#will post to ao3 later since this is like a million words

[miasmaghoul]

sooo.. how do we feel about swiss fingering transdew in the passenger seat

"Why me?"

Swiss tilts his head, spinning a heavy set of keys around one finger.

"Why not?"

Dew raises an eyebrow, gestures at the guitar in his lap, the papers spread out on his bed.

"Oh please," Swiss scoffs, pushing himself away from Dew's doorframe and striding into his sunlit room. It's a gorgeous day, early spring, the sweet scent of the rose gardens wafting in on the breeze. "You're tellin' me you'd rather practice than go for a joyride?"

Dew snorts, crossing his ankles and adjusting his beat up old acoustic. It's true that he's been at it for a while now, since just after breakfast, but this solo has been giving him shit and he's determined to nail it before their next group session.

"I don't think taking Sunny and Lus to the grocery store counts as a joyride."

Dew strums out a few chords while Swiss flops into his desk chair, leaning it back onto two legs. It creaks under his weight.

"Maybe not," Swiss concedes, unbothered, "but you could still come keep me company."

"What, the girls not enough for you?"

"They would be," Swiss replies with a shrug. "If they didn't spend every trip making out in the back seat."

Dew snorts at that - Swiss has a point, Sunshine and Cumulus are not ones to keep their hands off each other in any context. Still, he grumbles.

"C'mon, Sparky," Swiss goads, scooting his chair closer so he can rest his elbows on the mattress, propping his chin in one hand and prodding at Dew's knee with the other. "Don't make me beg."

"But I like it when you beg."

Dew throws Swiss a wink, and Swiss reciprocates with his best puppy dog eyes. Big and wet and completely irresistible. Dew sighs, throws up his hands in mock defeat.

"Fine, fine," he grumps, setting his guitar on the bed. "But I'd better get something outta this."

Swiss grins, delighted. Pats Dew on the thigh as he stands, shoving the chair back under the desk.

"I'll tell Lus to buy that spicy jerky you like," he offers, and Dew gives him a little ooh.

"The cheese too," he insists, shuffling to the edge of the mattress and reaching for his boots. "The one with the habaneros."

"Yeah, yeah," Swiss chuckles, heading for the door, "but warn me before you eat it, I'm not sleeping with you on cheese night again. I learned my lesson."

Dew hurls a pillow at him, and Swiss scampers into the hall with a boisterous laugh. The little ghoul works on lacing up his boots, and makes a mental note to never tell Swiss when it's cheese night.

Twenty minutes later they're on the road, and as the breeze blows through his hair Dew wonders why he was so reluctant in the first place.

It's a gorgeous day, sunny and hot, but not enough to need the a/c. They're flying down the highway in Copia's ancient whale of a car, the windows down and a Judas Priest cassette blaring through the speakers; Swiss belts out the chorus to Breaking the Law while Dew taps out a matching rhythm on the outside of his door. In the back, Cumulus provides backing vocals while Sunshine dances in her seat, and Dew can't help the massive grin that splits his face.

It's a 45 minute drive to the nearest grocery store - the one downside to the abbey being so remote - but the trip passes quicker than he expects. They're trundling into the parking lot before Dew knows it, Swiss killing the engine and groaning through a solid stretch. Dew flips down the visor, looks in the tiny mirror and makes a displeased sound at the state of his hair.

"Okay," Cumulus pipes up from the back seat. Dew peers at her in the mirror, not missing the fresh hickey just below her ear. "I have the list, I have our allowance, I have..." she pats at her chest, searching the pockets of her denim vest, "ah, and I have my phone!"

"You got my snacks on that list?" Dew inquires, working at his knotted ends. Cumulus makes an affirmative sound.

"Sure do," she lilts, leaning forward to dangle the paper in his face. "Jerky and cheese, as requested."

"Get some of that chocolate I like too," he mumbles, "the dark stuff, with the salt." He turns his head to give her outstretched hand a quick peck. "Please."

"You got it, sugar," she giggles, tucking the list away. "You two coming with us?"

"No boys allowed," Sunshine and Swiss say in unison, and the lot of them chuckle. It's a known fact that Dew isn't a fan of crowds and that Swiss can't be trusted around free samples, so in the car they will stay.

"Besides," Swiss adds, leaning across the bench seat to throw an arm around Dew's narrow shoulders, "I got good company right here."

He nips at Dew's ear and the little ghoul elbows him in the side, hard enough to make Swiss yelp. It turns into a quick little slap fight, a moment of playful stupidity that Dew will never admit to enjoying as much as he does.

"Play nice, kids," Sunshine chides when they break apart, resting her chin on the back of their seat with a toothy grin. "Or mommy won't bring back any treats!"

"Gross," Dew complains, but settles anyway. Goes back to working the kinks from his golden locks. Sunshine leans over the seat to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek and Dew squawks in protest.

"Aww, but you I thought you loved calling me that!"

Dew shoves her away, suffers through a chorus of snickers while his cheeks go pink, and resolutely avoids looking over as Swiss. The girls get their things together and then they're clambering out of the car; Sunshine glues herself to Cumulus, laces their hands together, and together they stride across the parking lot to the hulking monolith that is the grocery store.

"Mommy, huh?" Swiss pipes up moments later, and Dew groans.

"Shut up," he grouses, giving up on his messy hair and slouching down in his seat. "It's her thing, not mine," Dew lies. "Besides, I've called you worse."

"Can't argue that," Swiss lilts, stretching his arm along the back of the bench seat. "Remember that time you called me Mr. Army?"

Oh, does he, and Dew really doesn't want to think about that right now. Thick fingers tease their way into his tangled hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp.

"You were the one that put me in a schoolgirl outfit," Dew huffs, crossing his legs for reasons totally unrelated to that particular memory. "I can't be held accountable for anything I said."

"I just never thought I'd get anyone but Rain to call me that," Swiss murmurs, a lascivious grin sliding onto his face. Dew looks at him from the corner of his eye, unwilling to lose the pleasant pressure of Swiss' hand in his hair.

"Rain? Really?"

"Oh yeah," Swiss says, converational. His hand moves to cup the back of Dew's neck, and oh is that lovely. "Wanted me to spank his ass raw and tell him what a naughty boy he was while he said it. Poor guy went off against my thigh before I could even get him on my cock," he sighs, wistful. Swiss turns his head, fixes Dew with that vulpine smile. "You were a nice surprise."

The little ghoul rolls his eyes, and really hopes Swiss doesn't notice him squeezing his thighs together. He has nothing further to say on the matter - or, at least, nothing that won't get him into trouble - so he stays silent. Enjoys the way Swiss' thumb rubs the spot just behind his ear while he watches humans mill about the lot. Families and individuals both, with arms full of paper bags holding untold goodies.

For what it's worth, Swiss doesn't keep talking either. He's not quiet, still humming out a tune Dew recognizes but can't quite place, but it's comfortable. The sun's hanging high in the early afternoon sky, a gentle breeze flowing though the still open windows, and Dew would be lying if he said this wasn't a nice way to kill time.

"What's on your mind?" Swiss asks a handful of minutes later, giving his neck a squeeze. "You're never quiet for this long."

"Oh you're one to talk," Dew chuffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't remember the last time you shut up for more than five minutes."

"Pfft, sure you can," Swiss insists, that large hand dipping into the collar of Dew’s t-shirt, callused fingertips drifting over his skin and dragging a soft sigh from his lips. "I'm pretty sure I don't talk that much when you're sitting on my face, spitfire."

Dew scoffs despite the tingle the words force through him, a warm feeling settling into his belly. He turns his head to give Swiss a look, an incredulous eyebrow raised.

"That's the only example you can think of?"

"No," Swiss shrugs, "it's just the one I'm thinkin' of right now." The other ghoul licks his lips in a very intentional way, and that tingle hits again. "I guess deepthroating Mount counts too, but -"

"So the only thing that keeps you from yapping is having someone's junk in your mouth," Dew interrupts, nodding sagely, "noted."

Swiss laughs, loud enough to get the attention of a few people loading their car nearby. Dew shrinks in his seat.

"Like you're complaining."

He shifts in the seat, scooching closer. Dew squints at him, suspicious, but doesn't protest. Not even when Swiss gets close enough for their thighs to touch, for the other ghoul to drape an arm around his neck and let that huge hand rest on his chest. For Dew to soak in his spicy cologne and for Swiss to rest his chin on a bony shoulder.

"Besides," he rumbles, nosing at Dew's temple, "we both know you love my yapping."

"Love is a strong word," Dew mumbles, tilting his head when Swiss nuzzles his neck nonetheless.

"Mm, I don't think so," Swiss hums against his jaw, stubble scratching at his skin in a way that makes Dew's eyelids flutter. "Don't think I missed that little leg squeeze when I was talkin' about Rain, baby."

Dew groans, gives him a little shove. Far from enough to dislodge the other ghoul, more of a nudge than anything else. Token protest. Swiss huffs out a soft laugh, kisses his cheek.

"That's what I thought," he coos, licking at the shell of Dew's ear to draw out a shiver. The hand on his chest finds a nipple through his shirt, and Dew has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Curse Swiss for knowing every one of his weak spots. "Can't hide from me, Sparky."

Dew hates that he's right, and hates even more that - even in a place like this - Swiss can get him riled up with so little effort. Dew bounces his leg, takes his lower lip between his teeth while he scans the parking lot. There are people everywhere, but none close enough to see them - a fact Dew is very thankful for when Swiss sucks his earlobe and gives one of his nipple piercings a tug. Any closer and they might hear his moan.

"Fuck," Dew grunts, squirming in his seat, "ugh, you bitch."

"Such language," Swiss taunts, tracing the tip of his tongue along Dew's pulse point. "Lucifer, you're so easy."

Dew growls as best he can, human glamour be damned, and it just makes Swiss laugh again. It's a shame he can't argue - Swiss and Aether are the only ones who have such an effect on him, and they both know it perfectly well.

"Aww, gettin' all hot and bothered already?" Dew tries to shake his head, but Swiss kisses his throat and it doesn't get him very far. "Don't lie, firecracker. I can smell it on you."

Of course he can. He always can. Dew sighs as his eyes slip shut, sagging into the seat as Swiss slowly but surely teases the spots that make him start to sweat. Swiss' other hand lands on his thigh, stroking tight denim until Dew’s legs uncross. He walks two fingers up the inseam of the little ghoul's jeans while he trails wet kisses along his jaw, and Dew really can't help the soft sounds it all wrings from him.

Then that wandering hand sneaks under his shirt, lifts it up to expose his belly, and Dew jolts.

"H-hey, wait," he breathes, fists balled at his sides. His eyes crack open despite the way Swiss continues to work his chest, his throat, his ear. He watches Swiss' talented fingers trace his happy trail, dip into his navel and disappear up his shirt, and when Swiss rubs at his bare nipple Dew has to clap a hand over his mouth to hide his moan. "Shit, Swiss -"

It's muffled by his palm, and Dew's eyes dart around the parking lot as Swiss pulls away. Fixes him with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.

"Hm?" Swiss tugs both piercings at once and Dew shudders. "Something wrong?"

"You - oh - fuck, Swiss some...someone's gonna hear, someone's gonna - nngh - gonna see -"

"So?" The hand under his shirt runs ticklish trails down his belly, makes the muscles there jump. Swiss nibbles at his collarbone and Dew makes an embarrassing gurgling noise. "You like being watched and we both know it."

That may be true, but Dew thinks there's a difference between Mountain spying on him through a crack in the door and being fondled in a public parking lot with the windows down.

Swiss' hand finds his belt then, and Dew throbs.

"Fucker," he bites out as Swiss unbuckles him, other hand still expertly working his chest, and Dew flushes at the dark chuckle Swiss lets out.

"Maybe later," he croons, kissing the hinge of his jaw. "I got other plans for you right now."

Swiss wastes no time it getting his belt out of the way, quick to pop the button and tug down his zipper. Dew's narrow chest is heaving by the time Swiss hooks two fingers into the band of his boxer briefs. The other ghoul gives him a cruel smirk, snaps the band against his skin, and Dew sucks air through his teeth.

"Better keep it down, baby," Swiss speaks against his ear, liquid silk. "If you can, that is."

That hand worms its way into his underwear, slips down between his thighs, and Dew clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

"Mm, what's this?" Swiss glides the tip of one finger through his folds and Dew's thighs tense. "So slippery already. Just from this?"

Swiss tweaks his nipple, licks a nasty stripe below his ear, and Dew really has to work not to choke on his own tongue. His fat little dick throbs against Swiss' palm, and Swiss sounds absolutely thrilled about it.

"Oh, someone's excited," he teases, one thick finger prodding at his hole. "It's already tryin' to suck me in," Swiss sing-songs, and the little ghoul's shoulders sag.

Dew whimpers when he pushes the tip inside, clenching around an intrusion that feels far too good for how slight it is. He can't stop looking at everyone wandering the parking lot, trying to stay on high alert for the slightest hint of undue attention but struggling more and more with every passing second. Swiss wriggles that probing digit further inside, up to the second knuckle, and then there's sudden pressure on it front wall that has Dew's back arching off the seat.

"Fuck, fuck," he wheezes, hands flying to whatever he can reach - one paws at Swiss' shirt, the other gripping his forearm. Feeling the muscles shift as Swiss' finger works him open, groaning at the gentle stretch. "Oh you bastard."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart," Swiss breathes, palming his stiff clit, and Dew's breath catches in his throat.

"Can't believe you're - oh shit, oh - fuck, can't believe I'm letting you - ah!"

Dew bites his lips shut as Swiss curls his finger just right, muting his cry and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back. Clamps his thighs around that massive hand until Swiss chuckles in his ear, swirling that digit and making the little ghoul's eyes cross instead.

"You're so pretty like this," he rumbles, a second finger tracing around the first, spreading slick. "All shy. Makes you even tighter," Swiss tells him, and Dew clamps down even harder. Why is it so good? "Wish I could get you in my lap right now," his breath is so, so hot in Dew's ear. "Get you to sit on my cock and see how quiet you are then."

Dew shivers head to toe, legs spreading at the thought alone, and Swiss leaps at the opportunity. Pulls his first finger out only to slide back in with two, and there's no possible way he could stay silent through that. He turns his head just in time to sink his teeth into Swiss' shoulder, howling his pleasure into cotton and flesh, and Swiss groans right along with him.

"That's more like it," he praises, kissing the top of Dew’s head while he pants and shivers. "Gonna be a quick one, isn't it?"

Dew nods as best he can, moaning into Swiss' shirt when he rubs the heel of his hand in slow circles over his pulsing clit. Doesn't pull back until he's sure he can control himself, gasping when Swiss crooks his fingers but biting back the whine bubbling up in his throat.

"Y-yeah," he admits, thready. He can't be bothered to look out the window anymore, staring only at the bulge Swiss' hand makes in his jeans. "Fuck, just do it, fuckin' make me."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Swiss lilts, one last taunt, and then the only sound filling the space around them is the wet squelch of skilled fingers plunging in and out of his tight little body.

It's perfect - the curve of Swiss' digits, the pressure against his sensitive little dick, the way Swiss rubs at that one spot inside that has Dew going boneless against Swiss' side. Huffing hot into his shirt, hair falling into his face and wafting in the breeze still flowing through the open windows. He can't stop grabbing at Swiss - his shirt, his arm, whatever he can reach. Skinny hips rolling against his palm in search of more, more, driving Swiss' fingers as deep as they'll go.

"C-close," he spits far too soon, every inch of him on fire and wound tight as a spring. Swiss gives his closes approximation of his usual purr, and Dew's thighs quiver. "Like...like that, just like that, shit -"

"Yeah?"

The hand still torturing his nipples stills, presses flat to Dew's chest. His fingers feel so perfect Dew can't handle it, on edge and covered in goosebumps.

"Give me a squeeze, baby," Swiss instructs, and Dew does. Clenches hard around those two wonderful digits and Swiss seems to predict the sound it'll drag from him, because the hand on his chest flies to cover Dew's mouth and catch his wail. "Fuck, that's my good boy," Swiss huffs, breathless in a way Dew adores even through his haze of pleasure. The other ghoul holds him close, keeps his mouth covered, and Dew scrabbles at the arm working him. "Now let me feel it cum for me."

Dew loses all sense of rhythm as Swiss curls his fingers one last time, hitting something that puts stars in his eyes and wrenches harsh moans from his throat, and with one perfect roll of Swiss' palm against his clit Dew's gone.

He's drooling against Swiss' palm when he comes down from the highest high, sweaty at his hairline and his cunt still snapping around Swiss' fingers. Holding him inside with the little ghoul rides out the aftershocks, breathing hard through his nose and blinking with one eye at a time. Swiss is muttering all sorts of nonsense into his hair, a litany of praise and wonderment that Dew cannot for the life of him understand but appreciates anyway.

Soon enough sensitivity sets in, and Dew hisses against Swiss' damp palm. Reaches up to peel his hand away with shaky fingers, squirming until Swiss gets the message and pulls out with care. There's a gush of warmth that follows, soaks into his briefs, and Dew heaves a sigh.

"Unholy shit," he slurs, collapsing back into his seat like a mound of jelly. "What the fuck, Swiss."

The other ghoul chuckles, and Dew rolls his neck just in time to watch Swiss pop his messy fingers into his mouth. Listens to Swiss suck them clean and groan at the taste of him.

"What?" He licks slick from his palm, exaggerated passes of his tongue that Dew finds himself fascinated by. "You said you wanted to get something outta this, right?" Dew blinks at him, brows scrunched together as he tried to make his brain work. "Just granting your wish, Sparky."

Swiss gives him a wink, and then he's leaning in for a quick kiss. Just a peck, really, before he's fastening Dew's jeans and putting his belt back into place. Smoothing his hair as best he can before he scoots back behind the wheel, lacing his fingers behind his head. Dew's fully back by the time he's done, very aware of their surroundings once more and ever so glad to see their activities seem to have gone unnoticed.

"Just in time, too," Swiss comments, nodding towards the store. Dew squits against the sun and sees the girls just leaving the building, Sunshine's arms full and Cumulus carrying what looks to be a single bag of chips. They're bumping into each other and giggling, Dew can tell even from across the lot, and his own smile curls into place.

"Damn," he laments, sitting up straighter. "Guess you'll have to wait 'til we get back for your turn, huh?"

He turns to give Swiss a playful wink, and finds Swiss looking...he isn't sure. Smug? Maybe? Hard to say.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothin'," he shrugs, eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Just find it funny that after so long you still don't know what you do to me."

Dew blinks as Swiss reaches over to grab his wrist, guiding to his crotch and -

"Oh no fuckin' way."

"Tell anyone and I won't eat you out for a month," Swiss threatens, but Dew's too busy enjoying the sizeable wet spot beneath his hand to care.

"We're ba-ack!" Cumulus calls once they're in earshot, and Dew gives Swiss a squeeze before he pulls back. Licks at his palm while Sunshine loads up the trunk, just to make the other ghoul suffer a little bit more. The back doors swing open and the girls slide inside. "You boys have fun without us?"

"Oh, Lus," Dew tells her, rifling through the cassettes in the glove box with the tang of Swiss still coating his tongue. "You have no idea."

[baiabay]

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Chapter 1: Scaredy-Cat

Prologue

Chapter 1: Current Chapter

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name ! <33

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A/N: Spot is here!!

 Hey all! Okay so first things first thank you so much for all the support of the last chapter! It honestly means alot given that ive never written before lol. Alsoooo sorry for the radio-silence after the last release, i just graduated highschool! So yay for me :) also means that ill have much more time to write since its summer break for me now. Lastly,sorry if this chapter seemed kinda slow, I wanted to try to incorporate what this universes’ Felicia Hardys “canon events”(or what would be of her canon events) would look like in this chapter to set up a bit of backstory, as someone who doesn’t read the comics nor play the games, pls forgive any inaccuracies in Felicias lore as I am only going based off of wikipedia (plus in this story reader is a minor so I wanted to exclude the nsfw trauma that Felicia goes through in og story) I also wanted to find out a way how to integrate reader into the main plot which is why i decided to feature Spot in this chapter :D thanks again for the support and don’t forget that this chapter along with any future ones will be posted to ao3/tumblr under the same title!

P.S. Much more Spider-Miles/Black Cat interactions next chapter!!

Word Count: 1844

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You remembered it like it was yesterday.

Seven months ago, Brooklyn, New York.

Your father - The Black Cat’s face on every screen in the country, but most importantly yours.

BREAKING NEWS: WORLD-RENOWNED CAT BURGLAR CAUGHT IN THE ACT : IDENTITY SHOCKS THE NATION

…huh?

LIVE ON THE SCENE: ‘BLACK CAT’ REVEALED TO BE MULTI MILLIONAIRE WALTER HARDY AFTER RUN-IN WITH SPIDER-MAN

…no, this-

THIS JUST IN: CAT BURGLAR WALTER HARDY PRESUMED DEAD AT HEIST SCENE - POSSESSIONS TO BE TURNED IN TO OFFICIALS

This can’t be happening.

It was all too much at once. 

He never kept it secret from you. You knew about your father’s job.

You knew all about what he did. The planning, the heists, the reselling, he had done it for years. And you knew all about it.  But he had been doing this for years. Long enough to allow your family to live very comfortably. Long enough that you believed he would never be caught.

But yet there you were, all that you knew burned to the ground in a matter of minutes.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Frantically packing everything you could into any bag you could find; clothes, money, pictures, weapons, anything - before they could take it away from you. 

And when they did, it was brutal. 

Live-streamed news coverage of men raiding your home, rummaging through your stuff- your father’s stuff- as if he never existed. 

Soon enough there were auctions. Bids, worth millions, on your father’s items, broadcasted across the nation, with drinks and music and finger foods - they made a fucking sport out of it. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the cheers in the street after the big-bad-black-cat was pronounced dead. The endless praise Spider-man received, that of which he took with a smile on his face. You had wished you could kill him.

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the day Peter Parker died.

You laughed.

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .  

Seven months later, Brooklyn, New York.

Ugh.

