#this is about that fire extinguisher fic i talked about weeks ago

[seaistea]

post fe rarepair week flora ramblings

I've never really talked about Flora much or why I love her (partially because I am very bad at explaining anything), but after rarepair week, I thought it would be nice to at least attempt to write about Flora in the context of ships, after drawing 5 of them lol.

so: 5 Flora ships I like + 1 I don't. (This is actually really long...)

Rinkah I will admit the ✨aesthetics✨ of the ship does come into play alot here. Heirs of the Ice and Fire Tribe lol. Also, I only really started actually liking this ship after reading this fic years ago. With the way Flora chose to go in BR, obviously there's symbolism in it, but then in the context of this ship, it just evokes a lot of feelingsTM. I like the idea that the fire Flora used being unable to be extinguished was solely due to her own guilt and suffering and determination..but I also do like the idea that it was literally special and something possibly from the fire tribe, and perhaps Rinkah could have known how to stop it. (both is good). Going into some parallels(?). Obviously they both feel a sense of responsibility to their family/tribe. Rinkah is very proud of her tribe, and generally can get heated up and act without thinking (although not always). On the other hand, I feel that Flora feels much more burdened by her responsibilities, and tends to hold herself back and hide how she's feeling. I'm not saying she hates her tribe or isn't proud of it, but their tribe's situations are really different, so it wouldn't be so straightforward for Flora. I never really got the vibe that Flora wants to be the heir of her tribe, but just accepts it as her reality so never considers anything else (beyond fantasies). I definitely think these two together would be really nice. They probably would clash over the different ways they handle themselves and their tribes, but eventually I think they would have a lot to learn from each other and can grow together :)

Kaze This is something in common with Rinkah, but I have kind of a vague mini AU idea of how when Corrin and co let Kaze and Rinkah go, they still ran into Flora on the way out. Flora let them go as well, and where things go from there is up in the air. Anyways, yes. I did initially ship these two due to their (possible) BR story deaths. I love tragic stories. Yes, they never would have met in BR, but that's why I have that mini AU idea lol. I like the ship in both flavors: they still end up as in BR, or they end up happy (somehow. after going through alot. or in some other AU. lol) Now more about their parallels. (I like my parallels....this won't be the last time I mention them....) Guilt is a large part of both their character arcs. And it leads both to their death. Kaze felt guilt over being unable to stop Corrin's kidnapping. How this "leads" to his death? Because he can be saved by reaching A support with Corrin. He is saved by becoming closer with Corrin, and choosing to be loyal to Corrin, not out of guilt, but because he wants to. So, by not reaching this conclusion (not reaching A), he is still feeling alot of guilt over Corrin's kidnapping, and doesn't entertain the idea that his life is worth trying to preserve, and just saves Corrin. It's not like he wanted to die, but in my interpretation, by no longer being weighed with guilt, he puts more value on not only his life but his friendship with Corrin, which is why he takes the time to think of a way to save them both (which I think was more risky than just saving Corrin). (how did this become about Kaze) (anyways) Flora's is way more obvious. She's guilty over betraying Corrin's trust (and her sister's and Jacob's). But she also can't stop. Her family and tribe is being threatened. So in her mind, by dying, she can both free herself of guilt (and probably still protect her remaining tribe (not that there was any guarantee Garon would have kept them alive anyway, but guilt and grief can really affect someone's thoughts/actions)). Kaze after the A support, and Flora by the time she joins in CQ and Rev, have both chosen to follow Corrin, not from guilt or with resentment, but because they truly want to. So anyways--I just think they would be really sweet together (past the tragedy lol). Helping each other learn to value themselves would be such a good dynamic.

Saizo So I actually started shipping Flora and Saizo after reading a Felicia/Kaze fic lmao. Yeah typical "woo twins cool" but really. To a lesser extent but similar to with Rinkah, Flora and Saizo have the ice/fire thing going on. Plus the responsibility to tribe/clan. The whole, being an older twin and trying to look after their sibling, is also a fun angle for them to bond over eventually lol. Personality-wise, I would be all like "opposites attract" and all that, but I actually don't think their personality is that different. I feel like they both don't outwardly show much personal emotion (well, kinda.), but really are pretty intense. Both Saizo and Flora can be opposed to their twin in the games (since Kaze and Felicia stick with Corrin on every route). They both try to take on things by themselves to a probably detrimental degree. I have less to say about this ship, because its kind of really similar to why I like Rinkah and Flora. These two would probably start out on an even worse foot than Rinkah and Flora though. I feel like Saizo would definitely not trust Flora considering Corrin fights Flora on all routes, but at the same time Flora was doing it to protect her tribe, so that could be the start to them slowly getting along. Makes the relationship improving over time satisfying :) lol

Azura I have so many feelings about these two. Truly a goldmine of parallels. (also ✨aesthetics✨ again with water&ice) While Azura was taken into an arguably better situation and environment and Flora wasn't, they were both technically taken as hostages. They both have someone in the same boat (Corrin for Azura, and Felicia for Flora) who is ignorant about the situation, and who they feel is more loved/favored than them. While Azura is treated relatively well in Hoshido, obviously not everyone is happy with her presence there and she still doesn't truly "belong," and is very aware of originally only being there as a way to try to retrieve Corrin. With Corrin, Azura pushes them as the one who is supposed to be there, and witnesses both royal families try to bring Corrin home, while she is relatively forgotten. Flora on the other hand has Felicia with her, but Felicia doesn't know about their situation. Flora feels a sense of responsibility to protect her sister, but that definitely also does lead to a sense of being "less" in my opinion. They were kids when they were sent away from their tribe, and I understand why Flora and not Felicia was told the situation (one of them *should* know, but might as well protect the other) but still. They were little, and since they're twins, they are the same age so the only reason Flora was the one told is that she is "older" and the heir. But to Flora, it could feel like Felicia is more important to keep safe/happy rather than having them both share the burden (while also wanting to keep Felicia safe. Conflicting feelings are a thing.) They both have (in my opinion) self-worth issues (related to the above lol). (I have a hard time articulating this but I'll try) Azura, in BR and CQ, essentially chooses to sacrifice herself. She takes on the burden of stopping Anankos (I suppose inherited knowledge from her mother) without really letting anyone know (partially due to the curse but still). Maybe there wasn't any other way she could see to move forward, but that doesn't change the fact that she felt it was fine to sacrifice herself, and not try to find some way to tell Corrin what she is doing. Flora's self-worth issues come a lot from her relationship with her family/tribe. Since she was little, Felicia was always better at fighting than her, so Flora was never praised for it by their father (which also contributes to feeling less loved). As the heir, it would make her feel inadequate (and she herself admits she is jealous of Felicia). So uh yeah. I think having these two with their bundle of issues grow closer would be so so good. They could totally!! learn to love themselves!! together!! and learn to share their burdens/ask for help!! ahhh ...and a bit off topic but I have an Azura and Flora-centric AU (not necessarily a relationship with them) where Garon somehow found out the plot to kidnap Azura to try to get Corrin back, so he switches Flora in her place, so Flora gets kidnapped to Hoshido...the possibilities with Azura growing up with the Nohrian royals. And Flora somehow having to live in Hoshido alone, while Felicia is left behind in Nohr. (sorry i just love this AU idea)

