grinding against each other. Jealousy. that's what I was feeling right now at the moment.

The bartender brought back my drink and I downed it in a matter of seconds. What came afterward hit strong. The drink made my mind fuzzy and fluffy. That’s good. I wanted to feel the clouds. Right?

“I’ll take three more of these.” I slurred already dizzy.

“I’m sorry miss but you can’t have more than three of these, they are very strong.” The bartender said back.

“I’ll pay double,” I answered.

“I’m sorry miss, but it's against policy, and I have a good idea how you are feeling, and it may seem like a good idea right now, but it’ll suck later,” Elliot responds back.

“Fine, two more than,” I said handing him more bills.

He took the money without any words and walked to the back to prepare the drinks. I may be no profiler but I can sure as hell tell he thinks I’m psychotic.

Elliot brought back my drinks, and I gave him a quick thanks. I grabbed my second glass and stared around me again. Happy couples everywhere. Ugh. I downed my second glass as an attractive man approached me.

“Hey pretty lady, mind if I take you home for tonight?” The man asked.

I thought about it. I really did. But I loved Spencer way too much. “No thank you,” I answered.

“Come on.” The man said, grabbing my hand roughly. His face dangerously close to mine that I could smell his disgusting breath.

“NO THANKS,” I repeated trying to pull my wrists away.

His hand tightened against my arm. “Come on you whore! You're basically asking for it by the way you're dressed.” The man spat.

I started struggling and pulling but the man wouldn’t let go one bit.

“Hey let her go, the lady said no,” Elliot said approaching the counter towards us.

The man looked at me in disgust and let go of my wrists and walked away stomping his feet.

“Thanks,” I said as tears started spilling out of my eyes.

“Yeah no problem, be safe okay?” He asked.

“Yeah okay,” I answered as I chugged my last glass of alcohol.

I stood up, wobbling, and tried my best to make my way out of the club.

I could still hear the music as I walked out of the club. It was pouring rain outside. Great. My stupid ass didn’t bring a jacket. I saw a phone booth a few feet away and I quickly made my way to it, tripping and stumbling a bit. Everything around me was spinning and I felt like I could be flying right now. I closed the door to the phone booth and just clutched to the wall as I tried to sort out all my thoughts.

Then an idea struck me. Call Spencer Reid.

If I wasn’t drunk I wouldn’t have done it, but now it was too late, the numbers were already dialed, and the phone was already against my ear.

On the fifth ring he picked up. He picked up. Picked up. He actually picked up.

“Hello?” Came Spencer's angelic voice, although he sounded pissed.

“Spencer? Is- Is that you?” I slurred stuttering like crazy. I already knew but I had to make sure.

“Y/n is that you? Why do you sound drunk?” Spencer’s voice came.

“Of course dummy I’m drunk, why else would I be calling.” I laughed, bubbly hiccups erupting my mouth.

“Why are you calling me y/n, it's one in the morning and I’m kind of busy.” He said, definitely pissed. “Wait are you outside?”

“Y-yes,” I answered back.

There was a long pause.

What I said next was not something I would have said if I wasn’t pissed drunk. “I really miss you Spence. And, and I love you so much and I hate that you left m-”

“Stop Y/n I don’t want to hear it. I told you two years ago that I don't love you.” Spencer stopped me.

“Spencer please, please, please. I’m s-s-sorry for whatever i- I did.” I sobbed tears, definitely pouring out of my eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I told you a million ti-.” Before he could finish, a female voice came on. “Hey babe who is that?”

CRACK. That was my heartbreaking.

“I’m not your babe Amanda.” I barely hear, my choked sobs were stopping me from focusing on anything.

“Is-is that a woman?” I clocked out.

“Yes it is, I told you I was kinda busy.” Spencer spat.

That’s it. That’s when I snapped. “THAT’S IT IF YOU’RE GOING TO SLEEP WITH OTHER WOMEN, I WON’T LET YOU MEET HENRY, YOU BASTARD,” I screamed into the poor phone.

My eyes immediately popped open in horror as I realized what I just yelled. I slapped my hand to my mouth in horror. Tears definitely still pouring out my eyes.

“Who’s Henry?” Spencer asked.

“NO. NO. NO. NO.” I screamed on the phone, still in denial.

“Get dressed and get out of my house. GO!” I heard Spencer from a distance. “I’m coming to pick you up,” Spencer said to me.

“Why would you fucking do that?” I cried.

“Because obviously you’re bat shit drunk Y/n. And plus if I left you to die in a random phone box somewhere. Rossi’s going to strangle me. Where are you?” Spencer exclaimed.

“I-I’m on third street in front of the club,” I answered calming down.

“Okay bye.” He said and hung up.

“BITCH!” I yelled into the deadline.

Oh god I’m going to throw up. I ran out of the phone booth and thankfully my hair is already pulled back. I basically threw up everything I ate for dinner. I rubbed my lips with my arm and saw that my red lipstick was rubbed on my arms which only meant one thing it was rubbed on my cheek too.

I stood by the side of the road both hands in front of me holding my handbag, drenched in rainwater, Mascara running down my soaked cheeks, lipstick smudged. And that’s exactly how I looked when Spencer pulled up on the side of the road.

Spencer pulled the door open from his seat and motioned me into his car. I climbed into the car and grabbed the seat belt to fasten it but my head was so spiny it was impossible. Spencer grabbed the seat belt from my hands and roughly shoved it in.

“God you look like a cheap whore,” Spencer stated as he pulled away from the crib.

“I KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN,” I yelled, frustrated.

“Jesus women calm down I’m just saying,” Spencer said calmly, eyes never leaving the road.

I sat there in silence frustrated as hell.

“So who’s Henry? Your new boyfriend?” Spencer sneered.

On any other day when I’m sober I would have played along with it, but no.

“No,” I answered staring straight ahead.

“Then who is he?” Spencer asked, turning his head to me.

“No one.” I spat, making eye contact with him.

“You can’t just bring a random guy up and not tell me!” Spencer said, clearly frustrated.

“YES I CAN,” I yelled.

“JUST TELL ME JESUS CHRIST.” He yelled back.

I bit my lip as I started balling my eyes out.

“Just tell me.” Spencer urged.

“HE’S YOUR TWO-YEAR-OLD SON. OKAY NOW DROP IT!” I snapped.

His eyes widened in surprise. I looked at him in horror, slapping my hand to my mouth.

“I have a son?” Spencer asked, amazed, but also looking angry. “And you didn’t tell me for two years?”

I just nodded covering the rest of my face crying into my hands.

“When were you going to tell me?” He asked.

I didn’t answer.

“WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” Spencer yelled.

I looked up at him and his face was all red and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“I don’t know.” I choked out.

We neared my apartment building and Spencer parked his car. “Get out, I’ll call you when I’m less pissed at you.” Spencer managed between clenched teeth.

I just sat there cause I really didn’t know what to do.

“I SAID GET OUT OF MY CAR NOW!” Spencer yelled, his hands in the air now.

“OKAY, BYE,” I screamed back and got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Spencer immediately drove away, no hesitation, and never looked back.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, tears still pouring out my eyes, dress still soaked, and makeup all over.

When I opened my apartment door Rossi stood up and looked at me. With one look Rossi knew and ran towards me to wrap me in a very tight hug

I dropped my bag onto the floor and hugged Rossi back, crying into his shoulder as he patted my wet hair.

Part two?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #mgg #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #angst #dr spencer reid smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff

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stayextrafrosty · 3 years

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AO3 Tag Game

I was tagged by the wonderful @skinsharpenedteeth! Here we go!

1. How many works do you have on AO3

36 on AO3 and I sometimes consider moving my two stories from ff.n over but I haven't gotten to it yet

2. What's your current AO3 word count?

315,396

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Five technically. "Maximum Ride" "Shadowhunters" and "The Nine Lives of Chloe King" <- those are not on AO3

"Roswell New Mexico" and Fall Out Boy <- those are on AO3

4. What are your top 5 fics by Kudos.

they are all "Roswell New Mexico" malex fics

"Another Chance to Hold Your Hand"

"I Almost Lost You"

"I'm Dying for a Taste of You"

"Something About Running Hot?"

"I am Your Future I am Your Past"

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Sometimes. I often want to reply to all of them but usually won't unless I have something to say other than thank you. such as teasers or hints about plans for stories. (There's the big secret. Now the question is what am I actually serious about in my replies)

6. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Tbh I don't really write much in the way of angst. And if I do it's always a happy or at the very least a hopeful ending. Both my Malex soulmate AU and Malex Vampire AU have quite a bit of angst in them but it's usually resolved pretty quickly. But my Isobel/Liz fic that I wrote after 3x08 aired is probably the angstiest because even though I write them kissing, they know it will never happen again.

7. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written?

I don't write crossovers. I can hardly keep track of all the characters from one show. I'm not the biggest fan of reading them either honestly. Just never really did it for me I guess. But I have a lot of respect for people that do write them!

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes actually. It happened back when I was writing for "The Nine Lives of Chloe King" back on ff.net. I was like 14 and I made my first attempt at a sexual assault scene. I got ripped apart by this reader saying that I wrote it wrong and that the character being attacked wasn't "acting right." I was young and intimidated so I ended up re-writing the scene and removing the sexual assault all together. To be honest, I can't even remember how I wrote it. Maybe it was terrible but it still really sucked at 14 to have someone pick apart my writing like that.

Thankfully though, I haven't received hate for anything recently

9. Do you write smut?

Uh... yea. A lot. Literally almost everything.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I would love to try sometime! I like to think I'm a very easy person to work with

12. What's your all time favorite ship?

Oof umm... Right now it's absolutely Malex but my original OTP was Max and Fang from "Maximum Ride" and they will always hold a special place in my heart

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

"Maximum ride"

But that fic exists in a place no one can ever find it.

14. What's your favorite fic you've written?

Hmm... you know, I thought about skipping this question but I actually really love both my Malex soulmate and vampire AU's.

A piece that I love that isn't roswell related would be my "Friend's with the Monster" series. It's a Patrick Stump/reader but I'm actually quite happy with how I wrote it. I feel terrible that I haven't updated it but I guess that's what happens when you don't really have a plan going in.

Tagging: whoever feels compelled to do this because it's late and I can't remember who the writers are

#tag game #fanfiction tag game #ao3 tag game

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musicboxmemories · 4 years

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2020 Fanfic Year in Review

I was tagged by the awesome @ladytp-annex – thank you!!! 🥰

Total number of completed stories: Okay, so I have two pages (one for “serious” works, and another for hanky-panky), and naturally, the trash is going to have more completed works since those are just one(or two)-shots. For my smut page, I’ve completed 7 works this year, and for my regular page, I’ve completed 3 (though I’ve written 12 works overall).

Total number of words: Lmao, you’re really going to make me do math in the year of our Lord, 2021? *sighs* FIIIINE. *whips out calculator* For my smut page, I wrote 24,301 words, and my regular page 28,074 for a grand total of 52,375. Dang, I didn’t realize I wrote so much in my trash fics, haha.

Fandoms written in: Emma 2020 and Turn: Washington’s Spies. Over half of that prior word count has been written in November - December, LOL.