Muscles aching, you stretched up in your bed, and groaned. Ruffling the bedhead out of your hair, you reluctantly trudged out of your mattress to open a window. Coincidentally, one of your many cats was perched perfectly on its sill, wide-eyed and tail flicking in your direction.

“...This whole heist stuff is really catching up to me, huh?”

The cat stared. You sighed. You really had to get yourself some friends.

Ever since your fathers passing, you’ve basically been on your own. Shortly after all his (and your) possessions were seized, you hopped around until you managed to find shelter in a shitty apartment on the west side of town. You, fueled purely by spite (with a tasteful teeny tiny dash of vengeance on the side), inherited the criminal persona of your father, along with his criminal tendencies, and took upon yourself the name of The Black Cat. 

All this time you’ve managed to keep your identity completely secret, not even your resellers knew who you were. That came with one major drawback though… you were extremely lonely.

Even with your frequent charity rounds around the community, noone really knew who you were. Even though Black Cat was nonviolent, the name was widely feared seemingly everywhere you went. Even with your days at school, the school you’ve been going to for months now, you made your way around the halls unnoticed. 

Speaking of school, you were late. 

Shit. 

Spending ample time dazing out your window, you’ve completely lost track of time. You disregarded your hair and rushed to pull on your uniform. Stumbling around your complex you hastily dumped too large of a portion of cat food into the automatic feeder, something you’re sure the cats will be grateful for. Shoving a few snacks into your bag, you simultaneously shuffled into your school shoes, proceeding to dash out the door. 

Sprinting down the stairs, nearly tripping once, twice, you whipped out your phone to check when the next bus route would arrive. 35 minutes.

Shitshitshit.

You paused, still in the stairwell, before turning to sprint in the opposite direction, towards the rooftop terrace. Creaking open the door, you checked to make sure noone else was up there before making your way towards the edge of the terrace. To anyone else but you, it would look like a young student was about to make an unfortunate decision and jump. And jump you did. 

You fell for a few seconds, relishing in the way your stomach dropped. You’d never get tired of that feeling. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. Pulling and releasing, you quickly fell into a swinging pattern, towards Brooklyn Visions. 

Hidden from the eyes of civilians, you swung yourself through the shadows. Everyone looked so small from up there, and for a brief second, you found power in your lonesome. In the corner of your eye you noticed what seemed to be a lanky white figure clumsily flying through the air. (You paid it no mind).

Dropping down into a dark alleyway much closer to campus, you continued your mad dash towards the main entrance. Winded, you finally made your way inside the building, a thin layer of sweat shined on your forehead. The hallways were empty, class must be in session. You took a few steps forward, making your way towards your classroom until being knocked over by a student, very evidently in a hurry. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to-I’m just in a rush, I didn’t mean…”

The boy reached out his hand to help you up.

“Hey, it's no problem, I get it.”

You smiled, and took your hand in his. He hesitated for a moment, staring, brows furrowed at your now interlocked hands, before nodding and continuing his sprint down the hallways. 

You took in his disheveled appearance, his wonky tie, his half-tucked shirt, untied laces, dark eyes, curly hair, brown skin, sweaty palms…

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted with the shrill ringing of the school bell. Suddenly, the hallways flooded with students rushing towards their next classes, you decided to follow suit. 

On the other side of the hallway, Miles Morales lingered on how his spidey-sense flashed alarms in his head when his hand touched yours. Every nerve in his system telling him to run, fight, dodge, anything to get away from you-he couldn't put his finger on why. (He paid it no mind). Blaming it on nerves, Miles shoved his way through the packed hallways, dreading the meeting waiting for him in the guidance counselor's office. 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    

School was a bust, as always. Nothing new, you made your way through the rest of the day unnoticed. As always. But you didn’t have time to think about that right now.

At the moment, you were in the middle of going through numerous number-codes on a padlock blocking the vault door to an extremely expensive gemstone. You’ve been salivating over this stone for weeks now, planning out how and when exactly you would strike to get this thing in your hands. You could see it now, the headlines, the chaos, after some rando millionaire’s little rock was taken from him…

“Woah, hey, you’re new!”

You flinched, hard. Whipping around towards the source of this unusually chipper voice. You were met with… a cow? … Man?

You stared, hard. 

“Okay, hey. The ogling isn’t necessary… I just-”

The cowman’s sentence was cut short with a quick lash of your whip, that of which he caught…? Your whip seemed to phase right through a large black hole on his torso, the opposite end appearing in a similar black hole right behind you, the whips end striking your back. You cried out, hit with the full force of your lash.

Sinister giggles emerged from the spotted figure, pointed towards your pained form. You trembled, in shock. 

“It’s rude to interrupt.” 

Spot stepped slowly towards you, his…well, spots, whirring aggressively, pointedly. You were frozen on the ground. Staring up at him, your lips trembled open.

“What,” You coughed. Once, twice. “-what are you?”

The black and white figure straightened, only to then fold over into a dramatic, hilariously unthreatening pose. 

“You, can call me… The Sp-”

“Some sort of cow?” You snickered. It was now his turn to flinch, hard. 

“I am NOT a-” The cow cleared his throat. “I am not a cow…whydoeseveryonesaythat…I, am the most dangerous villain you’ve ever seen, The Spo-”

“I mean, what’s with that getup?” The grin on your face grew. “Is that… is that supposed to be a costume? Orrrr…” 

The Spot sighed, defeated. “...it’s skin.”

“It’s skin?” 

“Yes, yes, now I-”

You stood up, energy back and eyes crinkled. 

“Wow, that’s…hm, interesting…skin, that’s skin? Sorry, sorry-listen man, I uh, I really gotta get back to this, so if you don’t mind?”

Stepping backwards in offence, the spotted figure shook in anger before swinging out his arm, releasing numerous dark voids around the room. Hitting practically every surface, but one most importantly, landing on the vault door, separating you, from your stone.

“Ah-wait-”

Swiftly, The Spot weaved his way through his holes, limbs popping up and out around the room in a way you couldn’t even begin to reach for your whip. 

No way was he about to take it from you.

But take it, he did.

In what felt like seconds, the whole room was engulfed in black. Stumbling backwards, you fell through one of the voids, flailing ungracefully, swimming through nothing. 

It was hard to breathe. 

A shrill crackling terrorized your ears, and before you, appeared a very disheveled Spot, now fully black with white spots, facial dot whirring and trained on you.

Gem in hand. 

Panic.

You were panicking. The sound of blood thrummed in your ears as you squirmed around in nothingness. Fuck the rock, you just had to get out of here. 

A cold hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upwards, towards the crackling form. 

For the second time today, you were frozen.

“I am not a cow,”

The form spoke lowly.

“I am not some villain of the week”,

Frozen still, you did nothing but stare straight into his glare.

“I. Am. The Spot”.

Suddenly, you were dropped. For the second time today, your stomach dropped with you. Next thing you know you’re falling through another void, leading not into darkness, but through the city skyline. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. 

As soon as your feet reached a solid surface, your legs buckled. Heaving, you failed to process what just took place, heart pounding in your ears. 

“...the fuck was that?”

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   

Miles received word of commotion taking place downtown, something to do with spots. He had hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was, and it was. It was, and was so much worse. 

Dark spots littered a large manor, maniacal cackling emerging from its center. In the corner of his eye a familiar masked figure hunched over, breathing rapidly, staring straight ahead at the mess of spots.

(He paid it some mind.)

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

Ppl that asked me to tag them!(thxx 4 the support!)

@nightshxdex

@itszzmoon

@blackcat-kittyblogs

@vxxxb

<3

[wongyuseokie]

Lollipop | w.j.h

Summary: You’re distracting your boyfriend while he’s working, and you do so by sucking a lollipop, but you’d much rather be sucking him. After a few moments of teasing, he snaps and decides to indulge you by tasting just how sweet you are. 

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕smut | ♥ completed Word Count:  1898 words

Pairings: Wen Junhui x Female Reader

Age: 18+ 

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Smut, fluff. 

Content Warnings: Bad puns, terrible, terrible puns. Mentions of food and dessert. Valid mint chocolate slander.

Smut Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (folks don’t do this, wrap it before you tap it,) pussy eating, fingering, blowjob, candy play? Dom! Jun. Daddy! Jun. Very inappropriate usage of all things sweet. I guess dessert play? Jun likes mint chocolate chip, but only when it’s in a certain context. Lots of dessert-related puns. Use of the word kitten because, duh, it’s me. Hickies. Use of the pet name Princess. Praise kink. 

Authors Note: Written for the Candy Land Collab hosted by the lovely @sunnylovespickles, check out the masterlist here and support all the amazing writers here. 🍭 Authors Note 2: Thank you very much to @wooahaeproductions (even tho I still disagree with your love for mint chocolate chip) and, @onlyhuis, @sunnylovespickles, and @himbocoups for looking over this for me. 💕 Authors Note 3: thank you thank you a million times again @wooahaeproductions for helping me write out the ending for this fic ❤️ Authors Note 4: If this fic looks remotely familiar, lol. It's because I once wrote a Joon fic with this exact premise, but since it didn't go too far. I repurposed it for this. Cross-posted to AO3

© wongyuseokie 2023. All rights reserved.

“I’m trying to work. Can you stop being so distracting?” Jun huffed out as you kept staring at him while sucking on a lollipop. 

“Oh, me sucking on something ball-shaped is distracting?” You joked, making Jun glare at you.

“Easy kitten, don’t test me,” Jun warned with a sly smile, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Fine, I’ll be in the living room. Join me once you’re done?” you suggested, and Jun nodded, waving you off. 

“I’m done, kitten,” Jun said later as he joined you on the couch.

“What?” you said innocently as you licked your ice cream. 

“You’re seriously becoming way too comfortable with pushing me,” Jun mumbled, glaring at you as you took another lick at the ice cream. 

“Want a taste?” You asked, and Jun grinned. 

“I guess,” Jun said, pulling you onto his lap and pressing his lips to yours, slowly slipping his tongue into your mouth. Jun growled into the kiss, and you smirked against his mouth. 

“Mint chocolate?” Jun asked, looking very offended, and you shrugged.

“This is why you ask what people are putting in their mouths before stuffing your tongue inside,” you said, continuing to lick the ice cream. 

“It didn’t taste that bad, not when I tasted it off your lips,” Jun said, shrugging. 

“Okay, I’m getting something else, though,” Jun said, getting off the couch and heading into the kitchen. 

“Shall I turn on a movie? You can cuddle me and get yourself something sweet?” you offered, and Jun smiled at you. 

“Bite,” Jun instructed halfway through the movie, holding a row of Cadbury in his mouth and turning to you. 

“Why?” You asked, and Jun glared at you. You laughed, crawling into his lap and taking a bite of the chocolate. However, Jun was quicker than you and suddenly kissed you as you bit into the chocolate. You moaned into the kiss as the chocolate started to melt as the kiss began to get heated. 

Jun’s grip on your waist tightened, and you could feel his length hardening against your core. 

“So sweet,” Jun said, his lips coated in chocolate as he pulled away from you and swallowed the remainder of the melted chocolate, 

“Fuck, that was hot,” Jun mumbled.  

“Tastes way better than better mint, though,” Jun said cockily, earning a scoff from you. 

“Wait, stay here,” you said, climbing off his lap slightly clumsily as you were still floating from the kiss and headed into the kitchen to grab a can of whipped cream. 

“What the hell are you doing with the can?” Jun asked as you emerged from the kitchen, grinning as you approached him and crawled onto his lap, 

“You said you have a week off, right?” you asked, and Jun nodded.

“Why, oh my god, that’s cold!” Jun yelped as you sprayed a generous amount of whipped cream onto his neck. 

“My shirt!” Jun cried out, and you rolled your eyes. You latched your lips onto his neck and sucked, licking and running your tongue over his neck, leaving marks. It wasn’t something you could do very often, so you took great liberty in marking your man. 

“Still complaining about the shirt?” You asked as you licked the whipped cream off his neck and swallowed every drop. You moved your mouth away from his neck to admire your work and smirked when you saw it was all different shades of purple coated with a slick sheen of your saliva and slight specks of white from the whipped cream. 

“You realise that you just gave me hickeys?” Jun said, his eyes going wild with lust.

 “And?” you teased, and Jun snapped. 

“On your knees, princess, don’t make me ask again,” Jun commanded, and you knew better than to challenge him. Mainly because the tone in his voice made you realise that not only was he in charge but that you were awaiting an especially sweet punishment. Jun pulled his shirt off and moved to remove the grey sweats already hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

“Fuck, your body is so nice,” you praised.

“Problem?” Jun asked as you traced his abs. 

“Nope!”

“Now, you, my darling, are the reason I will have to wear a turtleneck in the middle of summer. So, how will you make it up to me?” Jun mused as he laced his fingers through your hair and pulled you closer to his hardened length, the outline of his cock so painfully prominent through his boxers. 

“Let me taste you?” You asked, smiling and batting your eyelashes at Jun. 

“Good girl,” Jun said, and you smiled at him. 

“Wait, what?” Jun said, hissing when he felt a cool sensation on his hardened cock.

“You minx, you work way too quickly,” Jun remarked when he realised that he had barely time to notice when you had pulled his cock out of his boxers and sprayed whipped cream onto his length. 

“Oh fuck, good girl,” Jun groaned when you wrapped your lips around the thick head of his cock, moaning as you tasted the saltiness of his arousal and the sweetness of the whipped cream. You twirled your tongue around the tip of his cock, licking and lapping at the sweet concoction. 

“Fucking hell,” Jun groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. 

Jun moved to thread his hands in your hair, making you slightly choke on his length. 

“Good girl, can I fuck your throat?” Jun asked, and you tapped his thigh, letting him know it was okay to do so. Jun slowly started to move, allowing his cock to thrust in and out of your mouth. 

“Holy shit,” Jun cursed as you hollowed your cheeks, allowing yourself to take more of his length in your mouth. You moaned, tasting him and relishing it. 

“Fuck, baby, I need to cum inside you. Get up,” Jun said hurriedly and gently pulled his cock out of your mouth. Jun bent down and picked you up, his large arms holding you softly before they slowly threw you back onto the couch.

“Undress, and by the time I’m back from the kitchen, you better be naked with your legs spread for me,” Jun ordered before heading into the kitchen. 

You heard Jun rummaging around in the kitchen, and you could only hope that he wasn’t breaking anything in there. Not that it’d kill your sex drive, but it’d just be a mess to clean up later. However, when you heard no other noise except rummaging, you stripped yourself and sat back on the couch, legs spread out and waiting. 

“I said I liked mint chocolate, right, only when I tasted it on you?” Jun said, and you nodded slowly. 

“Spread open, princess,” Jun said as he placed a cold spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream on your clit and let it slither down to your entrance, making you whimper and clench around nothing. 

“Fucking hell, Jun, so cold,” you whimpered. You didn’t necessarily mind the coldness, but you minded the fact that his tongue wasn’t there to absolve you of your arousal. 

“Let me taste,” Jun said before kneeling and throwing your legs over his toned, broad shoulders. 

“Oh my god, Jun, so good,” you moaned out when his warm tongue enveloped your clit, while two of his slender fingers thrust into your cunt. 

The sensation of his warm tongue, and his cold fingers, pushing the cold ice cream into your pussy was enough to make you start to unravel very quickly. 

“Oh god, Jun, so good,” you kept singing praises as your hands moved down to thread in his hair, and you tugged on it, making him groan against your clit, the vibrations being enough to send you head barrelling into your first orgasm. 

“Jun, fucking hell, I’m cumming,” you moaned, bucking your hips to meet his tongue, and Jun smirked against your pussy before pulling away. 

“What the fuck, Jun?” You chided as he grinned.

“Baby, you’re going to cum on my cock, and I’m cumming inside you. That’s the perfect sweet treat. It’s called a cream pie,” Jun said smugly, earning a groan from you. 

“You really need new material,” you said, laughing at his joke. However, your laughter was short-lived the minute Jun pushed into you, making you gasp.

“Still want to laugh at my jokes?” he challenged, smirking at you.

“No, fuck, just fuck me,” you begged, and Jun nodded.

“Gladly, my princess,” Jun said, throwing your legs over his shoulders allowing him to push into you deeper. 

“My sweet little girl, do you like when I fuck you this deep?” Jun said, thrusting into you. 

“Yes, Daddy, I do,” you moaned out. 

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight. Is my kitten close?” Jun asked.  pounding into you. 

“Yes, fuck me harder, baby,” you said, digging your nails into Jun’s perky ass, making him snap his hips harder into you. 

“So close,” you choked out, and Jun growled, starting to lightly slap your clit. 

“Jun, cum inside me,” you begged, and Jun nodded. 

“Still want a cream pie?” Jun asked, making you glare at him only for him to fuck into you harder.

“Good girl, I can feel you close to cumming. Come on, cum on my cock,” Jun said, and you could barely mumble out a ‘yes’. Jun nodded, reaching down to rub your clit, making you unravel and fall apart on his cock, screaming his name as you came around him. 

“Fucking hell, baby, I’m going to cum,” Jun said, and you nodded, relaxing as you felt him fill into your cunt with his warmth. 

“So fucking good,” Jun mumbled slowly as he gently pulled out of you and crawled next to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a soft kiss.

“So, we need to clean this place before we get ants, but did you enjoy your cream pie?” Jun asked, giggling, 

“Such a fucking dork,” you said, laughing into his chest, 

“Yes, but I’m your dork,” Jun said, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“Okay, ten minutes, and then we need to clean up,” you suggested, and Jun groaned.

“Ugh, fine, shower sex?” Jun said, and you laughed.

“I didn’t hear an objection?” Jun said, smirking, and you smiled at him. 

“Fine, you instantiable freak, shower sex, but you’re helping me clean up,” you agreed, and Jun nodded. 

“Just one more thing, kitten, mint chocolate chip really only tastes good when I lick it out of your even sweeter little cunt,” Jun teased, and you smacked him lightly in the chest.

“9 minutes, Jun,” you warned, making Jun laugh. “I just remembered a new word I learned today, and maybe we should practice its meaning instead,” Jun said

“Oh? What’s the word?” you asked

“Fika. It means to take a moment and slow down to appreciate the little things in life.”

“Hmmm,” you nodded.

“So, how about we try that?”

[californ1asnow]

How You Get the Girl

Tasm! Peter Parker x Reader

Also posted on my ao3

"Tell her you must of lost your mind when you left her all alone and never told her why that's how you lost the girl"

The first time you met Peter Parker, you swore him off because you knew he'd be trouble.

It was the summer before your first year of college. You worked hard every day to save enough money to get through school. You promised yourself there would be no distractions this summer, just work. You didn't need to be distracted by other things before college started.

But that was before this tall, doe-eyed boy just happened to find his way to your place of work. His eyes glimmered full of mischief the moment his gaze met yours. Your promise of no distractions went out the window from that point on.

When he first approached you, he had tried (and failed) to get your number. He pleaded silently, with that kicked puppy look on his face after your rejection. You almost broke down in that moment, but you were holding on by a thread to the vow you made. So, the boy left with a crestfallen sigh, and you let your shoulders drop, relieved.

That was until a week later. He showed up with a bouquet of sad-looking flowers. He had promised you that they would have looked nicer when he bought them, but they had been crushed in his backpack on the way over. You stared at the pitiful flowers, and Peter held his breath, waiting to see how'd you react. The inside of your cheek stung as you bit down on it. Trying to keep your composer, you scribbled down a few words on an extra sheet of paper. You quickly handed it to him, and he let out a breathy laugh as he read it. The sound was enough to make your heart flutter in your chest.

Before he could cause any more trouble, you quickly shooed him away. With the same crumpled flowers and the paper, you hastily handed him, he left the shop. He had a piece of paper with your number on it, and a few sentences scrawled in hurried writing about how he had to work on his flower transporting abilities. So that maybe the next time you saw him, you would actually agree to go out with him.

Months had passed since that day. Slowly but surely, you began to ask for fewer hours at work. Which meant you had more free time. Aka, more time to spend with Peter.

That damn Peter Parker, with his fluffy hair and stupidly cute, crooked smile, it was all too much. Too often for your liking, thoughts of him invaded your mind.

You had been practically spending every minute of your free time with him. Whether it was late night movies or early morning coffee, it was all coupled with the boy who could make your heart race just by looking at him.

So, you took him in without question when he showed up at your apartment one night, battered and bruised.

Your hands, even if they were a little shaky, worked diligently to clean up his wounds. You had never seen him like this before, although you had noticed Peter showing up with a split lip or an old bruise from time to time.

As you held his face in your palms, a million questions raced through your mind, words on the tip of your tongue. You saw the silent pleading in his eyes, begging you not to ask the questions, so your lips remained sealed. The words died in the back of your throat. You ran your thumb gently over the bloody edge of his lip. His calloused fingers cupped your wrist, stopping your actions in their tracks.

He leaned in close, his forehead pressed against yours. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids fluttered shut. You drew in a breath, preparing yourself for his lips to meet yours.

But it never came.

Instead, he pulled away, muttering a quick apology that he had to leave before you got dragged into his own problems. Your mind barely registered the lack of his presence. It wasn't until you heard the front door close, signaling that he was gone.

Without a single good explanation as to why, he had left you alone.

—

The next morning you woke up. A crushing realization of what had happened last night hit you immediately.

At first you were angry.

You went to work and clocked in without saying hello to anyone at all. It would stay that way for the next eight hours or so. A silent rage would fill the hole that Peter had managed to dig in your heart.

You were a bitter mess.

It was easier for the customers to get on your nerves, and you cursed everyone who ever crossed your path. It took every bit of strength you had not to send several angry texts to Peter.

It stayed that way for a couple of days, until you decided to turn your anger on yourself. You felt so stupid that you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the antics of Peter. It was clear to you from the beginning that your focus should be on nothing but your summer job.

Peter had wormed his way into your heart, found a place where he felt comfortable and made himself at home there.

You slowly let yourself off the hook after a few months passed without any contract from either side. Your anger diminished exponentially. Your thoughts drifted less and less to the image of Peter. Eventually, your heart would stop racing after you passed a flower stand or a person who just happened to look a little too much like him.

One night, as you walked home from work, you let your mind wander. The painful sting of his memories wasn't so bad. And you knew that, at that very moment, you were feeling pretty good about your life again.