F!Corrin Yes, specifically F! and not M! Corrin. Mostly because of why I originally started shipping them + F!Corrin is more associated with Nohr, which I prefer. Anyways; Flora and Corrin was my first Flora ship, and is still my preferred one if I *had* to pick. (no one asked, but Azura is my second pick) So I started shipping these two because of their support conversation. I just immediately loved how sweet it is. I mean!!?? Flora secretly going to wish for Corrin's wish to be granted, and Corrin's wish is for Flora to find happiness!?!?! It's so so good. Anyways, with Corrin, I want to talk about Flora's life and feelings growing up as a hostage in Nohr. Unlike Felicia and Jakob, Flora obviously wasn't entirely loyal to Corrin. She is entirely aware she is a hostage. I think Flora, while living as a servant in Nohr, initially feels resentment towards Corrin (and the other Nohr royals). With Corrin, it's a bit different though. I'm actually not sure that Flora knew that Corrin was kidnapped from Hoshido, but under the assumption she does know, I think Flora would feel more personal resentment as a result of Corrin also being essentially a hostage, but being treated so well while being ignorant. It's not really a rational reason, but feelings are feelings. Over time, I feel Flora would come to care about Corrin in her own way, but would try to ignore/forget it/pretend to herself she doesn't, considering her status as a hostage and loyalty to her tribe. By the time she joins Corrin in game, she has chosen to follow Corrin herself. No outside coercion. She finally decides to be loyal to Corrin after witnessing her character (and being able to ensure her tribe is safe). After Flora finally can stop being weighed down by her situation, it opens up the possibility of...opening up. She definitely wouldn't open up right away though. The effect of years of living as a hostage doesn't just go away. And as she (and her sister) choose to continue to serve Corrin, there is still the master/retainer distance. But eventually they can get closer (and with Corrin being Corrin) be more on the level of equals. And obviously they care about each other (i am still screaming about the support conversation). I just love them.

Jakob OK, after all that, here is the one ship I want to talk about that I don't actually ship, and how I choose to interpret it. I don't care if others ship Flora and Jakob, but just I personally don't. But I wanted to talk about it because of Flora's canonical crush on him. (preface with: this is my chosen interpretation, you can disagree) I don't think Flora could have been really happy with Jakob. Perhaps if they had met in some other way than canon. But as it is, they were servants to the Nohrian royal family, and Jakob specifically is incredibly devoted to Corrin. On the other hand (regardless of how she ultimately ended up feeling), Flora was a hostage, and aware of it (already went into this with my explanation of my Flora and Corrin ship). To me, their relationship is too entwined with being in service to Corrin, because that is their life as they know each other. They don't really have a "work life" and separate "home life." If they got together and were no longer servants, I feel like it would be a constant reminder of the past (in addition to the fact that Jakob I'm sure would still be devoted to Corrin) (Why I think this isn't a problem with Corrin: if Flora and Corrin were together, they'd be together as equals, decidedly different from the past where Flora was a servant) (Why I think this isn't a problem with Kaze and Saizo: an important part of this is that Jakob and Flora serve Corrin together for years. and it's during the years of Flora being a hostage, which once again, I already talked about. with Kaze and Saizo, there isn't really that baggage, and at the time they would have really met, Flora would have been choosing to be there.) A ship dynamic where both characters mutually agree/know (verbally or not) that one or both of them put someone else over their SO can work, and in fact I think is very interesting! I just don't think it works with these two. And I don't think Jakob could never put his SO over Corrin. It's just specifically with Flora, as I mentioned, their life is so entwined with doing just that. And for Flora, I don't think she could ever be completely happy with that (due to insecurities and such that I also went into with Flora and Azura). As for Flora's crush on Jakob; it can be taken at face value. She likes him. People have crushes. the end. lol. But, for why (I think/interpret) she likes him. I think a part of why she likes him is for a sense of normalcy. I think this is subconscious, I don't think she's like "I'm going to like Jakob to feel normal" lmao. But like, since she was young, she's been made to be a servant as a hostage. There isn't really any respite from this. She's there, in the castle. Not like she can say she's going on vacation and take off for a break from being a hostage. So just simply liking someone, was something of her own. That couldn't be taken from her, couldn't be forced. Does this mean she doesn't actually like Jakob? No. I do believe she does. In a way, I feel she ironically put him on a pedestal, and made him unreachable for herself (so that even Corrin was more "in reach" than him).

Anyways. That concludes my ramblings on Flora through the lens of shipping, though I don't think I actually talked about the ships that much, rather than parallels. lol. I hope it at least made some sense. Sorry if there were some inaccuracies(?), this is all my interpretations based mostly on my memory of things.

also happy new year! 🎉 :P

#fire emblem fates #fire emblem if #flora fire emblem #character analysis #ship analysis #i love you flora #my post

[sapphire-wine]

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #ao3 fic #this is about that fire extinguisher fic i talked about weeks ago #i was like 'hmm i guess i should pick where he does it theres two good parts.' #and then i was like 'oh both parts!'

[curseofaphrodite]

Tulips to kiss you with

TASM!PETER X FEM!READER

collab with @agnesamarantheastwood

summary: after peter moves in as your neighbour, he thought he’d get more of a chance at asking you out. what he did not expect was to get jealous over a flower. a/n: guys guys, writing together with V was the best thing ever and I know she's a writer we all love so it was such an honor too! We wrote two fics, the other one can be found here. Literally the first collab I'm doing but I'm excited and these turned out pretty good. We'll leave the rest for you to judge <3

It wasn’t your intention to burn down Spiderman’s kitchen.

You just wanted to do something nice for your best friend, and making food when he wasn't home would have been considered “nice” if he hadn't explicitly told you not to do it.

Peter knew you better than anyone. So he knew you’d probably forget the oven was on and get distracted by T.V — which was, in his defense, exactly what happened. When you finally took the cookies out, the fire alarm had gone off with all the excessive smoke. You didn’t notice how the water made contact with the electric switchboard too, and only had time to curse when the power was cut off, leaving you in utter darkness.

When Peter burst in through the window with panicked screams and wild hand gestures, he found you standing outside the house with a batch of something that was so burnt that it might as well be charcoal.

“Cookies?” you asked, feigning pleasantness.

“Why did you even- I told you not to—!”

“I tried, okay?” you interrupted, trying to sound apologetic and not defensive. “And I knew I would mess up the cookies so I had some pasta heating too.”