Top 5 by Word Count:

1. The World is Made Wrong 2. Starve This Sin 3. Secrets, Silent, Stony 4. Entwine Our Bodies on Common Ground 5. Grovel

^^^I don’t feel comfortable publicly linking my adult fics, because I don’t like to associate my two pages at all. The adult fics are for Emma 2020, so if anyone wants to read them, just DM me and I’ll give you the links! 😊

Top 5 by Kudos

1. Starve This Sin 2. Interruption 3. Be My Guide 4. Grovel 5. Entwine Our Bodies on Common Ground

^^^My trash page definitely won out here, haha. 😅

Top Fic Overall:

“Starve This Sin,” hands-down! I was floored by how many hits/comments/kudos it got, especially after being in the tiny Hannibal fandom since 2013. I guess Austen fans wanted more than a “repressed hand touch” for once, LOL. At first, I was genuinely worried about that, because Austen doesn’t seem to be a smut-driven fandom. But I guess this was further proof that there’s always a place for that lol.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Much more! I took this year off to write two books (er, back in 2020), so I wasn’t expecting to take breaks here and there to dabble in fanfiction, especially since my interest in Hannibal had finally dwindled to pretty much nada. Before Emma 2020 came out, I didn’t have any other interests! I’ve written fanfiction every year since 2003, so I thought 2020 might be the year I finally lost my mojo! Thankfully, I was wrong. 😊

What’s your own favorite story of the year?

Idk lol, I like different stories for different reasons. I like “Starve This Sin” since it was fun to write, but I also got way more poetic than I usually do in “Secrets, Silent, Stony,” and it’s been a delight writing an old character of mine in “The World is Made Wrong.”

Did you take any writing risks this year?

I guess there’s always a risk in throwing yourself out there, especially if you’re like lil’ ol’ me who ships rarepairs. Thus far, people have (mostly) been polite. I would’ve been able to say “HAVE been polite” if it weren’t for last week, when I received a rude review for one of my ship choices. I’m old and set in my ways. If you don’t like what I write, KINDLY GET OFF MY LAWN.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

Nope! I’m back to focusing on querying my books. However, I am still going to write whatever plot bunnies strike my fancy. Idk what it is about TURN, but I’ve never had as much inspiration for a fandom as I have with this one. Six of the 12 fics I wrote in 2020 were for TURN, and as I mentioned earlier, I wrote them all in the past two months (especially December). I’ll be posting another new fic for it soon, so that’ll be my first fic of the new year!

Most popular story of the year?

Still “Starve This Sin,” lol.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Weeeeell, all of my TURN fics are going to be underappreciated, because I rolled up in here 3 years after the show’s cancellation lol. And couple that with the fact I ship rarepairs? Yeah. Nobody’s reading my stuff except for a very precious few (and I appreciate each and every one of them!). 💖🥰🤗

Most fun story to write?

Probably The World is Made Wrong. Back in 2017, I self-pubbed a book, and for whatever reason, I decided to resurrect one of the side characters (who was coincidentally my favorite character) and make her a main in the TURN universe. Her personality is exactly the same, but now instead of a gothic heroine, she’s from a rich Tory family in the 18th century. My chapter word counts used to average about 1-2k, but with this fic, I’m churning out chapters averaging 3-4k, sometimes even spilling into 5k territory. I’ve been pretty inspired since I wrote 23k (the additional 4k I’m speaking of hasn’t been published yet) in one month!

Most unintentionally telling story?

Like, symbolically? I never go into my writing with a plan, so happy accidents do occur...but I’m not so sure that’s happened this year.

Biggest disappointment?

How dead the TURN fandom is lol. I mean, the fanfiction tag is actually super active (it often has several updates per day), which I find amazing, but the actual interaction itself is reflective of a dead fandom.

Biggest surprise:

My inspiration! Just judging by my past fic writing behavior, if a fandom is dead/doesn’t seem receptive of my works, I tend to duck out pretty quickly since it doesn’t feel worth the energy. But for the TURN fandom, I honestly haven’t been bothered. More interaction would obviously be wonderful/welcome, but for once I’m doing this for ME, and I think that’s important. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!! 😛

I tag @niksnarration @missjewel @bundyshoes @i-find-the-beauty-in-chaos @fandomsbyladymelodrama @simplykayley @rey-of-luke @ohbillyboi and whoever else wants to do this! If any of you haven’t completed fics this year, don’t feel bad -- 2020 was rough. 😓

#mine #...i don't remember if i have a tag for this kind of thing??? lol #fanfiction #fanfic #thanks for tagging me ladytp! :)

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quickspinner · 4 years

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On commenting and feedback

Hey friends...so something’s been bothering me a little and I want to talk about it for a sec. I want to be clear I’m not making this post to call out anyone in particular, this is an entire trend I’m seeing and I just...kind of want us all to take a breath for a second.

Every so often I feel like there’s a wave of posts that goes around about how important commenting and reblogging is to support writers. And that’s absolutely true. A fandom that doesn’t interact with its content creators dies a pretty pathetic death, it’s absolutely true.

But the tone of a lot of these posts have started to bother me, especially as I see newer writers pick them up, and I just want to put some things in perspective here, and leave some thoughts for both the writers, and the readers.

Readers, your comments are absolutely valued and extremely motivating for creators to receive. At the same time, there’s no contract that says writers are entitled to a certain level of feedback. It is not on you as a sole individual to reach an invisible standard of interaction that will cause them to create more. And if you’re sweating and freaking out and guilting yourself over commenting--then don’t. Find the level of interaction you’re comfortable with that, and accept it, and don’t feel guilty about it. If writing a comment for me causes you agony and robs whatever joy you took out of my story, then I don’t want it. I truly don’t. Just leave the kudos if you can. There’s lots of helpful advice out there on how to comment if you want to but aren’t sure what to say, and when in doubt, read the other comments and feel free to add “what they said!” or use them as a model for your own comment. But absolve yourself of the guilt. Do your best.

Writers. My friends. My colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with wanting validation and feedback. Yes, it is absolutely disheartening when you put a lot of effort into your work and you don’t receive the level of reaction you are hoping for. You put yourself on the line and you did something scary and you should be very, very proud of that. At the same time, no one chained you to the desk. No one forced you to pour out your soul. No one guaranteed you a certain number of comments of a guaranteed minimum length. Sometimes you throw out a line out there and nobody picks it up, and you feel sad and alone, but that’s not the fault of whoever was on the other side. You chose to put yourself out there, I hope because there was just something inside you that had to come out. And the best you can do is make that choice with your eyes open. Just like there are plenty of good published books in the world that never made the bestseller list for reasons completely unrelated to the effort put into them or the quality of their content, sometimes you publish something at the wrong time, or to the wrong audience, or in the wrong place, and it just doesn’t hit the way you want it to.

And I especially want the young writers and the new writers to hear this: you know what? This problem has always been there, and it’s never going to go away. I’ve been publishing fic off and on since I was 18 and the major form of feedback was leaving messages on a website’s guestbook. It’s always been a problem. As writers we’re hungry for feedback. We want to know someone is on the other end. The supply is never going to equal our demand. Regardless of whether or not that is fair or the way things should be, that’s the way things are. You’ve got to find a way to be at peace with that, or you’re going to be frustrated and discouraged forever. It will get better as you grow in your craft and grow your audience - and as it does, it will take more and more to satisfy you. So just, take a minute before you lash out because you feel your effort isn’t as reciprocated as you feel it should be. I’m all for spreading awareness of how much writers crave feedback and what a boost it is for us to receive it, but we don’t have to throw a temper tantrum to do that.

I encourage you to think about your piece a little bit before you publish it and calibrate your expectations. Every piece has it audience and some of them are going to be smaller than others. Sometimes that is not “fair;” by which I mean, an audience’s response is not necessarily proportional to the amount of time, effort, and emotion put into a work. As of the time I wrote this, my silly little piece that I wrote for fun in an afternoon has literally three times the number of notes as the fic I have put the most heart and work into, despite the one being extremely short and the other being multiple chapters. I’m not particularly bothered by that, it was entirely predictable (although sometimes it’s not; sometimes audience is very, very unpredictable). Things that are funny or sexy are almost always going to get more attention than things that are deep and angsty, things that are short are frequently going to get a bigger audience than things that are long. Just consider your expectations.

It also takes time to build an audience. I recently reblogged a post of mine from early last year when I was newly returned to tumblr that had 9 total notes and it quickly shot up into the 70s. Same fic, not a word different, it’s just that over the last year I’ve built a bigger audience. So consider that, as well. As you’re trying to build that audience, do you really want your brand to be ‘that author who’s always complaining about people commenting’? There are some things in life where you have to get angry to effect change. I don’t feel that fic feedback is one of them.

“But how am I going to improve?” My friends. Expecting to improve your writing from internet comments on your work is like fishing with a deep sea trawler. You might get some good stuff but you’re going to dredge up a lot of trash in the meantime, and it’s probably not worth your effort and the toll on your confidence to wade through it. Find yourself a group of people, either in real life or online, who you trust to give meaningful feedback. Sometimes that’s super easy, and sometimes it’s not. But it’s completely worth it to find people who both challenge and encourage you, and it’s a lot less discouraging than inviting internet trolls to beat you over the head. Be specific, too, in asking for the type of feedback you want. I myself am extremely sensitive to criticism, so I choose to ask for it only in very limited ways, from very specific people. To continue the previous metaphor, use a fishing pole in the right type of water with appropriate bait, to make sure you’re getting the kind of feedback you want.

But you want to know a secret?

It’s okay to not care about improving. It’s okay to just enjoy what you’re doing. So if you want to improve, by all means try. But if you just think you should want to improve, when in reality you just want to write a fun story, that’s totally okay too. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to not necessarily be the best that you can be. Let yourself write the fun silly crack once in a while; not everything has to be a V. Serious Undertaking.

I’ve rambled on long enough, so let me just conclude with this: It’s okay to want validation. It’s okay to encourage people to comment, to tell them how much their comments and reblogs mean to you, to ask them to leave you feedback whenever they can, and give helpful tips about ‘how to comment if you’re not sure to comment.’ It’s not about the request, it’s about the tone. It’s not okay to browbeat people, accuse them of killing fandom, to tell them that they’re the reason that you aren’t writing more/anymore, because that’s patently untrue. You are responsible for your own creative process, and if it can’t thrive without constant reassurance, then that’s not an audience problem, my friend. That’s a disease that’s terminal for your writing.

And finally, remember to support your fellow writers and creators. Nobody gets it the way fellow creators get it, and if we can’t depend on each other for support, we’re certainly not going to get it outside our own community. If you do feel compelled to reblog one of those rants on commenting, I hope you paused before you did it to go leave comments yourself. Creating content doesn’t give you a magical exemption from supporting others. None of us can hold up the fandoms and float our ships all by ourselves. Do as much as you can to support your fellow creators, and if you can’t, then that’s okay. Just extend the same grace and courtesy to your own readers, okay?

#quickrambles #unpopular opinion maybe #on writing #on feedback #readers thank you for your support

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dise7se · 4 years

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threshold

by: @spideysforce (7k)

rating: general/teen and up audiences

relationships: peter parker & tony stark, peter parker & mj & johnny storm & gwen stacy

characters: peter parker, tony stark, michelle jones, johnny storm, gwen stacy, & ned leeds

summary:

peter: 17, a little shit camper, teenager, about to leave for college and it’s the end of summer

tony: a tired, 27 year old man, turns into a teeangers dad

buzzfeed unsolved au, a msyterious warehouse at summer camp, and found family

leave comments and kudos on ao3

When Peter first got to camp, it was tortuous. It felt like aunt May was sending him for some kiddie math camp, for fuck’s sake, he was 17.

