#point being: I’d love to write a fic where he doesn’t go down the same destructive spiral he goes down in canon

[kiss-theggoat]

I’m back again! I’m a sucker for Thomas Hewitt okay, and there isn’t enough about him! I was wondering if you could do another fic about him, a childhood friend of Thomas’s who moved away comes back in town. She ends up staying with them while she is in town, unknowingly having interrupted their killing plans, leaving a victim down in the basement and unknown from reader. But when the family isn’t home (who knows why) victim escapes and attacks reader. Reader attacks back but ends up killing the victim on accident. In fear she hides the body but the guilt kills her and she ends up telling Thomas. (I know out of character stuff)

A/N: Thank you for the request, I really love writing for Thomas and hope you like! 🖤

Surprise!

Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After years of being away from home, you finally decide to visit your hometown…only to see it’s been shut down. Only one family still lives there, and thankfully, you know them, and they offer to let you stay there! But…after a few days, you start to sense that something isn’t right.

TW: Canon-Typical Violence

The drive to Texas was long, but as you watched the dust and sagebrush go by, your chest swelled with excitement. You hadn’t been back in your hometown since your parents made you leave when you were younger, and now that you finally had your own car and your own money, the first thing on your list was to visit that sleepy little Texas town you’d missed since you left. The only issue was that as you kept driving…you noticed that all of the street signs leading to town were decrepit. You thought…well, you’d been gone a long time…just normal wear and tear under the Texas sun, right?

Wrong.

As you drove into town…you felt your chest tighten at the state of things. Almost every single building was boarded up, windows shattered and spray painted, signs on the ground and covered in dust. There was no way that anyone lived here, hell, the only stoplight in town didn’t even work…

Your car sputtered to a stop in front of what used to be your favorite little convenience store. Where you used to go inside and beg your mom to buy you all of the candy she said was off limits. The same store you got caught stealing a candy bar with your best friend and thought you both might get arrested by the sheriff. You slammed your car door shut, dust clouding around you in a plume of sadness in nostalgia. It was so quiet…not even a cricket…until you heard a siren.

How can an abandoned town have law enforcement? You raised a hand to block the relentless sunlight, turning to the source of the sound, where an old cop car rolled up beside you. The tint on the windows was definitely illegal, but thankfully, the sheriff slowly rolled it down, revealing his scowling face, eyes blocked by sunglasses.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in town?” He asked, lip stuffed with chew. His voice was gruff, but sounded so oddly familiar to you. You leaned in closer, eyes squinting in order to get a better look at him. You peered at the name badge…Hoyt. That didn’t sound familiar at all…but then he said your name. You continued to look at him in confusion as he pulled his sunglasses off, his eyes full of recognition. This man obviously knew you…but who was he?

He stepped out of the car and shut the door, leaning against it as he spit a puddle of black sludge onto the ground. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought I’d never see your pretty face again.”

“I’m sorry…it’s been a long time since I’ve been here and…the name Hoyt doesn’t ring any bells.” I told him, pointing at the nameplate on his chest.

“Oh this is a buddy’s uniform. Lost my own badge. The name Hewitt ring any bells? Charlie Hewitt.” He spit again, closer to your shoe this time, making you cringe and step away just a little. At first, you didn’t remember the name Hewitt either…until you remembered Thomas. The one boy in your class that never came to school, was always bullied or called names because of his face. Your eyes lit up as you made eye contact with him, a smile spreading onto your lips.

“Hewitt! Yes! I remember Thomas.” You said happily. If the Hewitt family was still here, then the town couldn’t be completely shut down, right?

This seemed to annoy Charlie in a way, his lip curling up into a sneer at the sound of Thomas’ name. “Course you remember that big oaf. Hard to miss ‘im.” He spat the rest of his chew onto the ground, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, “Where you plannin’ on stayin’?”

This made you sigh. You were hoping the little motel would still be open, but you’d just driven past it, and from the looks of it, its only residents were probably rats and roaches. “Well, actually…I probably have to drive back to Austin tonight. I didn’t know the town had…” you stopped talking, eyes landing on Charlie’s wrinkled face, not wanting to say anything rude about the hometown you shared.

“Gone under?” He broke out into a wheezy laugh, making it very clear to you that he’d probably been smoking like a chimney since you left. “Yeah. Not a lotta folks left. But Austin’s a long way and it’s gettin’ dark…not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be alone.” The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. You knew him…but he seemed …different. His eyes had a sinister glow to them, the way he stared down at your chest made you want to hop in your car and never come back. “Why don’t you come stay at the house? M’sure Luda Mae would love havin’ another girl around.” He took a step closer to you, eyes still focused where they shouldn’t be.

You spoke quickly, definitely quick enough to make your uneasiness known. “No, that’s okay…I really don’t mind driving back into the city.”

This seemed to amuse Charlie. “Oh, we insist. Tommy will be there…don’t think he’s seen someone like you in his whole life.”

For some reason, the mention of Thomas made you actually want to go. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your memories of Thomas, while very little, were only fond. He was a big kid for his age, and very misunderstood, but always very kind and quiet. And…he did say there would be another girl there, right? So you wouldn’t just be alone with this creep. Maybe going to visit the Hewitt’s would be a nice walk down memory lane.

“Okay…sure. It is getting pretty late, I guess.” You agreed, making him smile and show off his stained yellow teeth.

“Perfect. Just drive behind me.” He told you, opening the door to his cop car.

The drive to the Hewitt’s home was longer than you’d thought, and their house was huge. As you parked behind Charlie, you stared up at the house in awe, seeing every single window illuminated. You supposed that with the entire town pretty much out of commission, they owned whatever property they wanted. Your shoes crunched against the gravel as Charlie led you inside, and the moment he opened the door, a feeling of discomfort settled deep in your stomach.

The house was cozy, but eclectic. Too eclectic, like every item inside belonged to a different owner at some point in time. It smelled like a mixture of expired perfume and rotting meat, a sickeningly sweet film settling on your sweaty skin, making it hard to breath inside the home. You stuck a smile on your face anyways, not wanting to seem rude as you were led into the dining room. It seemed as though you were interrupting dinner, everyone already seated in front of their bowls, full of some sort of stew. Your presence immediately turned heads, all six eyes fixed on you and Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Well I don’t believe it…” The lady whispered, who you immediately recognized to be Luda Mae. God, she’d gotten old. You remember her being old when you were in elementary school, and part of you wondered how she was still alive. Across from her sat an elderly man, who somehow looked twenty years older than her. He was sitting there, eyes on you but unfocused, like he was staring at the air between you and the table. Last to meet your gaze was Thomas.

Your heart sank when you saw him, or what was exposed. The leather mask covering his face upset you beyond reason. You knew that Tommy had been bullied for his looks when you guys were little, but never thought he’d make a custom mask to wear, even around his family, and at dinner for god's sake. That’s when it occurred to you, he wasn’t even eating.

“Found ‘er down by the old gas station lookin’ for a place to stay. Ain't she pretty?” Charlie asked, his voice low and predatory as walked towards his seat at the head of the table. The way he spoke about you, like you were just a piece of meat, made your skin crawl.

You gave everyone a polite smile and a little wave before speaking. “Well, I expected the motel to still be open…really, I can find somewhere else to stay, I hate to impose if-“

“Oh don’t be silly!” Luda interrupted. “We’d love to have you. You’ve just gotten so pretty…hasn’t she Tommy?” Your eyes shot to a very flustered looking Thomas, his eyes fixed on his steaming bowl of stew, still untouched.

“Please dear, have a seat, you’re just in time for dinner.”

To be completely honest…you didn’t want to eat their dinner. Something about the house and their demeanor made you want to leave, but if there was one thing you learned about growing up in Texas, it was to accept the hospitality.

“Thank you, Luda Mae.” You said softly, accepting the seat beside Thomas. Charlie scooped a full ladle of soup into a bowl and set it in front of you. With clammy hands you grabbed the spoon, noticing that none of their silverware matched. The spoon you had was delicate, handle slim with swirled details adorning the shiny silver.

All of the Hewitt’s stared at you with prying eyes as you scooped yourself a bite. It contained a chunk of meat, a carrot, and an onion, along with the broth they soaked in.

The moment that stew touched your tongue, you knew something was wrong. The meat tasted off, way too gamey. You’d had your fair share of meats, different kinds of game and homemade foods made with hunting prizes but this…unlike anything you’d ever tasted. It was tender, and didn’t taste bad, but the unfamiliar taste tainted the whole soup, causing alarm bells to go off in your head.

You were soon distracted by the sounds of the family scarfing down their own dinner, spoons hitting porcelain and lips smacking. In no time, your bowl was empty, and so was everyone else’s…except for Thomas’. But, this seemed normal among dinner time as Luda Mae cleared the dishes without a word.

“Tommy. Show our guest to ‘er room for the night, would ya?”

The wooden chair screeched against the floor when Thomas stood. He just seemed to keep going…he towered over you. You craned your neck to stare at him, mouth open and eyes widening. You stood from your own chair, noticing how much larger he was than you. You stood at his chest, and he easily doubled you in width.

Without a word he started walking past you, and you figured he meant for you to follow, so you did. The more you explored the house, the less cozy it got, and by the time you made it to the guest room, it was plain and simple, just a bed with white sheets in the middle of an empty room. Thomas stood at the door, taking up the entire entrance.

“Thank you, Thomas.” You said quietly, giving him a small smile that made him turn away from you. “It’s really nice to see you.”

The longer you stared, the more you realized that he was still the same old Tommy. A gentle giant with pretty brown eyes that sucked you in until you didn’t want to look away.

Just as you were getting lost in your thoughts, Charlie shoved Thomas aside, holding your bag that you’d left in your car.

“‘Ere you go, gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Charlie…” you said softly, grabbing the bag. That was nice of him, but you don’t remember giving him your car keys…

“My rooms just downstairs if you need anythin’.” Charlie sent you an uncomfortable wink, reminding you to lock your door tonight, and walked away. Thomas stood with his head down, still in the doorway.

“Uhm…goodnight, Thomas.” You said softly, a smile gracing your face again. This time, he looked at you. And you could’ve sworn that before you closed the door, his eyes crinkled, like he might’ve smiled too. You closer the door, and grumbled at the lack of a lock, finally getting ready for bed.

A shriek yanked you from your peaceful slumber, making you sit up straight in bed. Your heart was pounding, and you reached over to turn on the small bedside lamp. You were hoping it was just a nightmare, something you could just ignore and go back to the weirdly comfy mattress but the longer you sat there, the more you heard. Footsteps, whispering…but they sounded so frantic. Not like someone getting up for a glass of water or a midnight snack.

Slowly and hesitantly, you walked towards the door and pulled it open, bare feet finding every single splinter in the floor until you were finally in the hallway, staring down the stairs in the dark with wide, fearful eyes. Everything seemed fine…until a woman stumbled into your field of vision. She was bloody, open wounds on her back in an odd spot…did she just break into the house? She was near the front door and none of the Hewitt’s were with her. You stared at her, panicking, especially when you made eye contact.

Your blood went cold and you quickly backed up, barely hanging onto the banister.

“You have to help me, please! You have no idea what is going on here, we have to get out, you have to help me!” The girl started to ramble, but her voice was a whisper-like scream. Her bloodied hands hit the stairs and she began to crawl towards you.

You stared blankly, overcome by the fear and shock of seeing her inside the home…before you knew it, she made it to you. She gripped your ankle with a sticky hand, pulling you closer to the stairs. “Please!” She hissed, her eyes wide and crazed.

Instinctively, you tried to kick her hand away from you, pulling away. You felt your breathing speed up, panic overwhelming you. “Get off me!”

Her eyes flashed with realization, and she immediately recoiled. “You…you’re one of them…oh my god!” She wailed, voice full of dread and tears flowing down her cheeks. One of them? What did that even mean? This sorrow and dread only lasted a few seconds…before she turned to rage. Her face scrunched and it was like she’d been struck by lightning, body invigorated and suddenly strong enough to function. She stood and lunged at you, hands on your shoulders.

Your breath left your lungs as she slammed you against the wall, the back of your head aching in a way it never had before. In an attempt to get her off of you, you pushed her as hard as you could, feeling the slick blood on her shoulder and her neck where your hands hit her. Your eyes were closed tightly as you shoved, but it didn’t take vision to know what happened to her. Her body stumbled down the stairs, thumping all the way down, groans and grunts escaping her as she trailed blood all the way down.

You covered your mouth with your trembling hands…you’d just killed someone…you felt nauseous, you could feel your stomach turning as you stared at her body at the bottom of the stairs, laying limp. You prayed and prayed that she’d move, but she never did. A door slammed open from somewhere downstairs and that’s when you realized…

You’d just killed someone inside of someone else’s home. Tears rolled down your face and you slid down the wall to the ground, knees shaking and unable to support your weight anymore. Heavy footsteps approached the dead body at the bottom of the stairs…and Thomas came into your field of view. He stared nonchalantly at the woman, but turned to face you when he heard your sob.

“Thomas I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened…” you whispered, face bright red from crying and entire body shaking. Thomas stood still for a moment, but when he started moving, nothing could’ve stopped him. He knelt on the stairs in front of you, huge hand taking yours.

The warmth radiated through your fingers and up into your arms, making them feel less shaky and cold and traumatized. You stared up at Thomas, bleary eyes filled with tears, realizing that he wasn’t mad…or scared…he wanted to help you. Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving closer to him, arms wrapped around his broad waist, head buried against his chest. With your panicking, you barely noticed the fact he wore a button up and a leather apron, droplets of blood smearing against your cheek. You didn’t care. Thomas wrapped his tree trunk arms around you and held you against him…it was like nothing else mattered. Comfort washed over you and for a moment you felt like you hadn’t just killed a woman for no reason.

“S-she just attacked me, she jumped at me and grabbed me and she was yelling and-“

Thomas’ hand gently stroked your hair as if to shush you, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he held you as close as he could.

There was nothing that would stop him from being close to you. Not the three bodies in the basement, and definitely not the bitch that hopped off the hook.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Tethered.

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Pairing - Benny Miller, Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, sexual content, mentions of sobriety

Word Count - 5523

Author's Note - by popular demand!! thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, it was so helpful!! don't worry, there is still a stewy hosseini fic coming very soon. i love writing for the triple frontier boys, so if anyone has any requests or particular thoughts, please send them my way. i'm also a total will girly, if you couldn't tell. as always, lots of love <3

my other triple frontier fics - Time, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

Will’s strong hand rubs steady circles into your thigh under the table as you all hunch over laughing.