Then you stepped too close to the road and heard a car horn honking all around you. Your first thought being, "God, please don't let this be the way I die."

Your body tensed as the car approached at a rapid pace. So close that the lights blinded your vision, and you didn't have time to prepare for the arm that would hastily wrap around your waist. A breath was caught in your throat as the wind whipped through your hair, and your arms clung tightly to the masked figure of your savior.

"Why weren't you paying attention?" Were the first words out of his mouth as he set you down, "That car could have hit you and you could have died!"

Though grateful for your rescue, you didn't appreciate the tone he took with you.

You pried yourself out of his arms and smoothed the sleeves of your jacket. Angrily, you turned to him, your annoyance biting into your words, "look, I've had it with everyone and everything these past few months. I just got back on my feet again, I have no need for a lecture from you."

Silence fell between the two of you, and you saw yourself standing alone in the reflection of the whites of his mask. He choked for a second, seemingly at odds with what he wanted to say.

In a moment of regret, you realized that you had just yelled at the one person who had been able to save you from an untimely demise. Ashamed, you nervously licked your lips before muttering, "thank you, by the way."

The red mask prevented you from seeing the look on his face. But by the way his shoulders relaxed, you knew he wasn't upset. He ran a hand over his mask and let out a small, breathy laugh.

The sound of it made your heart stop and sent pins and needles shooting up the back of your neck. You could recognize that laugh anywhere. He seemed to notice that you also recognized him, and before you could say another word, he was gone.

You stood there mindlessly replaying the sound in your head. All of a sudden, things seemed to be a lot clearer to you.

Peter's mysterious bruises, sudden disappearances, and his lame excuses for always being late finally made sense.

Peter is Spider-man...

His words from the night he left echoed endlessly in your mind in a moment of clarity. Words of sorrow and despair, telling you that you couldn't be involved in his problems.

His problems, you thought at the time, were studying and learning new tricks on his skateboard, so the confusion you felt was justified. Now, though, you realize that he didn't mean his Peter Parker problems, it was Spider-man's problems that he was referring to.

Your phone found its way into your hands. The screen flashed brightly on your dark face. In your messages lay a forgotten draft to Peter. Slowly, you erased all the hateful and heartbreaking words. You replaced them with just two.

"I know."

As the message quickly went from "delivered" to "read" in less than a minute, the corners of your mouth twitched downward. Your hands trembled as you clutched the phone close, waiting for a response that would ultimately never come.

He was too afraid to tell you what he wanted.

—

You passed out as soon as you got home. Your mind was too tired to keep up with your newfound revelations, so you haphazardly tossed your phone aside and slid into bed. Time passed and your sleep was dreamless.

You weren't sure what time it was when you woke up, but the sound of thunder greeted your ears. You tried to blink away the drowsiness of your sleep as you pulled yourself out of the sheets. Your feet padded softly across your apartment's wooden floors until you sat down. Yawning, you reached for the remote and turned your tv on.

Not long after that, there was a faint knock at your door. You scanned your thoughts for possibilities of who would be at your apartment at this time of night, until you settled on one person.

With your nerves on fire, you shot up from the couch and quickly opened your door. It came as no surprise to see Peter stood in your doorway. He was soaking wet. It had obviously been raining while you were asleep. His wet, brown hair was stuck to his forehead, water droplets were collecting on his face, and his arms were wrapped around his frame in an attempt to retain any remaining body heat.

You noticed that he was shivering slightly, and with a hint of guilt you asked, "Peter, are you insane? It's late and it's raining."

You watched as his eyebrows knitted together; he opened his mouth to say something but then quickly closed it again. He seemed desperate to say something, and you silently pleaded that he would say anything to explain his sudden disappearance all those months ago. Without a word from him, you shook your head and started to close the door, but his foot pushed between the door and the frame.

You pulled the door open one more time and crossed your arms in front of you. He looked down sheepishly before finally speaking, "I'm sorry," the words falling from his lips flawlessly. A part of you wanted to take him in your arms and tell him that everything was alright, but the more sensible part of yourself knew that you deserved more than just those two words. With a lack of your response, he spoke up again, "I know you don't deserve how I left you, but I was scared. I, uhm, I was dealing with something? I know that's really vague but-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you held a hand up to silence him. With a sigh, you looked into his eyes and found all of his emotions swirling around in a pool of amber. "You don't have to keep hiding it, Peter. I know," you murmur.

His eyes dart around nervously, and his voice comes out a little shaky, "You-you know?" At your nod of confirmation, he runs a hand through his hair. Your name comes out as a whisper, and he continues, "I was so afraid that I was putting you in danger. That's why I left; I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt because of me. I know it's been a while, but I couldn't stop thinking about you every day." With every word of his confession, you felt yourself coming closer. The soft sound of his voice, in combination with the way he couldn't take his eyes off of yours, was a breaking point for you. With the brush of his hand against your cheek, every last big of anger you were holding on to disappeared.

Peter tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you felt your voice break, "I missed you, so much. It hurt. You broke my heart, Peter." Without letting you utter another word; he pulled you into a tight embrace. He didn't care if his clothes were soaking wet. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and took in the sweet scent of his cologne as he held you. He rested his head on top of yours as he held you in his arms, and you allowed yourself to sink deeper into him.

"Let me put it back together, please." He pleaded, one hand on each side of your arms as he pulled away from you. "I'll be here for you, worse or for better, no matter what happens." His voice was stern, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched in your throat. With one last plea his voice came out as a whisper, "I'll wait for you all my life."

A smile crept across your lips, and it was all the confirmation Peter needed before he cupped your jaw. Gently, he pulled you closer to him. He couldn't hold back his smile as his lips tenderly brushed yours. A hand moved to cradle the back of your head, closing any remaining distance so that he could kiss you properly. The kiss was soft, and yet it was filled with months of unfulfilled passion. Neither of you wanted it to end, but when you started to run out of oxygen, you had to pull away to breathe.

And that's how Peter got you, making damn sure that it was going to stay that way.

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 3: That Was the First Time I Lost Her

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It only takes a little digging.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: More angst, insinuations of creep behavior, making shit up about Westworld, a million questions and no answers, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Sugar's got some soul-searching to do, and there are very few people who can help her with that. Where Cognitive Dissonance had a lot more Westworld characters in it, this series is gonna have a few cameos from Kingsman characters and you better believe this is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

It takes you three weeks before you say anything about Jack to anyone. Three weeks of going back and forth from your job, sitting in front of the large glass screen your work is projected on. Three weeks of seeing the world you live in - advanced far beyond Sweetwater’s rustic charm - in a new light, knowing there’s someone living in it that feels so out of place. Now, you feel out of place too. 

In that time you argue with yourself back and forth over what happened that fateful morning.

He’s a delusional man who violated your trust.

But he didn’t act delusional. Didn’t try to push you to come with him, didn’t try to get your number or find out where you live. He gave you a way to contact him, but didn’t press when you didn’t promise to.

But how did he find you?

That thought twists your stomach. Had he used some database to scour personal records for you? Had he been trailing you and you never even noticed? It clearly didn’t go to plan for him, but what had he planned? 

He wants to “explain.”

The most you would do is call him. Only to tell him to be prepared for a lawsuit. Maybe to scream at him a little more about how violated you felt. Definitely not because you want to know what he could possibly say to make this make sense.

Why are you entertaining this?

This is where you always come to a halt. You can reason around most of your internal arguments, make good decisions that would make your parents proud, but it’s when you get to this question - why are you still thinking about this? - that you falter. 

Because his plea - let me explain - and the furtive way he looked at you - I am a host - tug at something you hid away for the year since you saw him. That there was something more to Jack, but not this obvious of a betrayal. 

I didn’t get to tell you something that night. Something important. 

He tried to tell you something that day on the train platform. What was it?

I was a coward, and I wanted you more than anything Sugar. 

He was going to tell you he loved you. And it was going to shatter your heart to hear it, so you showed him the photograph. Because it would hurt less to prove him a fantasy. You forced him to reveal the machine behind the man, because he was going to tell you he loved you.

Right?

But if this is the last moment I get to say it before you leave my sight, I have to. 

I need you to know.

Was this it?

It’s Dina that helps you gain some clarity, though not in a way you imagined.

“I had my trip to Westworld refunded, ruined my whole vacation,” she says nonchalantly over lunch. The “cool bridesmaids” actually stuck together after the bachelorette, and you see Dina every few months for a boisterous lunch and catch-up. This particular revelation, two weeks after Jack sauntered into your life and left you with a handful of mirror shards for memories, makes you choke on your drink. 

“You were going back?” you finally ask once you can breathe again. Dina smiles knowingly, swirling her iced matcha latte loudly in her glass. 

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty fun. Only went once since the party, it’s damn expensive, but I was really looking forward to my third visit. Sounds like there’s some operational issues.” You listen with as much nonchalance as you can muster, but Dina smiles coyly at your ruse. “Didn’t see your man there last time. Maybe he was just for you.” 

You scoff, a clammy sweat on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your arms.

“They probably rotate them,” you say weakly, thumb smearing away a drip of coffee from the lip of your cup. 

“Listen, baby, maybe this isn’t my business, but if Jack still gets you this fired up, it might be worth talking to someone about it,” she says gently. Your heart leaps into your throat, worrying that your face has given it all away.

“What, like a therapist?” you laugh, trying to put on a bright smile but you’re practically thrumming now. Dina scoffs instead.

“Hell no, my girl Ginger. She used to work for Delos, doing…programming or something. One conversation with her will definitely ruin the magic for you. Like seeing Mickey without his head on in Disneyland.” You both giggle at the image, trying to school yourself into a calm that won’t betray how close to the truth she is.

“She left on bad terms, so she’ll tell you the truth about shit. Doesn’t care about her NDA, or much else for that matter. She’s a badass,” Dina says, scrolling through her phone and typing quickly. “Ask her your questions, get your dreams dashed, and move the fuck on.” Dina means well, but the worry gnawing in your stomach draws much of your attention away.

Former Delos staff could definitely tell her if Jack was a host, or a fucked-up guest, or a host based off a guest that is now playing a terrifying game of switcheroo. 

“Promise she won’t think it’s weird?”

“She loves to dish about it, you’ll be making her week.”

Ginger doesn’t want to meet in a public place - I’ve seen a little too much of what can be done to risk it - so she invites you to her condo instead. You almost back out, shame and nerves getting to you, but the need to know grows at a greater pace. So, bringing two coffees and pastries (not from the shop where you saw Jack, you don’t think you could go back there), you climb her third floor walkup.

She’s business chic with a dazzling smile, a collared shirt under a sweater with dark-washed jeans. Her hair is spiked through with honeyed highlights that compliment her brown skin. A pair of serious horn-rimmed glasses frame her face, but look fresher on her than any academic. 

“Hi, I’m Dina’s friend,” you start as Ginger leads you into her home. Dina mentioned she was a programmer, and her design aesthetic screams “I care more about my processor chips than artwork.” Stacks of hard drives on tables, large manuals of computer code on shelves, all neat and tidy in a controlled chaos way. She brings plates for the croissants as you sit at her table, rolling your opening remarks in your mind as she settles across.

I had a strange experience in Westworld that made me question everything. Can you tell me if I’m crazy or not?

Before you get the chance Ginger speaks. 

“Dina told me a bit about your situation,” she says simply, regarding you with rapt attention and sparking intelligence. The confusion must have slapped across your face, because Ginger barks out a laugh just shy of impolite. “I made her spill the beans, I’m too suspicious otherwise.” 

You sigh audibly, covering your face with your hands.

“Great, now I’m just pitiful,” you bemoan, joining in on the laughter. Slouching back in your chair, you share a look that radiates I guess we’re here now.

“So, you had questions about hosts. Maybe one in particular. I haven’t worked for Delos in a few years, but I’ll do my best to help. God knows those assholes keep their mouths shut tighter than their assholes,” Ginger says, waiting for you to lay out your questions. So many bubble up, but you let the most important come to the forefront:

“How can you tell a host is a host?”

Ginger’s smile turns conspiratorial, cocking her head to one side.

“One really got to you, huh? Made you think he - or she - was real?” 

You twist your hands in your lap, shoulders tensing for laughter.

“It’s silly, right? A host is a host and a person is…completely different.”

Ginger talks as she darts around the room, gathering items - a laptop from a desk, a silver and orange hard drive, a handful of cords. She gestures with her hands while she speaks, face softening with the passion that shines through,

“It’s a testament to how well we programmed them. They’re supposed to trick you, keep you in the illusion. I was more in design and aesthetics, moved into expressive programming before they culled my team.” When she catches your eye, the first etchings of confusion on your face, she backtracks. “I designed the exteriors - faces, bodies, you know - before I moved into writing code for their facial expressions and body language. Cram years of what we as humans would observe and develop over a lifetime into a little computer chip. They learn too, just not the same sorts of things. They’re designed to interpret our body language, give us what we need before we think we need it.”

What had Jack read from your body?

Ginger plops down at the table, fingers moving quickly over the keys and eyes trained on the glowing screen. 

“But Delos axed my team, said something about ‘new coding avenues,’ the assholes. Just didn’t want to pay us if they could automate us. But!” She hits the last key and folds her arms, finally looking at your nervous posture. “They didn’t pay me well enough for my IP, so I took everything I could get my hands on. Most of it’s too outdated for them to care about, but I’m pretty goddamn proud of it.”

She motions for you to sit on the same side of the table as her, waiting until you’re settled to drag a window onto the screen. It looks like tiny image thumbnails all neatly stacked, face after face scrolling by.

“So who is it?”

You steel yourself for whatever answer may come next.

“Jack Daniels.”

Waiting for a confused noise, for a bad search return, for some reason to hate the man who came back to you, instead you get a knowing laugh.

“Ah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” she says, typing in Jack’s name and pulling up a profile. “I was going through a very dashing cowboy phase, wanted something a little Burt Reynolds, a little Robert Conrad, flirtatious but a disaster at it, smooth talker.” As she talks she tabs through sketches, achingly beautiful pencil drawings of his hawkish nose, the pout of his lower lip, the tilt of his head up to look at something. 

“Then fucking Sizemore dumped him in that shitty Golden Circle timeline, which was a goddamn waste. Gave him a terribly written, cliched backstory and half-assed his motivation to make a shockingly underthought double cross villain arc seem edgy.” Ginger pauses on a dystopic photo, Jack standing in a glass and concrete cube, hand on his jutted hip and a smile you’ve been in the path of aimed right into the camera. You can almost hear his voice.

You can have all the Whiskey you want.

“Our cowboy deserved better than that,” she sighs. Managing to break from your reverie, you try not to stumble too badly through the most important questions.

“And he’s not…based on anyone else? There’s no Jack lookalike wandering the streets?” You try to make it airy, joking, unsure of your success. Thankfully Ginger skims right over the tremor in your voice, tapping into a file that details every scar and freckle over the expanse of his skin.

“If only. Unfortunately, the best men are designed by women. I’ve never met someone quite like Jack.”

Neither have you, and the implication settles heavy in your chest. 

You spent an hour more with Ginger, peeking into the secret workings of Delos and picking at flaky pastries without appetite. It’s more out of politeness than interest. Half of the things she shows you flow right through your consciousness and into the ether. 

Jack is a host. 

From the mouth of his…creator? Herself?

Maybe that combination of features could find its way in nature, but not his story, or the intimate details you both know in very different contexts. The groove she drew in his lower lip pulled softly across your stomach. The graphite glint in his eyes lifting to capture yours. The thick strokes that built a hand you’d felt hold your face so gently. 

Ginger knew him as well as you did, certainly more so, and there was no better explanation for what this means. 

He’s not a man. So what is he doing here? How is he here, in a world you never thought he could enter? 

Thanking Ginger for her hospitality and her patience, you take the longest way home possible. The rhythmic beat of your feet on concrete lets you ruminate. The air is warm across your cheeks, errant breezes dancing around your aimless path. The “park” has never been your favorite place to soul search, the lack of trees and tightly governed shrubs clashing against what you consider wilderness. Today, however, it’s so stark and blank as to clear your mind.

If not a host in a world built for pleasure, what is Jack? How can he survive in this world without a narrative, a directive, a fucking charging port for his battery? Does he run on batteries or did they slap a solar panel in that gorgeous head of hair?

Dropping onto a bench you bury your face in your hands, fighting the urge to laugh madly. You've seen under the facade and now you’re left with even more questions, and there’s only one person who can answer those. 

“Jack Daniels.”

“Hi. It’s…”

“Hey. It’s…it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“I didn’t know if you would at all, after all that.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

There’s a pause while you gather courage, but Jack jumps in first.

“Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last time. I saw you and I meant to sneak out before you saw me, but…it was just a perfect mess, huh?”

Right to the meat of it then. Somehow that makes it easier.

“Did you know I would be there?”

Another silence, but you wait for this one to end. Jack sighs heavily, and your body aches.

“I knew you could be there.”

“And you were…what? Waiting to get up the courage to talk to me?”

“Something like that.” Jack sucks in a breath. “I had some questions of my own. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.”

This admission dazes you. All Jack knew of you in Westworld was a lie. The footing feels more even knowing he’s just as trepidatious as you. 

You sigh deeply, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead.

“I think I should let you explain.”

A softer sigh tickles your ear.

“I’d really like to do that, Sugar.”

You scoff.

“You still call me that.”

“Sweetest thing I’ve…”

“Please, Jack. Don’t. Not right now.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not…I’m not sure how I feel about everything yet. This is all frankly terrifying to me, and I need some time to understand it.”

“I understand. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the same rodeo as before.”

Lips curling up, you warm to his words. Same old west charm. Same teasing lilt. 

Same old Jack, but maybe more than you thought.

“Can I see you Friday?”

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[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Charming Her Dad

Part 11 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Jake Seresin's faced the worst things a man has ever had to face, both in and out of a jet. But staring up at the glossy wooden doors of Gorgeous's childhood home, he's sure he's never faced anything scarier. How's he going to convince her dad that he's the man his daughter deserves?

Disclaimers: Smut

Warnings: Female Reader

Word Count: 4439

Author Note: So for Chapter 11 I decided to venture into yet another perspective that I've never written before - Jake's. His voice was surprisingly challenging to capture, and I hope I did it justice. All my love to @desert-fern for beta-reading this chapter! Sorry this chapter is out a bit later than what my schedule started - life happened.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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What’s that old adage they say about too much of a good thing? They say that it’s bad, right? You’ve never once believed it. You love your job and your life in San Diego couldn’t be better. You’re in the same place as your best friend for the first time since she joined the Navy, and you now have Jake. Jake Seresin, the love of your life. Your fiancé. The man you are going to marry. The man you can’t wait to marry. So all in all, life is looking pretty good.

In the months since that disastrous Christmas Dinner at Seresin Ranch, you’ve come to feel like a part of the Seresin family. Mama Georgie treats you like one of her brood and each time you talk to her you feel a little like you're levitating. You've never been so accepted and appreciated by a partner’s family before. It makes it all the more special that it's Jake's family who loves you, too.

But at the same time, you can't help feeling just a little guilty. Jake's been nothing but welcoming, but you haven't told him much about your family. In part, that's because in comparison to the multitudinous arms waiting to welcome you home to Seresin Ranch, there is only one set of arms waiting to welcome Jake home. You're not sure about the reception he'll have, though.

Your dad, the closest thing you have to one, that is, may not like Jake very much at all. He's only told you a million times to never fall in love with a Navy Man. The emphasis has always so clearly been on the word never. He's said it so vehemently and forcefully that it may as well be written in bold red with pen lines scored through the sheet. You'd successfully abided by that one rule all of your life.

Then Jake waltzed into your life, demolishing that rule into shreds of confetti as he did so. It's not going to matter one whit to your dad that you didn't know Jake was Navy until your first date. You'd found out and then agreed to go out with him again anyway. That those events happened nearly a year ago doesn’t help. You gave your heart to Jake, completely. But now you have to introduce him to your dad. Not your birth father, but your father nonetheless.

Your mom and dad had a fairytale kind of love. Sparks flew and it was really, truly, love at first sight. The two of them and their love story were the literal legends that you remember hearing about when you were still small enough to sit in your godfather's lap. The way he told it, they loved each other enough to have you. Then their love was tragically cut short, leaving you all alone at only two years old. That's when your Uncle Ron stepped in. He was probably your favorite person other than your dad. He bought a small house in Maine and devoted his life to making yours as full and rich as your parents would have wanted it to be. Even spending a childhood on Naval Bases across the country had been fun with your dad around.

You can still remember the look on his face the first time you called him dad. The way his eyes had seemed to go gooey and soft when your still chubby fingers had splayed over his cheeks, trying to brush away the tears dripping from his eyes. Since then he's been your dad in every way. The only way he isn't is in your name. He'd adopted you six months after he became your caregiver, but left your name as your parents gave it to you, knowing you'd want to feel the love they felt for you every time someone said your name.

It's probably a bad thing that you haven’t told your dad about your very serious relationship, right? He's just been so busy. First he was still flying for an airline, working crazy hours at airports all over the world. Then after he'd retired six months ago he'd been settling back into the big house in Maine, completing much needed repairs and falling asleep exhausted in his armchair with a beer dangling from his fingertips. You can't count the number of phone calls you've gotten from the housekeeper, Mrs. Mayfair, when she'd found beer on her immaculate floors.

Of course, just as you're thinking about him, his profile picture comes up on your phone along with the buzzing and ringing of a phone call.

"Hey, Kiddo." He sounds gruff - gruff, tired, and so fond all at once.

"Hey, Dad." Just hearing his voice, crackly and deep through the phone makes you feel at home. But he doesn't call very often. The last time he'd called was over Christmas, when you'd told him about Jake. He still doesn't know what Jake does, but he knows who Jake is and what he means to you. "What's up?"

"Nothing's up, Honey Bee. Do I need to have a reason to call my only kid?"

"No, sir!" You don't think his laugh could ever keep you from laughing a little too.

"Honey Bee, when are you going to come home and bring your boy home to meet your old man?"

You try to dissemble, really you do, but no matter what you do, he's adamant.