Stark Camp was an elite stem camp, only the brightest minds arrived here, no matter what their demographic, income, or social status. He applied, or was forced to apply by May, to work on robotics projects whilst there. To Peter’s absolute horror, whoever this billionaire trust-fund guy Stark was, was his camp counselor.

His fucking camp counselor.

Peter heard about the first summer camp session, he was participating in the second, which started at the beginning of August. His friends came back home to Queens from Stark camp, a ghost rattling in the old shell of their bodies, their soulless eyes begging for reprieve, the dark circles under their eyes indicating their primal instinct for victory in the camp competitions, to impress the mysterious genius billionaire they so desperately wanted to rob.

He spent the entirety of the summer trying to escape the camp, it was like everyday Mr. Stark (no, he won’t call him anything else,) targeted him only, saw some sort of promise in him, but he’d merely point to his friends and take the burden of being recognized off of him. May’s math camp. No. He can’t be noticed here, because maybe they’ll start talking about college, and how to prepare for college. Yuck.

Not that Peter was avoiding going to college, of course he’s applying. But it’s summer. His last summer before college, he needs to go out with a bang. Not some nerd camp in upstate New York. At least MJ is here. He’s 99% sure she joined to make fun of everyone’s projects, be condescending, and cause as many issues as she can while simultaneously keeping productivity to the bare minimum by scaring everyone. Yeah, that’s MJ right there.

He peeked back at her from over his shoulder and away from his robotics equipment during their scheduled tech building time, she sat at the table behind him to talk to the group about, 10 minutes ago, Peter forgot while he secretly executed Plan Ghouls, (yes MJ named it), while Tony oversaw everyone in the recreation center at camp, and maybe it’s because the Stark family is fucking rich they don’t deserve any money at all, this building looks way too nice to be here.

It was like Tony Stark, this billionaire who is barely even 30 years old, was fucking with him, Peter Parker personally. Did he enjoy tormenting his group? He acted warily around MJ, like finding a wire in a maze leading to a fuse. He’d never seen anything more glorious; a nearly thirty year old man scared of a 17 year old. Peter analyzed the older man and concluded that he is an eight year old with the wisdom of an eighty year old.

Ned promised he’d call every single day of camp, and Peter thought he’d actually die without his best friend at camp, disintegrate on the spot like some formidable being pulling apart every atom, until he’s lost in the atmosphere, drifting away like he never existed. He missed his best friend, okay? Who else would he talk to about.. the thing, his weird spider senses, and possible crime he could stop from 100 miles away from Queens.

His guy on the computer had other plans for the end of the summer, his family was going to visit their cousins that Ned conveniently was ecstatic to go on, leaving Peter to rot and die alone in summer camp. A haunted summer camp.

Peter snuck another entire circuit board into his pocket. Morally, this is very wrong. He reprimands himself over it. But, technically, he paid for this with his camp fee?

He uses less equipment for his actual projects than.. their secret project. He will use the same amount of equipment, just one is not prohibited because he technically can’t make secret projects on the side that may or may not pertain to the spooky warehouse half a mile out that Tony Stark refuses to comment on.

“Hey!” MJ yells right beside his ear, and he fumbles the lego pieces he contemplated taking in his hands and screeches. She laughs, holding her side, “Did I scare you?”

Peter plasters the best glare he can on his face, “No, you didn’t, I just yawned.” She will not win, whatever contest she made up in her head for the…. ghost catching competition, he will be two steps ahead of her and he will win. No matter how many horror movies they watch, and no matter how scared he is of her when she has no reaction except for laughter during their movie nights in the woods at night with the rest of the camp.

Countdown to Plan Ghoul’s execution: 3 days, 6 hours, 20 minutes.

—

They became acquainted with the weird, annoying show-off Johnny the second week of camp. So, last week. Peter wouldn’t call Johnny his friend, maybe not even acquaintance, but Johnny wears ugly cargo pants and stuffs them with extra robotics lab equipment like beakers, (what the fuck do they need beakers for?), and somehow stuffed a Kit in his shirt. He’s sure Johnny is going to forget and sit down with a beaker in his pants and break his ass with glass.

MJ was the first to initiate the alliance at the beginning of camp. They’ve been here for the second half of their summer, so of course she devised a devious plan.

They both hated Johnny at first, and that is exactly why Peter watched MJ reel Johnny into their plans once they’re in the Stark Camp Lab. MJ acted dryly and sarcastically around everyone she hated, drawing her to Johnny and Peter suffered the consequences. Peter lost count of the amount of times Johnny showed off his projects to the camp counselors, not long after stealing parts from a group nearby. MJ watched, intrigued, and Peter would always end up with his head down on his desk. And MJ would follow suit with Tony’s back to them, she would gather up all of Johnny’s wrenches, bolts, his keychain, and he’s pretty sure she got an arm of the collaborative robot in the corner.

And then the next dewy morning, the humidity was too thick and their eyes were unable to open from the night before because Tony told a story about a demon coming to life at the campfire, it’s real Tony has totally seen it, MJ and Peter were on breakfast duty with the camp counselors. The smell of tinder reeked on their flannels, but Tony pulled out the chocolate chips the moment he arrived, the other camp counselors shot glares at him. Peter had to turn away to hide his snicker.

This is when they met Gwen. She was part of another camp counselors group, and the two of them had their hair done, Gwen had cool piercings, even one on her face, with a vinyl knapsack by her feet full of patches. Her camp counselor has an itinerary, and oh, my god, it’s laminated, and Peter’s eyes widen and he thinks his pupils turned into the shape of hearts. The last time he saw an itinerary and Tony did not lose them while hiking was the first day of camp. Gwen’s camp counselor, Jen, even brought snacks for all of them.

MJ propped herself up on a nearby table in the kitchen and Tony rambled on about how his father never sent him to camp, and if he knew he’d practically be a boy scout out here in the woods he might’ve considered it. Peter thinks he heard the man say he was working towards his bachelor degree at their age. What a weird guy.

Johnny walked in, and Jen, the cool camp counselor reads out his last name and it’s Storm?! Peter imagines Johnny is the type of guy to steal his hypothetical sister’s toys and bury them in his suburban backyard and blame it on ghosts, and of course he tells MJ this theory.

MJ flips pancakes on the stoves, the hiss of the pancake mix to heat loud enough to drown out her inconspicuous whispers Peter nearly drops his spatula from her blaring whisper, “I sketched a prototype and stole Tony’s pencil. Our first prototype is called the Poltergeist Machine.”

He lowers his shoulders and sends his best glare, snarling and pointing with his head at Tony who is two feet away and yelling at someone on the phone about the physics kit they needed for today. “Are you crazy?! Also, that’s the ugliest name I’ve ever heard.”

MJ snarls back and throws her arms up, “Okay, well maybe names are not my forte!” And when Peter mumbled maybe under his breath, he really did know from a sixth sense that her shove was coming. And his shoulder nudges into something, and ouchie, that hurt, and it’s fucking Tony, off the phone and staring at them with his eyebrow quirk. Peter thinks he practices it in the mirror every night before bed, like brushing his teeth. He does it every day. He had never seen the man’s reaction into Peter physically bumping into him, though they did like messing with him. He was their counselor, they were bound to test his boundaries to see how much it would take to get in trouble, they’re sweet teenagers and not heathens.

Tony did nothing, and awkwardly shoved him away when Peter just stared and gawked at him.

Johnny and Gwen talked about college with Tony, who stayed on his phone and muttering, “Yeah, kids, you’ll get in,” and, “sure, yeah, we can work out a letter of rec,” and Peter pondered over his inability to plan more than three minutes ahead and felt a drop low in his stomach, because in two weeks he’d be beginning his college applications for senior year.

He and Ned had their own college plan, to keep his guy in the chair nearby while he could vigilante his college town and get a physics degree. Ned gravitated toward an engineering degree or a journalism degree, he’d probably double major. That was the best plan they’ve made so far. This, and their plan ghoul, Ned had sent cryptic messages about the nearby warehouse being abandoned and never showing up on maps online. Ned had yelled very loudly over the phone to be careful because this might require Spider-Manning, and Peter yelled over his voice so nobody else could hear.

Johnny had glared at him from ten feet away in the field during that phone call and walked away.

And he looked at him the same way now. This little shit. I will get into college. Maybe I’ll get my own Tony letter of rec without showing off.

Peter knows what’s going to happen next when he turns to stomp away, his foot caught in the strap of MJ’s backpack she left thrown on the floor and sends him skidding. Geez. He hears metal clanking, and what the fuck, did he knock over a table or something? And MJ throws herself towards her backpack before his brain can connect her actions to conclusion, and there’s a robot hand skidding across the floor the same, resigned way he did.

The robot hand. The fucking robotic hand.

They’d have to face Mr. Stark’s wrath, and he feels like he’s entered Hell, forget the commandment and We should fear and love God so we do not tell lies about our neighbor, betray him, slander him and he hears the robotic and smash into the table and break, and Tony lunges at it like it’s some family heirloom that he intentionally broke.

“MJ!” He squeaks, like he hasn’t been through puberty and is nearly an adult. Johnny’s mouth falls open and he tugs on Gwen’s sleeve as if everybody here to cook breakfast wasn’t staring in awe, and he hears war cries from MJ demanding whoever planted these supplies come forward and reveal themselves or she’d send a witch to curse them.

It was like a 1995 school drama show, the pancakes burning on the stove and the unamused camp counselors fiddle with the ends of their shirts and Tony stares at the sight of devastation and MJ sheepishly smiles. Gwen is the first to break the silence, she snorts unattractively and covers her face. “Sorry. That was a little funny.”

Tony merely zeroed in his gaze on the two of them, hovering over them though he wasn’t much taller, attempting to humble them with his menacing face. He points two fingers at his eyes in the I’m watching you way, signaling his two fingers back to them. It’s not like they hadn’t witnessed Tony the day before steal the flags for their ‘capture the flag’ game because they kept losing.

Stem camp was camp, Peter woke up scrambled every day, usually covering his face from the morning sun when Tony would pound on the door and swing it open and let the morning sun blind him. He isn’t sure how he woke up MJ, but he always waits 15 minutes after he wakes up Peter, and he thinks he hears gentle knocks and a little, “Good morning!” before he takes off to begin his day with way too much caffeine and energy.

Tony, in all his glory, is a hot mess and begs his supervisor to let him join the kids’ activities, and she usually says no but he jumps into the lake, anyways, yelling at MJ and Peter to use life vests. The camp supervisor, Virginia Potts, is usually in leggings and a t-shirt or tank top, her strawberry-blond hair in a ponytail, and always has her clipboard in her arms with tidied stacks of paper. She is always smiling, is modulated and soothing, like honey in a comb in the sun. Whenever Peter runs into her, he immediately straightens his back and wonders if its worth borrowing the robotics equipment before they put it back for plan ghoul.

Pepper usually stands at the edge of the lake, a fixed gaze set on a floating Tony, her tin tucked in and her hip out. The first time Tony decided to ditch his camp counselor duties and join in with them and was approached by Pepper, he waved to her from the top of a rock enthusiastically. “Tony!” she exclaimed and everything she lectured him about seemed to go in one ear and come out the other.

“What is the number one rule of being a camp counselor, Mr. Stark?” Pepper had asked, while Tony striked Peter with a toy lightsaber they built that afternoon, and he nearly doubled over but was grabbed by the shoulders and held up by the menace in question. The weight of the saber wasn’t very heavy and it was made up of plastic, but Peter yanks the cool metal sword from his counselor’s arm. He’s never had any siblings and doesn’t know if Tony has either, but talking about baseball and college and physics having someone surprisingly grounding and comforting when he wandered off while hiking and busted his knee, for some reason Tony was good at first-aid.