Benny’s telling the story of his bad date from the night before. The combination of his masterful storytelling and the whiskey that seems to be refilling itself is making you giddy, all of you high on the joy of being with your best friends. There’s no feeling quite like it, laughing until you cry.

“Wait, that doesn’t explain why she slapped you!” Santiago exclaims from opposite you, clapping Benny on the back.

“She slapped me because, it turns out, I’d kissed her best friend a few months ago. She called me a dog and everything,” he laughs, tears escaping from his eyes. “She had a strong hand!”

“Did you know who she was when you saw her?” Frankie asks, genuinely intrigued.

“I realised as soon as I sat down. I didn’t know it’d be a problem! Man, fuck blind dates,” Ben chuckles.

“Am I crazy for not seeing the issue here?” Santiago asks, looking around the table.

“I didn’t see it either, apparently. It’s not like me and Lucy ever went anywhere. It was just a kiss.” Benny’s face is scrunched up in confusion. It makes you want to smooth your thumb over the crease between his brows.

“She was giving me the look, I swear,” he continues. “So I went in for the kiss, and she hit me.”

The boys are all laughing again, and as guilty as you feel, you can’t help but join them. Benny has such an animated, expressive face, that even the most boring of stories are entertaining when being told by him. It’s a gift. He just has a way with people.

“What do you think, hermosa?” Santiago asks, looking at you pointedly. “Would you kiss someone your best friend has kissed?”

“I don’t know,” you reply carefully. “Depends on the situation, I guess. I’d try not to, I think.”

Will’s looking at you with amusement in his eyes, slight smirk on his face. It’s clear that no one is putting the pieces together.

“Would you, Santi?” you question, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Probably not. I’d avoid it, if possible,” he replies.

The whiskey is making you braver than usual, a warm buzz running through your veins. Without thinking, you laugh,

“Too late.”

Everyone looks at you, brows raised in confusion. Will’s grinning now, chuckling to himself quietly. You’re giggling at their faces, their naivety making you smile.

You watch as Frankie looks slowly around the table, and then back at you. Shaking his head, he catches your eyes and snickers.

“Minx,” he mutters, still smiling.

“Am I missing something here?” Benny asks, surveying the silent communication happening between you, Frankie and Will.

You sigh sarcastically and throw your drink back, downing it in one go. Well, we’re doing this, you think.

“I’ve kissed every single person at this table,” you start. “Which means you’ve all kissed the same girl your best friend has kissed.”

Santiago and Benny go silent for a moment, processing this new information. Will and Frankie are still smiling, already a step ahead.

“Wait, what?” Santiago finally speaks. “You have?”

“Oh no. Pope thought he was special,” Frankie laughs, head thrown back.

“Stop it, Francisco! You are special, Santi. It just so happens that they are too.”

You point generally at the other boys, all of them with their eyes fixed on you. You can see that Benny is still figuring things out, the alcohol making his brain work slower than usual.

“I’ve known you guys for years. We’ve been through a lot together. And you’re like, the four most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen! It was bound to happen sooner or later,” you justify.

Everyone’s laughing now, the final piece finally being put into the jigsaw. You can tell they’re all thinking back to their kisses – you are too.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Benny had been the first one to kiss you.

It happened right at the beginning of his boxing career. He’d started working out religiously, meal planning, prepping for his first big fight. He set strict rules for himself – no alcohol, no women, no sex. You were glad he’d found an output for his energy, glad he was taking something so seriously – even if the idea of him getting hurt did terrify you.

The four of you had gone to support him, eager to see him win after months of watching him train and prepare. He’d really committed to the process, which was a surprise – Benny was a notorious ladies man. He loved to relax with a beer. But he’d never broken his self-made rules, not once. No matter the outcome of the fight, you were insanely proud of him. All of you were.

The atmosphere in the warehouse was electric. It was a big venue, with hundreds of people gathering to spectate. You hadn’t realised this was such a popular event. Adrenaline buzzed through the air, making you antsy with anticipation. You and the boys had front row seats by the ring, allowing you the perfect view, the ideal place to support Ben.

“I’m gonna go get us some beers,” Santiago yells over the noise.

“I’ll come help you,” you shout back, linking your hand into his so you don’t get separated.

You make your way out of the double doors and down the hallway in attempt to find the bar. On the journey, you spot a sign that points to the locker rooms.

“You order, I’ll be right back,” you tell Santiago, before following the directions.

You push open the door and step into the locker room. Benny is sat on the bench, headphones blasting music so loud you can hear it from 10 feet away. You make your way over, and touch him on the shoulder gently. He doesn’t startle.

“I don’t want to disturb you, Ben. Just wanted to say good luck,” you say quietly.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you to sit next to him.

“You could never disturb me, honey. You’re my good luck charm,” he winks, and the cheekiness of it warms your chest.

He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you, breathing in the scent of your strawberry shampoo. You inhale with him, and soak up the heat that’s seeping into your skin.

“It doesn’t matter what happens out there,” you tell him. “I’ll love you no matter what.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, and throw a beaming smile at him before leaving. You find Santi at the bar, and help him carry the beers back to the boys.

You’ve never seen this side of Benny. He’s throwing and dodging punches like it’s second nature. The man moves like ocean waves, fluid and constant, never once caught off guard. There’s a lot to be said about the pastime of men fighting each other, but honestly, Ben has found his calling.

Electricity crackles through the air as Benny swings his last punch. His opponent falls to the mat as you rise from your seats. All of you instantly begin screaming, roars of celebration filling the space. Ben throws his fist in the air, signalling his victory. It’s rare, this feeling. The five of you don’t win very often. This needs to be savoured.

Eventually, the cheering dies down, and Benny leaves the ring to go and get changed. The boys are all ecstatic, chattering with pride in their voices about their brother, their teammate, their best friend.

“Be right back,” you tell them, moving to slip out of the doors and down the hallway.

You strut into the locker room, eyes scanning the space for the man you’re looking for. You find him stood, unwrapping his hands. Before you know it, you’re running into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he spins you. His bare chest is dripping with sweat. He’s covering you in it, but you couldn’t care less. You’re both laughing, joy and love filling the air.

“I’m so proud of you,” you breathe into his neck, still in his arms. Your feet finally find the floor, and you lean back slightly to stare up at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, pretty girl,” he beams at you.

You can feel the energy coursing through his veins. He’s thrumming with it, buzzing with adrenaline – it feels like he’s going to burst. He’s practically vibrating.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Benny pulls you back to him, smashing his lips onto yours. He skims his hands down your back to grab at the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself into him.

The kiss is needy, desperate, pulsing - all teeth and tongue. Benny walks you backwards to slam you against the lockers, using the pressure of his body to lean forward into you. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling forcefully. He groans, deep and guttural, and it’s one of the most gorgeous sounds you’ve ever heard.

He’s grabbing at your ass as he dips his head down to leave open mouthed kisses on your neck, biting at the column of your throat. Your dress is practically around your waist, and you roll your hips forward, searching for friction. It’s your turn to groan now.

“Fuck, honey,” he murmurs. “Prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.”

He holds you up with one arm, and moves the other hand to twist into the waistband of your underwear. He’s pulling them down when someone bangs on the door, startling you both.

“Benny! Champion! Get out here, man, or we’re coming in!”

It’s Will’s voice, that deep tone instantly recognisable.

You pull your lips from Benny’s, your head dropping back against the locker with a clang.

“Shit,” he chuckles, gently pressing a kiss to your sternum.

“Shit,” you repeat, giggling gently.

Benny puts you down carefully, smoothing down your dress with those big hands of his. He fixes your hair next, sweetly moving it out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. He runs his thumb under your bottom lip, wiping where your lipstick has smudged.

“Do we look like we just made out?” you ask him, amusement evident in your tone.

“You do. I look like I just won a fight.”

He smiles at you, and you can’t help but smile back. God, this man. One minute he’s got you whining against the lockers, and the next he’s got you giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Come on,” you urge. “They’re gonna come busting in here any second.”

Right on cue, the door swings open, three men barrelling inside. They all jump on Benny, ruffling his hair and pulling him into a headlock affectionately. You watch from a short distance away, smile still etched on your face. You love them so much you’re worried your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

You look at Will, and find him smirking at you. Always a step ahead. Frankie grabs your wrist and pulls you into their celebrations. You’re being thrown around like you’re in some sort of whirlpool, dizzy with the joy of being with your best friends. You wouldn’t change a thing, even if you are a little lightheaded.

You catch eyes with Benny, and he winks. You know that the events of tonight aren’t going to change anything between the two of you. Your friendship is so solid, you’re convinced it can withstand anything. The five of you are connected, somehow. This unexplainable, invisible tether, binding you wherever you go. The kind of friendship that they write books about.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Frankie was the next person to kiss you.

Or maybe you kissed him. You’re still not sure.

The five of you were at a bar downtown, drinking and laughing. The boys were a few beers deep, muscles relaxing and minds quietening.

But not Frankie.

When he’d made the decision to get sober, he’d included everything. He wasn’t a man who believed in partially sober, or ‘California sober’. If he was going to commit, he was going to commit fully. Alcohol included.

Usually, it didn’t bother him. He could go to bars with his friends, happily crack open beers for them when they watched a football game, make a mean margarita when they hung out at his pool in the summer. But that night, he was on edge. He didn’t know why, couldn’t pinpoint any reason specifically, but he was on overdrive. His mind wouldn’t slow down - thoughts barrelling into him at a hundred miles an hour. He was debating going home to bed, before realising that he was designated driver. So, he’d sat back in his seat, taken a deep breath, and tried to pretend like he wasn’t about to combust.

You’d noticed. Of course you had. You, with your observant eyes, your careful gaze, your genuine smile. You’d noticed.

Will had too. He was keeping an eye on Frankie from across the booth, but he wasn’t worried. He knew you were watching him like a hawk. That reassured Will to no end.

“Oh yeah? Come on then, old man, put your money where your mouth is!” Benny’s yelling at Santiago, grabbing him by the bicep, up and out of his chair. You watch as he drags him over to the pool table, determined to prove himself.

No matter where you were, or what you were doing, somehow, Benny and Santiago always managed to turn it into a competition. You, Will and Frankie were always happy to watch – you usually ended up playing referee, only interfering when someone cheated or got too rowdy.

The two of them began setting up a game, leaving you at the booth with the other two.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Frankie says suddenly, standing up and making his way out of the door.

Will gives you a look of concern.

“I got it. Just make sure those two idiots don’t kill each other with pool cues, please,” you joke.

Will chuckles and nods, squeezing your waist as you move past him to follow Frankie.

Outside, you find him around the side of the bar, leaning against the brick wall. He’s breathing heavily, clearly trying to get a handle on things. You watch as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. He slides down the wall, sitting on the cool ground, legs bent in front of him.

You walk over and sit down next to him, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete underneath your bare legs. You lean into him slightly, placing your head on his shoulder. He breathes you in, and you feel some of the tension melt from his muscles.

Eventually, you speak.

“You okay?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer.

“Yeah, cariño, I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m usually fine in bars, it doesn’t bother me. Guess I’m just anxious tonight.”

You hum in understanding, before realising something.

“What’s today’s date?”

He looks at you with puzzlement written all over his face, but answers you anyway.

“March 16th.”

“Happy one year of sobriety, Francisco.”

You can see it all clicking into place in his head. The reason he’s been on pins all day, the reason he’s been so wound up tonight, unable to settle. You figured it out before he could. Clever girl.

“And I’m celebrating it in a bar, apparently. How appropriate,” he laughs. It’s a real, hearty, genuine laugh. You love when he laughs like this – so hard that he starts wheezing. It’s so endearing, it makes you want to cry.

“I can’t believe I forgot. A year ago, it was like, the biggest milestone ever. And I forgot.”

You can tell he’s almost disappointed with himself. But you’re not. No, quite the opposite, actually.

“You see how great that is though, right?” you ask him. “You’re so busy living your life now, working, being the best dad ever, that you didn’t even have to think about it. It’s not a bad thing that you forgot about it, Frankie.”

He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped around you, your head pressed into the crook of his neck.

“How do you do it, hermosa?”

“Do what?”

“Always know exactly what to say.”

“Years of knowing you, probably. Years of loving you,” you answer.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, but you hear him clear as day.

“No, I don’t deserve you. I’m so proud of you, Francisco.”

He pulls away from you to look at you earnestly. He smiles at you, and you grin back at him. If love could lift you up, you’d be floating, both of you levitating with it.

Frankie leans in closer to you, and you mirror the movement. You’re not sure who kisses who, but suddenly his lips are on yours, his hands moving to cradle your face. It’s careful, and it’s gentle, and it’s so full of gratitude and history that it takes everything in you not to break out into a grin. One of his hands moves through your hair as the other one caresses your cheek. You can’t remember the last time you were kissed so tenderly. Neither can he.

Unbeknownst to you, Will has come out to check on you both. He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you wrapped up in each other. His heart swells in his chest, and he can’t help but smile. He knows that this won’t change anything between you and Frankie. It’s just the comfort he needed – you both needed. He makes his way back inside quietly, grateful for the both of you and the way you look after each other.

Eventually, you both pull apart. Frankie rests his forehead on yours, and takes the first full breath he’s taken all day. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches. He’s okay, thanks to you.

“Thank you, cielito,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

“Everything. Knowing me better than I know myself. Knowing all of us better than we know ourselves.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you all alive,” you grin, and he chuckles, the vibration of it settling into your bones, warming you up from the inside out.

He pulls you back against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You both sit against the red brick, cold ground underneath you, for what feels like hours.

“There they are!” Santiago yells when he spots you both.

“Mom, Dad, can we go home?” Benny jokes, clearly down one drink too many.

“Of course we can, baby,” you smile, pulling Frankie to his feet with you.

You all clamber into Frankie’s truck – you riding shotgun, the other boys crammed in the back. You reach for your drivers hand, and interlace your fingers, resting your palms in your lap. You hold onto him all the way home, and can’t help but notice how much lighter he seems.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Santiago kissed you next.

The five of you were having a pool day at Frankie’s, trying to cool down in the Texan summer heat. It was rare, for all of you to have the same day off, so you planned to make the most of it.

The four boys were already in the backyard when you arrived. Letting yourself in, you made your way through the house, briefly stopping in the kitchen to put your popsicles in the freezer. You’d purposely picked the strawberry ones, knowing they were Frankie’s daughters favourite. She was at her mom’s house for the week, but you knew she’d be back at the weekend.

“Hey, honey!” Benny yells when he spots you at the back door.

All of them turn to look at you, and you’re slightly taken aback by all the golden skin on display. Benny is wearing swim shorts with an inseam that can’t be any more than 5 inches, strong thighs just begging to be bitten. Will’s navy shorts compliment his blond hair beautifully, and Santiago’s green ones bring out the dark brown of his eyes. Frankie still has his shirt on, but it hugs his biceps just right. Damn, you think. I might just have the most attractive best friends in the world.