"I have to check with Jake, daddy. See when's the earliest he can take some leave."

His grumble at your words has a cold sweat dripping down your spine.

"Taking leave, huh, sweetheart? So you ended up with a military man after all, did you?"

"Yeah, daddy, I did." The picture of Jake you keep on your desk fills you with so much joy as you trace your finger over his smiling cheek. "I know you told me not to, but I love him, daddy. So much - and he's good to me. So good to me."

"Sweetheart, that rule was just to keep you from getting hurt. But you're a thirty-year-old adult. I trust your judgment. So talk to your Jake and we'll set something up. I love you, honey bee."

"Love you, daddy." Time to text Jake and see if he’s ready to meet your dad, you guess.

Jake agrees, the two of you make plans to fly to Maine in the spring. But, you can’t get a read on how he truly feels, his agreement is less than enthusiastic. In truth there is a sick pit at the base of your own stomach. Will your dad like Jake as much as you do? Will he be able to see how wonderful your fiancé is despite his reputation?

Maine is different. Jake’s had postings all over the world over the past decade. Texas has always been home and now San Diego feels like home too. Especially now that he has his gorgeous girl. But, Jake’s only been in and around cities. So the sleepy little town they got off the ferry at in Maine feels like taking a trip back in time. It’s an idyllic little town, complete with little white washed houses and fenced gardens. There are houses dotted up a hill at the center of town, the vista wind-swept and green for miles around them. The early spring air brushes past his face with little bursts of cool salty air and the ocean is an unreal, crystal clear blue. Everyone knows each other and it seems like everyone knows Gorgeous by name.

Speaking of Gorgeous, Jake’s never seen her this nervous. His beautiful gorgeous fiancée, Jake’s never seen her scared about anything. Even when he woke up in that hospital room all those months ago, she hadn’t looked scared. She’d been worried, angry, and relieved all at once. He can still remember how it had felt to hold her when he was sure he’d never get the chance to ever again. That day he’d promised himself to never take her for granted. And that he was going to marry her someday. They’re one step closer to the day he’s going to marry her, but now that Jake’s in Maine, he has to ask her dad for permission. Not permission to marry her so much as permission to take care of her. He has to promise that she’ll never be without a thing she needs so long as she’s his. Jake needs Gorgeous’ father to know that he loves her and that he’ll treat her as she deserves and that he will love her the way her parents loved each other.

Even now, when he’s tired and hot and hungry and he knows she is too, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her hair’s in a loose messy bun at the back of her head and the golden summer sun catches on each glistening strand until she’s framed in gold like a priceless painting in a museum somewhere. But it’s her smile, tremulous and small but still so perfectly gorgeous that takes his breath away. He steals that moment to get right into her personal space. Jake’s sure he’ll never get tired of how she responds to his touch, like he’s everything she’s ever wanted, that he’s all she’ll ever need. Her lips when he captures them taste like cherries and as her arms wind around his neck, it feels like the world falls away. This is it, the world screams, every cell in his body sure, this is her. The one.

“Not that I mind, Jay, but what was that for?” Her chest heaves softly and while Jake would love nothing more than to kiss the soft skin, he settles for taking her hand.

“Because I love you, gorgeous. No matter how this meeting with your dad goes, it’s not going to change a thing. I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried.” Her eyes mist up, and that’s enough to have him tug her close again.

“Now take me home, pretty girl.” He grabs the one big suitcase from her hand and tucks her under his arm, shifting the duffel to the shoulder of the arm pulling the suitcase. “It’s real pretty here, baby doll. Is this where you grew up?”

As he chatters away, Jake slowly sees her relax. She’s smiling and laughing and as she leads him up the hill, telling stories at a mile a minute, he can almost see her tiny baby self ricocheting up and down this very hill. He’s not seen any pictures, but he just knows that she was a tiny little thing, all mischief and big grins. The closer they get to the big white house, nearly at the top of the hill, the more tense Jake can feel himself get. There’s an imposing aura surrounding the property, something which sends prickles of quasi-recognition through him. He hasn’t felt like this since the last time an admiral made the rounds at Top Gun when he was there the first time.

That feeling compounds as Gorgeous opens the gate and pulls him towards the big shiny Oak doors. She lets his hand go, and he wants nothing more than to drag her back into his embrace again. His fingers itch with the feeling, because she’s not in reach anymore and that means that she isn’t keeping the nerves at bay. He’s faced down literal missiles and gunfire, SAMs and anti-aircraft munitions, but he’s never been as scared as he is staring the glossy wood down.

When it opens, Jake can barely breathe, because there is a man standing on the other side, dark hair melting into white at the sides. He’s grim and taciturn, a frown curling the corners of his mouth down at the sight of Jake standing there. That frown turns into a huge grin at the sight of Gorgeous, which Jake understands. He can't hide his smile around her either. So maybe he has more in common with Gorgeous’ dad than he thinks?

But more than his smile or obvious love in his eyes for Gorgeous, there's something oddly familiar about him. Jake's seen him before. He's sure of it. As sure as he is that he could pick out his mama blindfolded and that the sky is blue and that his Gorgeous Girl is the prettiest woman in the whole wide world.

"I'm Ron, c'mon in." Jake grabs the suitcase and pulls it and his duffel in, grateful for once that he's never needed much baggage.

"Jake Seresin, sir. Pleased to meet you." He holds his hand out for a handshake, his body as tense as it was for his first flight inspection. But the answering shake never comes. He's left standing there and Gorgeous is glaring and Ron is staring into his eyes. In that moment Jake is sure he's lost Gorgeous when he thought he finally had won her heart. It's obvious from everything she's ever said that she loves her dad. She adores him and believes that he strung the stars up in the sky just for her. If Ron doesn't approve, this relationship is sunk. Jake’s sweating under the strain, he can feel the sweat droplets dripping down the back of his shirt.

“I wish I could say the same, Hangman.” That tone, the way Gorgeous’ dad says his callsign. That strikes a chord. Where the hell has he heard it before? That’s a wholly disapproving tone, something which makes every muscle convulse into a salute rather than the relaxed stance he was in before.

“You’ve got quite the reputation, son.” He feels like he can barely breathe, focusing instead on the rage on his beautiful fiancée’s face. The problem is, he can’t quite tell if the rage on her face is on his behalf or if it’s because he’s pissed her dad off on the first day of their visit. His nod is abortive, quick as he focuses on the wall between father and daughter. “Why the hell should I let you marry my daughter? When, based on everything that I’ve heard, you’re exactly the kind of Navy pilot that I would never have wanted her to end up with?”

“Admiral,” Because he knows exactly who this is, suddenly, like a missile getting tone-lock. Retired Rear-Admiral Ron ‘Slider’ Kerner. “I’d be lying to you and your daughter both if I said that I haven’t thought about exactly what to say to you if you asked me that question. And the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know why your daughter, your beautiful, sweet, kind, lovely daughter decided to give a womanizing idiot like me a chance. You have to ask her why.”

His throat is tight and it feels like he’s barely breathing. “But I know why I love your daughter. Sir, she’s the only person in the longest time who’s seen Jake and not Hangman. She’s the only person who’s ever been willing to find out who Jake is. And I love her for it. Your daughter saved me. She didn’t save my life, though I know she’s more than capable of doing so.”

Gorgeous’ watery giggle makes a fleeting smile flit across his face. “She saved the man I was. The one before the Navy, before the air-to-air kill. She saved that man, brought him back to life. She does it every time she smiles. I can’t promise you, sir, that I won’t act like Hangman ever again. He’s saved more lives than he’s taken. But I can promise you that your daughter will never see Hangman. Because she’s too good for him, and both of us know that.”

For several moments, all Jake can hear is the thudding of his heart. Then Admiral Kerner turns and walks away without saying another word. He can’t quite believe that he’s going to be allowed to stay in the house, not when things are so indescribably tense.

“Darlin’ let me take your bag upstairs for you.” She’s quiet as she leads him up the wide white stairs to her childhood bedroom. And somehow, that one bright little room is exactly what he expected it to be. He can see his Gorgeous Girl all over. He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see the sweet little girl she was, or the sassy teenager or even the college-aged woman ruling this house with her little, deceptively strong fist. But when he’s set her bag down and turned to head back downstairs, still holding the duffel bag, he’s a little shocked to see tears in her eyes.

“Where are you going?” Her voice is soft as she wraps her arms around him. His arms open to let her in like there is nothing they’d rather do other than have her pressed up against his heart. “Are you leaving already? Jake, my dad didn’t mean that. He’s just got this thing against the Navy. It’s not against you. Please don’t leave. Don’t head back to San Diego without me. Or if you want to head back, we’ll go together.”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not leavin’ town. I was just going to find an inn or hotel with a room I can rent for the week.” Her skin feels like silk against the pads of his fingers as he brushes a stray tear away. “I’m not leaving, baby doll. I love you. You and only you.”

Her eyes flutter closed at the gentle press of his fingers across her cheeks. In that moment he can’t resist kissing her again, slow and sweet until it feels like he’s bitten into the sweetest of cherries and all he wants to do is chase that tart sweetness on her tongue for the rest of all time. But he doesn’t get the chance to, because before he can blink, she’s out of his arms and leaning against the wall.

“You are not leaving this house, Jake.” There’s a stubborn set to her body posture. From the look she’s giving him alone, he sits down on the bed. “For one, the Bed & Bread isn’t open yet for the season. And I don’t want to fight with you, handsome, but I’m marrying you. No matter what my dad says, I’m marrying you. But you need to get along with him, Jay. He’s my family - the only family I’ve got left, mind you.”

When she steps forward and settles into his lap, his hands fly to her hips like they're magnetized to the feeling of her supple skin. Her tiny soft hands cup his cheeks, her ring pleasantly warm against his cheeks as she runs her fingers over his face and into his hair. His eyes keep finding her plush lips, pleading for a kiss when he’s at her mercy. What he’s not expecting is the way her crimson tipped nail taps against his nose.

“So you are going to get along with my dad, every day for the next week, and if you’re good…” Her voice drops to a sensual murmur into his ear. “I’ll give you a blowjob right here and you can pretend you’re taking my virginity right in my childhood bedroom.”

He can’t control his immediate physical reaction to Gorgeous, not anymore, not that he ever has been able to. He can feel himself plumping up in his jeans just at the thought. But just when he’d like nothing more than to lock the door and get his beautiful, gorgeous, perfect fiancée on her stomach on her frilly white bedspread in her childhood bedroom, she’s gone. Left him alone in the bedroom with a painfully hard dick and the scent of her perfume.

If only it were as easy to get Admiral Kerner on his side as it was to charm Gorgeous on that first date. Not that it was easy to charm Gorgeous. On the contrary in fact. But he’d made her laugh. The first sight of that beautiful smile had nearly knocked him on his ass. Getting Admiral Kerner to smile at anything but his daughter is like trying to move a mountain with a shovel. Three days, Jake has been trying. Three full days. No matter the jokes or how helpful he is, Slider Kerner has the same expression at the sight of him.

At least they’re halfway through this visit. Halfway, though it’s felt like years. Is it bad to want it to be the night before they get back on the ferry to go home? At least then that means that the torture is over. Jake's lying supine on the floor, and it's because everything hurts. He's been up since four in the morning when Admiral Kerner had knocked on the door. It had been torture dragging himself away from Gorgeous, all sleepy and soft in just one of his soft t-shirts, the supple curve of her hip exposed as he’d dragged the sheets off to get out of bed. To add insult to injury he hadn't seen her all day. Admiral Kerner had dragged him all around town, having him help whitewash houses and fix fences. There's an aching stitch in his side and a bruise somewhere on his back from when a wheelbarrow had barreled right into him. He's also covered in mud and flecks of paint, hence why he's on the floor. Gorgeous would murder him for getting her pretty lavender-smelling sheets dirty.

He must doze off because it feels like he just blinked yet the room is dimly lit by a lamp and he's looking up into Gorgeous' pretty eyes.

"Hey, Jay." His hand cups her cheek, tangling in the soft cascade of her hair. "Why're you sleeping on the floor, silly? You're covered in paint and mud, too. C'mon handsome, let's get you all cleaned up, yeah?"

He only manages a grunt in response, his limbs uncooperative as he lets her manhandle him into the bathroom. It's even worse in the shower. The last time he felt this tired was that first shower after he was released from the hospital. He'd stayed wrapped around his girlfriend, his beautiful heart and she'd done all the hard work. Tonight goes a bit better at least, in that he at least gets his hands on her perfect tits and can help wash himself. What can he say? Jake knows what he likes and with his Gorgeous Girl, it's everything about her. Were he fully awake, he’d have that pretty mouth parted in an O of pleasure because of him.

So naturally, he doesn't fully wake up until he's standing shivering on the bathmat and sees the mountain of bubbles taking over the bathtub. Gorgeous is facing away from him, her beautiful hair in a bun on top of her head and there’s droplets of water sliding down her back. All he wants to do is trace the path of one of those drops down her skin. It’s enough of a thought to have other parts of himself take notice. But before he can act on that urge, she’s slipping beneath the bubbles and looking up at him. Her lips are slightly parted and with the steam sticking her hair to her skin, she’s never looked more beautiful. Sue him, he loves this woman so much that he thinks she’s never looked more beautiful in basically everything she’s ever worn or not worn. But he can pick a favorite look on her. Nowadays, that look is when she’s just wearing his ring. Of course, tonight the ring is on the nightstand, but this is his second-favorite look.

It’s not a decision at all to settle into the bath in front of her. Her hands are incredibly soft and gentle trailing through his hair and over his pecs as the hot water soothes each aching muscle. He dozes, cradled in her arms, hypnotized by the slow drag of her fingers across his skin, smiling dopily as they pet the sparse hair carpeting his chest. He probably purrs outright at the scratch of her nails across his scalp. This is relaxation - he’s probably closer to a melted puddle than a man at the moment. What he doesn’t expect is the hand which wraps around his length, pumping it languidly beneath the bubbles.

“Darlin’?” His voice is a slur, because just tonight, he can’t take any teasing. Not when he’s been living with blue balls at the sight of her pretty body showcased in those floaty sundresses every day since they got here.

“Hmm?” Her voice is gentle and sweet, hypnotically so. If he didn’t know exactly how well her hands were working him over, he’d think she wasn’t up to anything at all.

“What’re you doing, baby doll?” His voice slurs even as he tips his head back so he can see the concentration on her face. Her nose is scrunched and her lips are parted just a little.

“I’m making you feel good, Jay.” His growl at her words turns into a near whine as her hand tightens just a little. “You’ve been so good for me, after all. I just want to show you how much I appreciate that.”

Just like that, he’s captive to the slow glide of her skin against his. Enraptured by the flutter of her eyelashes while wholly unprepared for the heat rising in his gut. Each soft loving word and sweet murmur into his ear has his balls tightening. Eventually, all Jake wants, all he needs, well other than the obvious, is a kiss. He breaks her concentration by tugging her in, her hands leaving his skin and cupping his face. When she pulls away, her eyes are molten and her hands a bit more forceful as she wraps them around him again. All too soon, the slap of water against the edge of the tub harmonizes with the sounds of his moans ricocheting off the tiles.

“Shit, sweetheart.” The words leave him in a harsh hiss, barely words at all. “Y’keep putting those pretty hands on me like that and I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“Who said I want you to stop yourself, Jay?” Those honeyed words have him grunting his orgasm into the delicate column of her neck, his body twisting as he moans. When he comes back to himself he peppers kisses across Gorgeous’ flushed skin. But sadly, he’s too exhausted to return the favor. All he can do is paw gently at her skin as she drains the tub, rinses him off, and helps him dress. Sleep when it tugs him under is even sweeter when he’s got his fiancée in his arms. Maybe in the morning he can return the favor? And later, much later, mind you, win her dad over?

Taglist:

@love2write2626 @little-wiseone @eli2447 @f1maverick @djs8891 @shanimallina87 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @daddymack01 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @roosterforme

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[sequinsmile-x]

Waiting Room - Chapter 1

Everything had changed so quickly, her life torn out from under her in a matter of seconds, the trajectory of what it would look like going forward permanently altered. 

Emily's life changes forever when her parents are killed. Aaron just needs a job after his marriage breaks down and he answers an ad for a private security guard. If only the young woman he'd been hired to look after wasn't entirely resistant to his presence.

A Young Hotchniss AU

-x-

Hi friends!!

This weekend makes it 3 years since I started writing for Hotchniss!! In that time I've written just shy of 1.8 million words and over 270 fics for our favourite idiots.

I love this little community and I am endlessly grateful for all of you. I write because it's an escape for me and because it is a hobby I treasure. Feedback and interaction on my fics mean the absolute world to me and never fail to make me smile, so I am endlessly grateful every time you all do that.

This fic is for you and a celebration of the last few years. A little Young Hotchniss AU to mark the occasion! All four chapters will be posted over the next week.

Love you all very much <3

-x-

Warnings: Full list of warnings on the Master List

Words: 3.6k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Tick.

The clock on the wall was loud, the only sound she would allow herself to hear, the repetitive noise drowning out everything else around her. The bustle of the police station outside of the room she’d been herded into by a kind but overworked detective fading out into nothing. 

Tock. 

She picks at the cuticles on her thumb, a habit her mother had always chastised her for, and every time her gaze drifts down to her hands she immediately looks back up, her eyes fixed on the wall ahead of her so she doesn’t have to see blood that isn’t even hers staining her skin. She’d washed her hands as soon as she was brought here, rubbed her skin almost raw, but it hadn’t been enough. Dried blood in the cracks of her knuckles and embedded around her nails almost tattooed to her skin. 

Tick. 

Everything had changed so quickly, her life torn out from under her in a matter of seconds, the trajectory of what it would look like going forward permanently altered. 

They were only supposed to be going to a concert, a performance of her favourite sci-fi movie with a live orchestra, an event her father had his assistant buy tickets for as a 21st birthday present for her. 

Tock

The door opens and she jumps, her shoulders tense as she looks up, the same detective who had brought her here and her kind smile in the doorway.

“Miss Prentiss, your ride home is here.” 

She chuckles internally, the idea of home never something she’d been able to settle into, but she feels some semblance of relief when Dave walks through the door, his face serious, as he steps towards her. He was her father’s best friend, his confidant. An uncle of sorts to her who also happened to manage her parent's estate. He’d always been kind to her, more of a parent than either of hers had ever truly been.

And now he was the only one she had left

“Emily,” he says, kneeling down so he’s in her eye line, the kindness in his eyes almost too much for her to bear, “What happened?”

“They’re dead,” she replies, her voice ragged, torn open by grief and shock and a thousand other things they can’t name, “Both of them…they’re dead.” 

___

Four Years Later 

Sometimes it felt like she was still in the waiting room. 

She could still feel the blood on her hands, could see it drying around her nails, dark red and cracked against her pale skin as the clock ticked on the wall. 

She could see the look on Dave’s face as she told him her parents were dead, a sadness in his eyes that she thinks had never quite faded in the years since. He did his best to hide it from her, he still did now, but she could see it when he thought she wasn’t looking or when she did something that reminded him of either of her parents. 

Of all the many people who had been in her parent's lives, all the people who had been at their funeral and offered her help in whatever way she needed, Dave was the only one who had stuck around. He’d always genuinely cared about her, always been a pseudo uncle of sorts, his initial job as her father’s lawyer a gateway to a friendship that had lasted until that fateful day, and she was grateful she had him, even if she sometimes felt like she was nothing but a reminder of the friends he had lost. 

Her life felt like it had stopped that day. The sudden loss of her parents, her grief about losing them as complicated as her relationship with them had been, had sent her in a direction she’d never expected. 

She’d never known what she wanted to do with her life, her directionlessness as vicious and overwhelming as her desire to defy expectations, to be more than what her mother had wanted from her. Any vague ideas she may have had about going into law enforcement, the idea of a Prentiss in the FBI something that had always made her father chuckle and her mother roll her eyes, thrown away in a matter of seconds. 

She still heard the gunshots if she thought about it for too long, still heard the blood in her mother’s lungs as she tried to suck in her final breaths. 

The men who’d killed her parents, for nothing more than disagreeing with their political alignments, had killed her future too. Leaving her living in a house, days passed by as she waited for her life to start again, to feel like she could live her life again, so she could live as a 25-year-old woman should be able to live. 

She was still in danger. A thought that felt absurd to her, but something that Dave took seriously. She’d seen the shooter, had memories of icy blue eyes when she dreamt about that night, but he’d never been caught. He’d disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, taking her sense of safety with him. At first, the police had taken it seriously, had provided protection she’d resisted, but as time went on it all went away, assurances that she would be fine passed on as if she still didn’t remember the cold November ground beneath her as she kneeled next to her parents, staring down the barrel of a gun. 

She believed them for a while. Allowed herself to try to move forward, to piece her life back together.

Then the flowers started to appear. Seemingly random at first, almost accidental in the way they were left on her doorstep. It soon became clear it was purposeful, that it was a message of some kind. A reminder that while she might as well still be in that alley, she was still in as much danger as she had been then. 

She rolls her neck as she parks her car on the driveway, yawning as she steps out onto the gravel. It had been a long day, her bag heavy as she hung it over her shoulder, weighed down by books and her laptop. She’d gone to the library to study for once, needing to get out of the house, away from the ghosts that always seemed just around the corner. 

She pauses as she gets to the porch, frozen in place as her eyes drift to the doormat and the familiar purple flower lying on it, bright and taunting as it stands out against the dark woven material of the mat. She purses her lips together as she sighs, blowing out a steady breath as she briefly closes her eyes. She steps forward and leans down to pick it up and then she stands back up, unlocking the door and heading inside quickly, she slams the door shut behind her.

She holds the flower tightly in her palm. She looks down at her fist and uncurls it, her eyes fixed on the now crumbled petals, the flower’s beauty not diminished by its damage. 

“Damn it,” she breathes out, shaking her head as she places the flower down on the side table. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials a familiar number, her thumbnail in between her teeth as she waits for the call to go through.