“We totally deserve a team pet!” Peter huffed at the campfire, their group settling in after a round of night zip-lining.

“For God’s sake, we will not adopt a stray racoon for the team,” Tony yells from inside the cabin, bringing his stash of s’mores supplies he kept hidden and possibly explains the ants on the premise and not secured in the kitchen. “A mascot, maybe.”

“Please, this is Cranberry Lake, we do not need a pet to keep us from the ghosts,” Gwen declares, and before she can continue Peter screeches.

“So, you do admit there are ghosts!”

Tony shivers dramatically once he rejoins the group in front of the campfire and the fire crackles in his face. Peter gasps, and Tony turns in worry, fearing the fucking kid is fucking asphysxiating. “You see! Tony just shivered when you mentioned the ghosts.” “Lowering your voice won’t do anything, you dipshit!” Johnny unnecessarily adds, getting tossed by a marshmallow and being directed into the direction of the nearby trees to sit in timeout by the all-knowing being Tony who declared if they cussed anymore they’d be sent to timeout, the Goddamned Almighty.

“One more bad word out of you guys and next time you’re going to watch me swim in the lake, using all of your floaties while you watch from the dirt, wallowing in your own despair.”

“Can I go back to Jen’s group?”

“Absolutely not. You three are keeping me alive at camp as it is,” Tony informs them as if they hadn’t noticed the man was really an 8 year old in an adult’s body. “Even Pepper agreed. She says my campers keep me alive.”

Tony floats on his back in the outdoor pool, the cold water reflects the sun and Peter floats nearby on a yellow inflatable pool float with printed dandelions on it.

His friends chatter nearby, but his head leaning against the plastic floaty drowns the sound out. He hears his inner ear and hates it. Tony grunts, moving to grab his glass with juice and a small umbrella in it. This billionaire, the head of a company producing the world’s greatest and innovative technology was ridiculous.

“Queens is..” Peter starts their conversation again, afraid he’s too quiet and the older man didn’t hear him. “Queens is my home. May and Ben raised me there, and being away from it sucks. I can’t be there to help.”

MJ sits at the other end of the pool on the hot cement, gasping when she lowers her legs in. She sounds too far away to them, in their own little corner. He raises his head to see if Tony had even heard him, but he seemed sipped from his drink and hummed to himself.

He waited for an answer before he nearly blew his cover again.

“Hometown of Parker. On Long Island, Citi Field, and supposed home of a vigilante, I think,” Tony supplies an answer, and Peter thinks, shit, he knows, “Once, Spider-Man dropped a hot-dog on my head.”

Peter laughs, freely, and shit, act natural, Peter, because the older man that he trusts but can’t seem to get the words off his tongue, his identity reveal, he’s never wanted to tell anybody else. Ever. It was his responsibility, his alter-ego, but he trusts him, for some reason.

The earth aligned them together, and whatever brought them together doesn’t make any sense.

A mentor who understood him, who was a mere 10 years older than him, who had regrettably become friends with his Aunt May, and those two were forces in his life he wouldn’t know what to do without. Maybe that’s what happens when someone mentors you all summer and genuinely cares.

Tony was brilliant. Sure, him being here was confusing, but he wanted hands on experience in his company. Tony told them stories of the previous campers and which ones reminded Tony of them. When in the college application workshop the camp offered, he revised Peter’s papers and saw another piece of him on paper.

Tony Stark was caring, gentle, he was a walking encyclopedia, his skepticism had kept a barrier around him at the beginning of the summer, but slowly thawed out the more he lived. If words have had no weight his entire life, he’s owing it to every teenager here to keep his promises and Peter wonders if anyone has ever kept their promises to Tony. A glass barrier, built from sand and liquid and carefully molded to protect him and encase him.

Practically a kid when he lost his parents. Peter had read about it in the papers and saw news channels open every fragile wound on TV, and he remembers the news reporters surrounding Uncle Ben’s death.

He isn’t sure what else has the older man so guarded, but he knows they are slowly breaking the crystalline around him, his meddling heart wrapped around this camp and the brilliant minds. He knows Tony is good, past his cynicism is pure optimism, and is is an excessive coffee drinking, smells of motor oil and marshmallows, mentors anybody he can, and the damaged heart he hides, who makes special tech presents for the students, smudged ink on his hands from his blueprints, is good.

And Peter hopes he can model who he is after Tony. Spider-Man can strive to be someone like Tony, because the 27 year old understands what it means to invest in his community. And Queens is his home, he’s sure Tony will take care of it once he’s gone for college. Tony is human, he bleeds, he hurts, he doesn’t crack under pressure but quakes alone.

The man who emerges from the tech lab every morning at 6am because he forgot to sleep, yeah, that’s Peter’s mentor. How’d he get himself in this spot?

He turns back to Tony, “My uncle Ben used to tell me people are ugly, unlovable, they are their failures, but then they’d constantly prove him wrong. He wasn’t a pessimist, he was the opposite. But he saw the ugliness in New York, in Queens. But then he’d see sons hugging and kissing their mothers, he’d see local students building churches from scratch, and older siblings wiping their siblings’ tears when they played outside.”

Tony quirks a brow, but listens. He really listens, and he doesn’t know if he can finish. “He talked in constant epithets with our neighbors. Their gardens, his wisdom, and about how people always came together. Always.

“Maybe that’s who Spider-Man is trying to save, trying to represent in Queens. I think it’s what people like Ben would want to help. And I don’t want to leave, it’s my little sanctuary. This is the longest I’ve been away from Queens.”

Tony playfully flicked water towards Peter, who dodged it and splashed water back. He could be petulant, too. “I hope this spider-guy is watching over you in Queens. I know your Uncle Ben is. And I know, I know, it’s cheesy as hell, but he really is. I remember my Ma used to visit me in my dreams at my worst times.

“I had no one to go to. My family was gone, and I wanted to do better. Be better. At my rock bottom, I was brought back up by my dad’s best friend. He stayed by my side since they died.. And when I found out he wanted to steal the company from me, I knew I could never let people like that taint more kids in the future in this field. In any field, really. I think I have a responsibility with this camp, and I know my mom would be proud of me. And I know your uncle will be proud, too, because I’ve got your back, too.”

The breath is knocked out of Peter, because oh fuck, this camp counselor who was unwilling to budge, had opened up and was vulnerable and was scared of being stabbed in the back but trusted him.

Tony cracks a smile, supine on his back over the water again in no time and drags the pool floaty with him after he kicks off the wall. They float over to the group, and the weight in Peter’s sternum subdues. An ache he forgot was there, learned to live with, and Tony’s words ring in his head the rest of the day. He tells May about it and never stops missing her.

Peter reached into his canvas duffle bag with the initials, ‘BFP,’ embroidered into it and found the white baseball jersey he last remembers seeing when he was twelve years old. His cabin is chilly today, so it must be cold outside. The sun hides behind the clouds so he shrugs a long sleeve shirt on, then the jersey.

They were going to play a game of baseball this morning, his muscles still aching from rock climbing and hiking the previous day. He was Spider-Man, he had a lot of endurance, but he hadn’t been exercising for a while. He missed feeling this; feeling fatigued but not from a night out as a vigilante. He and MJ climbed the rocks at least three separate times, their ropes clipped snugly to their bodies and Tony had reached the top to tie their ropes. They stupidly swung over the edges, dangling over the forest and had views of the lake. Johnny wasn’t scared of heights, but yelped every time his foot slipped and loose gravel jerked around him. Gwen swung back and forth, in a way that made Peter’s heart lurch when she kicked her feet off the rocks and threw her head back, lowering herself down.

It was an exhaustion that had a lightweight feeling to it.

He wasn’t dizzied from the adrenaline of catching a perpetrator in time, or whatever criminal of the night presented themselves in Queens.

Johnny had chased Peter, while rock climbing, and Peter felt genuine warmth for his friends. His best friends. They sent videos to Ned, Johnny and Gwen had been on a Facetime call with them the day before and declared whoever is friends with Peter, are their friends now. MJ shared her flannel, the one she wore around her waist once she noticed Peter’s calloused and cold hands when they brushed hands on the ropes. Gwen threatens to beat the shit out of Johnny if he bumps into her again, and once they reach the waterfall past the mounds of boulders they push each other in.

Tony had sat on the side, pretending that he didn’t have a camera strapped around his neck and two bundles of film gathered from the summer.

And seeing the initials on his dufflebag this morning, Peter wishes he could march into his home, what it was once before, and announce his future profession to Uncle Ben. Because he’s stuck. Ben Parker would laugh, reminding Peter he wasn't much of a scientist himself, yet they’d ponder over every possibility they could.

Ben, who smelled of cinnamon and coffee and New York, and Tony knocked on his cabin door before he could wrestle the baseball jersey on because the sight of it sent him reeling. Maybe May had accidentally packed it? Did she do this on purpose? They knew he would become homesick; he hasn’t left May’s for long. The longest he stayed away was for his DC trip in freshman year.

“Come in!” Peter calls.

“Hey, kid,” Tony opens the door, dressed in basketball shorts and a sweatshirt, with bags under his eyes that he seems to have everyday. He looks young; but he can notice the signs of smile and worry lines around his young-adult face. “You’re late. The kiddos sent me to check on you. We’re all waiting.”

“Sorry, I just needed to get dressed--”

Peter cuts himself off, breathing in the baseball jersey while he slides it over his head. And it was a smell he hadn’t smelled in years. May was more of a nostalgic and sentimental person, and held onto Ben’s objects. They’d peer through photo albums together, and Peter would silently grief sometimes, but he was back at the Mets game Ben fought to buy tickets for and took to. The fresh air, the golden sun, Ben’s oversized hat covered Peter’s forehead and eyes. Ben was in every stitch of the material. His mind retrieved whatever image of Ben it could, and Peter couldn’t breathe.

“I--” His breath wavered and betrayed him, and Tony looked at him with a concerned face.

Peter can hear his phone buzzing with texts from Ned, probably responding to his breakdown over possible college majors he sent in a daze this morning when he saw an article about comets in their solar system, composed of water, dust, ice, and carbon monoxide. And he felt like one of those comets now, launched into the air with no destination and freefalling.

The jersey was his actual size now, and Johnny yelled from outside the cabin, “Pete, hurry up or you’ll be catching the whole game!” Tony stared back at Peter in concern, maybe he could see through him. He hadn’t hidden his teen angst that much this summer, maybe Tony still remembers teen angst. Hopefully he didn’t call him out over his childish brain losing it on a Saturday morning at camp. Was it homesickness? Tony probably only dealt with kid campers being homesick.

“Sorry, shoot, I just lost track of my sentence,’ Peter says and it comes out like a question.

He didn’t expect for Tony’s face to soften; the usual distant and withdrawn appearance is replaced with a small smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s play ball and possibly pop one of our shoulders out of our sockets by accident again.”

Peter snorted passed the burning tears threatening to spill, wiping them across his sleeve and noticed the man take a step back towards the door. “Yeah, right, ‘us.’ That was you, old man.”

Tony ducks his head, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and leaving a gap of space between them. He gives him a slight shove to the field, and Peter catches the ball in time before it strikes him in the face. Of course, that was MJ’s doing.

They played until Peter fell over on the floor, dust spreading in the air around him on the field and stinging his eyes. He definitely hurt his shoulder.