They’re all grinning at you as you survey each of them. You know they don’t mind being ogled just a little.

“Eyes up here, princess,” Santiago teases, no seriousness whatsoever in his voice. You scoff and throw your head back in a laugh, all of them simultaneously joining you in your amusement.

You put down your bag and kick off your shoes, before grabbing the hem of your dress.

“Give us a show, Miss Supermodel,” Benny whistles, winking playfully.

You peel your dress over your head slowly, wiggling your hips as you go. You’re left in a little black bikini that admittedly doesn’t leave much to the imagination. You don’t mind. You’re safe here.

They’re all whistling and cheering, make you laugh. You never feel more appreciated than when you’re with these boys. It’s everything. They’re everything.

“It’s like Sports Illustrated in real life,” Frankie grins, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Will says quietly when you catch his gaze. You roll your eyes playfully, but smile at him genuinely, silently thanking him.

Your eyes flicker to Santiago. He has a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. It’s more than his usual appreciation. It’s hungry, hot, burning. It makes your skin prickle, the hairs on your neck standing up. You have to get away from his stare before you jump his bones right in Frankie’s backyard.

“Want me to make you a margarita?” Frankie asks, innocently breaking through the moment.

“Yes, please. That sounds amazing.”

He smiles at you before retreating to the kitchen, Benny following him in search of beer.

The heat doesn’t ease up all day. It’s sweltering, covering you all in a sheen of sweat that can’t seem to be wiped away.

Santiago’s gaze doesn’t help your warmth. Every time you look over, he’s surveying you carefully, eyes raking over your body in a way that makes your breathing quicken. There’s always been chemistry between you, sure. You have chemistry with all of the boys. But it’s never been like this with Santiago. Yes, you flirt with each other – it’s in both of your natures. But this is different. This is real.

You spend all day lounging around. Frankie keeps you topped up with margaritas as you make trips in and out of the pool, messing around with the boys. Benny hoists you up onto his shoulders in the water, throwing you up into the air as high as he can and laughing when you splash back down. You and Will throw a ball back and forth, doubling over when he overshoots and hits Frankie, who’s soaking up the sun in a lawn chair. In the late afternoon, Frankie fires up the grill, preparing to barbeque for dinner.

“Pope, you gonna help me?” he shouts from the deck.

Santiago looks at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, before joining him. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There’s anticipation bubbling at the pit of your stomach, butterflies swirling. Warmth has settled in your core, and Santi’s heated glances are only fuelling the fire.

The sun finally gives you some respite in the early evening. You all settle on the grass, drinks in hand, laughing about nothing and everything. Benny’s telling you about his next fight, describing his opponent in hilarious detail. You look down, and realise your glass is empty.

“I’m gonna get a refill. Anyone want anything?” you ask, smiling as you watch Benny jokingly pretend to box his brother.

“Can you grab me a beer, princesa?” Santiago asks, pointed gaze trained on you.

You nod and make your way inside, praying that it’s cooler in the kitchen. The sun might have gone in, but the warmth in your core hasn’t left.

You reach into the fridge for the jug of margaritas that Frankie made earlier. You’re rising onto your tiptoes to fetch a new glass from the top of the cabinet when you feel a presence against your back. Santiago grabs one from the shelf and places it on the counter in front of you, leaning forward as he does it. His lips are brushing the shell of your ear, and you shudder out a breath.

“So you’re feeling it too, mi amor?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’re worried you might combust if he keeps speaking to you in that deep, low, raspy tone of his.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Can’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispers. He feels a shiver wrack through your body and chuckles.

You turn around to face him, and he steps forward, caging you in against the counter, arms on either side of you. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he practically purrs.

He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, testing the waters. You catch it with your teeth and pull it into your mouth, biting down gently before sucking, not once breaking eye contact. He groans and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to you. You tangle a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, and give him a look that says I dare you.

Santiago surges forward to capture your lips with his. It’s desperate and needy - a perfect representation of both of your states all day. He slips a strong thigh between your legs and pushes upward, making you whine. You’re pressing yourself into him, trying to get as close as possible. His hands are everywhere all at once – your hips, your hair, your back, your ass. He wants to feel all of you, and can’t decide where to start.

You feel drunk off of him as he kisses you. His tongue is making you melt, his steady hands the only thing keeping you upright. You could kiss him like this for hours, surrendering yourself to this man you call your best friend. This man you’ll love forever.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice Will entering the kitchen. He clocks the situation in front of him and tries to exit silently, walking backwards out the way he came in. He knocks into the recycling bin, startling you and Santiago, causing you to jump apart and hit your head on the cabinet behind you.

“Shit, sweetheart, you okay?” Will asks, genuine concern etched on his face.

Santiago cradles the back of your head as he looks at you, eyes searching yours for any signs of pain.

“I’m good, I’m good, don’t worry,” you reassure them.

Will smirks at you and winks cheekily before he leaves, grabbing a beer on his way out.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning forward to rest your head against Santiago’s chest. He strokes your hair lovingly, a laugh rumbling through him.

You both know Will isn’t going to say anything. He’s the most trustworthy one of them all. Always observing, never gossiping.

“Love you, hermosa,” he chuckles.

“Love you too, Santi,” you reply, wide smile painted on your face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Will was the last to kiss you.

It had been a long time coming.

Some people think Will is hard to read. He’s introverted, quiet, a wallflower of sorts. But he isn’t hard to read. Not really. You just have to know what you’re looking at.

He’d called you up one Sunday morning, asking if you had plans. When you’d told him you didn’t, he invited you over for a day of pancakes and terrible movies. It sounded perfect.

Which is how you found yourself lying on Will’s couch, legs tangled together, your back to his chest. His strong arms have found home on your waist, wrapped around your middle. You’re not sure how you ended up here, as you started the movie on opposite ends of the sofa. No one’s complaining.

It’s rare, this kind of intimacy. Casual, effortless, easy. No thought goes into it. You just fall into each other as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Will’s always had that gift. He makes people feel comfortable. No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, one look from those big blue eyes is all it takes to calm you down. It doesn’t matter if you’re being shot at on a battlefield, or just getting overwhelmed in a supermarket. Will’s there, and he knows exactly what you need. You’re convinced the man might be a mind reader, honestly.

He’s not, in fact, clairvoyant. He’s just a listener. No matter what you’re talking about, Will’s looking at you like you’re the centre of his universe. He’d be perfectly content to listen to your voice, to watch the way your eyes light up when you tell stories like this forever. You feel like the only girl in the world, as you lay here in his arms.

You’re deep in thought before you decide to break the silence, voice floating through the warmth of the room.

“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

You feel him hum from behind you before he answers softly.

“Every day since I met you.”

You nod gently before relaxing back into him, sighing in contentment.

“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?” he asks, mirroring your question.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about kissing you, William,” you murmur.

His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you impossibly closer. He presses a kiss into your hair, and another to your bare shoulder.

You sit in the silence for a while, letting the questions hang heavy in the air. It’s not awkward – no, it’s the exact opposite. It’s comfortable.

“I’ve kissed Benny, Frankie and Santi,” you confess quietly. You’re not sure why, but it just feels like something you need to get off your chest. You don’t want him to judge you.

“I know,” he speaks softly. He knows. Of course he does.

“Does it make you think differently of me?” you query. You almost don’t want to know the answer.

“Of course it doesn’t,” he replies earnestly. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t look good for me, I guess.”

“That’s not true, sweetheart. They’re your best friends. You love them. A kiss doesn’t have to change anything - not always, anyway.” He pauses. “Do you regret any of it?”

“Not at all,” you whisper.

“Exactly. We all think the world of you. You should know that by now.”

You shift and turn so that you’re sitting in between his legs, facing him. You press your forehead into his, and he smiles gently.

“I love you,” you say softly.

“I love you too,” he replies, grinning widely.

Suddenly, he jumps off the couch, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s go outside,” he prompts, dragging you out the door behind him.

“Will, it’s raining!” you squeal as he practically carries you into the backyard.

He grabs you by the waist and spins you around, both of you laughing. The downpour has drenched you both, clothes sticking to your skin, hair dripping. He puts you down and looks at you as if he’s reading the words off the very surface of your soul.

Gently, he pushes the hair out of your face, moving it to behind your ears. He uses his thumb to catch a raindrop that’s making it’s way down your cheek, swiping it away. You’re both soaked through, but you can’t feel the cold. You feel the warmest you ever have, love illuminating your bones.

Will leans down and presses his lips to yours. His hands are on your waist, and he pulls you closer, plastering you together. It’s tender, and it’s sweet, and it’s a perfect amalgamation of Will. You’ve never felt more at peace.

When he pulls away, you remember his words from earlier.

“Does this kiss change anything?” you ask, megawatt smile etched on your face.

“Everything, sweetheart,” he replies, grinning widely. “It changes everything.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You saved the best until last,” Will beams, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

The boys all scoff, laughing as they do it. You smile broadly, moving to peck his lips tenderly.

“Sure did.”

Benny and Santiago roll their eyes jokingly, while Frankie jabs them both with his elbows.

“Idiots,” he murmurs, still chuckling.

Will’s hand finds yours under the table. His fingers twist the ring you’re wearing absentmindedly, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I love you, Mrs Miller.”

“I love you too, Mr Miller.”

“Guess I just had to kiss a few frogs to find my prince,” you wink at him, the whole table erupting into protests. You throw your head back in a laugh, your whole body vibrating with it. All four of them agree it’s their favourite sound in the world.

[springdandelixn]

Warm Me Up

Dark!Boss!Tony Stark x Assistant!F!Reader

Summary: Your boss’ seemingly innocent offer of warmth is not one you expected.

Warnings: 18+ content, noncon/dubcon undertones, power play, fingers at play, tell me if I missed any, Tony is his own warning. The fic is DARK, please consume responsibly.

At long last, my first Tony Stark fic has finally been made! Been really wanting to write him for a while now and I finally found the passion to do so. It’s a short one but I hope it’s a good one.

As always, your comments and likes are deeply appreciated. Reblogs would be amazing for it would help share my work and let this piece flourish. I hope you all enjoy! I love you guys 3000! ❤️ 

You hit the steering wheel again as your car refuses to start. It’s your third attempt and each time you think it would, the engine stalls. 

You check the time on your dashboard and curse at nothing upon seeing that it’s almost midnight. You saw the warning on the weather app and even heard the other employees talking about leaving as soon as the shift was done. But you had to be kind, not wanting to disappoint your boss, and you had to accept the task Mr. Stark gave you thirty minutes before clock out.

You thought you would finish on time. Thought it was something menial that wouldn’t require you to request overtime. But each folder you opened contained the mission sheets of the Avengers, having to enter each and every detail to the dot into the database. 

You don’t even understand why they are still being printed. With Tony Stark’s cutting-edge technology, you’d have expected everything to be paperless. You avowed to ask Mr. Stark for a raise since taking care of Avengers’ matters is beyond your job description as his assistant.  

Nonetheless, you finished your task and logged out of your computer. Tucking the folders in your drawer and made your way to the elevator in hopes of making it on the road before the snow starts to fall. But alas, you failed, a thick blanket of ice already covering the pavement and now you’re stuck in the parking lot of the Avengers tower with no way home. 

You grab your phone from your bag and worry your lip as you try to book an Uber. It doesn’t surprise you that no one would take your request with the weather acting up. You sigh, your breath fogging in the confines of your car as you hit your head on the back of your seat. 

A yelp of surprise then leaves your lips when you hear a knock on your window. The image behind the fogged-up glass is blurry. You wipe away the moisture and blink when you see Mr. Stark in all his three-piece suit glory waving to you from outside, a smile on his lips, before pointing at the length of your car. 

“Car trouble?” He asks when you step outside, snow crunching underneath your shoes, hugging your coat around your frame tighter to shield you from the cold, a useless attempt as you already feel it creeping in your bones. 

“My engine won’t start.” Your voice shivers as you respond. 

You watch him walk toward the front of the vehicle, leaning down into the seat of your car to pull on the lever when he gestures for you to open it. He peeks inside and you round the car to peruse all the same. You stare at him when he clicks his tongue, his hand reaching inside to poke at the huge contraption. 

“It’s frozen.” He exclaims before looking at you, his hip leaning against the lip of the hood. “Might take a while for it to thaw out with this weather and I don’t think there are any open shops at this time.” He hums before closing the hood. “Do you have any means of going home? I’d ask Happy to take you but he’s out on an errand.”

You shake your head and quiver from where you stand. “I think the weather has scared the Uber drivers.” Your laugh comes out dry and it’s only because you find yourself screwed by the situation you’re in. “I can probably call my frie—”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Stark shakes his head and walks back to you. “You can stay here for the night and we’ll have your car checked in the morning.”

“Oh, Mr. Stark, there’s no need.” You protest. “Really, I don’t think my friend would mind picking me up.”

“Well, if you insist.” He hums, picking out his phone from his pocket before tapping on the screen. “You could at least wait inside than stay here and freeze to death, you’re already shivering, Sweetheart.” He says teasingly and you chuckle at his joke before nodding in agreement, looking at him when he closes your door and places a hand on the small of your back. 

-

You blink when the elevator passes the floor to his office, the floor where your desk is, and swallow thickly when you see it head over to the penthouse, Mr. Stark’s personal floor. 

You’ve only been here once when he was too beat up to get out of bed and you had some urgent papers that needed his signature. It wasn’t as pleasant as you thought as you caught him walking across the floor with only his boxers when the doors of the lift opened. 

You push the memory to the back of your mind and peek into the foyer when the metal barrier parts. You step out when you feel Mr. Stark’s hand press against your back and you carefully pad through the carpeted floor, standing by the two steps on instinct, and wait for him to fully welcome you in. 

You smile softly when FRIDAY greets you in her sweet, monotone voice, answering her back before folding your hands in front of you. 

“Please, make yourself at home.” Mr. Stark calls out as he makes his way to the bar. “You’re not my assistant at the moment, you’re my guest.” He gives you that usual Tony Stark charming smile and you return a soft one before making your way to the couch and taking a seat, crossing your legs as you smooth the skirt of your dress against your thighs. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Hot water, please. If you have it.” You tell him, your body visibly shakes as the heat of his private quarters and the chill in your bones begin to clash within.

You scan the place as you wait for Mr. Stark to join you. The view from the outside still looks immaculate with how it’s framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the muted light from the bulbs that hang above adding to its picturesque state. You notice that his usual desk is gone, one of his Iron Man suits taking its place, making you curious if it’s the one he uses on missions or simply a decoration. 