“Pasta?” he froze. “Is that what’s burning? Please tell me you turned off the stove.”

You blinked.

Swearing, he dashed inside the house again, this time looking for the fire extinguisher. After his poor attempt, you did the right thing and called the firefighters. The flames hadn’t spread out to the rest of the house; something you were grateful for.

You were even more grateful that Aunt May had been away at an event. Until she came home to the shock of her life.

“What’s going on?” she asked, confused by the crowds gathering at her house.

“Don’t worry, May,” you said, greeting her at the gate with your best attempt at a smile. “The fire’s out!”

“What fire?”

• • •

That was the story of how Peter and Aunt May became your neighbours for a week, just until their own place was fixed. Your building manager kind of owed you anyways, so he was more than happy to let them stay at a reasonable price.

Maybe not that happy, since you had to negotiate with him for two hours. But you felt much less guilty by the end of it though. You did kind of burn down their house.

• • •

“Did you bring the blankets? The ones I left at the laundry?” May asked, smoothing the pillows on Peter’s bed. They had settled in hours ago, but she was still lingering around, making sure everything looked absolutely like it did in their own house (which was a hard thing to do especially since it wasn't their house.)

“I’ll pick them up in the evening,” Peter said, grabbing the green jacket from the closet. “I have to go buy groceries anyway.”

“What- the groceries? I told you that two days ago! What are we supposed to eat? You have classes and you’re hardly looking after yourself—”

“May, May!” He said sharply, breaking her focus. “We’re going back to our house next week, okay? This is just for a few days. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” she said defensively, then softened. No matter how much she tried to make the place more familiar, she couldn’t build it up with memories of Uncle Ben, which was what she missed the most. Peter picked up on it too. “This just seems so new, you know?” May sighed. “Though I do like how the hot water’s running perfectly. And, your girlfriend’s so sweet.”

“Shush!” Peter looked at the walls, as if you could hear every word. “She’s not my girlfriend May, we talked about this.”

“Right, right, your crush or whatever—”

“May!”

“My lips are sealed, I promise,” she said, hands on her hips as if you were a topic they talked about everyday. “Why can’t you just ask her out? You’re practically like an old married couple already.”

“That is not true,” he huffed, knowing it was exactly true.

When someone’s been friends with you for as long as Peter has, it wasn't uncommon to fall into habits that outsiders might consider a bit too affectionate. Small gestures like collapsing on top of his lap after a long day or him carrying you around when you claimed to be sick was just the tip of the ‘want-to-bet-how-long-before-they-start-dating?’ iceberg.

“You talk to each other all the time! You can’t go one second without her.”

“We talk a perfectly normal amount.”

May raised an eyebrow. “You’re going over to hers right now, aren’t you?”

He blushed. “We have a project!”

“Pete, it’s 4 in the morning.”

“She wakes up early,” he lied, shrugging. You slept like a baby but he usually woke you up when he couldn’t sleep. Besides, being neighbours with you meant he got to annoy you more.

“Can you at least get some milk? We’ve run out!” May called as he closed the door. He yelled “will do!” as he walked off.

Peter ignored your door completely and went outside the building. He knew you couldn’t hear his knocks if you were fast asleep, so he climbed up the window like he usually did.

But instead he saw you pacing around the room, the dim screen of your laptop being the only source of light. Your silhouette turned to him sharply, yelping at his sudden appearance.

“One of these days I should lock the window,” you joked, earning a pout from him. “Are you okay? Did you go night time patrolling again?”

“No, no, I just wanted to stop by,” he said, spreading his hands out to show there were no web-shooters. This morning, he just wanted to be Peter Parker.

“Why?” The question was light-hearted but it still caught him by surprise.

He realized he usually came here with the excuse of being hurt so he could spend more time with you, but he had just crossed that possibility off the list.

He could very simply say he missed you and divert the topic by asking why you were awake anyway, but the words refused to make themselves known. Without his mask, he knew his emotions would be on display. The hesitation was enough to make you confused.

“Peter?”

“Milk,” he said finally.

“What?”

“We ran out of milk and the stores don’t open at this uh, time.”

“Oh!” You pointed to the half-opened door. “Just don’t make too much noise on the way to the kitchen. For Spiderman, you’re incredibly clumsy.”

“Rude,” he mouthed, before giving you one of his adorable smiles that got you all warm and gooey inside. You nodded towards the door again.

He stood there awkwardly before following your instructions, mentally facepalming at everything he did and didn’t do.

He had to navigate through the darkness, but the hard part was not knowing where the carton of milk was. He did use his spidey senses, but the only thing they were picking on was the weird footsteps outside the apartment. Not helpful.

Wait, what?

He twisted his neck so fast that he almost hurt his muscles, then looked at the shadow under the door. Hardly two seconds later, the person walked away, which just made everything more suspicious. With little to no thought, he wrenched the front door open, poking his head out the hallway.

The empty corridor was how it has always been — empty. Deciding he was imagining things, he was about to go back inside, but then he noticed the only thing out of place.

The flower which now rested on top of the welcome mat.

• • •

“Hey, what’s this-”

“Holy!” you were startled yet again, and jumped up from your seat. Peter winced apologetically.

“I was going to leave, I promise.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you said just as fast, making him raise an eyebrow.

He looked amused, not at your words but the way your body cringed right after you said it, as if you just gave away a 100 year old secret. He picked up on your quickened heartbeat too, making him tilt his head sideways.

“You okay?” he asked, physically biting back a smile.

“I’m- I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“This.”

You hadn’t noticed the flower in his hands before, which he now held out. “Oh, it’s a rose today! You can put it in the vase!”

The vase? Peter followed your gaze to the one in the corner, which he had always seen to be full of different flowers. They never wilted too, so he had assumed they were plastic.

“Yeah, I get a flower each day. It’s like a sweet tradition,” you explained, hands folded.

“Someone leaves you flowers in the morning?” he asked in disbelief. “This early? All 365 days?”

“366 if it’s a leap year!” you corrected, but shrunk under his serious gaze. “Uh, it’s not creepy. He has to leave for work at 5 and he just leaves them by the door.”

“He?”

• • •

Peter should have let it go.

It certainly wasn’t his business who left you flowers, which was a “very lovely gesture” in your words. So lovely that he was sure the person behind it must have some sort of fondness over you, but you discredited all of the claims with an amused laugh.

You sounded so oblivious that he had called himself crazy too, then left the building thinking the person must be some sweet old grandfather who did gardening in his free time.

But Peter Parker had always been a person who overthought, which was why the very next day, he was hidden behind his own door, observing anybody who was walking past. Just as a figure stopped in front of your apartment, he stepped out from his own, ready to figure out who it was once and for all.

“Hello there, are you stealing a flower?” he asked, knowing it was the only conversation starter.

The person turned with a friendly laugh. “No, I’m leaving one.”