“Hi Bella,” Dave says as he answers, his voice relaxed. She can picture him sitting at his desk, ignoring the paperwork he never enjoyed. She sometimes wondered why he didn’t retire, why he insisted on working even though he didn’t need to, but she knew it was because it gave him something to do. It filled his days with the ability to think about anything other than the fact he was lonely. 

It was something she’d never quite been able to find herself. The empty house that she’d always resented was now her prison of sorts, cold rooms and hallways that she felt trapped in, haunted by everything that had happened there and everything that never had. 

“Hi,” she replies, breathing out a slow breath before she carries on, “It happened again.”

She doesn’t need to explain any further, doesn’t need to say what has happened. This is something they’d spoken about several times throughout the years. A pattern they couldn’t escape, doomed to repeat itself until the people who were doing this, the man who was after her, would finally leave her alone. 

She can hear him moving on the phone, his voice already tighter, more tense as he replies. 

“I’m on my way.”

___

Aaron exhales slowly as he pulls up to the house, his eyebrows furrowing as he double-checks the address he’d been given to make sure he is in the right place. The house is huge, closer to what he’d call a mansion than anything else. He stops his car and gets out of it, his hands on his hips as he looks at the house again, the place he’d be living and working for the foreseeable future. 

He’d taken the job out of necessity. The breakdown in his marriage the year before, the official signing of divorce papers a few months ago ending his relationship with Haley, the person he once thought he’d spend his life with, leaving him without direction, and without somewhere to live. It was something he never thought he’d have to deal with, let alone when he had only just turned 30, but life had rarely been kind to him.

He looks down at the blank spot on his ring finger, the band of skin that is still slightly paler than the rest of his hand, and he sighs, shaking his head at himself as he steps towards the house, ready to meet his new employer. 

He gives himself a moment before he rings the bell, straightening his back and shoulders as the door opens, opening to reveal a man on the other side, a smile on his face as he reaches out his hand.

“Aaron Hotchner?” He asks, his smile widening slightly as Aaron nods and shakes his hand, “I’m David Rossi, thank you for agreeing to start so quickly,” he says, and Aaron nods as he’s led into the house, looking around, the grandness of the house taking him aback as he steps in, “So, what has an ex-FBI agent doing private security?” 

Aaron turns to look at him, “My ex-wife wanted me home more, I left the FBI to try to save our marriage. Clearly, it didn’t work.” 

Dave nods knowingly, “I have 3 ex-wives, so I understand that better than most,” he says, patting Aaron on his shoulder as he leads him into the house, “I’ll show you to your room in a little while but I’ll introduce you to Emily first,” he squeezes Aaron’s shoulder once before he lets go, his hand falling to his side, “Brace yourself.” 

Before Aaron has a chance to realise what that means, Dave pushes the door to what turns out to be the home library open. He pauses as he walks into the room, struck by the beauty of the woman sitting in a large chair in the corner. She had her dark hair piled on top of her head, effortlessly beautiful in a way he knew was rare. She looks up at them, her dark brown eyes pulled away from her book as she frowns at the two men who had disturbed her, mistrust flashing through them as she puts her book down, her arms crossed as she stands up. 

“Dave,” she says, looking back and forth between him and Aaron, “Who is this?” 

Dave sighs as if preparing himself for something, “Aaron, this is Emily,” he says before turning to her, “Emily, this is Aaron Hotchner. He’s your new security guard.” 

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and thick as it hangs in the air, and Aaron watches as Emily tries to hide her irritation but fails, the tightness in her sharp jaw immediately giving her away. 

“I don’t need a security guard,” she seethes, stepping closer to Dave with her arms across her chest. She pointedly ignores that Aaron is still in the room just a few paces away from them, “I’m fine.” 

“Emily, we got a threat on your life.” 

“It was a freesia, it’s hardly a ransom note,” she says, sounding more sure than she felt.

It had been a battle between them for years. Dave would hire the security via her parent's estate, and as the sole heir and beneficiary, she’d have control over it. She’d either be purposefully unreasonable until the guards quit, or would straight out just fire them, her insistence that she was fine, that she could look after herself, something she would repeat each time. 

“We both know it isn’t just a flower,” Dave replies, his eyebrow raised at her in defiance. She rolls her eyes, her hands tight around her arms. 

“I don’t need a security guard,” she repeats, her words pushed out through her teeth. This time she does turn to look at Aaron, “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire him,” Dave replies, raising his eyebrow, a smug smirk on his face that tells her she has, for once, outsmarted her, “I’m paying him, so he works for me, not you,” he looks at Aaron and, despite the circumstances, gets a bit of a kick out of the expression on his face. Emily always had a way of making an impression on everyone she met, and this seemed to be no different. “You’re not fired.” 

They fall into a silent stand-off, the air thick with awkwardness and Emily’s anger. She finally rolls her eyes and turns around stalking out of the room and not saying anything else. Dave smiles as he watches her leave and turns to Aaron, his smile turning into a smirk as he looks at the frown on the other man's face, the edge of concern sneaking into its edges. 

“You’ll grow on her,” Dave says, turning serious as Aaron looks at him, “She’s been through a lot,” he says, a flash of protectiveness for Emily burning him from the inside out, “She’s very guarded.” 

“That’s understandable,” Aaron replies, swallowing thickly as he looks at the door Emily had stormed out of. He was wary about being here to protect someone who clearly didn’t want him around, but he needed the job. It came with a place to live and a level of financial stability he thought was impossible after his divorce. He’d let Haley have the house, his guilt about the breakdown of their relationship leading him not to fight for it. He had no choice but to make this work. “It will be fine.”

Dave smiles, his gaze flicking between Aaron’s face and the door Emily had left through, “I have a feeling it will.” ___

It’s awkward. 

She purposely avoids him, using tactics she’d learnt at a young age when she would evade her parents at parties she was forced to go to. She’d sneak around, always a few steps ahead of them. Sometimes she missed it. There were days when she would give anything to go to a party she’d hate every second of, a part of her life she never thought she’d find herself yearning for. 

It works for a day or two until she bumps into him in the kitchen, both of them seeking out a late-night drink before they head to bed.

“Agent Hotchner,” she says, smiling tightly at him before she goes back to getting out the scotch, averting her gaze to look anywhere but at him. 

“Miss Prentiss,” he replies, watching her like she was a caged animal, not wanting to spook her. It feels tense as she actively ignores him, “You can call me Aaron you know, since I’m not an agent anymore. I just wanted to apologise.” 

She still doesn’t look up as she replies, “About what?” She asks, purposely ignoring everything else he’d said. 

“I…had no idea you didn’t know I’d be coming here,” he says, stepping further into the kitchen, “I didn’t mean to blind-sight you.” 

She looks up at him and her eyes meet his. She’d been raised in an environment where everyone lied to each other all the time. Insults dressed as pleasantries as people went about their days, never saying what they really meant to say. It meant she was excellent at spotting a lie, a human polygraph machine of sorts. She sees nothing but honesty on his face and she immediately feels herself feel a little less irritated at him. 

“Well,” she says, smiling tightly at him as she looks down at her hands, “That’s pretty typical of Dave. You’re here because of a flower, so I hope you’re not expecting too much action.” 

He smiles, something about her sense of humour getting to him, sneaking under his skin and making him feel relaxed for the first time in days. 

“Why freesias?” He asks, looking at her curiously. She sighs as she momentarily pauses, placing her glass of scotch down on the counter. 

“They were my mother’s favourite flower,” she says, clearing her throat. Her chest feels hollowed out as it always did when she thought about her parents, her grief as complex as her relationship with them had been, “My dad always bought them for her birthday,” she chuckles as she shakes her head, picking up the bottle of scotch and pouring herself some more. She hesitates for a second before she grabs another glass from the bar and pours him some too, “Well he always had his assistant to buy them for her. We had purple freesias at the funeral,” she presses her lips together tightly as she sits down, shrugging nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t talking about something that had permanently shifted the trajectory of her life, “The first one was delivered here a few days later. It’s happened every few months ever since. The police think it’s the killer's way of reminding me they are out there.” 

He watches as she sits down and joins her, reaching for the scotch she’d poured for him. “Did you never think about going somewhere else?”

She shrugs, “It happened in Paris too,” she says, shaking her head, “I went to my parent's house there…my house there,” she corrects herself, “The flowers were left there too.” 

“Paris?”

She nods, “Yeah I like it there. We spent a lot of time there when I was young, French was the first language I learnt.” 

“The first?” 

“Can you do anything other than ask questions?” She asks, smiling at him, “I speak six languages,” she chuckles when he almost chokes on his scotch, “Seven if you count English.” 

“The doctorate in linguistics is starting to make more sense,” he says, clearing his throat to clear the last bit of scotch stitch in the back of it, “So you speak all those languages fluently?” 

She nods, “I do,” she smirks at him, looking him up and down, the scotch thrumming under her skin allowing her to let herself appreciate him, the way his muscles shift under his skin, “Tu as de la chance d'être séduisante, sinon je te jetterais dehors.” 

He smiles at her, “Impressive.” 

She smiles, her cheeks turning pink in a way she doesn’t understand as she sips her scotch, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s important you trust me,” he says, “Since I’m here to protect you.” 

She nods and laughs bitterly, “I wish I could protect myself,” she mutters, sipping more of her scotch, “It would make me feel a hell of a lot safer.” She feels like she’s said too much, the revelation feeling like more than anything she’d told him about her mother, “I’m going to take this to bed,” she says as she stands, her drink grasped in her hand.

He smiles kindly at her. He knew from the very limited time they spent together that she was guarded, that any perceived rudeness was an attempt to protect herself in any way she could. 

“Of course,” he says, “Goodnight, Miss Prentiss.” 

She pauses in the doorway and looks back at him, “You may as well call me Emily,” she says, a smile flicking across her face, “Since we’re essentially roommates. 

He nods, “Okay, goodnight, Emily.” 

She smiles, “Goodnight, Aaron.” 

He watches as she turns to leave and feels emboldened, warmed by the scotch he was drinking and unable to help himself as he admires the curve of her neck, the contrast of her dark hair against her pale skin. Something about her was drawing him in, briefly making him forget that he was here to do a job.

“Emily?” 

She turns to look at him, her smile a mix of curiosity and irritation as she raises an eyebrow at him, “Yes?” 

“J'ai étudié le français à l'université. C'était ma matière secondaire.”

Her eyes go wide for a moment before she can stop herself from reacting, and she clears her throat, “Oh, well, that’s good to know,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him, “I’ll have to make sure I pick another language to talk about you when you’re around,” she presses her lips together to stop herself  from smiling, “Goodnight.” 

He watches her leave, letting her go this time, the sound of her receding footsteps the only other sound in the house. 

“Goodnight, Emily.” 

-x-

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[canonicallyobserving911]

Several Sentences Sunday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 17 will be posted soon.

Currently 16 chapters completed: 549.4K Words Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

{Previous WIP Wednesday snippet}

I'm excited to finish writing Chapter 17 because there's a lot happening as Buck and Eddie continue to prepare for everything that's going to happen in the next seven weeks.

For anyone who hasn't read Chapter 16, here's a brief overview: Buck and Eddie hired a travel agent to help them schedule everything for their upcoming international adventure. They also hired a tax accountant for the 12-million-dollar settlement money Buck was awarded after the sperm donor lawsuit ended and they hired a financial advisor so they could invest some of it.

They'll tie the knot before Christmas 2023 but they are NOT getting married in the U.S. and they won't have a wedding ceremony until May 2024. Currently, they think Chris is the only person who knows they're together but now several people have witnessed their romantic and emotionally intimate moments including Bobby, Chimney, Athena, Hen, Karen, Maddie and Ravi. Even though Adriana is in El Paso, she realized Eddie and Buck are together too.

Who else is going to realize they're together in Chapter 17?

___________

Here's a snippet from Chapter 17 of Buck and Eddie being romantically fluffy.

___________

After a few seconds of gazing into each other’s eyes, Eddie gently rubs his thumb over Buck’s cheek and says, “I want you to teach me how to say all the Italian words you’ve learned”.

“Ok but um… so far, I only know a few.”  He pauses as he thinks of the ones he’s learned over the past several days.  “Let’s start with me teaching you how to say hello and goodbye.  It’s the same word in Italian for both… so it’s an easy one.  Repeat after me… Ciao”.

“Ciao.”  He repeats with a nod and he thinks it is easy to say since he’s heard it before..

“Ok.  Um… let’s try to say good day.  Say buon.”

“Buon.”

“That’s great babe.  Now say… giorno.”  Buck replies with a trill in the way he pronounces the letter “R”.

“Giorno.”  Eddie responds and he perfectly rolls his “R” when he says it.

“Fantastic.  Now we’re going to put both words together.  Repeat after me… Buongiorno.”

“Buongiorno.”  Eddie echoes him and repeats the word but he doesn’t roll the letter “R” this time.

Buck chuckles then he kisses his lips.  After he pulls back, he puts his face right next to Eddie’s so their cheeks are pressed together and he whispers into his ear, “My love… you have to roll the letter “R” when you say it the same way you do when you say certain Spanish words”.

He leans back to meet Eddie’s eyes and they stay there in the moment.

About five seconds later, Eddie deviously smiles, leans forward so his face is right in front of Buck’s and their lips are only millimeters apart.  “Oh… you mean like this…”  He says then trails off as he softly kisses his fiancé but it quickly turns heated when he runs his tongue over Buck’s bottom lip and he immediately opens for him.

He kisses Buck with so much fervor they get lost in it and as they lick into each other’s mouths, their tongues become tangled and Buck remembers Eddie rolls the letter “R” when he speaks Spanish the same way he’s rolling his tongue right now.

While they allow their kiss to become filled with sweet bliss, Eddie lifts his right hand and puts it on the back of Buck’s neck to deepen it.  Buck instantly makes that high pitched noise in the back of his throat he loves to hear and since he wants him to do it again, he applies a little bit of pressure.  Buck makes the sound several more times and Eddie thinks he’s in heaven.

They continue kissing until they need to come up for air and when they do, Eddie asks, “You mean roll my “Rs” like that?”

When he looks at Buck, he notices his pupils are blown and the blue of his irises have practically disappeared.

Buck’s so lost and in love with him that it sets his brain on fire and he can barely put a full sentence together.  “Um… yeah.  Just—just like that.”  He breathlessly replies.

What else is Eddie going to ask Buck to teach him? 👀

___________

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-16 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapter 17 will be posted soon.

[ragecndybars]

AO3 tag game :3

thanks so much for the tag @mvshortcut !!!!! much appreciated, this was a blast to fill out :D

How many works do you have on AO3?

86! Damn, that's more than I remember 🙀 I have been writing pretty fervently since I was pretty young, though, and I transferred all my old fics from fanfiction dot net to AO3, so it's a long stretch of time. All my old wattpad fics are still rotting somewhere though lmaooo I can't even access them anymore bc I forgot my password and I can't reset it bc I used a school email 😔

What's your total AO3 word count?

443,734! When I get to half a million I'm gonna have to throw myself a party. With boba and everything

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

Oof, okay, here we go. A lot of the fandoms I have tagged on AO3 don't really "count" because they're just aggregate tags for the same fandom, so even though AO3 says the number is 48, I'm gonna count the TRUE number as 17. (It got cut down so much because of how many video game series have different games with different fandom tags on AO3, lmao)

Here's the breakdown of the list:

Persona (Mostly Persona 3)

Fire Emblem (Mostly Shadow Dragon and Blazing Sword)

Legend of Zelda

Pokemon

Professor Layton

RWBY

Kid Icarus: Uprising

Earthbound/MOTHER

Red vs. Blue

Voltron Legendary Defender

Naruto

Final Fantasy XV

Harvest Moon

The Mysterious Benedict Society

The Avengers

Animal Crossing

Care Bears (despite having never actually consumed any Care Bears media to my knowledge)

The worst part is that this stupid list would be much, much, MUCH longer if I finished even a quarter of my WIPs 😭 Hell, even just my "Video Games" subfolder in my "Fanfiction" subfolder has more than 17 subfolders in it...

Y'all don't understand how many random fics my ADHD spares you from ever seeing I have no focus

Top five fics by kudos:

Ash and Emotion (Zelda) - Not surprising, I knew this was my most popular fic. It was for a ZeLink zine full of beautiful work :)

Resemblance (Naruto) - bro I always forget people really liked this one. Literally an unedited drabble I did in an hour for a "pride month drabble challenge" which I immediately abandoned. Trans rights I guess

Always Wanna Play (But You Never Wanna Lose) (Persona 3) - This one isn't surprising either, and I'm very proud of this fic so I'm quite chuffed to see it get so much attention... thanks everyone :')

The Beat of Your Heart (Zelda) - Now this one surprised me a lot. This was just a little piece for ZeLink week... Another unedited one, I literally was writing it on the toilet in church so I could get it out in time 😭

Comfort (Zelda) - Another ZeLink week piece, but I knew this one was popular. Also unedited, lmao. I was writing it on the day of my AP Calc finals and I rushed through the exam so I could have more time to work on the fic 😭 I made some Choices that year

Do you respond to comments?

I try to! But I get very anxious about it and tend to work myself into a tizzy, so I often put it off for later and then forget, haha. Then I'll go and respond to all my comments from the last few months and feel even weirder about it... T_T

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

Oof. That's... a hard one, haha. I've written a couple of fics without happy endings, though I typically don't. At least three fics which end on a canonical character death, for instance. But I'd say the ending which made me the most emo writing was Butter, a Mother 3 fic. It ends with Lucas, who's like 9, recently lost his mother, then lost his twin brother (and thinks it's his fault), and is now being neglected by his father, crawling into bed and crying. So yeah, pretty bleak, lmao... but at least he doesn't die I guess?

Do you write crossovers?

I do, but I haven't posted many yet. I'm not always huge on writing them, but I do think about them a lot. I was working on this one Persona 3 x Fire Emblem Awakening crossover but I lost steam on it, and now there's a really lovely crossover on AO3 with a similar premise that I was SO delighted to come across!!! Hope y'all don't mind me taking a break from linking my own work to shill for this one, hehe

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

Unfortunately, yes, about six times, I'd say. Even more unfortunately, most of those times happened earlier on in my fanfic writing career, and I was pretty sensitive to hate back then, so I deleted many of the relevant fics, and some of them I don't even have access to myself anymore.

Not gonna talk about the ones that are still upsetting, but I will talk about the funny examples: on a (since deleted) RWBY fic, I said in the author's note that I "wrote them as platonic, but the fic can be read as WhiteRose", and then I got a glowing comment gushing about how good the story was which ended with "but then you had to ruin it by shitting all over WhiteRose, how about you [long suicide bait]". Third most baffling comment I've ever received.

The two most baffling were on different fics, but both were making the same weird accusation??? One was on a ZeLink fic (actually, on Comfort, my fifth most kudos'ed fic of all time now), and y'know I think I'm just gonna show you the comment in question:

The other one was on a long-since deleted fic which focused on both a romantic ship, as well as a fatherly relationship between one member of the ship and the other member's father. I guess having a fatherly relationship with your father-in-law makes your boyfriend actually your brother (and therefore you can't date him anymore). IDK man people are crazy. (tbf the commenter in question thought I was setting it up so that he'd get adopted by his boyfriend's parents, which would give them more of a case, but like... that didn't happen in the fic and wasn't going to. they just guessed at a future plot development and got angry about their guess)

Do you write smut?

I do, but I've never posted any. I've posted one fic that was very suggestive, I'd even call it "NSFW" in a sense, but never anything explicit. Maybe I will in the future? We'll see if I can ever finish anything smutty, lmao.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep, I had Ultimatum, my longest chapter-fic (and by far my most popular fic in the ff.n days) stolen and posted on another site by somebody. I reported it but never checked back up to see if it got taken down.

I also feel that I've had my work plagiarized pretty damn blatantly in another fandom (I was browsing a certain AU tag and read one which contained all the exact events and sometimes word-for-word dialogue from a fic of mine, just very very slightly rewritten) but the poster had no other works and their writing was definitely extremely juvenile, so... I figured they were a dumb kid and just decided not to raise a fuss. Checked back later and they deleted it, hopefully because they realized they shouldn't do that, so I figure there's no need to start shit over it. Honestly, if that person used that experience as a jumping-off point to write their own fics, then I'm glad it happened, imitation being the highest form of flattery and all.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, though I had someone reach out to me on fanfiction dot net a long time ago and ask permission to translate An Unheard Goodbye, which was super exciting! I agreed, but I don't believe they ever got around to it, or if they did, they never posted it. Still very flattering, and I think about that a lot, hehe.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

HOW COULD I POSSIBLY ANSWER THIS. UM. UM UH. UHHH UM UH I. UM.

I'm.... gonna say Zelda/Link? I haven't written it in FOREVER but it was such a huge part of me coming into my own as a fanfic author, so I have to give it credit for that.

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

.......all of them 😭 god I have so many of these damn things. But for the prime example, I'd point to Ultimatum, an old Pokemon fic that I started in middle school. I got all the way to the climax and I feel bad leaving my readers hanging, but... at this point, if I did continue it, I would honestly have to rewrite the whole fic first just to be in line with my current understanding of the characters.

What are your writing strengths?

Y'know, I think I get character voices down extremely well in a way which elevates my dialogue and narration. That's probably the thing I'm most proud of in my own writing, at least.

What are your writing weaknesses?

BREVITY. Or the utter, glaring lack of it. I have also been known to muddy up my writing with an overabundance of A) adverbs, B) unneeded clauses tacked onto perfectly good sentences, and C) em-dashes 😭

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I think it's dope as fuck, but I currently can't really accomplish it because I'm monolingual (NOT FOR LONG IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT, I'M COMING FOR YOU, JAPANESE FLUENCY!!!!). I will also say that I don't like when authors will write characters having a story-important conversation in another language, then put the translations in the end notes or something, requiring you to either read the chapter confused or else keep scrolling back down and back up.... I think even that's totally fine to do if what's being said isn't plot-relevant, though.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Naruto. I hadn't read or watched Naruto btw, I had only read other Naruto fanfics. I have spoken on this topic many times, but it remains hilarious to me. Also, so many of my old Naruto fics are lost to the Wattpad times, but I will take this opportunity to once again share a quote which I recently managed to unearth from my long-lost unsung magnum opus:

Never ever will I intentionally attain the level of comedy gold that I managed while writing completely dead serious Naruto fanfiction on Wattpad in 2012.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

See above. How could I ever top that fic.