The bar, as always, is full of liquor. Almost anything you ask can be made with the various selection your boss has. You see Mr. Stark pouring some hot water into a mug and you give him a smile when he meets your eyes, looking back at the coffee table when he strides over to you. 

“Your water.” He says with a flourish and you take the mug with both hands. You whisper your thanks before lifting it closer to your face, basking in the heat that slowly bleeds into your skin.

“Still feeling cold?” He asks as he looks at you, sipping from a tumbler that’s half-filled with amber liquid before resting it against his knee. “Whiskey could help, you know.” He grins and you shake your head as you lift the mug of water. 

“The water is fine. Thank you, Mr. Stark.” 

“Please, call me Tony.” He chides with a chuckle. “I’ve told you that countless times and yet you still won’t humor me.”

“I just feel it’s inappropriate to call my boss by his first name.” You reason, taking another welcome sip of the hot liquid. 

“Alright. I’ll give you that.” He hums, animatedly tapping his cheek before tilting his head to the side, playfulness touching his lips. “When it’s work hours, Mr. Stark it is. But outside work, it’s Tony. Friends.” He hums, holding his hand out to you. “Deal?”

Even when he says it’s okay, you can’t help but feel weird about it. Yes, you know that your boss is friendly. Heck, you think he could win a Mr. Congeniality pageant with just a wink. But threading that fine line between boss and subordinate to friends just doesn’t sit well with you.

He’s kind. You’ll give him that and you think he’d be a really funny friend if circumstances were different, nevertheless, being friends with your boss just doesn’t bode well, especially with a man such as Tony Stark. He’s already working you to the bone with him being your superior and you dread that he would abuse the friendship he’s offering for you to stay later than usual in the office. 

But who are you to reject him? You’re just an assistant. A speck in his world and easily replaceable. You fear that if you deny him of simply being friends he’d put up a job ad with your position on it and you don’t even doubt that it would be flocked with applicants who dream of simply breathing the same air as the man. And job hunting isn’t listed on your to-do list as of late. 

Huffing away your anxiety, you smile and take his hand, giving it a light shake. “Deal. Friends.” You agree and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body when the cold feeling of his hand seeps through your own. 

“You’re shaking.” He frowns as he looks down at your hand, placing his glass atop the low table in front of the couch before taking your mug from your other hand and sitting it beside his. “Come here.” Your eyes widen at his words and you try to move away from him but his grip on you tightens and he pulls you closer, your body pressing against his chest as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. “There. Feeling better, Sweetheart?”

You shiver once again but not from the cold this time, but from how close he is to you. The anxiety spins within your nerves once again when he holds your shoulder a little too tight, flinching when his other hand caresses your knee. 

“Mr. Stark—”

“Ah ah, what did we agree on?” He reprimands you lightly.

“Tony.” You correct yourself, your voice shaking as you speak.

“Very good, Sweetheart.” He grins and jostles you, feeling his hand reach up to peel your coat from your shoulder.

“Tony—what are you doing?” You say as you grab his hand and try to stop him, fear slowly creeping up your spine when you see a dangerous glint in his brown eyes. 

“I just want to keep you warm. That’s all.” He grunts and tugs harshly on your coat, the force making you release his hold on him, letting the garment slip from your body. 

As soon as you’re free from its confines, you get to your feet and make a beeline to the elevator. But you don’t make it as Tony quickly grabs your hand, pulling you back on the couch. The air in your lungs gets knocked out when you land roughly on his lap, your back hitting his chest—his arc reactor making you wince in pain. 

You try to wriggle free from his hold, your hands reaching over to the armrest to pull yourself away from him. But you stop fidgeting when his hand rounds your throat, feeling his fingers dig into the side of your neck, making you cough and choke as you grab onto his wrist, panic surging through your veins. 

“Mr. St—Tony!” You gasp, your legs halting from kicking when he slaps his hand hard against your thigh. “Please—let me go.” Tears pool in your eyes from not only the pain but from the fear that fills you. 

“You’re not being a good friend right now, Sweetheart.” He growls against your ear before pressing a kiss on your shoulder. 

His hand rests on your knee once more and you push your legs together when you feel him hiking up your skirt, fingertips grazing against your bare skin. You gasp when he pinches hard on the meat of your thigh, obeying his silent command for you to part them. 

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out as his fingers graze your inner thigh, gasping when he rubs a finger against your panties, a moan escaping your lips as his thumb presses hard against your clothed clit. 

He rolls his thumb slowly and you grab his wrist as you attempt once more to stop him. You don’t understand why he’s doing this, confused why he’s chosen to torture you with such perversion when you’ve done nothing to deserve it. When you’ve done everything to be a good employee. 

He’s an Avenger. He’s supposed to be kind. He’s supposed to be one of the good guys. They don’t do these kinds of things but rather prevent them. 

“I already told you, Sweetheart,” He hums against your ear, pulling you back to have your head press against his shoulder, his goatee prickling you as he trails kisses on your skin, the act making you quake once more in terror. 

“I just want to keep you warm.” His voice makes your stomach roil in disgust, his finger pushing your panties to the side and you close your eyes as your body goes rigid from his unwanted touch.

You clamp your lips down to prevent another moan from escaping you, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your body responding to his touch. But it’s once more a failed attempt as your lips part when he slides a digit through your pussy, your mind fighting yet your body succumbing to his depravity. 

[gabessquishytum]

I have been binge-watching SCP Foundation videos on youtube, and it got my noggin a’workin on an Eldritch Euclid-type SCP monster known simply as “Dream”, a being that is capable of making and controlling dreams. He is sometimes referred to as Morpheus but it’s unclear whether this is simply a reference to the Greek god of the same name, or perhaps a name from a time when he was still human.

Okay, so I’m going to stop there, as I am actually incapable of writing the really scientific prose that is prevalent in SCP videos LOL But essentially, SCP Dream still has all the powers of our Dream, and is also capable of traversing to the waking world.

I’m torn between 2 possible aus here. One, an au where Hob meets Dream when he’s still a kid and befriends the eldritch being unknowingly in his dreams. There actually exists a fic with this same concept, only friendlier cause Dream was Hob’s imaginary friend, but I’d like to go a darker route where Dream becomes possessive of Hob, which is funny because he thought of the kid as a nuisance at first, amusing but annoying, so Dream doesn’t break Hob’s mind immediately. Yay. Instead he allows the child to visit him at night when he’s asleep. I’m imagining Dream making up dreams to keep Hob occupied, finding Hob’s reactions to be really entertaining. Oh and a possible scene where Hob laments to his dream friend about his trouble with bullies at school, and Dream acts dismissive to his plight as always, but miraculously his bullies all had mysterious medical emergencies and won’t be coming to school for awhile. And as the years go by, Dream grows more and more attached to Hob, to the point where he refuses to let Hob wake up, and he starts tempting Hob with sweeter dreams. Maybe some sexy dreams too, cause Hob is such a beautiful young man now, and Dream can't help but notice the way Hob has grown in certain places. COUGH HOBOOOBIES COUGH. I like to think Hob will refuse, maybe he bulk orders coffee or something, which will anger Dream and cue the dubcon/noncon scene huehuehueheuhuehue

The other au is where Hob is a SCP foundation researcher assigned to Dream, and of course our favorite eldritch being grows scarily attached and the same dubcon/noncon shenanigans occur.

I’d love to your thoughts and prayers (lol) on this.

-Love Yan Anon <3

Oh hot!!! Very hot!!! I'm gonna expand on that second option since you filled out the first one so wonderfully!!!

So Hob is a young researcher who's been assigned one of his first SCPs, and he's super excited. Only he just wishes that Dream wasn't quite as excited about him, too... he's being held onsite in a containment chamber, and he always insists that Hob come inside to do his research "properly". Dream is classed as Euclid, so he's complex to contain but not impossible, and he honestly just lets Hob come and go as he pleases. In containment he has plenty of things to keep him entertained, because the Foundation isn't cruel, but he's just so much more interested in Hob. His vivid daydreams and nightmares, his wandering thoughts. Dream eats it all up hungrily. He's relying on Hob to give his contact with dreaming, and Hob does that so wonderfully. How can Dream help but adore him? He's a perfect vessel for Dream’s love.

He wants to be inside Hob, like he's been inside his subconscious. Wants to explore his body and see what reactions he can elicit. He will inspire new dreams, new nightmares. The dream of being worshipped, the horror of being consumed. Dream wants to see it played out in the flesh of Hob’s body. The sweet little human thinks that he has Dream contained but oh no, Dream can't be contained. Not really, not while he has access to Hob’s mind. It's Dream who's doing the research and the sweet man doesn't even know it.

It's not until Hob finds himself face down on the floor with dreamstuff keeping him bound at his wrists and ankles that he realises that perhaps Dream is a little more complicated than he might have initially appeared. Hard to deny it now when Dream is fucking him joyously into the concrete, nuzzling into the back of Hob’s head and moaning like he's having the time of his life. The more Hob whines and shivers, the more his mind spirals, the more Dream seems to like it.

But then. This is going to be a truly amazing addition to his report. So Hob should maybe just keep trying to make it as good as possible for Dream. The more data the better, right?

[justhere4thevibez]

I have a drabble request (and if it’s not your cup of tea that’s totally fine) could you write something where Max and Erica both roast Eddie about his obvious crush on Chrissy? I love how you write the Max/Eddie dynamic and I’d love to see Erica too!

Erica is a very intimidating character to me 😅 she has such a distinctive voice, I'm always afraid I won't be able to capture it. Same with Argyle, which is why they both rarely if ever appear in my fics. But here's my attempt ,just for you, nonny! (gosh, these are getting wayyy longer than drabbles. oh well)

---

Usually, the drama room was a sanctuary for Eddie. A safe haven from the swirling storm of high schoolers just outside its doors. A quiet corner where he could ditch his classes and remain blissfully alone.

Usually.

Today, his peaceful refuge was rudely disturbed by not one, but two nuisances.

 “Lying isn’t going to get us to back off,” Max said with a roll of her eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not—” he cleared his throat to get rid of his voice crack. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are,” Erica said, folding her arms. “Straight through your teeth. You like Chrissy Cunningham, and you’re too chicken to do anything about it.”

“Fuck off,” he said, rubbing his forehead. These idiots were giving him a headache. “If you want to play matchmaker, go bother somebody else.”

“We’re not playing matchmaker,” Max said, idly rolling her skateboard across the floor. “We just think you should stop being so pathetic and ask her out.”

“I am not asking out the fucking Queen of Hawkins High,” Eddie hissed, giving them a glare that would’ve shaken most of his sheep.

Unfortunately, it had absolutely zero effect on these two.

“But she broke up with her boyfriend,” Max said emphatically.

“And she doesn’t have a date for prom,” Erica added smugly. “We heard it in the bathroom.”

“We?” Eddie shot her a frustrated look. “You don’t even go here, little Sinclair. How the hell did you hear anything from the high school girls’ bathroom?”

“I’m on a field trip,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“And we also know,” Max cut in smoothly. “That she looks at you almost as much as you look at her. So there.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Eddie said, forcefully squashing down that small feeling of hope rising in his chest.

“You’re not denying you like her anymore.” Max smirked. “That sure as hell proves something.”

“Out!” Eddie pointed forcefully toward the door. “Both of you. Now.”

Erica leveled him with a glare. “Not until you promise to talk to Chrissy.”

“No.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I can’t.”

Ask out Chrissy Cunningham? The most perfect, wonderful girl in the world? The girl who couldn’t possibly know he even existed? Not a fucking chance.

“Are you really going to finally graduate Hawkins High without even trying to go to prom?” Max asked. “Come on. Stick it to the man, or whatever you say that gets you out of bed in the morning.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right back at you.” Max glared at him until he backed down. “You just have to talk to her, jeez. Is that so hard?”

“It’s just—not that simple,” he said, his hands hanging limp at his sides. “She’s everything. And I’m nothing.”

“You’re only nothing if you don’t try, loser,” Erica said, putting her hands on her hips. “Now get. Off. Your. Ass.”

Why did they have to make so much goddamn sense (and be so fucking annoying while they did so)? What was the point of being the school rebel if he wasn’t willing to take a risk? Just this once.

“You know what? Fine.” Eddie marched toward the drama room door. “I’ll ask her. And you two, get the fuck off my back.”

They gave him their solemn oaths of honor, which he didn’t believe for a moment. Then he marched off into battle.

Send a prayer for the lowly freak, Eddie thought to himself as he passed a prop cross. He’s going to need it.

Max and Erica grinned at each other once the door swung shut behind him.

“Ten bucks says he runs away before he gets a full sentence out,” Erica said as she headed for the door.

Max hopped on her skateboard with a grin. “Twenty says I can trip him before he makes it five feet.”

“You’re on.”

---

P.S. any other requests will be answered tomorrow (ish)!

[daisyishedwig]

The Things I've Always Known - Klaine December Fanworks Challenge Day 6: Inscribe

A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but I /highly/ recommend you read at least the first fic in the Icy Love series entitled The Things I Should Have Told You to make this more meaningful. It is also loosely inspired by @esilher and @mynonah's collaboration for today's prompt, but very different as well.

Read on AO3

I am so glad that I managed to actually catch up this year instead of always being a few days behind. I'm feeling confident that I just might be able to actually write something for every single day (ignore the fact that I cheated and combined two words into one fic already, I'm not gonna do it again, I swear).

“I know neither of us are brides, but there’s still gotta be some kind of bad luck in us seeing each other before the wedding.” Blaine raised an eyebrow as he locked eyes with Kurt through the mirror in front of him. He was fussing with his tie in the mirror, his brow furrowed as he couldn’t seem to get it to lay just how he wanted it.

“Just so you know,” Kurt said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “there is nothing wrong with that tie.”

Blaine huffed. “It doesn’t look right,” he complained.

Kurt smiled and approached, turning Blaine with a gentle press to his shoulder. He reached for the tie, but instead of fixing it like Blaine hoped he would somehow manage, he started untying it. “It’s a perfectly fine tie, and it fits you perfectly fine, but ,” he slipped it off Blaine’s neck and tossed it to the side, “you are correct. It doesn’t look right because it’s not right.”

“That’s the tie we decided on,” Blaine argued, “it matches yours, I have to wear that tie.”

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “And who says that?”

“Mercedes,” Blaine stated, “the one who has been planning this whole thing down to the millisecond. Your best friend who might just kill us if we make a mess of this wedding like literally every other New Directions wedding.”

“Changing a tie won’t mess up the wedding. In fact,” Kurt pulled a box out of his back pocket, “I think it will make it all the better.” 