The man was a little over Peter’s age, and even his own spider heart did a little dance upon seeing him. Anyone would be a fool to overlook his charming hazel eyes, and Peter would have started stammering if he wasn’t so heads over heels in love with you already. His admiration was suddenly replaced by jealousy.

“You don’t have a grandfather, do you?” he asked sharply.

“Uhm, no? One died just last year and I don’t speak with my mother enough to know who her father is,” the man replied, shrugging. “That was a weirdly specific question though. Do I know you?”

“No, no,” Peter said quickly. “I do know Y/N though. She said someone leaves flowers for her everyday and uh, I’m assuming it’s you?”

“Yup, owes her 2876 more,” he laughed. “We met at a neighbourhood party. We had a bet and I said she had to give me 3500 dollars if she loses.”

“She never does,” Peter interrupted sharply, as if calling him out on his rookie mistake.

“Yeah, I’m glad she didn’t. I get to see her everyday. I’m broke as fuck but flowers are sort of my apology…” he would have went on, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not notice Peter’s clenched jaws. The man quickly connected the dots. “Oh, is she your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

• • •

The next day, Peter was hanging out in your living room, helping you finish the 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle you somehow thought would be a good idea to start (a month ago), when there was a knock on the apartment door.

You frowned, because hardly anyone knocked on your door and Peter was already here.

“One second,” you muttered, pulling yourself to your feet, “Let me see who it is.”

Peter nodded absently, his mind replaying that embarrassing moment yesterday when he’d accidentally lied to your neighbour and cast himself as your boyfriend. It was not one of his finer moments and he hoped to whatever god might be listening that you’d never find—

“Hey, good to see you, Y/N.”

Peter looked up to where you’d disappeared around the corner at the sound of a familiar voice. Though he couldn’t see you from his spot, he knew exactly what was happening. Your neighbour. At your door. Your handsome neighbour at your door who thought you were in a relationship with him, Peter, who sat awkwardly at the coffee table in your living room. Shit.

While Peter was contemplating ways to flee the country, you smiled at your neighbour. “Hi! What’s up?”

“I got your mail by accident,” he explained, holding out a couple of envelopes toward you.

“Oh, thanks!” You took the offered mail, and turned to go.

“I met your boyfriend,” he said in an off-handed way, “He seems nice.”

Your face froze, confused. “My boyfriend?” Realization dawned on you and you quickly arranged your expression into calm. “Oh, yeah, my boyfriend. Peter. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Peter.”

Your neighbour gave you a sideways look, a bit confused, and then waved goodbye, but you were too distracted to notice or care. You turned back into your apartment and saw that Peter had moved into the kitchen, messing around with the coffee pot.

“Peter,” you began, but he interrupted you with frenetic energy in his voice.

“Coffee? I heard that coffee helps with jigsaw puzzles and this one’s really tough and…”

“Peter.” You tried again, certain that he’d heard that entire conversation and also certain that he was the reason your neighbour thought you were together.

“Although maybe that was tea,” Peter continued, beginning to rummage through your kitchen cabinets. “Yeah, tea with sugar and oh wow would you look at the time? Spider-Man duties call. Bye. See you later.”

You watched, eyebrows raised and arms crossed across your chest as Peter hurried out of your apartment. Shaking your head, you returned to the jigsaw puzzle, smiling a little. Maybe it was more than a little cute that Peter had called himself your boyfriend.

• • •

The next day, Peter showed up on your fire escape with a nervous look on his face, somewhere between guilty and anticipatory.

“We need to go,” he said, “Why are you still in your pyjamas?”

“Because it’s 9 in the morning on my day off, Pete!” You glared at him from your spot on the bed, but at his insistence, stood up. Peter covered his eyes while you changed, talking all the while.

“I found a cool place for us to go,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet, “It’s really nice. We can grab breakfast first, or if you’re not hungry we can do that later and—”

“Pete,” you cut him off, “You’re making me dizzy.”

He flushed, his cheeks turning slightly red as he uncovered his eyes just in time to catch you slipping your shirt over your head.

“Well then,” you sighed, looking at him expectantly, “Where are we going Peter Parker?”

• • •

As it turned out, Peter took you to the botanical gardens in Brooklyn, covering your eyes until you were completely immersed in the rose room, fragrant blossoms as far as you could see. Peter grinned madly as he removed his hand from over your eyes, prompting you to open them.

“It’s more flowers than he’ll bring you,” Peter teased and you smacked his chest playfully.

“Oh yeah,” you retorted, “It’s a perfect place for my boyfriend to bring me on a date.”

You stared at each other for a long moment, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, Peter spoke. “Do you mean it?”

“I do if you do,” you replied, smiling.

“Well,” Peter’s grin only grew wider, “Your boyfriend has a whole day planned for you!”

————————————————

a/n: this was a collab with @/agnesamarantheastwood! you can read our other fic here!

general taglist: @sometandomstuff333 @cuddleluv @luvelyxp @violetrainbow412-blog @third-broparcelicito @wayvjinsol @dinfarrik @oliveoilthoughts @tamarkirbataarswife @thankyouforanonymity @imabee-oralizard @alexxavicry @isasv @stilesks @leilani788

marvel taglist: @1999yanira @cinderellacauseshebroke @aleksanderwh0r3 @levylovegood @inu1gf @doodles-bi-tea @tenebrisirae @slutfortasmpeter @wrathspoet

@disartrous @triumph-of-form-over-content @undergroundpersephone @thedelusionreaderbitch @kaitieskidmore1 @shesbiochem4 @slytherheign @harrys-gay-vodka

andrew!peter taglist: @angelcritterz @greekktragedyy @rophelia @littleredjason @geek-and-proud @arabellelancastersstuff @peachyplumsss @strawberry-cake1 @newfoundstateof @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @lokismidnight @marvlspideys @edgycatx @absurdos @iceaesthiexs @blooo0ooop @plutoneu

#tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker andrew garfield #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #the amazing spiderman x reader #astoria writes #fluff #imagines #best friends to lovers #tasm fanfiction #reader inserts #x female reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader

[deanstead]

I Am The Apocalypse

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader; Kelly Severide x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Mentions of injury, Mentions of blood

Summary: Mini Episode rewrite of Chicago Fire S03x19 where reader was in Med when the blast went off.

A/N: First Chicago/Jay fic so I hope it’s okay~ Just something that popped in my head while I was rewatching so I just penned it down. Wrote it mainly from reader’s POV so only picked off parts where I felt would fit!

---

(Y/N POV)

I sipped my coffee at the table, dressed in Jay’s hoodie, which was my personal favourite, watching him pour his coffee.

“I can feel you staring.” He chuckled, as another lady stuck her head into the kitchen.

“Hey… Hi. Morning…” Jay glanced at her awkwardly.

“Melanie.” She responded, stepping into the kitchen.