Tony had half the mind to chortle at him once he sat Peter up, already sending Gwen to grab an ice pack and the first aid kit. He couldn’t help it; he’s clumsy. His spider senses are quiet here, only arising once this entire summer: when Tony followed him, Johnny, Gwen, and MJ down the rocks and found Tony huddled on a narrow precipice clutching his chest. He had a distant look in his eyes; Peter thought he had recognized that look on himself before. He was out of breath and his face was pale. Gwen chimed in from behind, “Are we still canoeing later today? Or is today archery?”

And that was smart. Tony schooled his face, and he must have tons of practice if it came so easily. He wouldn’t have guessed Tony was working himself out of a panic attack if it weren’t for the paleness of his face, but Gwen’s questions were good. They were about fifty feet off the ground, and he had almost slipped. At least, that’s what he heard.

The quietness of his spider senses didn’t scare him. It should have, but it didn’t. Maybe it would soon enough. Johnny sits down on the other side of him, asking Peter to squeeze his hand if he needs to.

“Ah, shit, I promise it’s not that bad,” Peter says, already heading towards the nearest wall to reset his shoulder himself. He’s done this once before, thinks; once, there was an apartment building fire and he pulled out dozens of people, smoke fumes messing with his vision and chest. He had to reset his shoulder before pulling out a teeanger, grunting and pushing his arm against a nearby wall with the fire on his heels.

“Hey, kid,” Tony asserts, holding his hands up. “Can I? It hurts more if you do it. I can promise you that.”

Maybe it was because of being emotional over Ben’s baseball jersey, or missing May’s hugs and Ned’s hugs, meeting him by his locker every morning and how much he’ll miss them all for college that is a year away, was just stupid. And stupid over being upset over having to leave the nerdy stem camp and leave Tony behind.

It wasn’t fair for him to be attached. He was like a mentor, an older brother, just from the past month. It wasn’t fair for him to ask for advice constantly, but has a feeling this man was more than a camp counselor to their group. For fuck’s sake, he shed a tear in front of him and the man let him.

Peter nods to his answer, already ducking his head and inhaling a deep breath. “Good, yeah, deep breath. You’ve got the right idea,” Tony says, grabbing his shoulder. There’s a slight pop when Tony pushes, and Peter bites back his pain and tastes blood.

Tony holds onto his arm, and nods towards the rest of the concerned group, searching for any indication that Peter is okay. Gwen wipes a tear from his cheek, and he wonders what he would’ve done this summer without them. And what he’ll do if he doesn’t see them again. Maybe they’ll keep in touch, or apply to the same colleges. He didn’t want to lose them and the safety he felt with them.

“Okay, Peter, I told you for the millionth time, you connect the black wire to the circuit to get R2’s voice commands working,” Ned ordered the phone, and had given him, Johnny, MJ, and Gwen directions to the abandoned warehouse.

It was kind of Tony’s fault for demanding a nap and leaving the four of them with another camp counselor that wasn’t as competent as he was.Well, to call Tony competent is a bit of a stretch, his methods are nonchalant. Hence, MJ is in the corner reading them murder stories from the 1930s and remindingthem the ghosts still linger in the woods of upstate New York, right where they are.

“Yeah, yeah, MJ, the eighty-year old ghost is here to haunt us,” Peter mutters, ignoring Ned’s directions because he is totally wrong. “Ned, no. Absolutely not. What is this, LEGOs sensors?”

“Oh, my God, if you’re going to tell a joke then make it funny,” Johnny groans, “It looks like a UFO.”

“Fuck you, Johnny!” Peter yells, tossing a wrench and then deciding he shouldn’t have done that, and hoped Johnny ducks his head in time, “It’s not UFOs! It’s R2D2, you stupid piece of shit!”

Maybe Peter was a little unhinged today.

“Hey, ghost, knock this bookshelf down if you’re mad at us,” Gwen declares, drawing out her voice like she’s reading a ghost story to kids, “Or hold a candlestick in the middle of the room.”

The warehouse is small, it’s dark, and they use the sunlight as their lightsource. It was probably really stupid of them to break in, but this is it. Plan ghoul. And it’s the second to last night of camp, and they had vlogged the entire venture to the warehouse.

MJ had kept all the equipment they gathered from the summer. Either Tony was completely oblivious, unaware of his surroundings at all times and chose to ignore the lack of passion in their projects all summer for this, R2D2 and Johnny’s soccer laying robot, and Gwen’s killer robot obstacle course, or Tony didn’t care.

He was a billionaire. MJ still yells at the older man over his salary, but yesterday, he asked MJ to consult as an intern for his company and have input on the charity work the company participates in. And it was perfect for her. This was how they were wrapping their summer up; some of them receiving internships, letters of recommendation, and Peter stayed the same with the sick feeling in his stomach that he’d ruin his own life, or never be as far ahead as his peers.

“Peter, I have the same kit in front of me. I gave you these blueprints!” Ned yells into his ear, and Peter drops his phone and breaks off R2D2’s arm. Gwen laughs, pointing out how much uglier the robot is.

“Can your ugly R2 even fit in my obstacle course?” Gwen asks, playing robot soccer with Johnny. Their controllers are loud, they beep too much, and the obstacle course is ugly. It’s really not, but he’d never admit to his new best friend how beautiful the course is and he wishes he could shrink down and play in it.

“Ghouls!” MJ yells, fiddling with her tiny robotic sensor that he’s pretty sure is a tracker she’s been planting. He makes a mental note to check his things later before leaving camp.”My bot says Johnny is in first place!”

Their robots race across the obstacle course of the filthy warehouse, the sun’s going down so they placed flashlights around the room and the golden hour sun basked the room as it set on the horizon. The room was full of laughter, MJ’s ghost monitor with activity levels he can’t understand, and Gwen runs into their pseudo soccer field to knock R2D2 over.

They spent the rest of the night planning for college, planning to keep in touch, and devising another plan to take over Stark Industries once they all get jobs there. Peter knew he needed to go to college. He knew he couldn’t risk his family and friends and his identity.

They hear a crash outside, all of their movements hault. Peter doesn’t dare breathe, they all let their hearts pound in their chests. The sun had set by now, and Peter discreetly used his senses to listen and smell what, or who was outside. Gwen shows Peter her arm, the goosebumps set all over and she grabs the flashlight to use as a weapon. He’s impressed with her pose, but oh, shit, is it another camp goer? Did MJ fucking summon a ghoul?

Johnny shushes them, o-fucking-kay Johnny, shush the quiet group. Obnoxious. Peter blows out MJ’s candle, while she gets out her Poltergeist machine, where did she even keep it?

“Hide!”

The kids scatter, and MJ rambles through her theories of clues she’s found. “Is that a fucking bat?”

“Is it fucking Batman?”

“Peter, shut the fuck up!” Gwen chastises, elbowing him while they search for refuge behind the nearby bookcase full of dust and spiders. The shadow from outside looms, and the room is too dark to make out whoever kicks the door open.

The door was kicked open, and the group screamed. His brain clicked, his senses didn't go off.

It was fucking Tony.

Tony fucking Stark, with a casing of gold metal under his arm. And it’s his gold and red robot.

Let’s just say Tony dragged the four of them back to the camp after destroying their robots in robot-killer-soccer.

Tony does not know the impact he had on each teenagers’ lives. Maybe it was just Peter, and he was being sappy, but it was the last day of camp and the sun was setting and he was tired of the pinewood. It’d take him at least a week to get the smell of earth out of his clothes.

MJ shows affection, she hugs Gwen before they depart. Oh, God. They’re really gonna miss camp.

The summer is ending, case closed. Everybody’s packing their bags, and Peter’s pretty sure he will never recover from his scare during plan ghoul. Who would’ve known Tony had the same idea as them.

His friends, who wear his hats, who steal his food, and who wipe his tears are leaving. He has MJ. He has Ned.

Peter had set his flannel on fire but they put him out. It was really stupid.

Peter talked to Tony about Ben one night. He used metaphors, but he knew about Tony’s parents' loss in a car crash.

“Kid,” Tony says, pulling his attention away from the camp departures. Peter practically hopped on his toes of anticipation, walking closer to the older man. A father-figure? No. Older-brother figure? Maybe. Yes.

“You better work hard on your college applications, kid, because I’m going to need a student researching with me at MIT,” Tony smiles, kindly, and Peter blinked.

It still hadn’t set how much Tony believes in him. He knows he could be saying this out of kindness, out of pity maybe, but he had been the one to pull him from his reeling thoughts all summer long.

Tony had welcomed him in the threshold, their own threshold they built together, when Peter needed someone there, to take him in, and he continued to stay in once school began. This had been the place Peter spent half the summer in, did summer homework at the poolside with Tony’s help, he accidentally left candy wrappers in Tony’s cabin and left even more ants, and grew comfortable.

“Pete, when you go off to college, I’m not kidding, don’t forget to call,” Tony says, because Peter probably looks too intense right now and doesn’t know how to unweb himself from his comfortable cocoon of a summer, and he admires his camp counselor so much.

“I’m scared,” Peter breathes, and shit, his eyes well up. And Tony is there, the smell of coffee and some sweat, pulling him into a hug and he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Oh, kid,” Tony says, “Remember all the shitty advice I gave you. Do exactly what I wouldn’t do. And remind Aunt May I’m just a camp counselor and to stop yelling at me on the phone.”

Peter chuckles, because, oh God, knowing Tony and May, they’ll both team up to watch his back.

“I don’t want to let go of everyone here. I don’t want self pity, or anything, but like, this is the first time I felt like I’ve lived, as cheesy as that sounds,” Peter admits, wiping his sleeve.

Gwen is the first one to tackle the both of them, then Johnny, and Tony curses to the air. “Why did I become a camp counselor. The little boogers won’t leave me alone.”

“Stop lying, you know you came here for Pepper,” MJ snorts, “Old man.”

At the end of the summer, Peter is a teenage vigilante with a secret identity, but chose to relish in being a teeanger this summer. He was his grief or loss or anxiety, he was Peter Parker. And he wouldn’t ever just be Peter again. He thinks about what he wants, and he knows he wants them in his life. And Tony had given him this threshold, one that felt like a home away from home, and a family away from his small one.

#my fics #fics #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #kinda #im pretty sure they gave me the wrong @ but 😭

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mayquita · 4 years

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Damn You For Making Me Love You (12/15) - Memories

Thank you so so much, for your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.

Beta-Reader: Thank you so much, @ultraluckycatnd I couldn’t have asked for a better beta. Thank you for all your effort, your suggestions, your advice and for always being there when I needed you.

Special mention to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld, thank you so much for your perpetual support and for believing in me and in the story. Thank you again to the moderators of the event, @captainswanbigbang for giving us this opportunity and making this possible. You all are the best :)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are close friends and co-workers. And both are in love with each other. The problem? They keep their feelings secret not only to the other but also to the rest of their friends. When Elsa, Emma’s best friend and Liam, Killian’s brother and Emma’s boss find out, they decide to form an alliance and work as a team with a clear goal, to get Emma and Killian to take the next step in their relationship and confess their love for each other.

Rating: M

Word count: ~ 7800 (98k total in 15 chapters)

Ao3 / FFnet

About this chapter: Christmas is coming... That means a perfect setting to face the consequences of their first (second) kiss.

Chapter 11: Memories

Killian - December 2019

What do you think if we include a current hit in the poll to choose our song for the duet next Saturday? - ES

Emma's message was the first thing Killian saw when he woke up that Sunday morning. He was laying in bed, his mind still dragging from the vestiges of sleep, so he had to read the contents of the text a couple of times until he was able to understand its meaning. Or rather, understand the only thing that mattered to him at that moment. Emma was still planning to sing with him next Saturday.