Blaine looked down at the box. “What’s this?”

“Your new tie,” Kurt said simply.

“Where did you get this new tie?” Blaine asked, taking the box cautiously.

“I made it,” he said, “special for you on our special day. Mercedes is doing this for us, she can accept us improving upon her ideas a little bit, I promise.”

Blaine carefully lifted the lid to the box and gasped softly. Inside was a bowtie, made from the same fabric as his old tie. 

“I don’t know why you thought I’d be letting you wear a regular tie on our wedding day, Pet,” Kurt chided softly, “after all the meaning behind your bowties.”

Blaine flushed. “We decided we were going to keep this wedding vanilla,” he said. “Entering into this union as equals.”

“Of course we are,” Kurt said, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s waist to pull him closer. “You have always been my equal. Even when you’re on your knees and even when you’re wearing my collar. But that part of us, of you , is so integral to our relationship, how could we pretend it doesn’t exist today of all days.”

“But–”

“I know, it’s not some big kinky affair, a lovely collaring ceremony with you crawling down the aisle to me. That version may only exist in our fantasies. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make sure at least part of it happens today.”

Blaine stroked the edge of the bowtie gently. 

“Untie it for me, Pet,” Kurt whispered. Blaine glanced up at him, a question in his eye, but did as he was told. Kurt took a step back and lifted the bowtie gently from the box and held it up for Blaine to see. Inscribed in a gentle stitch along the inside of the fabric was one simple word. 

Pet . 

“I thought ‘Property of Kurt Hummel’ might be a little too gaudy. But this should get the point across nicely.”

Blaine grinned, tears glistening in his eyes. “You made me a wedding collar,” he said.

Kurt shrugged. “I’m surprised we hadn’t thought of this sooner. For when we’re in public, but your leather cuff clashes with your outfit. Bowties were your first collar, after all.”

“You should make me more,” Blaine said, “I know how you like to have options when picking my clothes.”

“Oh I will,” Kurt assured, “I definitely will. But in the meantime…” he looped the fabric around Blaine’s neck and used it to pull him in for a deep kiss. “I think it’s time we put this one on,” he said a little breathlessly when he pulled away, “we have a wedding to get to.”

[tunnelsnacks]

I’d LOVE to hear more about how Marcy Long is head of agriculture!! It’s SO rare to find people who actually like. Treat her with dignity.

Okay I spent the last hour of work thinking about how to answer this in a way that actually made sense but Marcy! Means! So much to me!! She always has! Anytime I write something involving Sanctuary I try to have her be mentioned at the very least

One of the things about grief is that everybody deals with it in a different way and I love that Marcy’s allowed to be angry and she doesn’t apologize for it and she doesn't stop being angry. She lost her son! She lost her home! The past week+ up to the sosu finding Preston and the survivors of Quincy has been nothing but the people supposed to be protecting her and her husband failing. ‘but bee!’ I hear someone in the distance cry, ‘the sosu also lost their kid and their home and their-’ that’s not the point!!! People in real life who go through tragedy all deal with it differently (says Bee who’s gone through A Not Great Thing with other people and seen this first hand) regardless of how similar the wounds are and its so … human that Marcy is allowed to be bitter with her dealt cards

I dunno know, there was something about the way she looks to her husband and, very softly, says ‘we gotta go’ when the sosu takes them to Sanctuary that always gets to me

So I have Marcy become one of the most important people in the town and slowly – over a long time, her and Jun take walks down by the lake when the sun’s setting, she teaches synths that don’t want to get their memories changed how to farm and she’s good at it. She’s good at keeping people fed and keeping them out of trouble and maybe Jun copes with his own sadness too and runs the clinic with Curie (the Longs owned the pharmacy in Quincy) once they begin to heal

Their son, Kyle, who I think would be 10 just like Shawn, is gone. It’s not fair and its not right. But it happened and he’s gone

I have a fic (that I don’t think I ever put up) where Norah talks with Marcy about what it’s like to lose your son like that and how you cope after the unimaginable. And once the Minutemen are back at the Castle, they retake Quincy and Norah and Preston find every single body the Gunners threw into a pile to rot or burn and give them the funeral they deserve and maybe that helps the Longs heal a little bit

Maybe when Norah gets Shawn back he’s the only one beside Jun she never snaps at and she gets protective of him the same way Codsworth does

This was really long and not important to anything in the ask but thank you!!

[notsowrites]

we make the rules

a malex 4x12 coda (also this promo picture from 4x13)

a/n: i didn’t write nearly as many codas this season as i’d hoped to. but i feel like once there’s a closed canon to deal with, it may open up a whole new set of possibilities for fic. (this is another fic that is @im-the-punk-who’s fault because i love him but if he keeps throwing out headcanons I AM GOING TO KEEP WRITING THEM)

[read on AO3 here]

----------

Being back in their house for the first time since getting stuck in alien hell, Alex notices the smallest differences as he walks through. Michael's black cowboy hat hangs on a hook by the front door. The fridge is full of Tupperware leftovers from Michael cooking more than enough for one person. Michael's toolbox is sitting on the floor next to the door that leads out the garage, as if he'd been using it before coming to find him. Textbooks and notebooks piled on the dining table for subjects that Alex certainly has never had an interest in. He'd seen the closet separated between their clothes for exactly one day before he'd left, and now it's starting to look like a bit of a mix - Michael seemingly becoming more and more comfortable with moving past the rigidity of my side and your side and making it theirs during the time in between. His fingers drift along the shirts and jackets, his plaid mixed with Michael's patterns, a smile spreading across his face.

There's a garment bag hanging on the far end, one that Alex knows doesn't belong to him, and he reaches for it now, pulling it out far enough to grab the zipper. Inside is nothing too fancy - just a black shirts, black pants, and a bolo tie. He pulls the bag out of the closet, and sets it down on the end of the bed, admiring it.

"Isobel thought I should own at least one nice outfit."

Alex hums, glancing over at him and then back at the suit. There's at least a dozen dress shirts, dress pants, vests, jackets and ties that make up his own "nice outfit" wardrobe. 

He reaches his hand out for Michael, waiting until he feels warm, familiar calloused skin against his own.

"What if we do something different for this - for our wedding?"

Michael pulls on their joined hands, Alex watching as he brings them up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. But he's smiling and that feels like all the answer he really needs to continue.

"No white, no feeling like we have to be overly formal." His free hand reaches out to touch the cotton if the black shirt in the garment bag again. 

"What do you have in mind?"

He pulls on the garment bag just enough to stress his point. "I want to wear this."

Michael goes quiet, but doesn't let go of his hand, which Alex takes as a good sign. He's not sure how the whole idea is going to go over with him, because it means that while he gets to pick the one option available to him, it gives Michael a much, much bigger selection. He watches as Michael takes a step towards where his own suits are hanging, dropping his hand and opening up the first garment bag in the row - a navy blue three piece.

"Are you sure?"

"Isobel might be doing all the heavy lifting getting the town square ready, but this is something we get to choose."

Michael still doesn't look convinced, and Alex wishes he could pull on that thread of confidence Michael had displayed while creating the fuel from tree roots in order to get them out of an inter-dimensional alien nightmare. But he'd also seen the aftermath, how distraught Michael had become at the prospect of potentially having lost the upper hand, and the way home.

This time he takes hold of Michael's hands in his own, forcing him to let go of the suit he's been focused on. He doesn't think too much right now about how it's Michael's left hand that in a few hours he'll get to slip a ring onto. The same left hand that his father had destroyed with a hammer. There are things about that, it's significance in their relationship especially, that he is saving to mention later. So for now he just holds Michael's hands in his own, allowing the touch to ground them both.

"Nothing in the world would make me happier," he says, leaning in just enough to force Michael to look at him again. "Because you were right, everything about getting married in that pocket dimension was wrong. And now we get to do it how we want. We get to do it our way."

Finally, that gets another smile out of Michael.

And it feels like, for the first time in his life, he has some control over what happens next. That together they've learned how to navigate the messy world they live in together, and only come out stronger in their relationship as a result. Nothing about them is perfect, he knows, but it's perfect for them. 

"Love you admitting I was right," Michael says against his lips, and Alex can tell he's still grinning like a mad man. It makes him want to roll his eyes, and say something sarcastic - but instead he lets Michael pull him close, feeling the way Michael's hand slides up to rest against the skin of his neck.

"Let's go take that shower you were talking about."

[danthropologie]

PLEASE share your daniel ricciardo themed playlists with the class!!!

there are so many that it’s genuinely kind of embarrassing to list them all out like this but here you go:

danny ric - just general recs, songs he’s talked about, listened to, etc. i’m sure there are a million playlists out there like this, but i wanted one i was in control of

daniel ricciardo listen to more women challenge - self explanatory, there’s so many men all the fucking time and he needs more women in his life

the man, the myth, the legend - ‘knocked down and dragged out, but not done yet’ / ‘fighting against the passage of time itself’ sort of vibe

the untitled daniel ricciardo playlist - a little self-insert moment. very light, fun, happy. kind of just the general vibe of what i imagine being with him would be like. 

(and while we’re here, i’ll also plug my charles and max versions of the same concept: the charles one is sort of 80s synth pop inspired, light and frothy and passionate and vaguely doomed from the start. and the max one really leans into the softness and gentleness of it all because we all know he’s a bit of a basic bitch in taste (affectionately))

brain rot: depression edition - created the day we found out he had c*vid and it was looking like he might be replaced for the first race with a younger version of himself (and yes i’m referring to piastri, if we only fucking knew 😭)

brain rot: cleanse edition - positive manifestation, which i had to make after the vibes from the previous playlist became so horrific that i couldn’t stand it anymore 😭

untitled dr3 playlist - basically just a catch all for anything that reminds me of daniel and doesn’t fit in one of the previously mentioned playlists

the mixtape - i saw this post. it said daniel to me. i made a playlist about it.

the hubris of being young and in the sun // black and yellow // cause it feels so empty without me - these three overlap quite a bit and they’re all still works in progress, but they coincide with the big dick swagger of the rbr, renault, and mclaren eras respectively

blue - another little self insert moment based on @accio-ricciardo​’s tags on this post

the day i started dreaming - yet ANOTHER little self insert moment, but this time based on the idea of his partner being a singer-songwriter writing songs about him

little piece of heaven - the montana playlist! upbeat and folky with themes of escape and friendship and self-reflection. probably my favorite of all the daniel based playlists i’ve made, if not of any playlist i’ve made period

girl danny - pretty self explanatory, a playlist of songs that remind me of girl!daniel (and of course i also have girl max and girl charles playlists as well)

burn it to the ground - literally just a collection of angry songs from the day all the alpine/piastri/mclaren bullshit came out 😭

the only john mayer songs men are allowed to listen to - my toxic trait is loving john mayer and if i was going to get daniel into john mayer i would use these songs in this order to do it

how to fix a man in seven easy steps - as i said in the description, these are songs that would make even daniel ricciardo want to date a woman over 30. songs that slap me in the face and call me single in 15 different ways.

and then i also have a couple works in progress that aren’t quite to the point where i’d want to share them yet:

the official 'make a taylor swift fan out of daniel ricciardo' playlist - self explanatory. same as with the john mayer playlist, it’ll be a playlist of songs that i would use to make daniel a taylor swift fan

road trip fic - another self insert and my personal magnum opus, the ultimate road trip playlist but make it exes to lovers

edited to add: give into the moment - i read a daniel friends to lovers y/n fic and then after listened to sidekick by walk the moon and it gave me so much brain rot that i had to make this playlist 😵‍💫 it’s not about him but it’s not NOT about him yk

[captainjimothycarter]

One Line One Fic

Rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

Tagged by @behindthelabelsand @cafecitowriter

I'm just choosing from random because decisions

1. A Christmas Miracle (Steggy) “Very much like how a certain someone is stubborn,” he shot back, sitting across from her and spearing a bit of egg on his fork. “Ma has a cure for just about any ailment. I might’ve been writing to her and mentioned your ailments. She suggested tea, actually sent it in her care package and had this ridiculous idea that you might be pregnant.”

2. Captain America Story Time (Stucky ft. Fem!Bucky) Oh no, no. That sounded wrong, too wrong. He shouldn't have said that. His heart jumped to his throat, his eyes widening in pure terror. He almost knocked over a few decorations on his desk to throw his hands up in defense. “I-I didn’t mean it like that! I meant A-Alpine! I’d love to scratch - love on Alpine, I mean. I mean, not like you aren’t...that I wouldn’t... Fudge knuckles.”

3. The Best Things In Life Are Unpredictable (Steggy) The news hit him hard, his body feeling lighter than it has in weeks. He held a hand to his mouth, feeling a sobbing gasp escape him. He was going to be a father! Look at him - a father! In truth, he’d never thought he’d get such an opportunity in life, even before the serum and now here he was.

4. Meeting The Brother (Winterhawk) “It’s fine. Barney here ain’t saying anything I haven’t thought about myself. Or haven’t beat myself up for the past few days. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not being there. Wanna know where the hell I was? Your brother sent me away, gave me the diversion of helpin’ fix my family’s house in California. He knew what he was doin’, trying to protect lives he has no reason to bother to protect. Too proud.”

5. The Transparent Hand Of Lives Gone By (Steggy) Peggy looked down as Steve's hand ripped from hers. She felt like she was watching everything in slow motion, as he ran from them. She didn’t miss the horrified look on his face, this was news to him. She followed after him, shouting his name just as his parents did. “Steve! Steve, stop! It doesn’t matter if you’re a ghost, you’re still my best friend! We can still do the things we talked about! I don’t care if you’re...you’re dead!”

6. Gut Feelings Are Never Good (Steggy) “People change,” Hunter mused, shrugging his shoulders. Steve hadn’t even seen the man come in, his hands held up when Steve whirled on him and took three strides closer. There was a good foot height difference between them. “She’s dying and when people start to go, they get desperate. Look, Cap, no ones blaming her if she did but the evidence says she’s working for Whitehall, and if that’s so, then-“

7. running on borrowed time (Steggy) “You’re not kidding about Pining Sickness,” he mumbled to Jarvis. “I didn’t realize it gets this bad, this fast, but with his delicate hormones, the pregnancy. It’s no wonder. Looks like he had enough sense to get something to eat and drink.” He toed at the countless bottles of water, a glass overturned, and the old bowl of soup on the bedside table. 

8. let the walls down and let me in (Steggy) “I’m not calling you anything,” Steve replied in a demanding tone that caught her attention. When Peggy looked into his baby blue eyes she saw nothing but compassion and sorrow. “Because you are not a traitor for wanting to cradle a boy who was dying from one of our weapons. You’re not a traitor for wanting to give him comfort, Peggy. And I will make sure others think the same.”  