“Jay. Will’s brother.” He responded, handing her the coffee cup.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She responded with a smile, as I watched the exchange with amusement. She seemed to just realise my presence and gave a polite nod before shuffling out of the kitchen to meet Will in the living room.

I raised my eyebrows at Jay who laughed and poured another cup of coffee for himself.

“When do you have to be at work?” Jay asked his brother, a cheeky smile lingering on his face, as Will entered the kitchen.

Will looked at his watch, “About five minutes ago?”

Jay exchanged a look with me. “It’s your first day.” He commented to his brother, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Uh, first and last, as it turns out.” Will replied, not looking up from the refrigerator.

Jay froze. “You’re… joking?”

Will shook his head. “No.”

I checked my phone, vaguely registering the conversation Jay was having with his brother about him returning to New York. 

“Just give it a couple of weeks.” Jay paused before adding, “At least.”

Will turned to face Jay and shrugged. “I got to go.” Will turned to leave, adding, “Bye Y/N.”

I waved, gulping down the last of my coffee as Jay turned back to me with a sigh. I smiled and he took the empty mug from my hands, running it under water in the sink.

As I made to get up, my head gave a dull throb. Again. This stupid migraine hadn’t let up for at least a week. I closed my eyes and frowned, waiting for it to pass, pausing in my movement to get up from the table.

“Y/N?” I could feel Jay hovering over me now.

I cracked my eyes open, looking up at him. “I’m fine. It’s just that stupid migraine.”

Jay’s expression softened. “Maybe you should get that looked at.” He suggested, gently stroking my hair.

I nodded, “Yeah, maybe I’ll go to Med later.”

“I gotta go. Text me, okay?” Jay said, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

I smiled. “Be safe!” I called after him as he turned to give me a wink.

---

I had decided to make Med my first stop of the day after all and I was already sitting in a chair in the waiting room after registration. I had barely been there for 5 minutes when the waiting room became crowded with familiar faces of incoming firefighters from Firehouse 51, supporting incoming patients.

I nodded greetings to those who noticed me as they helped people in. I had been at 51 with Kelly as well as Molly’s with Jay enough times to be on familiar terms with most of them. I settled in for what I was sure was going to be a long wait, only looking up when I heard Kelly’s voice calling out, “Kendra!” as he helped the man he was supporting into a wheelchair.

Kelly glanced around and spotted me. “Y/N? You okay? What are you doing here?” He took a step closer to me.

I smiled at him. “I’m fine, just a persistent migraine, thought I’d better check it out. What’s up?” I asked, motioning to the room flooding with other firefighters.

Before Kelly could respond, a nurse stepped forward. “Everyone, may I have your attention please?” Her call was in vain to the bustle of the now full waiting room. Kelly glanced at her before calling at the top of his voice. “Listen up!”

The emergency room fell to silence almost immediately. She smiled gratefully at Kelly before turning to address everyone else. “All right, we are going to have a very full day here and I understand none of you feel well. But we’re going to need help from you as well as patience. If you’re here because of the ammonia leak…”

My attention trailed off as I noticed a patient get up and make his way nearer to her. My gut gave an uneasy churn as I watched him and I glanced over at Kelly but he wasn’t paying attention to me any longer.

The man dragged a chair towards him, stepping onto it. The nurse had now noticed him. “Sir, not yet, please. I need everyone…”

He swayed a little before he looked at everyone. “If you thought Ebola was a nightmare, I am the apocalypse!”

My eyes caught the grenade in his hand. “Kelly!” I shouted, as the man pulled out the pin.

“Death to all Americans. You’re all dead in two weeks!”

Kelly spun around as I saw Casey exit the treatment room that he had been in.

“Allahu akbar!” he screamed.

I watched in horror as Kelly sprinted towards him, pushing the nurse out of the way and flinging the man onto the ground, the sounds of the explosion drowning out my voice screaming my friend’s name.

----

The aftermath of the explosion was nothing but chaos. I heard firefighters running around, trying to contain the panic, as well as the people who were trying to run out of the emergency room.

“Hey, you okay?” I looked up.

“Y/N?” Will asked again when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah, I think so.” His eyes raked over me. “Let me take a look.” I let Will do what he needed to do and answered questions that he asked me. Satisfied that I wasn’t seriously hurt, he squeezed my shoulder. “Stay here,” he instructed before heading over to another badly injured patient.

I could hear several instructions being called out but only one caught my attention.

“Hey, hey over here! It’s Severide!”

My head snapped up and I clambered to my feet. As everyone came around him, calling his name. Sylvie grabbed his wrist, “It’s a weak pulse.”

Will quickly rushed over. “Let me see.”

Feeling his pulse at his neck, Will looked up. “No. Black tag him. He’s gone.”

I felt my heart drop into my gut. Even I knew what that meant.

Peter spun around to look at Will. “What?”

Will met Peter’s gaze. “The percentages are very low that he’ll…”

A look of rage passed Peter’s face. “I don’t give a damn about percentages.”

Will faltered and I reached out to touch his shoulder, my voice shaking a little. “Will… please…”

Will glanced at me before looking back at Peter. “No problem. Grab a gurney.” I watched as they busied putting Kelly onto a gurney, my heart giving another uncomfortable squeeze as I heard Casey report back to their fire chief outside.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there in a daze, long after they had wheeled Kelly away. “Hey,” I felt a hand on my arm. I turned to face the nurse who had been trying to control the crowd before the explosion. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, before shrugging. “You’re April, right?” I asked her, as she looked at me quizzically before smiling.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you from Kelly. I’m Y/N.” I motioned in the direction of the treatment room Kelly was now in. She smiled back but glanced at the cut on my forehead. “Let’s just take care of this, okay?”

April helped to plaster a band-aid on my forehead, commenting that it was a miracle I wasn’t that badly hurt.

----

(Jay’s POV)

I turned into the hospital, climbing out of my car before picking up my phone to dial Y/N’s number.

Pick up, come on.

As the ringing died out, I desperately tried Will’s number. “Are you in there?”

“I am. Listen, the guy who blew himself up in here said he had something worse than Ebola.”

I froze. “What, like, he’s spreading it with this?” The pit in my stomach was expanding.

Will affirmed it. “Yeah, every single one of us in here has been in contact with him.” I could almost feel the fear bubbling up inside of me.

“Who is he?” I demanded.

Will’s response didn’t help. “No idea. Do us all a favour and find out, would you?”

“Will, wait…” The line went dead before I could ask him anything else.

In desperation, I dialled her number again, hoping she would answer.

---

(Y/N POV)

Thanking April, I got up as she moved on to help Will and Gabriela with another patient.

As I stood, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket, exhaling a breath as I stared at Jay’s name flashing back at me.

“Jay?” I answered.

“Tell me you’re not in there.” I could hear Jay’s voice laced with worry.