In all seriousness, this question always makes me sweat, but I think I'm gonna say Oil, a slightly older fic from my EliHec days which I absolutely obsessed over for months before finally managing to finish. And, unlike most of the fics that I obsess over, I think the obsession actually made it come out better rather than worse, haha.

thanks again for the tag!!!! as for me, I'll tag uhh, hm, @wizard-finix @dreamedge @misty-wisp @flyfish1999 and any other AO3 writers who see this!!! (idk how many of you use AO3 and most of the MBS authors I know have probably already been tagged hehe but anybody who wants to should absolutely feel free!!!!!!!)

[babstheyaga]

Fear Me Or Die: Ch. One: The 7 Deadly... People?

Pairing(s) for chapter: BumbleBee/Reader, Optimus/Reader

Next ch.

Word count for chapter: 5.3k

Rating for chapter: Mature

Warnings for this chapter: Violence, curse words, kidnapping, death/murder

A/n: Finally decided to post this series on Tumblr! I’m not too sure how it will go, we shall see, won’t we! If I get too much backlash, then I will take it down and only keep it on Ao3... I’m thinking about taking it down from Wattpad, mostly because it’s pretty bad for that site, there’s a lot of softies on there lol. THIS HASN’T BEEN PROOF READ IN LIKE A YEAR, THERE’S PROBABLY A LOT WRONG WITH IT!

“Bee, stop throwing a tantrum! At least you don't have to babysit THIS worthless sack of shit!” A tall female with dark almost blue hair, ticked off bright, slanted purple eyes, and fair fawn colored skin. She had a hand on her hip, tilting her head at the male across from her. She pointed to a person below her, her feet straddling their shoulders as they lay on the gravel covered ground. His arms were bound before him, thick, brown rope constricting his hands so tightly his fingers were turning white. He had duct tape over his mouth, looking upside down at the man the woman was talking to.

A even taller male was flinging his hands around, speaking extremely frustrated sentences. No words left his mouth, his hands and fingers saying it all as he flung them around, expressing himself in sign language. The woman understood everything, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, clearly aggravated. His hair was shaven on either sides, an almost mohawk look with blonde hair on top. Freckles covering tawny, orangeish-brown skin, piercings in his ears while having a yellow leather jacket.

“There isn't anything I can do about it, why are you complaining to me?! If you have a problem, then bring it up with Optimus! I'm in the same boat as you are! This idiot-” She kicked the man's head below her, getting a whimper in return from him. “Is stuck with me. And THAT idiot is stuck with you.” She gestured to a female on the ground next to the tall male, a small, petite woman... Me. My hands were bound behind me, my body leaning forward as I tried not to be too noticeable.

The man looked down at me, his bright, glowing blue orbs looking furiously down at mine. He rolled his eyes, looking back to the blue haired woman and signing something apparently funny to her.

“At least she's not a fighter! This guy seems like he's going to be a hassle.” She kicked the bound man's head again, earning another whimper. I felt a little bad for him, though he was the one who got me into this stupid situation...

His name was Derek. I wasn't sure what his last name was. His hair brushed up, gray stripes streaking through it. His dress shirt and pants splattered with blood and covered in dust and dirt. He kept his eyes on the male next to me, either making sure he wasn't going to hurt me, or because he was scared of him. He was working with the Decepticons, people I use to work for a while ago... Though it was some time ago, and the organization has changed drastically since I was last in it, I knew that these guys were not part of that group. These guys were Autobots, terrorists who killed thousands, millions. The Decepticons were a organization that worked to repair cities and families that were affected by the Autobot's disarray.

Derek was a tough man, someone I knew years ago before he was the boss of the Decepticon facility in Louisiana. I originally lived there too, hosting a small business where I taught disabled kids life skills like how to get a job, or clean a house. I worked with the Decepticons when I was 15, nothing really all that important, just a unpaid intern. But when the Autobots started to get more daring with their destruction, my mother told me I wasn't allowed to go to work anymore. And till this day I am thankful for that, for not even a full two weeks later they blew up five facilities, killing hundreds. And the work place I was a intern for, was one of them.

But I guess that's how we got here now. The 20 people that were involved in a mission locating the Autobots, lead us to a cabin in the woods. They weren't expecting us, so we had the advantage against them, but they are considered the deadliest people on the planet for a reason.

I was in a black SUV, the windows tinted like I was some sort of secret agent. I felt bad ass, tracking down the most wanted criminals on the FBI list... I thought I was the coolest person alive...! Until the driver's brains splattered across the backseat where I sat. We were parked at the end of the long driveway to the cabin, at least a mile away. We had thought we were safe. We had planned on sending a squad to the cabin to check it out. But before we knew it, we were being ambushed.

I panicked, ducking down to the floorboards and hiding there while Derek, who was next to me, jumped into the front seat and drove us off the road and into a tree. I had thought we were safe, but when he screamed at me to run into the woods and hide there, I knew we were screwed.

The Autobots had taken 10 out of 20 people captive, me included. They interrogated us, killing most of the other people. They wanted to know who organized the mission, who our leaders were, how we found them, what lead them here... Everyone stayed quiet... Until they got to me. A giant of a man, his skin darker then night itself, his eyes glowing bright neon blue, his body was covered in scars, I could tell just by his face... He came to me, kneeling down at my bound body and tilted his head at me, curious as to why I was even there in the first place.

“You are out of place, we all know you're not the leader. Give me a reason not to kill you.” His voice was deep, calm and sharp. He was strict and straight to the point. I hadn't gone through any form of torture, yet I was terrified. I stared at the man, mouth dry as a desert as my eyes filled with tears. I didn't want to die, and everything inside of me was thinking of a proper response, but nothing came out my mouth. My body started to shake, my vision failing me completely as I forced something, anything out to try and plead for my life. He stared, his eyes flicking between mine, then slowly down my body. I felt weak under his gaze, he was sizing me up, or checking me out... I could feel the hair on my neck stand on edge as he reached his huge hand to the side of my face. His touch was soft, gentle. He rubbed the lobe of my ear, playing with a small hoop earring and pulling on it gingerly.

He leaned into me, whispering into my ear a careful, “You don't have to be scared, if you give me a reason, then I'll let you live to be my pet...” He flirted. I could feel my breath hitch, my fearful orbs sending my ears ringing the longer I stared. He pulled away from my ear, peering at me from the side of my face. I was speechless, unable to move, unable to speak or even breathe. I was frozen, petrified by his words and shock filling my body.

He pulled away from my face, tilting his head patiently, but when I did not answer him, he nodded, disappointed. “Hmm... Shame.” He took his hand away from me, letting it drop onto his bent knee. He stood up to his full height, my neck bending as I looked up at him, panic filling my mind and chest. “Such a pretty face too!” He shrugged and turned from me, nodding to the dark haired female, she nodded and lifted a gun, pointing it directly at me. I could feel a spike of adrenaline hit my back, shooting into my bound hands and rushing me to move suddenly. I burst into tears, shaking my head as finally words came out.

“I was just a intern! I didn't want to come here! I only knew about the cabin! I swear I didn't even know you were here! Please spare me! I'm only 19! I've never had my first kiss! I've never gotten drunk! I've never been to a concert! I've never eaten sushi! I've- I've-” My sobs were interrupted by the giant man holding up a hand, stopping my pleads. He smirked, each ends of his lips pulling up into a unnatural grin, chuckles slowly starting, quickly erupting into full blown cackles as he tried to catch his breath. None of the others were laughing, yet they didn't seem phased, as if he had done that before. I felt my body tremble, his laughs shaking the ground and moving to my legs. I was awestruck, not believing what I was hearing and seeing. His roaring laughter sending me speechless again, my eyes looking at him like I had just witness him kill my lover. I was horrified.

He slowed his cackling, taking in a breath and smiling at me from afar. He stood for a moment, shaking his head and wiping his eyes from a tear that ran down his cheek. He began to walk to me. Taking slow, steady steps towards me, he kneeled down before me. He reached his hand towards my chin, holding it with a bent index finger and smirking like a demon.

“You're precious.” He growled, my eyes shifting between his, searching his expression for any sign of dishonesty. “You want to be spared?” He asked. I blinked away the tears, though they would come right back. I nodded softly, him not allowing my face from his grip. “I'll give you a chance then.” He stood again, stepping to my side as I sat on the ground. He bend down, grabbing a big chunk of my hair, I whimpered, he ignored me and opened his free hand to the group of people around him.

“Pick someone.” He told me, I flinched, my hands behind my back moving uncomfortably at the feeling in my skull. I didn't understand what he was saying, looking around I had saw the dead bodies around the killers, some of them being pulled away into the vans we came in. Amongst the bodies, and tied up, bloodied survivors were the Autobots.

A skinny but toned dark-blue haired woman, beige skin with a blue hoodie. The one that was going to shoot me. She was staring at me with a death glare.

A muscular man with silver hair, scruffy white beard, olive colored skin and a green and white rain jacket, like he was a medic. He was helping to move bodies.

A tall, brute man with slicked-back silver and black hair, tanned skin and leather jacket with the collar pulled up. He seemed overly confident. He was whispering something to the female.

A lanky man with brushed back spiky white hair, pale skin and blue, stylish glasses. He was pushing around a bound man, testing him.

A beefy man with short black hair, big curly beard, walnut colored skin and dark jean jacket. He was messing with a gun.

And a shorter, but muscular man with a blonde mohawk, a small black beard, amber skin and yellow leather jacket. He was helping the medic-looking man to move bodies.

I looked around at them all, having no idea what I was choosing in the crowd of killers. The tall dark man pulled my hair up, making me look up to him. “You want to be spared, then pick someone.” His bright eyes dared mine, my cloudy tears slowed, thinking to myself that maybe if I chose someone, they would be the one to bring me back to civilization. I wanted nothing to do with the female, she would hurt me, I know she would. The medic seemed nice. The silver and black haired man seemed like a hassle. The guy with glasses was violent. The big guy was playing with a gun I'm not choosing him. The short man looked angered, he probably wasn't the best option either. The medic was probably my best option, he would know how to treat my wounds if I needed it, right?

“Well?” The man asked, making me look at the medic and say a very week and shaky, “Him.” He looked up and towards where I had, making a grin that made me feel uneasy. He let go of my hair roughly, I flinched but watched him start to walk over to where the silver-haired man was.

“BumbleBee.” He called out, making my ears perk, I wouldn't have thought that would be his name... But instead of the medic-man, came the man with the yellow jacket who was next to the medic. I cringed... Shit.

The tall dark man towered over the smaller tanned male, he seemed confused while the tall one discussed what I presumed was my fate. He looked at me, folding his brows before turning his attention back to the male before him.

Then here we are now. I had found out that they were not going to be taking me back to civilization, but were going to be “babysitting” for a while until this BumbleBee guy decides what to do with me. I had found out their names within the past 3 hours of being here. The terrifying woman's name was Arcee. The man with glasses was Jazz. The man with the gun was IronHide. The medic was Ratchet. The slicked-back hair man was CliffJumper. The dark giant was Optimus, and the small brute was BumbleBee.

Derek had managed to roll himself over onto his stomach, what I thought was him getting ready to sit up. I prayed he wasn't planning anything stupid, I prayed he wouldn't get anyone killed, or hell, get himself killed. I wasn't going to even dare to try and move, my back was pushed up against a old Camaro, my nails squeezing into my palms behind my back. My head was bent down, yet my eyes were peering up, scared someone might get hurt again. Derek was looking around, occasionally glancing at me and staring, like he was trying to send me a psychic message. I stared back, lifting my brows worryingly and swallowing hard.

The woman, Arcee was beside him, not paying any mind to him struggling to get comfortable on the gravel ground. The man that was beside me, BumbleBee, was doing something in the trunk of the car I was leaning on. Making a awful lot of noise for him being a mute... At least, I presumed he was a mute. He obviously used sign language, but I wasn't sure if he could hear or not. The woman talked to him normally, so perhaps he could read lips? Either way, he wasn't able to talk. But did I dare try and talk to him? I wanted to ask what was going to happen to me. That Optimus guy had hinted that he wanted to keep me as a... Pet... But he had also told me to choose someone. All of this was so confusing, and I doubted I would get much information from someone who can't talk to me.

“BumbleBee, Arcee-!” The man with glasses, Jazz, broke the spoken silence. His voice was deep, a thick accent that I couldn't put my finger on where he was from. The two others looked to him, Arcee doing a small walk towards the back of the Camaro, while BumbleBee still messed with something in the trunk.

“Did you get anything out the guy, Arcee?” Jazz asked, making me look in the direction of Derek. He was pushing himself up with his hands, trying to get onto his knees. Lucky him, at least he had access to his hands, I was stuck with them behind me. I switched my eyes between the dangerous group and back to Derek, worried he will get into trouble by moving, they might take it that he's trying to get away.

“I got his name, Derek. That's about it. He's tough, but if I can get some time alone with him, I'm sure he'll break.” Arcee told, leaning on one leg and glancing over her shoulder at the man. “Hey-! Dress shirt!” She yelled out to Derek. “Don't get too cocky, you hear me? You try anything and you're dead.” She threatened, but he didn't seem phased. I guess he knew they wanted information from him, and they wouldn't actually kill him because of it.

BumbleBee signed something to Jazz, him nodding and glancing at me from behind his glasses. “I could ask Optimus, kid. But at the moment I think you're stuck with her.” He replied, earning a rough head shake and eye roll of disapproval from the blonde male. They obviously were talking about me... It made me nervous. If this man didn't want to take care of me that bad, then lord knows how he would treat me in the long run.

“Bee, get over it already! Optimus did this with Ratchet a couple years ago, it's only for two years tops, then they probably get shot, or stabbed or some shit. If you're lucky, she'll get blown up on our mission to New York. Just get over it, sour puss... At least you get a person...” Arcee was frustrated, yet that didn't seem to help his anger. He signed something that Jazz thought was strange, scratching behind his head and lifting a confused hand.

“You don't have to go that far, kid. She's only 19, it's just a six year difference, so she's not that young. It's not like marrying a 17 year old, that would be weird.” Jazz tried to soothe, or at least what I assumed he was trying to do.

Marrying?

Did... Did they mean I was going to be marrying this man...? Like, legit marriage? Like rings, like kissing, like having children, marriage?

BumbleBee flung his arms back and forth, blatantly telling the silver-fox, “NO!”

“Would you get over it, already!” Arcee suddenly shouted, furious. She pushed the muscular man's shoulder, anger getting the best of her as she shook her head. He flipped her off, being obvious with his aggravation over the subject.

“Bee, take it up with Optimus, seriously. We can't do anything about it. He'll understand and you'll be rid of her, alright?” Jazz said, putting a caring hand onto the short brute's shoulder. BumbleBee nodded, and went back to what he was doing in the trunk.

Arcee shook her head on the way back to a motorcycle Derek was sitting in front of. She pushed his head, the abuse she was doing to him was starting to make him agitated, his hands turning into fists and shaking underneath the rope.

He looked like he was on the urge of exploding, I was getting more anxious. If something were to happen to him, then it would be just that much more dangerous for me. Looking around at the area around me, I saw only two other survivors, and they didn't look like they were going to be around for much longer. A redheaded man, one of his eyes was completely swollen shut, his arm snapped in half, and a ear ripped off. He was a bloody mess, his breathing slowing and slowing more each second, he was struggling to stay awake. And a man next to him, brunette, long shaggy hair, three of his fingers were gone, him cradling it and rocking back and forth. He wasn't going to last much longer, he was paler then a sheet of paper, blood obviously leaving his body at a alarming rate.

I wanted to get up and help them, I had little to no experience as a medic, the best I could do is clean them up. I could make a pressure bandage out of my shirt, maybe get them some water, or figure out somehow to stop the blood from escaping them so quickly before I get them to a hospital. But that was all theoretical. I doubted I'd even be able to stand up to get to them, let alone help them survive. It just hurt my heart to see them die right in front of me. 16 out of the 20 were killed, most died instantly, while the others suffered. Everything was becoming too much. I didn't even know their names. I was just dragged into this mess because I had worked with a deceased boss five years ago. I barely knew anything about the Autobots, let alone that they would be in the cabin. I only knew about it, my old boss told me he suspected they camped out there. It was all speculation. How did things escalate so quickly?

My body was starting to shake again, my face turning hot and red the longer I thought about these things. I was going to either be turned into a terrorist's wife, or I was going to die to this Optimus guy deciding I'm not worth the effort. I'm dead meat either way, I was going to die just like everyone else.

The tears going down my cheeks was like acid on my skin, the salt making my face raw and red. I tried to stop, I tried to wipe them away with my shirt on my shoulder, but it only hurt the more I tried. A lump was forming in my throat, making it impossible to swallow away the thick saliva sticking to my lips. I stared down at my lap, the liquid in my eyes clouding my vision immensely, it was impossible to calm down. The thoughts of death, sorrow, and loss fogged everything I saw, every time I tried to breathe into my lungs felt like I was breathing in fumes, the air in me going in and out so fast was taking a toll on my brain, making me see spots.

I couldn't help the inaudible words mumbling out my mouth, far past the land of making any sense at this point. I could feel the hands behind my back, the nails digging into my palms and blood peeking out the indentations. I clenched my jaw, the tense sensation like my teeth were on the urge of cracking. I was panicking more each second, my inaudible words forming into actual sentences. It caught the attention of Derek, his mouth opening slightly, getting ready to say something to me, but stopping as he tried to hear what I was doing.

The run-on sentences I was spewing out were going into deeper, darker territory.

Derek was getting concerned, hearing me speak like that was scaring him. “Hey, you're gonna need to calm down.” He said weakly, trying to tilt his head down so he could catch my sight. But I just stared directly in front of me, my mind betraying me as my words got louder by the second.

I felt my heart start to come up my throat, and before I knew it, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn't control myself.

Arcee came running over to me, BumbleBee alongside her as they both looked around like a chicken with it's head cut off. Arcee looked to Derek, who was just as confused as they were. Derek tried to shout out my name, telling me, “Calm down! We'll get out of this! Calm down! Please calm down!” He shouted, but that didn't seem to work.

BumbleBee was signing something to Arcee, she looked me over, like she was trying to find an off button. She searched everywhere around me, trying to find what triggered this sudden outburst and when she looked back to the male, he had heard enough. Bringing his fist up, he sucker punched me in the jaw.

I flung to the ground, my head hitting the gravel as ringing filled my ears. The pain did not hit me instantly, instead I stopped screaming. I stopped panicking. The ringing in my ears was deafening, yet I could hear my heart beat pounding, and my softened breathing. It was like the world around me muffled, my sight had been taken, it sluggishly coming back to me as I lay there in silence. The look of the ground around me, my hair covering part of my sight, and Derek staring with a petrified expression. I blinked...

One. I saw the world around me, the blurriness around the edges like I was looking through squinted, lidded eyes.

Two. The ringing was starting to slow, the muffled voice of Derek cussing out the yellow-jacketed man was heard over it.

Three. The pain in my head was hitting my forehead, like a small, but noticeable, headache.

Four. I could taste blood, my senses coming back.

Five. Everything was hurting, my head having an intense rush like I had slammed it against a brick wall. The ringing was gone, I could hear Derek fully now.

Six. The taste of blood was 100% noticeable. I had bitten my tongue.

Seven. Taking in a proper breath as I lifted my head gently off the ground to look around.

BumbleBee was rubbing his knuckles, what I presumed was him hurting himself when he hit me. Arcee was in front of Derek, me looking just in time to see her knee him in the face. His head flung backwards, but he came right back and said a daring, “That all you got shit lips!”

“You want more?!” She screamed back, punching him in the nose as he fell onto his back. But he was resilient, getting straight back into the fight as he rolled over onto his side to push himself up onto his elbows.

“No...” I groaned, pushing myself onto my stomach. I struggled, trying to not take the two fighting out of my sight. But my body was yelling at me to sit still. I tried to pull my knees to my chest to sit up on them, but before I could completely do it, two hands lifted my body off the ground. I whimpered, moving uncomfortably as I started to squirm when I saw that it was BumbleBee.

“No- Don't hurt him!” I shouted, now resisting fully as I moved every inch of me. He slammed my body onto the hood of the Camaro, my face smudging onto it. I squirmed underneath him, he grabbed my arms and pushed them further up my back, making me cry out and scream out for help. He grabbed my hair and pulled back my head, slamming it into the car and giving me whiplash. I tossed and turned every way possible, and when he couldn't get me to stop, he flipped me on my back. I kicked at him, fear spiking me and sending a hotness into my blood. He grabbed my legs, forcing them down and barging a knee in between them. He leaned on top of me, gripping my shoulders and pinning me to the hood of the car. I began to scream, twisting and turning, trying to get up to help Derek, or at least get out of this man's grip. He used his left elbow to lean on top of my shoulders, while using his free hand to snatch my chin with strong, rough fingers.

He forced me to look at him, his narrowed brows and glowing blue eyes daring my next move. I stopped struggling, out of breath as I felt my heart sink at his glare. I closed my mouth, not wanting to move as he held me there. I felt him grip onto my shoulder with his hand, the pressure sending me as I tried to slowly move up the car's hood and maybe get out his grip. The tension between us was suffocating, constricting my throat and tightening around my chest as I realized that... If I did get out of his grip, he'd catch me instantly. So I swallowed, letting my body relax and backing down, I dropped my legs and sat still. He watched my every move, a death stare into my eyes as I tried my best to keep his gaze.

“BumbleBee, Arcee!” A deep, rasp and demanding voice broke the silent stare down between us. The male retracted off of me, almost making me fall off the hood before I caught myself with my footing. My back hunched over instinctively, taking as many steps away from the brute man as possible. Optimus came storming over to Arcee first. “I did not tell you to beat the man, I told you get information from him!” He barked at the woman. BumbleBee noticed how far I was getting from him and pointed at me, then to the ground next to him. I shook my head but whimpered at he marched towards me.