9. One Foot In Front Of The Other (Steggy) It’s been almost a month of physical therapy and he is getting better. His leg wasn’t as slow, his hip still hurt like hell, and the nerves still burned but he was getting better. Natasha was still volunteering to help him during his physical therapy days but today wasn’t an appointment. It was a Tuesday, a day he purposely came in, in hopes to avoid Peggy. 

10. The Future Wasn't Kind To You, Was It? (Steggy) She flipped him over to rub the oils into his chest, careful of scars and tender spots. She straddled his hips without applying too much pressure, letting her fingers work over the hard pecs. She paused at every scar and mark unknown to her, gently pressing soft kisses to them before rubbing the oils into his skin. He looked down at her with an adorable, half-smile as he struggled to stay awake. 

Tagging: @missfitmarvel0-0 @avengeclintasha @3pirouette @sosoane1 and anyone else who wants to do it because I suck at tagging and can't remember people's URLs. I don't want people to feel left out.

[nostalgia-tblr]

Hello this is me procrastinating having to actually write my sylki AU fic by writing a post about why sylki AU fics are a terrible idea. Pls enjoy, as I am sure you will.

Basically my premise is thus: the selfcest is not a bug it’s a feature and unless you specifically set out to create an AU environment where selfcest can actually be a thing then any given fanfic AU will lack that feature and now you face not only the traditional AU problem of “are these now just two random people who in the mind’s-eye of the reader look like the canonical characters?” but also you have to retool the entire thing because most of their canonical interaction and indeed the romance your fic is probably about is based on them being the same person.

Now I know that this is A Bit Controversial because when I say it boldly enough there is indeed pushback and so disclaimer that like all media takes this is subjective but that’s what I think. So many of the significant interactions between Loki and Sylvie, romantic or otherwise, are in some measure based on them being the same person. Like they would literally never have met if they weren’t. And now to prove this is A Serious Essay I will quote from the text:

“Your years-in-the-making plan was to tear the place down, create the ultimate power vacuum, and then just walk away. I’d never have done that.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not you.”

Yes, that last line there points out that they’re not literally the same person, and indeed much is made of the ways in which they differ… but those differences are explored from an angle of “shouldn’t they be exactly the same” so even when it’s not about the selfcest it is in fact about the selfcest. But no, the first sentence is the one I want to focus on here. Ep 3 of the Loki show (the ep that quote is from, obvs) is what I like to call ‘the enemies to lovers speed-run’ which I am sort of joking about but also not, and that change and the speed at which it happens both rely on… yes, the selfcest, I admit this essay is a bit repetitive but bear with me here. Loki’s initial interest in Sylvie is ‘oh hey, another me’ and specifically that here is a he (well a she) who is doing something that would never occur to him and so now he needs to know why, which in the context of a redemption arc carries a certain element of ‘what would need to change to make me think like that, and should I make some attempt to do so?’ So now he has to follow her about for the remainder of the episodes and inevitably fall for her. A lot of which does seem to be based on her being The Only Successful Loki (arguable, I know, but just go with it for now) and so you have the self-attraction plus the differences between them holding the seductive possibilities of self-improvement. And also she’s hot.

And yes there are any number of fictional romances where people fall in love at first sight for no discernable reason but I contend that most of those stories are shite. Because fiction generally needs to make more sense than reality does and so we as an audience want to be able to go “okay I can see why these people would be into each other.” I at least generally don’t get that into ‘these two people have met and now they’re love. Because they just are. Love doesn’t have to make sense!!!!’

So back to the AU fic issue (remember that? I almost didn’t.) and you may see where I am coming from on this. This is a pairing with quite a lot of AU fics (probably because there’s about ten minutes of actual canon to work from and there probably is a saturation point for Fics Where They Banged On That Train, as unlikely as that saturation seems to me) and not all of them are any good. And many of them are good but not in ways that I personally find fannishly satisfying because they’ve strayed too far from what I want to read or whatever. Which often does involve the lack of selfcest and the corresponding ‘now you have to have rebuild their relationship from the ground up and it may or may not appeal to any given reader.’ I don’t care enough about these characters to read about them when they barely resemble these characters, if you get me. I am not that invested in the universe in which they are (made-up example) baristas. We have entered the world of ‘I want these two characters to get together and even though I have removed the very things that made them get together they are still going to because I am the author and that’s just how it’s going to be.’ Which is valid, obvs! But not always my thing! Arguably this is true of all AU romance fics for any pairing and the fun lies in seeing how you can make them bang when the circumstances have changed but this is a bit of an outlier in terms of what the original scenario was so it’s tricker than some.

(Also as an aside I noticed that while we all (rightly) go on about some aspects of the paring being gender-flipped a lot of AU fic keeps ‘Loki is annoying posh twat’ but then doesn’t keep ‘Sylvie is laser-focussed on a specific and slightly insane goal and is hardened by a terrible past’ and so he’s like IDK going to shut down a donkey orphanage and she has to stop him by thawing his cold heart with love which I note is basically flipping it back to what would be expected genderwise and if nothing else we’re now in territory I am less into and now that I think about it those Arranged Marriage AU things probably work more for me because they keep the ‘she is openly hostile and pissed off about her supposed destiny’ thing that I generally like? But I could be wrong about that. I am wrong about a lot of things. Possibly this entire post, even.)

I shall stop now not because I feel I have made my point and expressed it fully but because this is a lot of words and nobody has time for all of this shit do they?

[kjack89]

Message in a Bottle

Since I've been sick with COVID, I decided being feverish and under the influence of over the counter drugs would be the perfect time to try writing for a different fandom. My apologies to my Les Mis loves, but in my defense, apparently an unholy amount of cough medicine causes a person to need to scratch a literary itch, and I figure there's enough fandom crossover that y'all won't be too mad at me.

Our Flag Means Death fic, Ed/Stede, post-season 1. A little humor, a little angst, the usual for me.

(And we'll be back to our regularly scheduled E/R shortly, I promise.)

“Lucius. Lucius! Wake up, mate.”

Lucius stuck his head out of the chest he’d been hiding in down in the hold since being dragged out of the water, the same chest he’d been held captive in by Jim and Oluwande. But whereas last time, he’d been dying to get out, this time, he seemed more content with his fate. Likely because of the whole attempted murder thing. “I’m not asleep,” he hissed, more frazzled than usual. “I’m oxygen-deprived from being stuck in here!”

Maybe content was too strong a word for it.

Frenchie bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. “Better oxygen-deprived than drowned,” he said, ignoring the look on Lucius’s face that said he was beginning to doubt that. “But c’mon, Captain needs you upstairs. We got a letter, and we need someone who can read it.”

“By captain, you mean…”

Lucius trailed off and Frenchie rolled his eyes. “Blackbeard,” he said, with a bite of impatience.

“Yeah, no,” Lucius said, lying back down in the box. “Being almost drowned once doesn’t exactly make me want to emerge and go for round two. After all, the entire point of my oxygen deprivation is to try to hide me from Blackbeard, so I don’t see—”

“No, it’s fine,” Frenchie said brightly. “We’ve got a plan.”

Lucius eyed him warily. “We?” he repeated. “Who is we?” Jim appeared from behind Frenchie, part of their old disguise in hand, and Lucius’s eyes widened. “No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not. I would look dreadful with fake facial hair.”

Frenchie and Jim exchanged glances, and Jim grinned.

— — — — —

Ten minutes later, Lucius, newly-bedecked in Jim’s old face wig and a hastily-procured eye patch, emerged from below deck. Absolutely no other attempt had been made to disguise his appearance, so it was little wonder that his knees wobbled slightly as Frenchie all but shoved him across the deck to where Ed was pacing, a letter clutched in his hand.

“How’d we get a letter anyway?” Lucius asked under his breath. “It’s not as if there’s postal service on the high seas.”

Frenchie didn’t answer, just kept prodding him forward as Ed thrust the letter at some poor, quavering sap. “Read it,” he ordered, and the sailor quaked under his glare.

“But Cap’n,” he protested, “I can’t—”

“I said read it!”

The sailor let out a wordless protest that ended in a tiny sob when Izzy Hands grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “When the Captain tells you to read something, you need to fucking read it,” he growled.

Lucius paled. “Oh hell no,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to turn back around. “I am not—”

“Captain, we found someone who can read the letter!” Frenchie said brightly, gripping Lucius by the arm and marching him forward despite the muttered obscenities pouring out of Lucius’s mouth. 

Ed snatched the letter back from the sobbing sailor, and Izzy reluctantly let him go. As the sailor fell to the deck, Ed whirled around, his eyes wild. “You,” he snapped, and Lucius let out a whimper. “You can read?”

“Yes,” Lucius said, under his breath, and when Frenchie poked him in the back, he cleared his throat and said, with a terrible approximation of a Southern belle affectation, “I mean, yes, Captain, sir, I’ve been known to put my hand towards reading some letters.”

On Frenchie’s other side, Jim let out a snort. “What the hell is that?” they asked.

“I’m disguising my voice,” Lucius hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but why the hell would you choose that voice?”

“Listen, I’d like to see you try—”

“Here,” Ed said, interrupting their whispered back-and-forth to shove the letter at Lucius. “Read this.”

Lucius gulped but obediently grabbed the piece of paper, his eyes widening as he read the first line. “I, uh, I’m not sure—” he started, stammering slightly. 

“Read it,” Ed ordered.

But Lucius just shook his head, trying in vain to hand the letter back. “I, I’m not really sure that’s – that’s the best idea—”

“Are you deaf, boy?” Izzy snarled. “When the Captain gives you an order, it’s not your place to question it!”

Lucius’s entire body was trembling now, but he still stared determinedly – or desperately – at Ed. “Please,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “It shouldn’t come from me—”

“Just read it!” Izzy barked, grabbing Lucius by the throat.

“It’s from Stede!”

An absolute and terrible silence fell on deck as all eyes turned to Ed, who stood, stock-still, his expression blank. Then, abruptly, he ordered again, his voice quiet, “Read it.”

Lucius winced. “But Captain—”

“Tell me,” Ed commanded, and for the first time, there was a hint of desperation in his voice.

Lucius swallowed and nodded, but before he could start reading, Izzy approached Ed, sidling up next to him. “Ed,” he said quietly. “Captain. You don’t have to do this.”

Ed shook his head. “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Izzy said, his voice turning heated. “What’s it gonna tell you that you don’t already know? What’s it gonna give you?”

“Um, closure, for starters,” Lucius said, his eyes widening again when he realized he’d said that out loud.

Izzy whirled on him, pointing a finger in his face. “You, shut the fuck up—”

But Lucius, perhaps actually oxygen-deprived from his time in the chest, didn’t. “Just because you’re a Neanderthal who refuses to acknowledge the closure he needs for some of his feelings—”

Izzy grabbed him by the throat again, squeezing until Lucius’s words were reduced to a gurgle. “Listen, you fuck, I’ve had enough closure for my entire fucking life—”

“Read it.”

Ed said it softly, but it was enough to cut through Izzy and Lucius, and Izzy reluctantly released Lucius, who gasped and coughed for breath. “Captain—”

Ed ignored him. “I said read it,” he said instead to Lucius. “Out loud. To me.”

Lucius rubbed his throat for a moment before taking a deep breath and reading aloud, “My dearest Ed, by the time you are reading this, I, Stede Bonnet, will be dead.”

“Dead,” Ed said, his face ashen. He snatched the letter back from Lucius and scanned it frantically, though what he was looking for, Lucius couldn’t tell. Then he straightened, his expression turning stony. “So he’s dead then,” he said, tucking the letter into his pocket.

Without warning, he shoved Lucius toward the side of the ship, and Lucius let out a squawk as he tumbled over the taffrail. “Not fucking again,” Lucius shouted as he fell.

Ed turned back to Izzy, a wild look in his eye. “Burn it,” he ordered.

Izzy sagged in relief. “The letter?” he said. “Of course, Captain, give ‘er here and I’ll be happy to—”

“Not the letter,” Ed interrupted. “The ship. Burn the ship.”

“Ah,” Izzy said, shifting uncomfortably. “Right. Normally, I'm in favor of getting rid of anything with Bonnet’s stench, but since we’re a ways away from Queen Anne’s Revenge…”

Ed’s expression darkened, but before he could say anything, an all-too familiar voice shouted, “Ahoy there!”

Izzy rushed to the side of the ship, Ed hot on his heels. Izzy’s expression turned downright murderous as he saw the dinghy bobbing next to the ship, and at its helm: “Stede fuckin’ Bonnet,” he snarled, as Ed gripped the taffrail with both hands, staring down at man in question as if he could not believe what his own two eyes were seeing.

Stede waved cheerfully up at them, surrounded by the crew that had been stranded on the deserted island, along with a very wet and deeply perturbed Lucius. “Permission to come aboard?” he called.

“Absolutely fucking not—” Izzy started, but Ed just nodded, once, before backing away from the rail, an odd, almost panicked expression on his face, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

All too soon, Stede and the crew of the Revenge stood on deck, Stede beaming around as if he was thrilled to be back. “Ah, it’s good to be home, don’t you think?” he said to his crew, who didn’t seem remotely as enthused as he did.

Fang squinted from Stede to the dinghy. “You sailed all the way here in that?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t be silly,” Stede said brightly. “I may have deceptive upper body strength but no, I couldn’t pull that off. No, I sailed all the way here in that.”

He pointed helpfully further out to sea, where a rather impressive-looking single-mast sloop was anchored. Somehow, no one on board had managed to catch sight of it, though in their defense, they’d all been a little distracted. Ivan cocked his head. “But how’d you get a ship?”

“Oh!” Stede said. “Well, I stole it.”

Frenchie and Jim exchanged startled looks. “You stole a ship?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“Actually, yeah, it’s incredibly difficult,” Frenchie said, at the same time Jim asked, their eyes narrowed, “How the hell did you pull that off?”

Stede suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable. “Ah, well, perhaps stole is a bit strong of a word,” he said. “I merely, that is, took a ship that was…unattended.”

Fang frowned. “Who would leave a ship like that unattended?”

Stede shifted awkwardly. “They seemed to think that no one else would be interested in it.”

“Why wouldn’t no one else want it?” Ivan asked suspiciously.

“There was some talk in town that it had been used of recent for the transport of victims of some kind of…” Stede cleared his throat. “Ah, some kind of illness.”

Frenchie frowned. “What kind of illness?”

“You know, I didn’t really think to ask,” Stede said delicately.

“Did any of those victims die?” Jim asked pointedly.

Stede cleared his throat again. “Er, well, to my knowledge, I believe they all did. As it were.”