“Yeah, I am. Sorry.” I replied, looking around at the carnage.

“Damn it.” He cursed under his breath.

Even in this situation, I could imagine the look on his face. “Jay, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

I could hear him sigh. “Look, Will is there too, so…”

I interrupted him. “Yeah, I know. He’s looked me over already, okay? Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.”

“Y/N…” I could hear his reluctance.

“Jay… you do what you got to do to get us out of here.” I paused. “I love you.”

Jay let out another breath on his end. “Be safe. I love you.”

We hung up and I headed towards a corner of the room, squatting next to a mother and daughter when a part of the ceiling came crashing down, as the girl to scream in fright.

I turned to her. “Hey, what’s your name, sweetheart?” I eyed Otis who ran over armed with an extinguisher to fight the flames and I continued to talk to her, successfully distracting her from the fire. Her mother smiled in thanks at me and I just smiled back. “It’s going to be alright.” I reassured her, my eyes falling again on the treatment room Kelly had been wheeled into, not sure if I was reassuring her or myself.

I looked up again as some firefighters entered the emergency room with ladders and extra extinguishers, knowing this wasn’t a good sign. They clambered up the ladders, changing extinguishers the moment they emptied one. April was going around the room trying to reassure everyone and I squeezed the little girl’s hand and smiled at her.

“Fire’s out!”, “All clear!” The firefighters shouted, clambering down from the ladders.

---

(Jay’s POV)

I stood next to Adam, surveying the computer in front of us inside the makeshift tent we were stationed in.

“Detective.”

I turned to glance in the direction of the voice of Sharon Goodwin, noting the couple following behind her.

“The parents of…”

She didn’t need to say more. I motioned to a few chairs. “Hi. Please have a seat.”

“Is there anything you can tell us?”

The man looked up with pleading eyes. “He was a smart boy. Always nice, helpful. This country has given our family so much. How could this have happened?”

I looked away for a moment. “He claimed to be infected with something similar to Ebola.”

They looked up in horror, as the man closed his eyes, almost as if in defeat. “From his work.”

I frowned, “What do you mean, from his work?” Adam shifted his weight.

“He was working at BHO Labs. They study infectious diseases.”

I looked at Adam. “We got to get somebody down there right now.”

Adam nodded, “I’m on it.”

I turned back to the parents, “What else can you tell me? Anything about who he might have been involved with, planned this with?”

I needed to focus on this. I needed to get them out of there.

---

(Y/N POV)

Casey stopped in front of me. “How we doing?”

I nodded back at him. He glanced at the mother and daughter next to me. “I’m working on getting some food and water in here. Okay?” He smiled before getting up, patting my shoulder.

I watched his retreating back but was distracted by someone calling out to him. “Hey fireman!”

I watched as Casey turned towards the man, who towered over him. “What’s the latest?” he demanded.

Casey frowned. “Everyone’s doing all they can.”

The man’s voice rose again. “What the hell does that mean? No one is telling us anything!”

I flinched; shouting wasn’t something I handled very well.

Casey moved towards him, trying to ask him to calm down. He seemed to give up the fight against Casey, squatting down next to the counter but the next minute, I heard Gabby’s voice, “Matt!” as the big guy swung a pipe towards Casey.

I pushed myself further back into the wall, shutting my eyes, hearing the scuffling sounds. If everyone would just calm the hell down and focus on what mattered, the faster we could probably get out of here. I focused my thoughts on Jay, trying to even out my breathing so that I could prevent a panic attack.

“You doing okay?” Will asked, grabbing my elbow.

My eyes snapped open, darting towards the other side of the room where Casey and April seemed to have handled the situation pretty well.

“Come on, why don’t you come with me.” Will muttered, pulling me up and leading me into a room. Herrmann was inside talking to a doctor, who Will introduced as Diane Claman.

I stood in the corner of the room as Will’s phone rang, and I heard Jay’s voice on the other end of the line. Even at this distance, it felt reassuring.

 “He was working with Marburg, he injected himself with it.” Will repeated to Diane.

“What’s Marburg?” Herrmann asked, frowning a little.

Diane looked at us. “It’s a viral haemorrhagic fever. The Soviets developed it as a biological weapon.” Herrmann and I exchanged a look as she turned back to Will. “Ask them which strain of the Marburg virus.”

“Which strain?” Will’s voice broke the silence again.

“Ravn.” He repeated.

Jay must have said something and Will hung up with an “All right.”

Diane looked up again. “Okay, so now I just have to see if he was past the incubation period and actually infectious.”

For the first time, I spoke up. “And if he was past the incubation period?”

Will looked at me and shook his head slightly.

“It means Aleem was a walking biological weapon.” A grim silence fell across the room.

----

I had wandered to where the rest of the firefighters had gathered, outside the treatment room where Kelly was in.

I could see the doctor extract a piece of shrapnel from Kelly and just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a spurt of blood shot out from Kelly’s open wound. I heard Sylvie’s voice, “Arterial bleeder!”

I bit my lip as I felt someone take my hand. Gabby gave me a small smile, squeezing my hand. We turned back to the room, as the machine slowly showed Kelly’s vitals stabilising and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

A few minutes later, Herrmann emerged from another treatment room, looking dazed. Everyone looked up at him. “What is it?”

Herrmann let a small smile grace his lips. “Not contagious.” The sense of relief flooded the room as Diane stepped out. “Influenza A tested positive, but the Marburg virus didn’t have time to incubate. Whatever he had in his body died with him.”

The sigh of relief was audible as everyone hugged each other.

Will looked at me and smiled, nodding. “Open up the ER!” he announced, looking around.

---

(Jay’s POV)

I heard the vague sounds of the firefighters cheering outside and looked at Adam.

He nodded, motioning for me to head outside. I patted him on the back, jogging towards the ER, looking above all the heads to see if I could spot her.

--

(Y/N’s POV)

The only thing I wanted to do was to get out of here.

I looked towards Casey.

“Severide’s fine. We won’t be able to see him until tomorrow, anyway. Go.” He reassured me, guiding me towards the exit.

I stumbled out, wincing slightly at the bruises all over my body but peered.

I spotted him almost instantly, the worried lines across his face, scanning the crowd.

“Jay.” I breathed, heading straight for him. I crashed into his arms as I heard Jay’s sigh of relief in my ear. “Oh my god.” He muttered, pulling me into him, wrapping his arms around my body and cradling my head. I could feel how relieved he was as he sank his body into mine.

Quickly, he pulled away, surveying me at arm’s length. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.

I smiled, putting my hand against his cheek. “Bruised, but nothing serious.” I smiled.

“Thank God.” He pulled me back into his arms, holding me tightly as if he was never going to let me go.

Gently he broke away again, kissing me on the forehead. “Come on.” He muttered, gently leading me towards the white tents that I could now see.

“Halstead, get out of here.” Antonio appeared in front of us.