Arcee flinched at his tone, shaking her head and pointing to the beaten, bloodied man below her. “He was cursing out Bee! Bee punched the girl because she was screaming-”

“He did WHAT?” Optimus turned from the woman in front of him then turned to BumbleBee... Who was picking me up by my shirt and threatening me with his glare. He looked over to Optimus and when he saw his expression, he dropped me and put up his hands defensively, signing an array of things to the dark male.

“You, sit with him.” Optimus pointed to me, then pointed to Derek. I nodded rapidly and speed-walked over to Derek, carefully sitting myself next to him and putting my head down, looking over the beaten male worryingly.

“You two, come with me.” He ordered Arcee and BumbleBee with him. He began to walk in the direction the vans were, telling a quick, “Watch them.” To Jazz. The shaded man nodded and did a quick jog over to us, scratched the back of his head then looked around, deciding it was best if he just leaned on the Camaro, awkwardly bringing out his phone and whistling an unknown tune.

A silence filled the air, taking a fearful glance at the three threatening people across the driveway. I swallowed, trying to catch my breath without getting into another hyperventilation moment.

“Are you okay...?” I asked, my voice but a mere whisper as I looked Derek over properly. His entire face was completely fucked up... His nose was broken, the middle of the bridge lopsided and blood seeping out of his nostrils. His right eye was a fresh dark purple, red spots splotching it and it swollen so big, I would be surprised if he didn't go blind. His forehead was bleeding, or what looked like the top of his head was. His top lip was busted, a big scratch going down the side... And not a single part of him didn't have a deep and dark red liquid on it.

“Could be better.” He said, followed by a loud and painful cough. I cringed at his pain, fear spiking in me that he is permanently damaged.

“I'm sorry, this is all my fault...” I looked down at my lap, moving my bound hands uncomfortably behind me.

“Don't you dare, okay? You had nothing to do with any of this.” He tried to comfort, but I didn't believe him.

“I lead us all here, I killed all the others, I freaked out and almost got you killed, I-I somehow managed to sell myself to these people! None of you were suppose to die in this...! I just wanted to get street cred... I was the one suppose to die...” I admitted.

He brought a worried hand on my knee, holding it and looking down at me with his good eye. I couldn't keep his gaze, if I didn't cry enough today, then I would be bawling right now.

“I'm okay. You're okay. We will get through this. Together.”

[voxofthevoid]

Writing Log: August 2023

August was...sure a fucking month. Goodbye, you piece of shit. But I do want to say that posting fics or snippets here and on Ao3 and reading the comments, plus interacting with you guys in general, were one of the few highlights of this shitstorm of a month. Thank you ❤

On the writing end, things weren't great. I was slow and kinda scattered, and some of it was that the plot of the Amnesia Fic is a bit like pulling teeth, but mostly, it was my life overall being a cunt. I am happy with what I did manage. Funnily enough, the posted word count nearly equals what I wrote; it's been a while since that's happened.

the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too) [JJK, goyuu, no-Shibuya AU where Gojou sends Yuuji out of the country after he eats all the fingers. Yuuji goes AWOL a year in and reappears 12 years later without any memories. Gojou doesn't deal with that too well]: 45,874

Total: 45,874

And that brings my total word count for JJK to 501,161. Half a million more, and I'll meet this goal.

...Kidding. I'm not that insane. Probably.

Posted word count: 11,374 (stucky roommate AU) + 8,232 (goyuu role reversal heat sex) + 13,720 (grimmichi rival hitmen AU) + 2,179 (goyuu kidnapping canon divergence) + 4,206 (Yuuji PoV of deaged Gojou fic) + 4,874 (gojou/yuuji/gojou time travel) = 44,585

[chaotically-rem]

1, 3, 13, 14, 20 for the ask game!

Ohhh, thanks thanks, sorry I'm days late answering!

These are questions for the ask game!!! Which I'll still do answers for btw! I'm going to throw it under a read more bar because I am already off to a really long start for the first question, ^_^;)/

1. What led you to start writing fan fiction?

 

You see. I was an avid fanfic reader, back in the wee era of 2015 when I was in my early 20s, for a certain fandom that I shall not name. And I realized after reading hundreds and hundreds of fics for my favorite pairing that my preferred genre of fanfic (*coughs in major trigger warnings*) were all so.... so... Well. Every fic for that fandom was The Same. And I don't mean 'the same' in the way that enemies to lovers is always the same (where the enemies become lovers through some plot that forces them together) I mean that I can tell you plot point by plot point, scene by scene, argument by argument, exactly what happened in all of these fics because they were all the same. Every. Single. Time. There was no diversity in the plot. No creativity. It was the same scene setup, the same lines/same arguments, the same hurt/comfort every single fic. It was like a group of people who liked these topics all got together and brainstormed the Same Idea and then wrote the Same Idea a dozen times in the exact Same Way with very little deviation from the "hurt in an alley, rescued by their enemy, nursed back to health in the bedroom, and then they sleep together" plot and posted it on AO3. The first couple of times, it slapped. But then when the entire tag became Just That, or some variation of Just That because people branched out from "the alley" to "the almost alley" I sort of had enough.

I wanted to be a writer. I've always loved to write. So I thought "wow, what if I take this idea that wasn't bad the first time but it sucked the fourth fifth sixth and seventh time, and just make it crazier out of spite" and thus, I wrote the worst 140k first POV fanfic for my ship (and discovered that I enjoy almost setting this man on fire) and then I just? Never stopped writing because it was fun and low-pressure and I could read fic and go "I dont like that" and learn from other peoples mistakes, and then my own. This fic, however, is dead to me. Looking back, I'm glad I started somewhere and yes it was insane and wildly different than the others, but me @ me, first-person POV? are you insane?

And here I am, easily five million words later (not an exaggeration, I've written at least 5 mil since then because I wrote 3 mil 2019-now).

And now, I'm a Horror waiting to happen to your blorbos, ehehehehheeh.

3. What experiences/influences have shaped your writings the most?

The polite answer is: life experience of my chaotic luck that sounds fake. Listen. If you send me to the store for milk, there is no way for you to prepare for what kind of trouble I will get into, of no fault of mine.

The real answer: a life of misery. I get a lot of comments about how 'real' some of my fics feel, to an uncomfortable degree. Well. There's a reason for that :wheezesmiley:

I always recommend a few gintama fics starting with Pandemonium. This is like, a staple Gintama fic to read and it's gen! I really enjoyed this one even though I haven't reread it in a long time and I only remember the ending which was probably my favorite part. (I should do a reread) but I remember I liked the characterization and it sort of touched on all of my favorite things about Gintoki being unhinged, and how he could end up there down at the bottom ready to throw it all away. It was a real aspiration of mine to keep to the characterizations and to always drag out Gintoki's little horrors until the juicy last moment, and this fic is the reason for all of that.

13. What are some must-read fanfics in your fandoms? Why do you admire these, and how have they impacted your works?

Otherwise, I just have a few self-indulgent angst fics I like to reread. But for inspiration, I will admit that my timeloop fic, which i wrote obsessively like a madman and those of you who were dming me know I was ripping out my hair because you need an excel sheet for this level of insanity, was inspired by the other timeloop fic, because while I enjoyed that timeloop fic, I was severely disappointed that Gintoki never mentioned the timeloop to Hijikata, and more importantly, Gintoki never mentioned the fact that he witnessed Hijikata's death dozens of times and it has negatively impacted him to a severe degree. And then I was more annoyed that this is completely in character, so I decided to force Gintoki's hand on my own by making him the victim of the timeloop. (and then I accidentally killed Sakamoto, and the rest is history, ngl idk wtf happened I just sat down and wrote 40k one day and went "oh, ok, this is gonna be a long one")

I would also like to go out of my way to recommend a Witcher fic. I don't go here anymore and I likely will never go here again, but this fic had me hooked for two solid days. I did nothing but read this fic for two solid days. (I skipped the smut because I was more invested in the plot than the relationship LMFAO) I was so convinced that the plot had somethign to do with werewolves (or some other kind of shapeshifting/vampiric/demonic monster) that I actually binge wrote a 70k fic in one week because of this LMFAO

14. What aspects of your creative process do you enjoy most? Which are most challenging?

THEREFORE, the most challenging thing is me sitting down and going "okay this needs to not be vibes, it needs to have very specific crafted elements and also be creative while also being clever and meaningful and metaphorical and deep" and then I just don't write for three months (me rn, trying to force myself to write one (1) hyper specific thing I could care less about)

I just sit down and the brain and hands go 'brrrr' there is no creative process there is only me leaving my body and coming back like "noice". This is my favorite part. Or the part where someone goes "wouldn't it be wild if" and then goes to sleep and then suddenly they wake up to a 10k fic link in their inbox because they left me unattended with their left-field idea.

20. What’s your favorite work you’ve ever written?

Oh god. Ok. I can't pick one so I'm going to rec some of my favorites and explain why they're my faves.

I feel like Don't You Know That Timeloops Suck? (gintama, no warnings) has to be my most recent favorite because I was on an entire other level of insanity for this one and it was unfortunately very personal and looking back its a lot of things to me. lololol BUT the ending is... listen. Guys. I didn't want to finish it because I hated it at one point. It's rough. The second Sakamoto enters the timeloop everything went to shit on my end because I just didn't want anything to do this fic anymore, I was sick of writing it, I was sick of Hijikata, I was sick of Gintoki being too much like me. It's not my cleanest work, that's for sure and rereading it, I can see it clear as day and it drives me insane tbh. If I could rewrite any fics end/write more for a fic, it would be this one and I would be screaming the entire way.

But. This JJK fic, In the Vastness of the Cosmos, We Are But Nothing was a lot of fun to write. Like. A lot of fun. And I mean, I would love to write another one like this, but I need some delirious combination of cosmic horror and colours and higher level of clarity. It's not my strongest work technically and easily could have been double, triple the length to really drive the finer points home, but it is what it is and it's great considering I wrote the whole entire thing in one sitting and then just posted it without even an edit.

I have another fic like this for danny phantom, but I haven't re-uploaded it yet because I lost it in the deletion. (It's somewhere, I'm sure)

BUT. Fill the Void, Lest the Void Fill You (Trigun, content warnings beware) is my favorite, most solid ending. Like this fic? Is probably my favorite in terms of technical writing. It's solid the whole way through. I had actually discussed with a friend where my writing was lacking, and determined that my endings need some work (because I usually end things when I'm sick of writing them and it shows) but this fic? Solid. 10/10.

Okay I'll stop rambling, thanks for the ask! I love talking about my own fics lololo

Also. That “If Utsuro’s ‘Totally Not Meteor From Final Fantasy VII’ Attack Had Ended The World In Episode 361 But then Gintoki Tried To Go Back In Time And Save Everyone” AU deserves more love.

[secretlywritingstories]

Welcome home! (never leave that long again) | Phan one shot

Summary: Dan comes home from tour and stumbles right into Phil’s arms. He is more touch starved than he’d realised.

Tags: Established relationship, domestic fluff, reunited post US leg of doomed tour, touch-starvation, hugs, kisses, cuddles

Word count: 4k

No warnings.

Written for the @phandomgiftexchange as a gift for @moonanonymous! I hope you like it, Sophia. It’s very soft and fluffy.

Read on AO3 or below

It has officially been a lot of seconds.

Too many seconds really. Dan didn’t try to count them, or he would literally have gone insane. It already felt a little insane to begin with. A world tour on his own. It had been something he’d worked for so long, and it almost hadn’t happened with the pandemic making everything shut down. It had still felt risky to go on tour, but he had needed to do this. He hadn’t been sure that he could watch yet another big project grind to a deafening halt.

And it had been amazing. Exhausting? Without a doubt, but Dan loved the stage. He still had a little theatre kid inside of him that got a rush like none other when he was up there performing in any way. And he was proud of this show. Everything put into it and carefully balanced, despite the gloomy title. He would never actually want anyone to leave feeling like the world would end.

Because for all the darkness in it, the light still existed. You just had to seek it out.

Dan was doing just that now, as the car pulled up in front of the home he shared with his very own personal life.

Phil had offered to come pick him up at the airport. Just for the heck of it, but they agreed that it was stupid to spend money taking a car to the airport, just to have Dan jump into it and drive right back. They would also much rather have their reunion in private.

He’d texted Phil when he’d landed, and sporadically through the drive. They had gotten quite good at that again. They hadn’t needed it for over a decade, only pulling out their phones on the rare occasions that they were separated, or needed to talk to each other covertly. They always came home to each other, cuddled up in the same bed, breathing the same air. Existed together.

Dan still couldn’t quite believe that prior to this tour they hadn’t been apart for more than two and a half weeks since they met back in 2009. Hearing that had made him a bit worried about this distance, if it could somehow hurt them that he went away for such a long time.

It wasn’t a worry that had lingered for very long.

Phil had also been quick to reassure him, fondly rolling his eyes and joking that he was going to have fun, throw a million parties and burn their home down, while Dan was away. The reality had been Phil facetiming him from the bed or sofa or calling while visiting friends and family. He’d never said it, but Dan had still been able to tell that Phil thought that the home had seemed too big without Dan.

Dan grabbed his oversized suitcase out from the boot and struggled with it up the stairs. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, or if it was just giddy anticipation. He used the code to come in, while wondering if Phil was watching him on the creepy black and white fish eye by the front door.

It was almost felt as when he’d gotten out of that train on Manchester station and felt eyes on him instantly. Phil had spotted him from afar and then they had moved towards each other. Timidly back then.

There was nothing timid about what happened when Phil opened the door for Dan this time around.

Dan just saw him and it was like his body went into autopilot. He dropped the handle of the suitcase and just ploughed right into Phil. No hello. No smiles. No nothing.

Later, Dan would be slightly embarrassed about that. Of how his vision completely narrowed down to just Phil, Phil, Phil and he wanted to exist merged together with him the instant he saw him for real, and not on a screen.

Or maybe he wouldn’t be embarrassed later, because Phil was visibly shaking and latching onto Dan just as hard as he was being latched onto. They were pressing against each other, grip around their shoulders and waists probably hard enough to leave bruises, but that didn’t matter.

Dan was with Phil.

He was home.

The distance had been hard, sure, but he had also been insanely busy and he already knew that the tour life suited him well. It was something set to do each day, and he felt productive and on track. Time passed quickly, even though he also tried to savour the moments, so they didn’t just fly by. That had arguably been harder without Phil by his side.

And the two of them had been racking up video call records that could rival themselves back in 2009. Snapping photos, wayward thoughts in texts, silly voice notes, even some haunted talking emojis. They had still felt close to each other, and it was not like Dan had been worried this could seriously tear them apart.

Phil had been so excited and supportive of the tour, just like Dan would have been if it had been the other way around. They really had each other’s backs. There wasn’t any doubt about that.

They had each other now too, though they both continued to hold on like they would shatter, if they let go. Dan felt something emotional well up in his chest and he couldn’t get any words out. They were trapped there, hot and almost painful.

He had missed Phil for a whole lot of things. For the easy domestic, for his weird and fantastic brain, for all of their little shared traditions. But he’d also missed him for this. Touch. They touched so much in their day-to-day life, little interactions here and there. A brush of a hand, a quick kiss, a smack in the butt, latching onto the other’s shoulders, bumping their hips together. Not even considering all of their intimate moments or how they shared a bed, cuddled up close most nights.

Phil never let go first of hugs, so Dan knew that he would have to be the one to eventually break it. But it was really the last thing that he wanted. He felt as if his body had gone into shock.

And Dan only just now had realised how touch-starved he’d been these months apart.

He had been around people basically all of the time, but he wasn’t the best at letting anyone get too close to him. He didn’t like it. He only liked it when it was Phil. If it wasn’t Phil, he didn’t want it.

“It probably goes without saying,” Phil said, and he sounded a little choked up too, “but I… hate you.”

It had been a long flight back from LA and it took a moment for Dan’s brain to fully follow along. Phil had said it in such a deadpan voice. It was finally enough for at least some words to make it out of Dan’s mouth.

“I missed you too,” he said and squeezed Phil back a little harder.

The door was ajar behind them, Dan’s suitcase had probably tipped over. They could move to the living room or the bedroom and get comfortable but Dan’s hands would not let go. It felt like they had frozen up and locked in tight and nothing could unlatch them.

They didn’t want to risk losing hold of Phil again.

“Never leave that long again,” Phil said, and Dan felt how he nuzzled against his cheek. He seemed to almost breathe him in, as if he’d forgotten what he smelled like in the months that they had been apart.

Phil didn’t really mean that, because if another opportunity like this came up for Dan, then he’d be the first one to support it. But Dan could understand the ache in Phil’s chest right now. It was mirrored in his own.

“Don’t plan on it,” Dan said, laughter bubbling up between the words.

The rest of his tour was in shorter chunks. The Australia and New Zealand leg would be just over two weeks and the European leg would be about three weeks. Much more manageable time apart. Nowhere other than the US was so damn big.

“I killed the house plants,” Phil said blurting it out like a big secret. “Well, some of them. I think? They didn’t fare well with me going to my parents for a while.”

Dan did care a lot about his plants. It was a fun little hobby. He’d teased Phil about how he’d kill them all and even sent a couple of reminders for him to water them. But he could not be genuinely upset about the foliage’s death. Some of them had looked a little worse for wear even before he left and maybe there could be a project in trying to see if he could save some of them.

“Of course, you did,” Dan said, voice dripping with fondness and he didn’t even try to keep it in check.

He made his hands unclench and slowly stared to let go of Phil. Phil did the same, but they did not stay parted for long. Dan had only just bent down and grabbed the suitcase, kicked the door shut, and then he was leaning right back into Phil’s space.

He smelled nice. He’d dressed nicely too. Dan had been too preoccupied before to notice. Phil could have been wearing a clown suit or he could have been stark naked and it would not have mattered. Dan would happily have collided into him all the same.

“Clingy, huh?” Phil asked, clearly teasing, but he looped his arm around Dan’s waist and he didn’t really seem like he wanted to let go either.

“Shut up,” Dan said without any bite at all.

Phil chuckled, low and delighted and he pulled Dan further down the hallway. Dan kept a loose grip on the suitcase, letting it trail after them as he dragged his feet onwards. He wasn’t sure he’d ever left the hallway, if Phil wasn’t the one guiding him.

He was so fucking ready to just exist in his home space again. To make the hours pass with Phil. They had a bit of time before his family would visit for Christmas. And then Phil’s family would. It would be something to be stressed about in the future. Not today. They were not going to do anything today.

Except kiss and cuddle.

As soon as the thought entered Dan’s brain, he had to do it.

“Come here,” he said, moving his free hand to cup Phil’s face. Phil stopped dragging them along, paused in the middle of the living room.

As soon as he realised what Dan wanted, he let out a soft hum and then there was a soft press of lips against Dan’s own. His eyelids had already fallen shut and he let himself get lost in the feeling of gentle kissing. The weight of the arm around his waist. How he let Phil hold and support his weight.

And then Phil bit his lip.

Not in a sexy way, but in an impulse way. Not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to leave a bit of a sting and randomly surprise Dan. He jumped back a bit, and touched his fingertips to his tingling lip.

“Really? Did you devolve back into the rawr XD biting phase?” Dan said and he tried so hard to keep his tone free from amusement but it was like his whole body was silently laughing. Phil just nipped at him, how he often did when he got a bit too excited or he had too much energy he needed to work out.

He’d never really grown out of that habit and Dan could still see the young man he fell in love with in the man standing in front of him now.

Phil fake snapped out after him, making his teeth clink together and Dan’s hold on his laughter broke. He laughed, full-bellied and bowing forward as it just shook through him. Phil was on him a second later, grabbing onto his arms and shoulders and shaking him as he continued to howl with laughter.

“Dan,” Phil whined and basically plastered himself into Dan’s side as he tried to get the giggles under control. “It’s not that funny,” he said, but he was still chuckling a little himself.

“Oh, but it is,” Dan said, finally having enough hold on the laughter. He could still feel the echoes vibrating through his body. He turned and took Phil’s face in his palms. He needed him to just be still for a moment, and just look at him.

Phil tried to twist his face away, even as his hands found Dan’s hips to hold him close.

“Dan,” Phil complained. “Are you going to creepy stare at me again?”

“No,” Dan said, quick and dry. “I am going to openly and lovingly stare at your stupid mug and make sure nothing changed while I was away.”

Phil rolled his eyes but he stopped trying to turn his face away. Dan had large hands and he covered almost all of Phil’s chin and cheeks when he held him like this. It made his glassed push up just a little. Still, it felt grounding to be able to do that. To really let his eyes fully take in Phil standing in front of him.

The little bit of gunk near the corner of his left eye. The way his hair was a styled nicely but getting a little bit too long. The slight cracks in his bottom lip from the winter cold. The temperature of his face growing hotter under Dan’s touch. The way his glasses were too smudged. All the little things that made him so human.

It made Dan want to reread Shakespeare’s sonnet 130. He could still never grasp why some of his high school classmates had thought it was a diss to the woman described in the sonnet. As if being human and real with all the imperfections and still loved dearly wasn’t the biggest love declaration of all.

“You’ve got that sappy look,” Phil said, one hand moving from Dan’s hip to rest on the side of his neck.

Dan welcomed the warm and steady touch. For the first eighteen years of his life, he’d hated people coming close to his neck. It was sensitive and irked him when anyone even got close, let alone touched it. But not Phil.

Phil was allowed into and onto everything. It was even encouraged. Dan could feel the love and care spreading into his skin through the heat of Phil’s palm.

“Would you slap me if I poorly recited a poem?” Dan said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Phil said without hesitation.

Dan’s smile grew even wider on his face and he gently closed the distance between their faces again.

“Don’t bite,” Dan whispered, just before he locked their lips back together.

It tasted like coming home too. He was happy to know that. That Phil still looked, tasted and felt the same. Time had passed, but it had felt frozen too, so Dan had been a little worried. That he would somehow have missed something in Phil’s life, despite being in constant contact with him.

Phil kissed him back gently, but he did also nip at his lip a second time. This time undoubtedly just to be a little shit. Dan knew how to get his revenge. He let go of his face and instead aimed for his sides, going to tickle him until he surrendered.