“A plague ship,” Izzy said, speaking for the first time since Stede had set foot on deck, derision dripping from every syllable. “You sailed here on a fucking plague ship.”

Everyone on deck took an automatic step back from Stede and his crew, and Stede smiled disarmingly at Izzy. “Not to worry!” he assured him. “As the crew can attest, whatever illness may have been on board appears to have departed, as we are all hale and hearty!”

“Speak for yourself,” Wee John muttered, more than a few of the crew nodding along with him.

But Stede ignored them, having finally caught sight of Ed, hanging back at the aft the ship. Stede approached him almost cautiously, his smile fading. “Ed?” he said softly, reaching out for him. Ed jerked back from his touch and Stede’s hand fell to his side. He didn’t retreat, though, just moving to lean against the rail next to Ed. “Do y’know what I call her?” he asked conversationally, not waiting for Ed to reply. “I named her the Black Beard.”

Ed’s eyes darted to his and away again. “You named your ship after me?” he asked, almost too softly to be heard. 

Stede shrugged. “Well, first I named her the Black Pearl because I thought it seemed regal, but it turns out there were some alleged copyright issues, something to do with a mouse apparently, so I figured I might as well name her after where I was most trying to get to.”

He smiled at Ed, who didn’t return the gesture, just reaching out to wrap a hand around the rail, holding it so tightly that it seemed the wood might snap under his fingers. “I thought you were dead,” he said finally, and Stede’s smile disappeared. 

“Ah,” he said. “Right.” He glanced nervously at Ed. “May I – I mean, I’d like to explain. If you’d let me.”

For a moment, Ed’s face tightened as if he was about to yell, or hit Stede, but instead, he simply nodded and jerked his head towards the stairs that led down into the belly of the ship. As they crossed over, Izzy caught Ed’s arm. “Captain, this is—”

“Lay a hand on me again and I’ll feed you your other pinky toe,” Ed growled.

Izzy’s expression darkened but he took a step backward, letting Ed and Stede pass. They made their way down to the captain’s quarters in silence, Stede glancing at Ed as if unsure what to say. 

When he saw what had become of the captain’s quarters, though, he couldn’t seem to stop himself, wincing as he looked around at how it had been mostly gutted. “I, um, love what you’ve done with this place,” he volunteered in a slightly pained tone. “Gone for a, er, minimalist theme, I see.” Ed said nothing, plopping down on the window seat and staring blankly ahead of himself, and Stede sighed. “Look, I know I owe you an explanation—”

“Perhaps you’d like to start with this?”

Stede blinked when he saw the letter in Ed’s hand, his brow furrowing. “Did you read it?”

Ed jerked a shrug. “I read enough.”

“Oh,” Stede said, wetting his lips before asking, “And?”

“And you said you’d be dead by the time I read it, but here you stand, alive,” Ed said sharply, finally looking over at him, cold fury etched in every line of his face. “For the time being, at least. I haven’t decided if I’ll let you stay that way.”

Stede blanched. “Did you, er, happen to read past the part where I said I’d be dead?”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Ed said icily. “I knew all I needed to from that.”

Stede sighed. “Perhaps starting the letter that way wasn’t the greatest idea I’ve ever had,” he muttered. “May I read you the rest of the letter?” Ed’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Stede as if trying to figure out what trick this was, and Stede added, softly, “Please.”

Wordlessly, Ed held the letter out, and Stede took it from him, hesitating before sitting down on the floor next to him. Ed drew his knees up towards his chest as Stede cleared his throat and began to read:

My dearest Ed,

By the time you are reading this, I, Stede Bonnet, will be dead. Officially, at least, and hopefully somewhat more heroically than the last time I was declared dead. Mary is helping me work out the exact details still, but if it is in as epic a fashion as I certainly endeavor towards, it stands to reason that you might hear about it. And I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, and think me really dead.

Of course, there’s still the possibility that I might be dead to you. And if that’s the case, I hope you’ll permit this explanation, such as it is.

I know you were waiting for me, and I cannot imagine what you must have thought when I didn’t arrive. If you hate me, I would understand. I hate me, at least a little, though I’m working on that. 

You see all my life I’ve been running, running away from who I am, from what people thought of me. I didn’t want to be Stede Bonnet, the lily-livered rich boy. I didn’t want to be weak and cowardly. I didn’t want to be soft. So I’ve spent the last few years running away from all of that.

Then I met you. You, who was everything I thought I wanted to be, but you didn’t mind that I was weak. You didn’t mind that I was soft. But I still did. And I wanted to be more, for you. I wanted to be everything you deserved, everything you saw in me.

But you didn’t care. You sat on that beach with me and you told me I made Ed happy. And I told you probably the truest thing I’ve ever said, that Ed makes Stede happy.

And then I ran, just like I always have. I thought that it was because I didn’t know how to let myself be happy, but the truth is, I think I’ve spent so long running that I didn’t know how to let myself be caught. And it took going back to where all the running began to realize that being caught’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted, even though I know I might be too late.

I know I have no business asking you to forgive me, and I don’t expect you to. Not without me earning it, and proving that I will do whatever it takes to make you as happy as we were on that beach.

I’m not running away anymore. I know who I am. And I’m finally running towards something: the man that I love.

And I hope, when you’re ready, that you’ll let me catch you.

All my love,

Stede.

Silence fell as Stede reached the end of the letter, and he hesitated before adding, a little weakly, “So, y’see, that’s, um, why.”

He chanced a glance at Ed, and when he saw the tears the other man was fighting back, he didn’t hesitate, getting up off the floor to sit on the bench next to Ed, gathering him into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Ed, I’m so sorry.”

Ed turned his face against Stede’s chest, and they stayed that way for a long moment, Stede gently running a hand through his hair. Then Ed mumbled something that Stede couldn’t hear, his voice a gentle rumble against Stede’s chest, and Stede’s hand paused. “What’s that?” he asked gently.

“I meant it, too,” Ed said, pulling back from Stede. “When I said that you make Ed happy.” He paused. “That you made Ed happy.”

Stede swallowed. “Right,” he said, reaching for Ed’s hand. “So then—”

But Ed pulled his hand away. “The problem is that you left Ed,” he said, his voice deepening, turning harsher. “And then so did I.”

Stede’s expression tightened. “Ed—”

“I’m not Ed anymore.”

Without warning, he stood, almost causing Stede to topple over with how sudden the movement was. “You should get some rest,” he said, not looking at Stede. “I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.”

“Where are you going?” Stede asked. “We’re not done—”

“We’re done.” Blackbeard glanced over his shoulder. “And I’m going to confer with my first mate on the best course of action to deal with mutineers and traitors.”

“Ed—”

But he was gone, all but slamming the door after him, and Stede stared unseeingly down at the letter, at his heart, in his hand.

— — — — —

Stede woke to a sudden pounding on his door. “Captain!” Frenchie called frantically. “Cap’n, come quick!”

After donning Ed’s dressing gown, Stede headed up to the deck, frowning at the crew milling around in various stages of concerned. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Buttons pointed out to sea. “He stole it,” he pronounced solemnly, and Stede frowned. 

“Who stole what?”

“Blackbeard,” Olu told him. “He stole the plague ship. Him and his crew. They just—”

He broke off at the look on Stede’s face, and Black Peter finished, in what he clearly thought was a helpful way, “They’re gone.”

Stede gripped the rail with both hands, staring at where the Black Beard had been anchored where there was now just empty blue waves. “Do we go after them?” Buttons asked, and when Stede didn’t answer, he frowned and asked, “Cap’n?”

Straightening, Stede adjusted his dressing gown and gave Buttons an imperious nod. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we shall make pursuit immediately.”

Buttons hurried over to the ship’s wheel at the helm and Olu cleared his throat. “Captain?” he asked gently. “Are you alright?”

Stede frowned. “Of course I am,” he said dismissively. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Ed abandoned you,” Frenchie said, as if it was obvious. “And when you did the same thing to him, well…”

“He tried to kill most of us,” Lucius finished. “Some of us twice. And then he got rid of all your stuff, and wrote some truly terrible poetry, and—”

Stede forced a laugh. “I assure you, this is quite different from that.”

“Is it?” Jim asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Stede said firmly. “Because Ed understands.”

“Understands what?”

“That he’s not running away, like what I did,” Stede told them, a little stubbornly. “He’s left to give me something to run towards. And when he’s ready, he’ll let me catch him.”

Jim and Olu exchanged glances, and Jim just shrugged. “You two are fucking weird,” they said.

Stede managed a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose we are.”

Olu didn’t quite look convinced, but nonetheless he cleared his throat before calling to the crew, “Alright, you heard the Captain. Let’s make sail.”

As the crew hurried to get ready to pursue Blackbeard and his crew, Stede drifted to the bow of the ship, gripping the rigging with one hand as he stared out at the water, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

He didn’t really know if that’s why Ed had left. He didn’t know if Ed had any intention of letting him catch him, and he certainly didn’t know if Ed had any intention of ever forgiving him.

But he had to believe that he would.

He had to believe that they’d find a way to be happy together again.

No matter what it took.

“I’m coming, Ed,” he murmured, reaching in the pocket of the dressing gown to touch the letter with his free hand. “I promise.”

[adonis-koo]

I'm so in love with chapter 15! Wicked has really become one of my favorites and ifjei I have so much to say about it! It's just fricking great you have no idea 😭

I love all those emotions you put in there! Their personalities feel so real. Hot headed prince and the gentle, but very emotional Mc. I understand both sides on that one conflict at the end. Jk had to do what he did. He grew up way different. He had to face the cruel world at a very young age. Penumbra isn't like Enoia. It's pure chaos. Either you protect yourself by building a wall over your heart or you go down. I get why he mistrusted her for a bit. It's for safety. Doesn't make the truth any less painful and right. He's definitely in the wrong and i hope he gets on his knees. Tho I must also say that the Mc isn't all innocent as well. She completely went behind his back and went to the underside and disregarded his feelings. Calling him a lair and all. She's so hurt and emotional by everything he said and didn't say that she is also the one who hurt him in the progress. It may not be on purpose, but she did. It confused me for a second, because she was known for being gentle and understanding, but in that moment she didn't understand him at all. She didn't even try where he was coming from. The feeling of pain was so overwhelming that she disregarded his feelings, called him a lair and basically went behind his back for no reason.

It was reckless for her to go to the underside, especially without letting anyone know. It makes me so impossibly angry that she thinks she's the only one hurt, because Wheein is in prison. As if Jk hasn't got any feelings at all. He even was all tired because of all the work he had to do, not only political matters, but also the thing with wheein. He fell asleep and she ran away. He was worried sick, because she wasn't there. He may not be good with words, but his actions speak them all. He cares and for her to just say his feelings are insincere, makes me so upset. Especially because HE was the one getting angry when she said her life basically didn't matter. It speaks volumes. She's not a victim, she's also at fault. Both of them are. I hope she apologizes to him as well. He started that whole thing and she continued. I hope they can resolve the issue and understand each other better. :(

The whole thing feels so real and I'm so impressed how much character you put into this fic. I'm so in love with it! Thank you thank you thank you. It's a masterpiece and I hope you know it. ^-^

(sorry if I wrote the name of the countries wrong, I couldn't remember how it was spelled. I'm no professional english speaker as well so, I'll apologize for every mistake that's in these paragraphs too 🥺)

First of all I can’t thank you enough for your thoughts on this chapter!! I LOVE deep diving into situations and characters. You have so many valid points about Jungkook and MC! However I’d like to impart a little bit of my thoughts on the writing process in hopes of easing the blow a little.

There are a few big overarching themes in this series, one being duality and the other being not everything is as it seems; don’t believe everything you hear.

While Jungkook had to face the cruel world at a very young age, so did MC, they are two sides to the same coin in this series, both on opposite teams of a war but still suffering trauma from it. MC has been vocal about it, if this chapter as told us anything lol, but Jungkook doesn’t bare his heart that easily, we will eventually get to hear his side of the five year war, as it most certainly affected him (being a child soldier). But the big thing I wanted to set up here was that that not everything is as it seems.

Eunoia is first set up as a Kingdom centered around nature and peace, giving and expecting nothing in return. A divine and sacred space. But as the series has continued, it’s revealed that it’s only been this way for a very short moment in time. They have an immeasurable amount of blood on their hands and sins on their shoulders as they used to be cannibals. I haven’t strictly used the word in the story but it’s heavily alluded too when the word ‘devour’ is used. Penumbra is called heathenistic nation in the beginning but as it turns out, they hardly are.

Eunoia however, cannot say the same. Duality again plays a big role in the story, while MC is supposed to be a gentle, understanding person (and she is!) she is still human. And she is more times then less, very stubborn and headstrong and she is incredibly temperamental in moments and hot headed herself. It states in the chapter that ‘it’s known by her family that she’s always had a temper’ this was a set up and both acknowledgement from her, and while she is reckless, she’s not above admitting that she is. In fact there’s actually a scene in chapter 16 of her talking about her innocence being non existent (which makes me sad in the sense that I can’t talk about this in further detail because it’s not out)

I think the biggest thing to understand is that MC does not parade around like a victim intentionally, she does however talk about her pain and her tribulations a lot, she’s been through much and she can’t stand it when someone tries to undermine it, when someone tries to say that she’s had an easy life because she’s from Eunoia, it may come across as victim playing but she doesn’t mean it as such, and if someone were to say it (because let’s be real it’s bound to happen soon), she’ll immediately rein it in. This isn’t to say she’s in the right in any way possibly, I’m only giving some perspective on where she’s coming from!

Jungkook however is both similar and yet different from her, he’s titled the wicked prince and yet there’s a certain softness about him that I wanted to incorporate, he’s very understanding and forgiving to those he loved despite everything he’s endured, he isn’t an aggressive or hot headed person by nature, it’s been trained into him at a young age but it’s still not something that comes easy to him.

I suppose what I’m trying to say, is that Jungkook and MC and both deeply flawed and complex people, the stereotype traits that they were supposed to have, ended up being what the other actually embodies deep down (a soft prince and head strong Princess among other traits). Not only that but they still embody the empathic Princess and cold prince. They are all of these traits above and yet they utilize them in different ways, they are both very different , they come from different upbringings, different kingdoms, different beliefs and yet they are almost the same.

The biggest takeaway from this story morally is to never believe what you hear until you experience it for yourself. Because you might find that Penumbra isn’t nearly as horrendous and heathanistic as they all said it was, but you might discover along the way the grotesque history of Eunoia.

Once again I can’t thank you enough for your thoughts on this chapter! I didn’t mean to ramble so long but I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity to touch on this before so I wanted to take it while I had that chance! 🫶🖤

[teeelsie-posts]

My fave of your fics is What Doesn't Kill You. Would love to hear your comments on that one!