Jay paused, studying Antonio.

“I got you. Go on, get out of here.” Antonio winked at me and I nodded back at him gratefully.

“Thanks.” Halstead and Antonio fist bumped each other and Jay helped me into his car.

We didn’t say much on the ride back but Jay never let go of my hand.

We drove straight to his apartment and I headed straight for the shower, my bruised body welcoming the relief of warm water. Once we were cleaned up, Jay crawled into bed with me and I welcomed it, glad the day was over.

Jay put his chin on the top of my head. “You really scared me today.” He whispered.

My arms wrapped around his torso, I looked up at him.

“If I lost you…” his voice trailed off.

I leaned further into his embrace. “Honestly? I was scared too. Kelly got hurt… I was afraid I was going to lose him… afraid I wasn’t going to be able to see you again… I…” I paused before continuing, “Thanks for being here, Jay.”

Jay tilted my chin gently up so that I was looking at him and smiled. “Always.” Leaning forward, Jay pulled me into a deep kiss, which I leaned into, grateful that this day had ended as well as it could have.   

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[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

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#Painted #Fanfiction #writing #mine #supernatural fanfiction #SPN FIC #dean x reader #SPN AU #supernatural AU #Agent!Dean Winchester #Dean/Reader #Dean Winchester/Reader #Horror fic #Dark!Fic #smut #sexy #love #otp #angst #Sam winchester #lucifer #lucifer/Reader

[reidecorating]

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come. 

#this was almost as long as their elevator ride #me? writing? unheard of #this took so long i don't know if it's even fully edited but we'll see #hope u guys have fun reading it!! #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg fic #spencer reid x reader #mgg oneshot #cbs criminal minds #gublernation #spencer reid smut #spencer reid self insert #mine: writing

[sunflowerspecter]

absolutely smitten/never let you go

summary: the team finds out about hotch’s secret girlfriend in a very interesting way. 

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, nothing too graphic and it’s very vague, swearing, literally so much fluff. 

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

words: 4567

note: i just wanted to write soft hotch fic. that’s all. 

~~~oOo~~~

At first, you didn’t exactly understand. 

“They’re your family. I want to know every aspect of your life. You don’t have to keep me away from the gruesomeness of your job,” you had said softly. 

“It’s not that,” he said. He trusted you, one hundred percent, but so much of his life was already shared with his team. “It’s just that I kind of like seeing their faces when I tell them I have plans and then don’t tell them why.” 

You laughed, crossing your arms. “Is that so? Did you used to tell them before I came along?” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I just didn’t have plans before you came along.” You kissed him, then shrugged. 

“I’ll be your little secret, then. Until you’re ready for me to meet them,” you said, and he thanked you, to which you shook your head. 

He shared you with Jack, at least, who was a little shy at first, but very quickly enamored with you. The boy was a sweetheart, and you spent many nights a week at the Hotchner’s residence. In fact, you spent most nights at Aaron’s. Most of your clothing and belongings were there, too. You hadn’t officially moved in with him, after thirteen months, but you rarely visited your apartment, except for when you remembered something you had stored there. 

You weren’t sure why you didn’t move in officially— you had no doubts in your mind that he wanted you, and that he loved you, or that you wanted and loved him, but you kept your apartment. Maybe you were waiting for him to officially ask you, or maybe you weren’t sure if you should ask him yourself, or maybe you felt you were crossing over some sort of line in your relationship, but for the time being, you would leave it. 

It was early in the morning when you woke up to the sound of Aaron’s phone ringing. You were curled against his body, and he reached over you to grab it off of the nightstand. 

“Hotchner,” he answered, sleep still in his voice, and you swear, it was probably the sexiest noise ever. One of his arms was still draped over your waist, his thumb brushing against you gently. He listened for a few moments, then said, “Alright, see you then.” You turned over in his arms, looking up and facing him. 

“What time is it?” 

He sighed. “5:30.” 

“Case?” He nodded reluctantly, so you leaned up and kissed him. “I’ll make coffee while you get ready.” 

“No,” he immediately said, grabbing your wrist gently, “go back to sleep.” 

You crawled out of his arms and out of bed, shaking your head. “I’m awake now, and I won’t be able to fall back asleep knowing you have to work.”

“Marry me,” he said, his entire body tensing after he said the words. You turned to him, your heart beating ten times faster. 

“What did you say?” 

He flushed, then stood, opening the nightstand drawer. He pulled something out and walked over to you, your stomach doing somersaults. He took your hands in one of his, holding a ring up with the other, and kneeled, saying, “Will you marry me?” You dropped down to your knees, kissing him, pushing your hands through his hair. He pulled back, and you noticed his eyes were watering. “Say something?” 

“Oh,” you said, smiling, “yes, Aaron, yes of course,” you said. “Of course I’ll marry you.” He broke out into a smile, kissing you again. “This means you probably have to tell the team now.” 

“Yes,” he said, then he shrugged. “After this case.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“I love you,” he said into your mouth. You smiled, taking a breath. 

“I love you, too,” you said. Then you sighed. “You have to be getting ready.” 

The smile dropped off of his face, but he nodded. “I’ll be home as soon as possible,” he said, and you smiled.  

“Now I’m actually going to make coffee.” 

You peaked into Jack’s room as you passed, wondering if Aaron had asked for. 

After you made coffee, you placed sticky note with a heart drawn on it on a granola bar and slipped it into Aaron’s go-bag. He always forgot to eat on cases. Whenever he got home from a case, you would ask if he was hungry, and he would freeze and nod, seemingly remembering that it was important to eat. 

You moved back to his room, grinning at him from the doorway. “I like that tie.” It was a red tie, he wore a red tie all the time, but you liked it. 

He smiled and walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “All of my ties are red.” 

“No, there’s that blue one you have,” you said, and he slipped his hands around your waist, kissing you with soft lips. “You’re going to be late for work.” You pulled back, but he shook his head, kissing you again, this time for longer, his tongue working in unison with yours. You only pulled back a few minutes later, shaking your head. “You’re actually going to be late,” you said. 

He nodded reluctantly, and you walked him to the door. “I love you. See you soon, Mrs. Hotchner,” he said, and you grinned like an idiot. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you said, closing your eyes as he kissed your forehead, and then he was gone. 

You checked the time on your way back to the bedroom, 6:15 in bright red letters blaring at you. You sighed, weighing your options. You probably wouldn’t fall asleep again, but you could lie there, staring at the ceiling, for a while, if you wanted. You could watch television and make breakfast, if you wanted to do something. There was something peaceful about that morning, where you decided to sit in the living room and read for a while, watching the room slowly fill with sunlight. Something so sure settled in your stomach, the fact that you would be marrying the love of your life. There was something about the adrenaline and dopamine still rushing through your veins from his proposal, mixed with the smell of the old book in your hands and the warmth of the room, that filled you with such a contentment. 

You decided to make pancakes for breakfast, and soon you heard little feet padding towards the kitchen. 

“Hey, buddy,” you said, and he smiled at you. 

“Is dad on a case?” the boy asked, and you sighed.

“Yes he is, but he’s going to be back home with us soon, so don’t you worry.” You set a plate in front of him, and he stared at the ring on your finger the entire time. 

A wide grin broke out on his face. “He finally asked you!” Jack said. 

You laughed. You should have known. “Yes he did,” you said. 

“Dad said I could call you mama, if you’re okay with it.” 

You grinned down at the little boy, then wrapped your arms around him. “Of course I’m okay with it.” 

“Since I don’t have school can I come to the store with you today?” he asked next, and you hummed, crossing your arms. 

“Well, I don’t see why not,” you said, grinning as he yelled with excitement. 