He was tempted to send a reply including that topic, but in the end, he opted for a less risky approach.

Hi, love. I see no problem with it. I guess you've already thought about a specific song - KJ

Yeah, what do you think about Memories? - ES

After reading the message, he sat up abruptly, dropping the phone in the process. Bloody hell... Memories? Seriously? What the hell was Emma playing at? Was it a way to mess with him? Or her way of telling him that she also remembered? Or was it just a damn coincidence?

A deep breath escaped between his lips as he grabbed the phone again, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed, his fingers sliding across the screen while he debated whether to call her directly and question her or, on the contrary, continue getting the lay of the land. He was about to press the call button, he really was, but in the end, he decided on a simple message. He was nothing but a coward, after all, afraid of what Emma would tell him.

Memories? The one by Maroon 5? - KJ

Yeah, I think it could work since that weekend will be the last of the year. It has a certain festive spirit, with those toast references. - ES

Aye, you got a point, but what do you think if we discuss it later at the bar? We can meet there a little earlier to talk. - KJ

Killian held his breath as he watched as the dots on the screen appeared and disappeared intermittently as if she couldn't decide what to type as a reply. When her new message finally arrived, he couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment.

That won't be possible. I've already talked to Liam about that. I've got an issue to deal together with Elsa so I will arrive later today. - ES

She was lying, which only increased Killian's confusion. Still, he was now sure that the use of that particular song had been deliberate, although he hadn't yet caught the real reason. He had no choice but to continue playing along and see where all this mess was going.

Okay then. I have no problem including Memories in the poll. - KJ

Great. I'm sending you the rest of the candidate songs and as soon as you give me the approval I will upload it to the website. - ES

You don't need to send them to me, Swan. I trust your ability to choose. I will take a look at the website later. And maybe I’ll even vote ;) - KJ

The conversation looked too professional, even distant, so he made an attempt to approach Emma as her friend instead of her coworker, hence the inclusion of the emoji. It was a poor attempt, he was aware of it, but his brain seemed not to be working properly after their kiss and the remembrance of their weekend in Storybrooke. Emma didn't seem to take the bait, though.

Okay. See you later. - ES

After that last cold message, he had to suppress the urge to throw the phone against the wall, a pull of frustration firmly settled in the pit of his stomach. To make matters worse, the bloody lyrics of the song had found their way in his head and he now felt unable to get rid of those verses. A humorless laugh escaped between his lips when he realized the irony of the song.

Here's to the ones that we got Cheers to the wish you were here, but you're not 'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories Of everything we've been through

In their case, the drinks worked in the opposite way. Instead of bringing back the memories, the alcohol had taken them away. Killian shook his head as he tried to focus his thoughts on something else, anything that didn't remind him of Emma and the taste of her lips on his.

Emma had definitely chosen the bloody song on purpose.

He was sure about that when he entered the website and saw the poll consisted of that song and its rivals, three insubstantial and little known songs. In fact, the poll had only been up for an hour and several people had already voted, with Memories being the one ahead by a wide margin. He didn't know whether to get excited about the prospect of singing that song with her or, on the contrary, feel annoyed because it seemed that Emma was trying to communicate with him in a language he couldn't decipher.

Hopefully, he would find a moment in the following days to talk to her.

Emma was avoiding him.

Killian had not only not found the opportunity to talk to her privately but he had barely seen her in the past few days.

On Sunday, she arrived quite late at The Kraken and remained busy throughout the evening. She hardly waited for them to close the bar to leave, alluding that she was tired. On Monday, he didn't even see her since the bar was closed and she excused herself indicating that she was going to take advantage of the day off to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. Today, Tuesday, The Kraken would remain open only a couple of hours, since it was Christmas Eve. Both he and Liam had organized a late Christmas dinner in their apartment, to which Emma was invited, of course, but he was no longer sure if she would bother to come.

He wasn't imagining things. Liam had also noticed that something strange was happening with Emma. He had even tried to question Killian about it since he suspected —and he wasn't wrong — that Killian had something to do with it. But Killian wasn't in the mood to explain their current situation, especially when he didn't even know what the hell was going through Emma's head.

Killian rubbed his hand over his face and hair, feeling the frustration creep over him. Although there were still a few hours left before they had to open the bar, he was tempted to go there to play the guitar and try to disconnect for a while and get rid of that bitter feeling that had settled inside him since last Saturday.

He needed distractions and it was clear that he wasn't going to find them in the solitude of his apartment. Not even Liam was here since he had gone to the grocery store to get everything they needed for dinner tonight and Elsa was accompanying him.

The corners of his lips rose slightly at the fact that at least one of the Jones brothers seemed to be on the right track to win the heart of his potential love interest. Not that Liam had confessed anything about it, but Killian had the feeling that his role as a matchmaker wasn't necessary at all. Still, he took a mental note to question his brother in that regard. In addition, he hoped that the Christmas spirit in the form of a sprig of mistletoe could finally push them together. His lips curled up again when his eyes drifted to the strategic spot where Liam intended to place the plant.

Just when he again valued the possibility of going to the bar, the sound of someone knocking on the door caught his attention. His eyebrows pinched together in confusion, since he wasn't expecting any visits. When the person on the other side of the door knocked again with a little more insistence, he hurried to open the door.

Whoever Killian was expecting, it certainly wasn't the person he found on the threshold. His eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat as he stood with his mouth hanging open, unable to react.

"Surprise!"

Killian blinked a couple of times and then shook his head, noting that she was still there right in front of him. That's when he finally reacted, sort of.

"Belle?"

"Well, are you going to greet me properly or are you going to remain still as if you had seen a ghost?"

A renewed energy seized him at that moment, pushing him forward, a laugh bubbling deep in his chest as he wrapped his friend in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground.

"What the hell are you doing here? We thought you couldn't make it this year!" he said, still amazed by her unexpected presence, after lowering her and loosening the hug so he could look her in the eye.

"Are you going to invite me in first, or do you prefer that we have this conversation on the threshold?" Belle replied, her lips curled into a grin, her eyes sparkling. Gods ! He had missed his friend so much.

He let out a laugh and stepped aside to let her in and then helped her take off her coat and hung it on the rack near the door while placing the travel bag she was holding in a corner of the hall.

"Does Liam know?"

"Nope." She shook her head and then she narrowed her eyes as her gaze wandered around the room. "Where is he, by the way?" Belle then turned her head in his direction, her eyes widened. "Tell me he's with Elsa."

Killian tilted his head as he frowned, giving her a skeptical look. "How the hell do you know about Liam and Elsa?"

Before answering, Belle rolled her eyes as if to imply that the answer was evident. "Isn't it obvious? Because your brother hasn't stopped talking about her lately. So there is something between those two, right? Ha! I knew it!" Belle raised a fist in triumph as her face lit up.

"Slow down, love. There's nothing official, as far as I know. For now." If Belle felt disappointed she didn't show it. On the contrary, she kept an excited expression on her face. He made a mental note of talking to Emma to inform her that they had gotten another ally. The mere thought about Emma caused his smile to weaken but he forced himself to park those thoughts for later. Belle deserved all his attention. "So tell me, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, that!" Belle paused for a moment as she bit her lower lip, a playful spark in her gaze. "Let's say we can blame Emma for my visit."

"Emma? My—" His voice trailed off as he looked away, feeling the tips of his ears begin to burn.

"Yes, your Emma." She smirked at him before continuing. "She contacted me because she wanted to give you both a surprise as a Christmas gift. And also as a way to apologize for her behavior the first time we met. I was really busy, but she insisted and insisted. She even offered to buy me the plane tickets. So I had no choice but to accept. She’s pretty persistent, that girl of yours, isn't she?"

"She's not my..." He trailed off again, uncertain about how to continue. Well, she was his everything, that's for sure, but that wasn't something he was willing to share with Belle. In response, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look: "She is quite persistent and also stubborn," he conceded and then decided to focus on Belle's other words. So if Emma had contacted her, that meant... "When did she contact you?"

"A month or so ago?" The little flame of hope faltered for a moment. Still, he tried to maintain an impassive expression. "We've been chatting these last weeks organizing the trip. The last time I talked to her was yesterday afternoon."

"Is that so?" he asked nonchalantly, trusting that his voice would not reveal his renewed level of excitement.

Belle was too perceptive, though. She tilted her head to the side as she studied him through her narrowed eyes. "Yeah, we've been in touch all this time, even this morning we've been sharing messages. She wanted to make sure everything went well."

He tried not to smile, he really tried, but his lips acted on his own, curling up. His gesture only increased the expression of suspicion on Belle's face. "Why do I have the impression that it's a big deal as to when I've talked to her? Have you gotten into a fight or something?"

"Not exactly," he admitted reluctantly. He hadn't confessed to anyone what happened with Emma, but he wondered if it would be a good idea to share it with someone as a means to lighten the burden he was carrying. Belle seemed like his best option. "She's kinda been avoiding me since Saturday."

Belle's brows furrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest. "What have you done this time, Killian?"

"What? I haven't done anything." It was true, but Belle's expression denoted that she didn't believe him. After letting out a heavy sigh, he finally confessed. "We kissed." A huge smile blossomed on her face, but he hurried to continue. "Well, technically she started the kiss. And then she freaked out. And she's been avoiding me ever since."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

Had he tried? No, not really. Maybe because, deep down, he was afraid too. He didn't even respond, the expression on his face revealing his emotions perfectly without having to express them out loud.

Belle first rolled her eyes and shook her head, but then her features softened, her gaze searching for his as she gave him an affectionate squeeze on his arm. "You have to talk to her, Killian. Whatever is going on in her head, she still has you in her mind. She was the one who started the kiss. She was the one who contacted me because she knew that my visit would make you happy. Don't you think you should take the initiative for once? Maybe that's what she is waiting for. Maybe she needs to know that you are on the same page as her."

"Aye... I... I should talk to her."

"So, what are you waiting for? Go!"

"What? Now?" Killian wasn't entirely convinced, though he wasn't sure if what was holding him back was the uncertainty about how Emma could react, or if it was the fact of leaving Belle behind when she had just arrived. Maybe both. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse because he was a bloody coward. "I don't think it's appropriate for me to leave you here all alone. I can talk to her later."

"Oh, come on! Stop looking for excuses, Killian," she scolded him, although the expression on her face, with an amused half-smile, never disappearing from her lips, denoted she was actually excited about his current situation. "I'm not going anywhere for the next couple of days. We'll have time to catch up. Now go!"

Her bossy tone made him finally react. He approached her and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, love. See you later." After putting on his coat he remembered something, so he turned back to her. "About the kiss and other stuff, Liam doesn't know anything and I would prefer that he stay like that for now, until I figure things out with Emma." He preferred to clear things up with Emma without having more people involved around them.

Belle seemed to catch the hint. "My lips are sealed. I like her a lot, by the way. I'm happy for you, you deserve it." She offered him a soft smile to which he responded with a matching one before slightly bowing his head in farewell and then leaving the house. He had a mission to accomplish.

All the determination Killian had felt after talking to Belle went out the window the moment he found himself in front of Emma's apartment door. He felt the palms of his hands begin to sweat as his stomach tightened into knots. But he needed to have this conversation with Emma, so, after taking a deep breath, he finally knocked on the door.

His breath caught in his throat when she opened the door quickly, barely giving him time to school his features.