Director's Cut commentary about What Doesn't Kill You:

What Doesn’t Kill You was my first MCU fic, so it’s kind of special to me.  Yeah, I know it starts with a brutal gang rape, so I guess that sounds kinda weird.

After I saw CA:CW, just literally, out of the blue, I got this 2-second snip in my head of Clint bent face down over a desk, struggling as his arms are being held down and outstretched.  That was it, just this flash of a scene with nothing else really along with it, but I COULD NOT let go of it.

I lasted about a week until I had to take that scene and develop it to something more in order to get it out of my head. Up until then, I’d been lurking in the fandom since AoU and there were soooo many accomplished writers out there who had already been producing great stuff for years. It was very intimidating to write and post in the fandom. I felt like such an interloper.

Eventually, that flash of a scene resolved itself into chapter 1 of the fic--the rape scene.  Now look, non-con is not a genre I would say that I write in. I’m not criticizing it—I’ve read some very, very good fic that involve dub-con or non-con.  But, I’d never addressed it before in my own fic and if you’d have asked me, I would have said, nah, not interested, just not my thing (I probably would still say that).  But, man, I could not shake that image and when more of a fic started to form in my head and take hold, suddenly I was writing a really, very graphic non-con fic.

It made me kind of uncomfortable, if I’m honest, because it’s such a brutal thing and I was like, where is this coming from?  But I think the thing for me is this: for me, the non-con is simply the necessary event to highlight and demonstrate that Clint Barton is nothing if not a survivor.  He’s resilient.  (I think Phil says as much at some point in the fic) That’s what this fic is really about. The rape is just a means to an end.  And yes, I could have just had him get a beat-down (because you know I love my whump), but I really felt like the Raft—prison—is all about power differential, and rape is not so much as act of sex, but an act of power and violence, so in the context of the Raft, it just made sense.

The fic was originally just a one-shot—what is now chapter one—and I had no intent to write any more. dentalfloss betad that fic for me and after I posted, she said something like ‘I wish I could see the others’ reactions.’  Which got my wheels spinning anew.  It was tricky, because I’ve read more than one fic where it’s a one-shot from a  certain POV, and then maybe someone says exactly the same thing to the writer that dentalfloss said to me and so they write the other POV.  Sometimes the next parts are great, but it seemed like too often, it was just a repetition of the first part, sometimes word for word for long dialog stretches. So I knew if I was going to add more to the story, itneeded to BUILD on chapter 1 and not just repeat it.  I spent a few months plotting out and drafting chapters for most of the other Avengers, trying to weave their stories into Clint’s without being repetitive. I hope I was successful at that. If it worked the way I wanted, each chapter would reveal more little bits of the broader story without any one person’s story telling it all.  Ach, it’s hard to explain. In the end, I was satisfied with how it turned out.

And then, because I was talking to dentalfloss, and had been reading In Wade We Trust, Wade Wilson popped up in my head and said, me me pic me, and waved his arm around and I sat down and drafted a chapter with him in about 30 minutes because it was all JUST RIGHT THERE and I couldn’t not. Thankfully, floss gave me permission to use “her Wade”, but his appearance in this fic should not be construed as being part of her Wade ‘verse.

If I hadn’t added the other chapters, this would be a very different fic (obviously).  For me, though, this fic is no longer a rape fic—it truly metamorphosized into a recovery fic. Like, when I think about that first chapter now, I’m kind of hand-wavy, yeah, yeah, but that’s not the point!  The point is what comes AFTER.  Honestly, I think if non-con turns you off, you could literally skip chapter 1 and move on to the rest with just the background understanding that this thing happened to Clint, and the rest of it is really the important part.

Finally, I really love Phil in this fic. This was some of my favorite Phil writing (by me), for sure.  I got his voice pretty much just how I wanted it, and there are a couple scenes between him and Clint that are high up on the list of my favorites I ever wrote.

So this fic started as a bit of an earworm that I had to put on paper in order to get it out of my head, and it became something else entirely, unexpectedly becoming much more a story about survival and resilience.

Thanks for the ask, @ryuunoyuki

Fanfic Writers's Director's Cut ask game.

[pashminalamb]

Oliver gives me the vibes of acting all cool collected and nonchalant but secretly obsessed with this one random thing like action figures a comic book series or a childish tv show and no one knows about it except when one day he sees a limited edition of something just his eyes light up his face pulls into the biggest most innocent smile and he lets out the most adorable little gasp when you ask him about it and immediately starts rambling about whatever it is and all you can do is just stare at this 6’3 man fanboying over a kids show with all the surprise and fondness and love in your eyes. Idk I just feel like once you get to really know this man and he really falls in love with you? That he’d let some of that facade down around you. I think it just means that he feels safe to be himself around you. And he doesn’t have that cool playboy image to uphold anymore at least not for a while and certainly not around you yknow? Idk that thought just came into my head and I had to share it with you. How are you btw? How’s uni? Hows the new show going? Also if you don’t mind. I will be ranting about the end of Tokyo Revengers in another ask and how it absolutely destroyed me and left me completely empty inside and just all the feelings because it’s my favorite and comfort manga. If that’s alright? *sends many virtual hugs*

- ✨ anon

✨ (the urge to call you starry or charmer but it’s upto you ♡) , I-

I love this. so much ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ) this man has my heart and I had a dream about him last night

He'd fanboy over the little things so much - it's so adorable. 6'3 defender of japan going out shopping with you to buy figurines, mangas and pointing at the one he wants on the shelf with a smile. And imagine if you share the same passion? And what if it coincides?

I made some groundbreaking discoveries yesterday and many more reasons on why Oliver and I are the perfect couple

So I was curious to see if there was any fanart of him on twitter (cause the artists there are amazing and I found this one pic of tendou with like really short hair and he was fucking AHHh he was hot !! but anyway) I found a thread of discussion on Oliver

Turns out, he hates corn cause it gets stuck between his teeth and I have no words cause even I didn't like corn for that reason... but its alright to eat now ig; he likes shin ramyeon. (Literally stocked the goddamn thing into the cupboard yesterday adbfkjhfbhesff ) and he likes Spicy food!! 🥹

and his manga. *put on glasses* Chi: Chikyū no Undō ni Tsuite.

It is a historical manga and it’s coinciding with astronomy. *is a major of it at uni* I- Oliver is a nerd. He’s a nerd and I love him for it. And I’d like to think that there is a moment where he does engage with you in discussions about it and when you give him that look; that knowing look of ‘I know who you really are’ when he turns an argument into an intellectual one without realizing it. And he just gives you the look back of ‘I know. I’m not stupid. Surprise.’

And once he falls in love with you? playboy season is over and he will be locked.

I absolutely loved this thought and thank you for sharing it with me ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ♡

Cause seriously it fits well with his character and I can totally imagine him just being giddy about it (T.T) *heartclench*

What happened at uni today : So me and this guy I’ve known for 5 years since school share one of the majors we have out of two together. He’s very aloof, always sits at the back and doesn’t talk to anyone. But today since he was late, he sat next to me. And he goes ‘You’ve changed. You’ve lost a lost of weight.’ And not even in the positive way… it was condescending.

*proceeds to lose a debate against me* (like seriously you’d think I’d let that slide?)

I've also destroyed my glutes and elbows at the gym today and I'm writing more to the NNN challenge fic along with another one

Romantic killer is so cute and funny! I’d rec you to give it a watch !!

*passes cup of hot chocolate and a squishmallow* go on. I’m listening *pat pat* (੭˶•༝•˶)੭ ♡ You can rant to whenever you want <3

*sending warm and comforting hugs*

[lgwilt]

Unconventional writer ask game: answers

It took me a while to get around to this, but here we go! Thanks @knuckleslove for the fun questions and @dewdropreader for the tag! 

How long have you been writing fanfiction? 

I’ve been writing fic on-and-off for quite a while now (since 2016-ish!), but I only started posting earlier this year. 

Do you have a favorite word? (One that you love. Doesn’t necessarily have to be one you use all the time.)

Mellifluous (although I can’t say I’ve used it in a fic yet)

Share a favorite run-on sentence that you’ve written?

I’d never really thought about it before, but I actually don’t think I have any examples of run-on sentences! Not even when writing about characters spiralling into panic or on the verge of a breakdown - which is a bit surprising, since my internal monologue is essentially one giant over-excited and/or meandering run-on sentence. 

I do write plenty of LONG sentences though (complete with flagrant overuse of parentheses).

Share a bit of a scene that you’ve written that still gives you FEELS.

Sad feels from On a Wing and a Prayer (there’s lots of comfort in this fic, but this scene was the first one that sprang to mind):

Loki’s voice was hard and unforgiving, but it was beautiful, just as rich and musical Mobius remembered.  If he just agreed to talk, maybe the nightmare projection would turn back into his Loki, use that silver tongue to murmur soothing lies until he finally drifted into an unbroken sleep… Maybe the illusion of comfort would be better after all.

What is your favorite kind of character interaction to write? 

*deep breath* where to start?

Interactions between characters who who mask/repress their emotions (often in very different ways). Stoic and self-controlled characters showing cracks of vulnerability or dramatically breaking down after being pushed to their emotional limits is my all-time favourite fictional trope! 

See also: mutual unspoken longing. I love writing dialogue where what’s left unsaid carries more emotional weight than the words themselves.

Drawing out parallels and shared experiences between characters who (at first glance) seem completely different from one another, or between characters on opposing sides (I love a compelling Best Enemies dynamic). I never get tired of exploring the moral ambiguity of “good” characters, or the potential for characters cast as villains to deviate from their assigned roles.

Self-doubt + reassurance ❤️

Friendship, devotion, loyalty 

Do you have a hyper-specific genre? 

Hmm I’m not sure about a hyper-specific genre, but I’ve yet to write a fic that doesn’t include hurt/comfort - or hurt + moments of mutual understanding and emotional connection, at the very least!

Any personal or frequently used tags?

The classics. Angst, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending.

Share a joke or funny moment that you’ve written that still makes you laugh.

I’m not sure I’d call these jokes as such, but here’s some dialogue I had fun writing:

From On a Wing and a Prayer (Lokius): 

“It was heroic,” Loki insisted heatedly. “Mobius, they were torturing you. And your body is weak and mortal.” He gestured at Mobius to make his point. Mobius chuckled fondly. “For a minute there I thought you were gonna compliment me.”

From The Man Who Wasn’t There (nostalgic Life on Mars/Doctor Who crossover):

“I’m sorry,” Sam interjected incredulously, cutting off the stranger mid-ramble. “Did you just say… my wife?” “I know. That was my reaction too,” the stranger confessed, as though he and Sam were on precisely the same wavelength. “Never thought of you as the marrying kind.”

Best editing tip?

I second @insert-witty-user-name-here and @dewdropreader's pro tips about coming to your own work as a reader. Anything that helps trick your brain into seeing what you’ve written like you’re reading it for the first time, e.g. taking a break for a few days, changing the font, reading on a different device, reading quickly to get a sense of how the narrative flows as a whole (not being able to see the wood for the trees is definitely a thing, at least for me!)

What drives you to write?

I’ve always loved writing, and I’ve always wanted to try my hand at writing fiction. For fanfiction specifically, I write because I’m continually falling heed-over-heels in love with fictional characters and worlds and I need an outlet for all those “what if?” scenarios that won’t stop crowding into my head!

Share something about your writing that you have wished someone would ask you about. 

“Is that semi-colon really necessary?”

Where do you draw inspiration?

All over the place! One consistent source of inspiration is that I almost always have favourite quotes to hand that help set the mood of a fic or resonate with the themes. Sometimes these quotes make it into the story itself, if I can figure out how to weave them in organically, e.g. my Gallifrey fic Silver Lining.

What is your immediate reaction when you receive a new comment on a fic?

Pure, unadulterated JOY! Smiling, dancing, throwing confetti!!! I’m always so touched when people take the time to leave comments, and I’ll never not be ridiculously excited to see a new comment pop up in my inbox.

What is your biggest challenge in writing?

My inner critic looking over my shoulder while I write

Falling into the trap of obsessing over sentence structure/individual paragraphs at the expense of the story as a whole (I’m trying really hard to train myself out of this – I’d love to be able to write FASTER and in a more relaxed, “stream of consciousness” way, at least for the first draft)

What story or scene are you most proud of?

I’m proud of completing my Lokius story On a Wing and a Prayer, the first fic I’ve posted chapter-by-chapter. While it isn’t all that long in terms of the overall word count, the real breakthrough for me was that I started posting before I’d completed the later chapters, which meant I didn’t have my usual “safety net” of obsessively editing the story as a whole before sharing it. My draft for Chapter 6 comprised “they escape - something bad happens”, so I was excited that I managed to work out the nature of the “something bad” and write that chapter from scratch over a fairly busy fortnight (which for me counts as record time!!) 

1-2 sentence preview from your current WIP?? (Only if you are willing.)

Saving this one for last. I’m cheating a bit with my answer as I’ve currently got three “active” WIPs on the go. My focus right now is my Lokius fic Variation On a Theme, but I definitely plan on finishing the others (eventually)! 

From Variation on a Theme, Chapter 3 – in which Director Mobius meets President Loki:

Loki smiled, sharp and sudden, white teeth gleaming. It was the same smile Mobius had seen in the reels from the Sacred Timeline (mischievous, beguiling, utterly irresistible), and yet it wasn’t the same. The spark of joy dancing in those mesmerising eyes had vanished, replaced by something steely and dangerous. Loki’s expression was cold, his smile slightly unhinged. Not for the first time, Mobius wondered how much of this “teetering on the edge of sanity” façade was a construct, a calculated intimidation tactic, and how much was genuine. Right now, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to find out. 

From The Man Who Wasn’t There, Chapter 3:

“Are you trying to tell me,” said Gene slowly, with an exaggerated patience that Sam knew from experience didn’t herald anything good, “that my DI is a Martian?”

And lastly… the conclusion to my little series of Good Omens fics (just two very short fics so far, but the next instalment will be longer). Title = A Twitch Upon the Thread:

“No, angel. Nothing like that.” Crowley sat up, tried to smile. “The fire and brimstone stuff is mostly for show. The worst thing about hell is that it’s got no style.” “Tell me truthfully, Crowley. Is that really the worst thing?” Crowley’s expression changed suddenly, like a mask had fallen away. “Not even close, angel.”

Please link your profile so we can admire your works!

AO3 profile: lydiagwilt

Also tagging @insert-witty-user-name-here @cha-melodius @blackbirdofasgard @mirilyawrites