Phil shrieked and tried to leap out from the attack but Dan was faster. Phil stared laughing and squirming and they moved through the living room, half clinging to each other while both of them laughed. They fell onto the sofa in half coordination, Phil landing on top of Dan.

This sofa hadn’t yet developed a sofa crease with the imprint of their butts but they were both working heartily at it. Every goddamn piece of furniture in this home would wear their imprint in one way or another. A lot of the stuff they had brought along from the old flat already did. They were sentimental people and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.

Phil tried to move into a more comfortable position but made no move at getting up. He did almost knee Dan in the groin, which Dan used to make a big fuss so Phil would lean in and pepper little kisses across his face.

God, they were gross. In the best way.

And it had been months since they’d seen each other. They were allowed this.

Dan could already feel how he was getting tired, now that he was horizontal.

“You’re better than a weighted blanket,” he hummed, mostly to himself.

Phil let out a snort of indignation. “So, you just want me for my body,” he joked.

“Duh,” Dan said with a chuckle. “Need to get reacquainted with this body and all that it can do.”

He moved his hands up Phil’s sides, and let his hands land on his butt and give it a good squeeze. Despite Dan’s words, his touch was familiar and warm rather than trying to initiate anything. Yes, he’d missed that part of being next to each other very much as well, but they could do that later. He didn’t really want to get naked and sweaty right now.

Food and sex could be on the agenda for tonight.

Dan’s eyes slipped shut and he let out a deep breath, and it felt like he got a deeper exhale done than usual, with Phil’s weight on top of his chest.

Phil’s hands found his hair, ruffling it gently and pulling on some of the little curly loops. He did that sometimes when he woke up first but he didn’t quite want to get out of bed. If his phone could no longer entertain him, he’d turn towards Dan and just play with his hair.

It had happened even more frequently after Dan had embraced the curls.

“Your hair feels different,” Phil mused.

“American water and new shampoo probably,” Dan mumbled and then turned his head slightly away from Phil to yawn.

He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay awake and talk to Phil.

Phil let out a hum. “I’ve got a fun idea, but maybe we should film it tomorrow.”

“Texting video?” Dan asked, furrowing his brows.

They’d talked about that one. The first two had done quite well, and it was an easy and fun video to do together. This year had even more conversations than usual with them being apart for longer than ever before.

Not that they would share any everything. There were some exchanges, like Phil’s reaction to the slutty nun costume, that would never see the light of day. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for YouTube. And Dan wasn’t kidding when he said it had awakened something within him. It had made him feel sexy and he’d looked good. Phil had confirmed as much. He’d brought the costume home for him to see it in person at some point.

“No, not a video idea,” Phil said, still gently playing with Dan’s hair.

It was so nice. To just be close again. To have Phil touch him again, so easily and freely. Dan could tell that Phil had missed it too. He’d never say it with words, but his actions spoke volumes. He had thrown himself down over Dan and they were now breathing in sync, touching in almost as many places as possible.  

“Tell me,” Dan said.

Familiar words but he hadn’t said them in a while. It was what he always told Phil when he could sense that he had something in his head that he needed to get out. Usually, it was when Phil looked like he needed an outlet, but sometimes it was also like this; when he had said half of something and then waited for Dan to react before continuing.

“We could make a video of you coming home and finding all your house plants dead.”

“All of them are dead?” Dan asked, voice a little too loud.

“Not all of them!” Phil insisted but Dan clearly did need to do a proper inspection.

Check how many of them actually could be saved. They could always buy new ones if it came to it. Dan might have been worried about their future plans for more pets, if he hadn’t seen how they had both been with Norman. Granted, he’d been an easy pet, but they both had understood how to take care of him while Phil clearly still struggled with the plants. An animal was different.

“It’s a good idea, funny,” Dan mumbled and wiggled down a little so he could lie a bit more comfortable. “And the audience would expect a grand reunion. They’ll like a video like that.”

Sometimes, Dan wondered what it was like to exist as people who didn’t have an audience. To never have that pressure hanging over him, but he couldn’t really imagine if he hadn’t gone down this path and ended up here either.

He wasn’t sure where him and Phil would have landed without YouTube and all the opportunities making videos and creating a community had done for them. It surely had made them feel strong enough to be able to withstand anything. It had both been tough and full of love.

Dan was a bit extra soft-hearted about their audience right now, having come back from actually seeing them in person instead of just as usernames on a screen. To be able to give them hugs and hear how he and Phil impacted their lives. To watch so many young, and overwhelmingly queer, people who found safety and pride in themselves because of Dan and Phil just living their authentic lives.

“You’re in sappy world again,” Phil said, poking at Dan’s cheek.

Right into his deep dimple.

“Leave Derek alone,” Dan mumbled, but spoke in a way that jostled Phil’s finger the least.

Dan had needed to hold Phil’s face and look at him, but Phil was different. A light bite, fingers through his hair, pinning him to the sofa, poking at his dimple. This was them settling into their skin again, recalibrating to each other’s presence.

“Never,” Phil said, and leaned up to replace his finger with his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to the dimple and then he blew air right onto the skin, making the sound of a balloon running away before having been tied off.

It tickled and Dan flailed a bit under it, nearly knocking the glasses right off Phil.

“I’m never leaving you alone again,” Phil said, and seemed to actually latch onto Dan even harder.

Dan’s hand found the small of Phil’s back and slipped his hand under the shirt. Phil made a sound of annoyance, mumbling something about his hands being cold.

“Slander. I’m always warm,” Dan countered, spreading out his palm just to feel Phil’s skin some more. The dip of his spine, the little dry spot to the left, and touching where he knew there was a little cluster of freckles, even though he couldn’t see it right now.

“Who told you that?” Phil said.

A bait.

One Dan would gladly take.

“You,” he said, lips quirking up in a smile once more. “What an idiot, huh?”

“Your idiot,” Phil said, looking up and catching Dan’s eyes. They were so full of love and warmth and Dan was never going to get tired of looking at this man, of holding him close, of sharing their lives with one another.

“My idiot, and I’m yours too,” Dan agreed.

And then they both laughed and pulled a face at all of the sentimentality. It made it okay, to say something corny and sappy, as long as they could joke about it in the next beath.

Tour had been great. Dan had been thriving, but nothing could never ever beat this.

He got to come home to Phil for the rest of his life and it was without a doubt his favourite part of his existence. They had a lot of seconds ahead of them. Together.

[stormblessed95]

Danmei anon here!

Ahhh! I didn’t think Id get a reply so soon! Heaven official’s blessing (or tgcf as its more commonly called in the fandom - it’s short for the chinese name tian guan ci fu) is actually not what the untamed is based on . It’s based on the founder of diabolism.) bit tgcf is a great choice (it has an anime too in netflix under the same name) and both books have the same author - mo xiang tong xi or mxtx for short. She actually has another book called scum villain’s self saving system which i also recommend. Theyre all fairly long-ish but i think tgcf is the longest one.

Danmeis are actually pretty varied and has so many sub genres. I recommend using novelupdates so you can see how many they are (and you can cater the tags to your own preference) here: https://www.novelupdates.com/series-finder/?sf=1&gi=560&mgi=or&sort=srate&order=desc Danmeis are actually webnovels (like ao3 but for original works, some of them are free some you need to pay) and since they’re in chinese, they’re only accessible to non chinese speakers thru translations unless they’re published. Novelupdates has links to translations for each novel, as long as they haven’t been officially slated for official english translation and publication. Some translators will password lock theirs until you provide proof that you bought a copy off of the authors site of choice like JJWXC as a way to support the author which i fully support!

For other recommendations from other authors i really liked so far:

Mist

The Little Mushroom (widely favorited in the danmei community and has been published in english)

Golden stage (also published in english)

Qian Jing Jiu (very plot heavy and actually the first danmei i bought! It’s infamously so plot dense and has so many characters that the translators have a separate list for them and you actually need to read it lol)

Nan Chan

First Class Lawyers

Joyful Reunions

Cherry Blossoms Upon a Wintry Storm (I’m reading this now and it’s so good!!!)

FYI, please take note of the trigger warnings for wach books because some of them are pretty brutal and triggering (perfect example is Husky and his White Cat Shizun, that one has a pretty long list of TWs and I don’t go near it at all) 😭

Some danmeis are so freaking long tho like I saw one with 700+ chapters and translations are still only in 300+ 😭

Also for non gay (but very plot heavy) I recommend Omniscient Readers Viewpoint!!! It’s a Korean webnovel but the english translation is very good and the fandom is very active! It’s around 400 chapters long I think and has an ongoing webtoon too.

As an Asian, I can say that the asian literature has a tons of stuff that I can’t find in fhe usual mainstream community!!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading tgcf and I’m excited for your thoughts when you finish it!!! And if you dive into another danmei too!!!

I've been told! Same author, but different story! Lol so I was wrong, but I was close! I'll look into all of these! Thank you! I'm always open to new recommendations! And after I finish the book, if I like it, I'll probably look up the anime to watch then too! I'm going to the bookstore today actually, so idk if these will be there or if they will only be on the site you sent, but I'll keep my eye out! And if anyone else has other suggestions for me to check out while I'm out! I'll check out Novelupdates later tonight too! I'm in the middle of TGCF clearly as well as another novel I'm annotating with a friend and a 1.3+ million word fanfic. Fanfics should count towards goodreads reading goals because dang. Lol but I will be looking for something new soon, so thanks! And if you want a post about my thoughts/a review of TGCF, let me know. Or if you just want to DM me and I'll share my thoughts with you, please feel free to do so! 🥰 I'd love to Chat books with you!

[coraniaid]

Out of curiosity, how did you chose your URL?

This is kind of a boring answer I'm afraid but my URL doesn't have much thought behind it.

Back in 2018 (I think?) I needed a username on fanfiction.net to post my (ridicuously over-ambitious and currently still unfinished) Mass Effect AU fanfic which (1) wasn't already taken; (2) wouldn't tie me down to Mass Effect too obviously (or at all) if I wanted to try writing something else later; (3) I'd actually remember.

I was reading a book on Welsh mythology at the time, and ... well, this name worked. Later I realized that it was also free on both AO3 and Tumblr and since (in theory) I joined Tumblr to try to promote that Mass Effect AU / find other people who liked Mass Effect (and only then sort of fell into the BtVS fandom later) I thought it would make sense to keep using the same name.

I think I stopped working on the aforementioned Mass Effect AU within a couple of months of joining Tumblr (during which time I might have made as many as two posts about it?) but that was not the plan at the time. In fact while I was outlining my first Buffy fanfic -- which of course ended up being a quarter of a million words long -- I distinctly remember thinking it would be a fun short distraction from my then 'main' writing project. If I had known I was probably never going to post another chapter of that first fic (which at this point, being honest, I'm almost certainly not) I would probably have chosen a different name for my Tumblr blog and might have tried to pick something at least marginally Buffy related.

[starryevermore]

between the lines ✧ steven grant

the good life ✧ a steven grant anthology | ao3

pairing: steven grant x fem!librarian!reader

request: How about Steven and a librarian!reader, who’s also sort of like Steven? A bit insecure, shy, etc. He meets her when going to research more Egyptian history or something. It’s post-Moon Knight so, Steven has a little more confidence than before. - @blackwidownat2814

summary: steven has a crush on a little librarian. 

word count: 2,412

warnings?: fluff, general awkwardness, pet name (love), not proofread

Why are you even going to the library?, Marc asked as Steven caught his reflection in Gus’s fish tank. Steven, suddenly aware of the state of his hair, started combing his fingers through it, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. Don’t you have a million books here?

“It’s always good to support your local libraries,” Steven dismissed, giving up on his hair. He was almost certain he was making it worse. “The more ya use them, the more fundin’ they get. They’re very important to the community.”

And that’s why you keep buying a billion more books?

“Didn’t you just say I had a million? Make up your mind, Marc,” Steve said. “Anyways, got lots of books to check out. Laters, gators.”

Steven had started going to the library years and years ago to research more into Egyptian history and the mythology. Back then, he was really struggling to make ends meet with a job that just barely paid minimum wage. So, he couldn’t really afford to buy the books he was interested in. The library was his only choice. And it was the library where he fell in love. 

Not with the books, though. 

With you. 

You were a recent graduate with a Master’s in Library Science. An American, he had realized quickly when he heard your accent, though it was clear enough that you had been living in England for quite some time. He’d wondered if you’d also gotten your bachelor’s in England, too. Regardless, you had only recently started working at the library, nervously flitting through the shelves, trying to organize them. 

“Last librarian didn’t care one bit about making sure this place run smoothly,” he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you pushed a cart around. “Clearly didn’t care about the patrons either. Who the hell has this many James Patterson novels? Do people even still read these? Not a single person’s checked one out in the last month I’ve been here. And yet they take up a whole damn shelf! We could put so many better things there! Ugh, I should put some of these in the sale pile, bet no one would even notice to care.”

Steven had cleared his through, waving slightly to catch your attention. You jumped when you saw him, nearly tumbling over your cart. “Oh dear! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give ya a fright. It’s just my first time at the library, ya know, and I don’t really know my way around and it’s been a long time since I’ve been in one, so I’m not quite sure where to begin looking, or if you’d even have any, but, um, do you happen to have any books on ancient Egypt? The history of it, I mean?”

You were clutching your hand to your chest, trying to catch your breath. “Um, yeah, we do! They’re in the nonfiction section. Though, I suppose you would have guessed that…Um, if you go straight down this way, you’ll see the stairs. Take ‘em straight up to the second floor and go to your left. It’s all organized by the Dewey Decimal System, which is a terrible system and I’m thinking of overhauling it. Just need to figure out a better way to organize, ya know. Um, it should be the 900s. I think maybe in the 930’s? If I’m wrong, there should be a few diagrams listed on the ends of each shelf to direct you. We actually just got these really interesting book the other day. The Book of the Dead, I think? I don’t think anyone’s checked it out and…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I ramble too!” Steven said. “I think people think it’s annoying. Actually, I know they do. My co-workers are all the time rolling their eyes and ignoring me whenever I go off on a tangent.”

You smiled a bit. “Well, my fellow rambler, feel free to go off on a tangent with me about whatever amazing book you decide to check out, okay? I’ve been wanting to learning more about ancient histories, and I think you could be a great person to learn from.” Your face fell slightly, your eyes going wide. “Not that you should feel like you have to! It’s totally your choice. Like, if you’d rather only talk when you have questions about the library or are checking out a book, fine by me! I don’t want you to feel like you’re being shoe-horned into a friendship! Shoot, I’m so bad at this…”

“No, no, you’re perfectly well! Wonderful, even!” Steven flushed, realizing his words. “I-I mean…I would love to talk to you about the books I read.”

“It’s a date then!” You frowned, your brows furrowing together. “Not, like, a real date, I mean. Unless you want to make it a real date! That would be fine, too. But, I-I mean…”

“Maybe start as friends?” Steven suggested. Then he held out his hand, trembling slightly. “Hi friend, my name’s Steven. With a ‘V’.”

“Oh, good. Stephen’s with a ‘PH’ are right assholes. Met one back when I was on vacation in New York a few years ago, and I swear I’ve been met a more pretentious asshole in my life. And…I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” you said. “What were we talking about? Oh! Right, I should introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

And from there on out, an awkward sort of friendship began to bloom. 

Any time Steven finished a book, he would come to talk to you about what he learned, what his favorite parts were. And you would always listen, face propped on your hand, nodding along, asking questions when you were confused and when you could tell he was particularly interested in stuff. You liked when he went on tangents. Said it made you feel better when you went on tangents yourself. 

But Steven loved your tangents. He loved the way your eyes would brighten, how you spoke with your hands, waving them around as you talked about your favorite books. Steven liked to read what you read. He felt like that gave him a good insight into who you were. He liked knowing you were a fan of romance. Sometimes, he would daydream about what his life would be like if he could finally man up and ask you out on a real date, if he could sweep you off your feet, if he could make you feel like your life was a fairytale. 

Steven had always been so sure that that would remain a fantasy. He was an awkward sort of guy. The few times he had tried asking you out, you’d been totally oblivious. But now…After everything that happened with Marc and Khonshu and Layla and defeating Harrow and Ammit, Steven was ready to give it a crack at it again. 

And, he owed you an apology, too. He did sort of disappear without a word. 

When Steven arrived at the library, he found you in the the children’s section. Oh, that’s right. You always had an hour’s worth of activities planned for the children each week. 

He looked at the books scattered about, a small smile on his lips. The Kane Chronicles? Magic Tree House: Mummies in the Morning? The Egypt Game? 

“Hi, love,” he said, when he got closer. 

Your head jerked up, your eyes going wide. 

Then—

“Steven!” you shouted when you saw him, jumping up and throwing your arms around his waist. You squeezed him tight, burying your face in his chest, like you were scared you were going to lose him. “Oh, Steven, you doofus! You had me worried sick! Where the hell have you been?!”

Oh. I see why you like the library now, Marc said. Steven could practically see him wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Sorry, love, I got a bit busy,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. Oh. Oh, he liked this. 

“I couldn’t find you at all,” you mumbled. “Even went to the museum you said you worked at, and they told me you’d been fired! I was so worried something happened to you.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Steven said, fighting the urge to kiss the top of your head. “I…just needed to get out of the city for a bit. But I’m back now, and I’m gonna make it to you, yeah?”

You pulled away, sniffling slightly. Oh, he hadn’t meant to make you cry. “Deal. But you gotta start by helping me clean up here.”

“Of course, love,” he said, kneeling down, collecting the scattered papers and crayons. “So, what’d you do with the young’uns today?”

You ducked your head down. “I thought it would be nice to tell ‘em some stories about ancient Egypt. Pulled some fiction books, too, in case they preferred that. Printed off some coloring pages.”

“What is because you missed me?”

Damn, Steven. That was almost smooth, Marc said. 

“Maybe,” you mumbled. “You’re one of my only friends.” Then, your head jerked up, as if you realized what you said. “I mean, I have other friends. I totally have other friends. I’m in, like, a bajillion group chats and stuff. And, and…”

“It’s okay,” Steven said, reaching out, grabbing your hand, “You’re one of my only friends, too.”

You stared at where your hands connected, trying to figure out what to say. You almost looked like you were going to say something about him holding your hand. But then you clicked your tongue, saying, “Would you like some of the leftover coloring pages? I was just gonna leave them out on the circulation desk or maybe over here, in case other kids swung by and wanted to color. But, uh, you’re free to take some, too.”

Steven shook his head. “As fun as that would be, I don’t know if I’m the right demographic to be coloring.”

“Anyone can color though. I mean, they make adult coloring books, don’t they? So clearly coloring is a rated E for everything sort of thing,” you said. “But honestly, kid’s coloring pages are so much better than the ones they make for adults. Like, adult’s coloring books are so detailed and really hard to see sometimes and it can get really hard to focus, so I don’t really see how anyone can relax coloring those pages. But kid’s coloring books? So easy. Don’t have to think too hard, you feel less guilty about coloring outside the lines since you don’t feel like you’re ruining someone’s work of art. Not to say that kid’s coloring pages aren’t works of art but…Shoot, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Steven couldn’t stop the smile from taking over his face. “It’s alright, love. I don’t mind. You know that.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the best coloring pages you’ve got?”

“Oh, um, a lot, actually! There’s the Sphinx, some pyramids, an ankh. I think there might be a few of some gods and goddesses?” You hummed quietly, flipping through the sheets you had in front of you. “Looks like we got Osiris, Set, Isis…Um, ooh we got Taweret! I didn’t know we had her, actually. I think I’ll keep that one for myself. And…uh, I don’t think I know this one?”

Steven looked at the page you were showing him, almost laughing to himself. “That’s Khonshu, god of the moon. Though, honestly, he looks more like a bird brain in real life.”

“Huh?”

His eyes widened when he realized what he said. “Oh, uh, I mean…I just went to Egypt, ya see. Saw some of the art and stuff, ya know. Just thought he looked more like a bird brain.”

“Oh, ok!” You pushed the page towards him. “D’ya wanna color him in then? Make him look a bit more accurate?”

“Can we color together? If you’re not too busy?”

Go, Steven, go! Go, Steven, go!, Marc cheered. 

You smiled softly, reaching for the basket full of crayons, placing them where you both could reach. “I’ve always got time for you, Steven.”

And so the two of you knelt at a table meant for children, Steven ignoring the aches in his knees, focusing instead on how much he enjoyed being with you. How you focused so intently on your coloring. How you didn’t care too much about making sure things stayed inside the lines, instead working on the masterpiece in front of you. 

“That looks really good,” Steven said as you placed your crayons back in the bin. 

You smiled at him, glancing at his. “Yours, too. Hey, maybe we could trade? I take yours, you take mine.”

“You want my coloring page?” Steven asked. 

“Yeah, well, I mean, if you want to switch! You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea, you can just forget about it—”

Steven reached across the tiny table, grabbing your head. “I’ll trade coloring pages with you if you promise to go on a date with me tonight.”

“A date? You wanna go on a date with me?“

“I wanna go on a million dates with you, love,” Steven said.

You smiled a bit bigger. “I-I didn’t think you liked me like that, Steven.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re brilliant! You’re so smart, and you’re so kind. You love this library as if it were your own child. You’re always nice to people, even if they don’t deserve it. You listen to me ramble, and you actually care about what I say…Love, you’re amazing, and I would be so lucky to date you.”

You leaned over, your lips brushing over his cheek. “I would love to go on a date with you, Steven.”

“Good,” Steven laughed, “because I’ve asked you out three times already, and this is the first time you noticed.”

You ducked your head down. “Oh. Oh, dear. Well, thank you for sticking around. I’ve always been a bit oblivious.”

“Well, at least we can be oblivious together,” Steven said. He reached for your coloring page, switching it with his own. “I’m gonna go figure out what we’ll do for dinner, then I’ll come by when you get off work, yeah?”

“I can’t wait,” you said. “Oh, and by the way, if it matters in what you decide, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Me too!”

Okay, so what we’re saying is, no steakhouse?, Marc grumbled. 

And Steven thought back, “Definitely no steakhouse. We both know what happened the last time I ate steak.”