"What are you doing here?"

Although Emma's words were laced with a harsh tone, he knew that he had made the right decision when he observed the expression on her face, her eyes widened slightly in surprise, the flash of something resembling longing across her gaze. Killian almost smiled to himself as he checked, once again, that she was like an open book to him. No matter how she tried to hide her emotions, her deep green eyes were like a window to her soul.

"Where are your manners, Swan? Happy Christmas Eve to you too. I'm fine, thank you." He winked at her getting the desired effect, she rolled her eyes as she pressed her lips together in an attempt to curb an incipient smile. "May I come in or do you prefer to have this conversation here?"

She ignored him, although he suspected it was more a sign of the reserved pose she intended to hold. Then she stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind them. "I'm surprised you didn't use the key."

"Well, considering that my presence here might not be welcome, I didn't want to take a chance."

"So, what are you doing here?" she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, although this time her voice showed curiosity rather than annoyance.

She was so beautiful that morning that Killian got distracted for a moment watching her features. There was no trace of makeup on her face, her hair was in a loose braid over her right shoulder and her eyes sparkled in such a distracting way that he had to blink to force himself to look away. Big mistake, since his gaze then traveled to her lips, causing a soft hum under his skin, while his own began to tingle, craving to savor them once more. She was like a siren inflicting a spell on him that prevented him from functioning properly.

After shaking his head slightly, he looked for her gaze again before speaking. "I'd like to express my gratitude for making that surprise visit possible."

"Oh."

"Thank you so much, Emma. It means the world to me." Her cheeks acquired a soft pink hue as she averted her gaze, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He had to suppress the urge to reach out to her.

"Well, it was nothing. I did it for myself, actually, to apologize for my poor behavior the first time. Besides, I know that, for one reason or another, you haven't been able to see each other during the holidays in recent years. I felt it was time for you to be reunited again at Christmas." She shrugged one shoulder as she gave him a timid look from underneath her eyelashes. "I'm looking forward to meeting her, by the way, and rectifying the impression she must have of me."

"The feeling is mutual. I mean, she's looking forward to meeting you too. And you shouldn't worry about that first impression, believe me. She likes you a lot. Her words," he assured her, earning a soft smile on her part. "You're still coming to dinner tonight, aren't you?"

"Sure, why wouldn't..." Her voice trailed off, the pink of her cheeks turning a more intense shade of red. "Sure, I'll be there."

This was the decisive moment, the moment he had been waiting for a long time. The moment to act. "I was wondering since you have been avoiding me these past few days."

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've been busy," she defended herself, although neither her voice nor the way she looked away were convincing.

"Come on, Swan. I'm quite perceptive. You've been avoiding me. And you and I know the reason, right?" His last words sounded in a soft cadence devoid of recrimination. The last thing he wanted was to cause her to hide again behind her protective wall.

Killian watched as a whirlwind of mixed emotions crossed her face, as if she were fighting a battle inside. He could feel the tension radiating off her, until, after what seemed like hours, the turbulent expression on her face softened slightly as she took a shuddering breath. "This..." she muttered as she waved her hand between them, "... This is too much, Killian. The kiss, the feelings, the sudden memories..."

"So you remember too."

A noise escaped from her mouth, half snort, half groan. "It seems the damn kiss acted as a trigger." She trailed off, as she bit her lower lip and averted her gaze as if doubting whether or not she should continue. "I now know we kissed before. Rather, I have the notion, not the detailed memory." The frustration was evident in her voice, which, despite the circumstances, was a good sign, wasn't it? "And then I freaked out and ran away."

“I don't know if it will help you, but I also remembered that kiss in that instant.” Before continuing, he watched as her features softened and her shoulders sank slightly, shedding part of the tension. It was as if his words had brought some kind of relief to her.

"It's quite frustrating, to be honest, the idea that we don’t remember our first kiss."

Just then, the reminder of a certain poll came to his mind. "Speaking of which, I keep wondering if your unusual song choice for this week has something to do with our lost memories."

Her features twisted in a grimace before covering her face with her hands. "Shit! I'm such an idiot," she whined as she shook her head. When she finally decided to show her face again, her cheeks were flushed and she looked mortified. "I needed to know if you also remembered. It was a desperate attempt to get a reaction from you. Pretty fruitless, I must say." She looked at him in an apologetic — and quite adorable — way.

"It's a good song, Swan. Very appropriate in every way," he hurried to reassure her. "Besides, everything seems to indicate that it will be the winner. But the damn song has been repeating itself in my mind since I read your message."

"Well, you can consider it as a kind of rehearsal for this Saturday," she suggested as she raised an eyebrow in his direction, any trace of her previous embarrassment disappeared from her face. "I haven't yet decided whether I like the song or not, since the lyrics seem quite ironic, with that reference to the drinks bringing back the memories, since with us it was the opposite."

Killian wasn't at all surprised that they had had the same thought about the song. He was madly in love with her for a reason, right? Well, for several reasons actually. Still, the reference to the drinks brought an idea to his mind that, for some reason, he hadn't considered until now. But at least it could offer some explanation to what happened with their memories. "Maybe our brain blocked those memories as a kind of weird defense mechanism, using alcohol as an excuse. We might not have been prepared to face the consequences of that kiss at that time, so our mind blocked that memory or, in my case, transformed it into a kind of very pleasant dream."

Her cheeks blushed and her eyes sparkled in a special way, causing his heart to melt a little in the process. "And what makes you think that now we are prepared to face those consequences?"

"Well, love, you kissed me again. I guess that's enough indication, isn't it?"

She let out a heavy sigh, a reluctant smile blossoming on her lips. "I guess you're right."

"In addition, we can always turn what happened into something positive. Now we will always have two first kisses. The first technical one, and the first real kiss, without alcohol involved."

"If you put it that way..."

"I know you're afraid, Emma. You don't want to get hurt again." He took a tentative step in her direction. Not only did she not back down from his advance but she reached out, looking for his hand and intertwining her fingers with his, a smile of encouragement pulling at her lips and causing his heart to almost stop working. He needed to take a deep breath before continuing. "We don't need to put what's happening between us into words. I won’t even ask you to express your feelings. But, please, don't push me away again."

The look Emma gave him was so intense that he felt how it reached his very soul. After what seemed like hours lost in each other's eyes, she shortened the distance between them even more and, after offering him a tiny smile, she pressed her lips to his in a soft, brief kiss, one full of promises. "Be patient," she whispered, her warm breath caressing his lips.

"Always," he replied. "I'm not going anywhere, Emma."

"Good."

His heart pounded frantically in his chest as he reached out his other hand, cupping her cheek delicately. She tilted her head under his touch as she closed her eyes, a quiet sigh sliding between her lips.

It was a beginning. He was aware that they still had to work not only to build their relationship, but to be totally honest with their feelings with each other. He had waited four years to reach this situation, and the wait had been worth it. He would not change what he was experiencing now for anything in the world.

When Emma opened her eyes again and he met the emerald intensity of her gaze, he had to resist the urge to kiss her senseless. Instead, he settled for circling her with his arms drawing her to him and wrapping her in a tight embrace. He would never tire of the incredible sensation of holding Emma in his arms, feeling her intoxicating scent seeping inside him making his head spin, while the warmth of her body against his caused a pleasant humming under his skin.

After placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head, he whispered against her hair. "Do you have any plans right now?"

Emma pressed even more against his chest before answering, "I'm waiting for Elsa to come back. We have to start making dessert for dinner."

Although reluctant, Killian untangled from her, but entwined his hand with hers. "I think I have a better idea. Come with me to meet Belle."

"I'd love to, but Elsa will kill me if I leave her alone after she has also taken care of going to the grocery store."

After everything that happened, he was reluctant to separate from her. "Text her and tell her to go to my apartment instead of yours. After all, dinner is going to be there, isn't it? Besides, I guess my brother won't mind helping her at all."

"Okay… Give me ten minutes to get dressed." After turning to her bedroom, Emma seemed to remember something. She approached him again with a suggestive smile adorning her lips. "About the trip to Storybrooke. We've already talked about it on other occasions, but it never hurts to mention it again. I may not exactly remember the kiss and that we shared a bed, but I do remember everything else. It was a fantastic weekend."

"Aye, love. We should return there someday. To create new memories."

"And maybe this time we meet your twin, The Captain." Her eyes suddenly widened, while her face lit up. "We should also invite Elsa to join us; she would love the town and its inhabitants."

"And we would have to make sure we make the room reservations correctly," Killian added as he raised an eyebrow, his lips drawing a smirk, causing Emma to giggle, infecting him in the process. They shared a liberating laugh for the next few seconds, managing to drag away part of their concerns.

"Wow. I needed this moment," Emma said when the laughter subsided. "But I better get ready before it gets even later." She hadn't walked two steps before she turned and approached him again. "And above all, no alcohol involved, please. I want to remember everything." She then placed a quick peck on his lips, a subtle touch, but one full of promises. It was all he needed for now.

Christmas Eve Dinner-Party

Killian was elated. After his conversation with Emma, he began to feel like he was walking on clouds. That feeling, far from fading, had accompanied him throughout the day, with Emma by his side since she had barely separated from him since that morning.

As he had already imagined, Elsa did not mind at all moving the dessert preparations to his apartment. His brother gladly agreed to be her assistant in the kitchen, while Emma was relegated to help Belle and himself to finalize the decorations of the house, mistletoe included.

Belle and Emma got along well from the start. Killian still wasn't sure what had gone through Emma's mind the first time they had met and she had behaved quite impertinently with his friend. Since they hadn't discussed that subject again, he took a mental note to ask her later. Even so, Emma had rectified the situation, making this reunion possible. He couldn't feel more grateful to her.

After leaving everything ready for the dinner party, everyone left for The Kraken, where they would work for a couple of hours. A wave of pride seized him when Belle could see for the first time how the bar had changed in these four years thanks to Emma's touch, giving the place a soul of its own.

Although his friend had visited The Kraken long ago, in recent years she had been busy taking care of her sick mother while carrying out two jobs. Belle's visits to Boston had been very sporadic, with him and Liam being the ones traveling to see her on most occasions. That was why she had taken so long to meet Emma. Fortunately, her mother had managed to recover, so that opened the door to more frequent visits in the future.

After closing the bar early, all of them, Ruby and Robin and his family included, went to the brothers’ apartment to enjoy a special Christmas Eve celebration, with delicious food, relaxed conversations, and even some Christmas carols. It might have been the festive atmosphere around them causing bright smiles and sparkling eyes on all the guests. Whatever it was, the truth was that he had never felt more at peace with himself and with the rest of the world than at that precise moment, witnessing the happiness that emanated from all his loved ones.

"Did you figure out what was going on with Emma these last few days?" Killian had been so focused watching the conversation that took place in front of him between Emma and Belle that he hadn't realized that Liam had approached him until he heard his voice.

Killian offered an elusive response after casting a sidelong glance at his brother. "It was nothing important, I guess. She's fine now, isn't she?" He took a sip of his drink, wishing that Liam would not continue his line of inquiry since he wasn't willing to offer further explanations, at least not until he talked to Emma again. Killian kept looking forward on purpose, reluctant to face his brother. Liam didn't seem to catch the hint, though.

"Have you talked to her, you know, about your feelings?"

Liam had tried to keep up this kind of conversation in recent weeks, but Killian had always answered evasively. It wasn't going to be any different today. Besides, he might have found the best way to divert attention, launch a counterattack.

"What about you?"

Liam's brows furrowed in confusion. "What about me? What do you mean?"

"Do you intend to do something about your feelings towards a certain other blonde?"

The way in which Liam's features changed was almost comical. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. Then his gaze drifted for a split second in the direction of Elsa while he scratched behind his ear. Finally, he nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he were convincing himself, before answering. "Maybe."

Killian cocked his head to one side while arching an eyebrow in appreciation. "So maybe?"

"Aye. You know the motto, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants..."

"...deserves what he gets," Killian finished for him, letting the words sink deep into him.

"Life is too short, little brother." Liam patted his shoulder affectionately before continuing, "Sometimes it's worth not thinking so much and simply acting and pursuing what we really want." After those last significant words, Liam offered him a smile of encouragement, before walking away with a clear destination.

Killian couldn't feel happier for his brother. It was as if the pieces of the puzzle that formed the life of the Jones brothers had finally begun to fit together, offering a glimpse of a promising picture. Just then, one of the pieces of that puzzle, the most precious for Killian, began to walk in his direction, a radiant smile adorning her face and a special glow in her eyes that had the ability to take his breath away.

"Can you come with me to the kitchen, Jones? I need something from there." Emma didn't even wait for an answer, but kept walking in the direction of the kitchen. He, of course, followed in her footsteps.

This woman would never stop surprising him. At the moment when the kitchen door closed behind them, she practically pounced on him, pressing her lips against his in a burning kiss, one with the ability to set him in flames inside. Any coherent thoughts vanished in his head being replaced by a single image, Emma.

He got lost in the incredible sensation of her lips on his and her body pressed against his, generating a delicious friction in the right places. They devoured each other until they had to pull apart to catch their breaths.

"It's not like I'm complaining. Obviously I'm not. But what was this about?" he muttered, his breath still agitated, his forehead resting against hers.

"Well, I've seen you talking to Liam and for some reason, I thought about the mistletoe that was hanging near you."

"You've lost me, love." His brain was certainly not working properly yet, because he didn't catch how those two aspects were related.

Emma separated a little from him while raising an eyebrow in an amused expression. Then she rolled her eyes before answering, "I'm only going to kiss you when I really want it, not because I'm forced to do it due to a stupid tradition marked by a plant."

"So there will be no kiss under the mistletoe?"

"Nope."

"Okay... No kiss under the mistletoe. I got it." He let out an exaggerated sigh pretending resignation and then his lips drew a small pout. "A pity."

"You're such an idiot," she snorted. "Besides the stupid tradition, I prefer to keep this, whatever it is, just for us. At least until we figure things out better."

Killian realized at that moment that, until now, Emma had been the one to initiate all their kisses. Maybe the time had come to rectify that. "Just to clarify, I'm also allowed to kiss you whenever I want as long as it's in private?"

Emma tilted her head while biting her lower lip in a mischievous way. "I guess you'll have to find out for yourself," she replied before finally turning away from him and opening the door again. The bloody siren had the audacity to blow a kiss in his direction before heading towards the living room, a smile of satisfaction drawn on her lips the last thing he saw before the door closed behind her.

Killian needed to take a couple of deep breaths while waiting for his body to recover before he returned to the living room as well. This woman was going to be the death of him, no doubt.

A couple of minutes later, Killian felt able to return with the rest. His gaze inevitably turned in Emma's direction. When their eyes met, she offered him a soft smile before continuing to talk to Ruby and Mulan. Killian's gaze then roamed the rest of the room until he found his brother who was talking to Elsa. When Killian realized the specific spot they were located in, he couldn't help smiling with delight as he went in search of Emma.

Luck seemed to be on his side that night, finally. Just before he approached Emma, Ruby and Mulan left her to start a new conversation with Regina, Robin's new girlfriend. Killian took advantage of that moment to shorten the distance between them to stand right in front of her. "Swan, about the mistletoe..."

"I've already told you, Jones, I'm not gonna kiss you with everyone around." She cut him off abruptly with a somewhat exasperated tone, although Killian detected a hint of playfulness and perhaps desire in her voice.

"I know, I know, a stupid tradition and whatever, but, you may change your mind now." Killian pointed his head in the direction of Liam and Elsa, a huge grin pulling at his lips.

Emma's eyes widened immediately as she gripped his arm tightly. "Holy shit! They're about to kiss!"

Killian couldn't help a quiet chuckle from escaping his throat. It seemed obvious that whatever prejudices Emma had against the mistletoe, they did not apply to Elsa or Liam.

"You were saying, Swan?" he muttered into her ear, resisting the urge to bite her lobe or slide his lips over her neck. Maybe another time…

"Shut up, Killian, don't distract me now," she mumbled as she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her pants. "Do you think they'll get mad at me if I take a picture of the moment?"

Killian barked out a laugh as he shook his head. He then turned to his brother and shouted, "Hey, Liam. Look up."

Liam - December 2019

"Hey, Liam. Look up."

Liam ignored his brother's words at first, too focused on his conversation with Elsa. They had been discussing the next step in relation to Killian and Emma as it seemed that they both were still reluctant to take the final step.

"Oh my god! You are under the mistletoe!" What his ears did catch was Anna's almost deafening yell. It was then that his brain finally processed what was happening.

Slowly, he looked up, finding himself, of course, with the mistletoe sprig hanging just above him. Bloody hell. His gaze then turned to Elsa. She seemed visibly nervous, her gaze traveling from the mistletoe, pausing briefly on him, and then looking at her sister with a pleading expression on her face.

"You have to kiss, guys. You know the tradition," Anna continued, squealing as she bounced and clapped excitedly.

"Don't listen to her, love. You certainly don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Liam assured her in a quiet voice as he offered a reassuring smile, even though his heart threatened to beat right out of his ribcage.

Elsa's cheeks colored a soft shade of pink, highlighting her innate beauty as she bit her lower lip in a way that was perhaps too tempting. He also felt his cheeks burn but he ignored his inner agitation, looking for Elsa's gaze to make sure she was alright.

Her lips curled up as she shrugged. "It's just a kiss, isn't it?" She moved closer to him, causing his heart to beat frantically as the butterflies in his stomach began to flutter. Before shortening the distance completely, her eyes widened slightly. "You want this too, don't you?"

"Aye, since it's a tradition..." he muttered while his eyes bored into hers. The corners of her lips rose slightly before standing on tiptoe and pressing her lips against his own. It was a brief kiss, just a gentle brush, but enough for him to feel the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath, causing something to stir inside him while everything around him seemed to fade.

Only when Elsa pulled apart was Liam able to recover his senses. Ignoring the cheering around them, he devoted himself to observing her features, finding no trace of regret, but rather an expression of contentment while the flash of something similar to hope crossed her gaze.

"We're definitely the worst matchmakers ever. Not only do we not get them to kiss, but we fall into our own trap. We are idiots."

Liam couldn't prevent a liberating laugh from escaping from his mouth, getting to infect Elsa in the process. "I’m not complaining at all, love," he managed to assure her once the laughter subsided as he placed an arm on her shoulders. "But we better think of another plan for these two stubborn ones."

"Hey lovebirds, stop whispering and share with the rest." Liam was tempted to ignore Emma's words and remain in his own bubble with Elsa, but he certainly did not enjoy being the center of attention. So, after letting out a heavy sigh, he began to walk away from the mistletoe, keeping his arm around Elsa's shoulders, gently pushing her to accompany him.

"Well, taking advantage of everyone's attention, I'd like to announce something." All eyes in the room suddenly turned to Anna, while Liam noticed how Elsa tensed beside him. Anna's eyes narrowed before she let out a snort. "No, it's not what you're thinking. I'm not pregnant, nor are we getting married. Yet."

"Nor have I proposed to her. Yet," Kristoff added as he winked at his girlfriend.

"What I wanted to announce is that Kris and I have gotten an early Christmas gift and we will also be able to share it with some of you." Anna made a deliberate pause as if she wanted to create tension in the atmosphere.

"Come on, Anna, spit it out."

Anna frowned as she raised a finger in warning in Emma's direction. "Patience is not one of your best virtues, Emma. I guess Killian agrees with me." Anna directed a conspiratorial glance towards Killian who responded by nodding, earning a nudge from Emma. "Anyway, as I was saying before the interruption... We... are going to spend New Year's Eve in a cabin in the woods. And best of all, there is room for six people, isn't it wonderful?"

"What Anna means is that both the brothers Jones and Elsa and Emma, are invited to join us," Kristoff explained. "I'm afraid there's no room for anyone else." He gave an apologetic look in the direction of both Ruby and Robin.

Liam's excitement lasted exactly five seconds, the time he needed to try to add that event to his mental schedule and realize that he would not be able to attend. A sense of disappointment took hold of him, because the idea of further developing the incipient relationship with Elsa in a different environment was too appealing. But he could not ignore his responsibilities.

"Thank you so much for the offer guys, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline. We're throwing a New Year's Eve party at The Kraken."

"But having a party at The Kraken doesn't necessarily mean you have to attend, right? I mean, you're the boss, you can do whatever you want!" Anna insisted, looking at the others in search of agreement.

She was somehow right. He might feel obligated to stay but that didn't mean Emma and Killian had to decline the invitation too. Just when he was about to make the proposal, Ruby came forward.

"Anna has a point. In fact, I think you three should go. Mulan will be with me that night. She has experience serving drinks, so she will be very helpful." Ruby looked at her girlfriend who offered her a smile while nodding in agreement.

"And you have already given me all this week off to enjoy the holidays with my family, so I will be there too." Liam was about to reply, but Robin kept talking. "Besides, I literally live three floors above the bar and Regina will be there taking care of Roland. I can take small breaks during my shift to see them.”

"I appreciate your support guys, but there will be a lot of work since we estimate that public attendance will be high. I don't think it's fair to load you with more work than necessary, honestly."

"You could hire more temporary bartenders. You have a week ahead to get everything organized." This time it was Belle who made the suggestion, clearly interested in sending him to that cabin in the woods. Yes, he could afford to hire some waiters, but still…

A deep exhale escaped between his lips, while he felt all eyes on him. He wanted to accept the invitation so badly, not only because that would allow him to spend more time with Elsa, but because it would also be the perfect excuse for both Killian and Emma to continue exploring their relationship outside their usual environment and because he had worked hard during the year and deserved a break.

He cast a sidelong glance at Elsa, who was still by his side. She was looking at her sister with whom she seemed to be having a silent conversation. His gaze then shifted to Emma and Killian who were also sharing furtive glances. It was as if everyone was waiting expectantly for him to make a final decision.

"What do you think, Emma?" Liam had learned to trust Emma's instincts as far as business was concerned, so he decided that if she gave her approval he would cease to be opposed to the idea.

Emma cast a last sidelong glance at Killian before answering. "I have a couple of people in mind who could help. I think there will be no problem at all. Ruby and Robin will have everything under control." To reaffirm her words, she quietly nodded her head, her lips curled upward. "It will only be one night. It will be fine."

His decision seemed obvious. If everyone agreed, who was he to refuse the possibility to spend a couple of days off with his loved ones? "Well, guys, if you put it that way I will have no choice but to accept." Everyone broke into applause but he ignored them, looking for Elsa's gaze instead. The radiant smile she offered him was enough to convince himself that he had made the right decision.

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Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

Just three chapters to go... What might happen when you put six people together in a cabin to celebrate New Year with all those simmering feelings around them?

#cs ff #captain swan #cs au #csrt #damn you for making me love you #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs au ff #mayquita writes #my cs writings

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