~~~oOo~~~

“Both women were at a bookstore the night they went missing, we should check it out,” Reid said. 

Hotch nodded, “What do we know about the place, Garcia?” 

“Um,” she said, and the clicking of her keyboard could be heard over the phone. “It’s owned by two women, Y/n Y/l/n and Phoebe Martin,” she said. “They both seem to check out, I can look deeper, though—” 

“That’s fine, Garcia,” Hotch said, shaking his head. He cursed under his breath, then looked up at his team. “Morgan and Reid, you’re with me. The rest of you stay here.” 

~~~oOo~~~

After settling Jack down in the children’s section of the small bookstore you owned, you walked over to the counter. 

“Hey, Y/n!” Phoebe, your co-owner and best friend, said from behind the counter. “How are you?” 

You smiled at her, “Well, I’m good, but you’re even better.” 

“I’m even better?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Please, do tell me whatever it is that you’re plotting before I go get the fire extinguisher.” 

“First of all,” you said, crossing your arms, “that was one time. Second of all, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that your best friend is getting married, so you finally get to help her plan the wedding.” 

The squeal following your statement was so high that a dog next door barked. “He proposed?” she asked, grabbing your hand. “Oh, my god, babe, you’re getting married!” She pulled you into her arms, holding you as tight as possible. “This is so exciting!” 

You then recounted the events of the morning to her, and you kept talking until Jack walked up to you, telling you how hungry he was. “Let’s go eat lunch, okay?” you said, taking his hand and leading him to the backroom, where you had packed lunch. You heard the bell on the door ring, and Phoebe saying hello to someone. 

“Aaron!” you heard her yell. “Are you here to see Y/n?” You patted Jack’s head and then walked out of the room, grinning as you saw your husband-to-be. 

“Aaron! I thought you were on a case?” you said, before you noticed the two men beside him; a thin man wearing a sweater-vest, currently scanning a book that he picked up from the shelf beside the counter, and the other, a muscled man wearing a grey t-shirt and a gun attached to hip, eyeing Aaron suspiciously. 

“He is,” Phoebe said, trying to suppress a laugh. You were in quite the sticky situation. Yes, you were now engaged to the man, but you still weren’t sure he wanted to tell his team. You narrow your eyes at her. 

“How can I help you, fellas?” you said, trying to meet Aaron’s gaze, but he was looking down at his hands. 

The one in the grey t-shirt waited for Aaron to speak, and when he didn’t, he spoke up, “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner and Doctor Spencer Reid, we’re with the FBI.” 

You didn’t take your eyes off of Aaron, who looked up at you and shrugged. “She knows,” he said quietly to Morgan, and then he said, “A woman went missing last night, Y/n, and this was her last known location. A woman who went missing two weeks ago last night was also here the night he went missing.” 

“Oh,” you said, and Phoebe sucked in a breath. “We were closed last night,” you said. 

“No,” Phoebe said, “last night was kid’s night, we had a local author here until 7.” 

You nodded, then. “Oh, damn, I forgot that was last night.” You took a breath. 

“She’s nervous,” Phoebe said. “She doesn’t do well with strangers.” 

Another glare at her, and then you continued. “Yeah,” you said. “Phoebe was here, until then, but that was it.”

“Can we ask you a few questions about the author?” Morgan asked. You and Phoebe nodded, giving each other a look. 

“His name is James Bryce,” Phoebe said.

“Does he come in often?” Reid asked. 

Phoebe took a step closer to you. “He’s come in every week for the past month.” 

“He writes children’s books,” you added, biting your lip as you felt your stomach drop. Was he their suspect? Aaron didn’t talk about cases very often, but you had read David Rossi’s books on profiling, and you knew that child predators would be close to children, but these were women. “Oh, god,” you said. 

“Did he take that woman?” Phoebe asked, and you looked at her, her face pale. 

“We don’t know that,” Morgan said. 

“I’m going to go check on Jack,” she said, moving to the backroom. You nodded at her, patting her shoulder as she passed you. 

“Who’s Jack?” Morgan asked. “Was he here last night? Would he have—” 

“He doesn’t work here,” you said, too quickly. You glanced at Aaron for just a second, then came up with the first lie you could think of, instead going the not-exactly-true-but-not-a-lie route, saying, “He’s my son.” Damnit. 

You could see Aaron smirking out of the corner of your eye, but you didn’t dare look at him. The room was quiet for a moment, before Spencer decided to speak up. 

“That’s actually such a coincidence, Hotch’s son is also named Jack!” 

“Is it rare for people to name their kids Jack, pretty boy?” Morgan asked, and Spencer answered him, but you didn’t listen. Your eyes were focused on Aaron, who was staring right back at you. 

Meanwhile, Jack wandered out of the room. 

“Mama, can I color?” he asked, then looked up and saw his father. You caught him smiling, probably at the name that Jack had given you. “Daddy!” he said, and you watched as Aaron shifted from work-mode to dad-mode in a second. 

“Hey, buddy, how’s your day going?” he asked, and you looked up to Morgan and Reid, who were both wide-eyed. You kept your hands folded behind your back. 

“I’m good,” Jack said. “Are you on a case? Mama said you were.” He certainly had no problems calling you Mama instead of your name— you wondered how long ago he and Aaron had talked about it. 

Aaron sighed. “Yes, I am, but this case is in town, so I’ll be home tonight.” Jack nodded, and both of your boys looked up at you. You smiled down at them and Jack jumped over to you as Phoebe walked in from the back room. You put your hands on the little boy’s shoulders as he watched the adults. 

“Hold up,” Morgan said. “What’s happening here?” 

Spencer looked even more confused, but he didn’t say anything. 

Phoebe giggled, just a little, but you were too glad that the color had returned to her face and that she didn’t look a few seconds from crying to mind. 

Aaron looked to Morgan and Reid, then sighed. “I haven’t been completely open with the team,” he said. 

“You make it sound so grim,” you murmured, and he looked back at you. Not helping. You shrugged. 

Aaron was about to say something, but Morgan got a phone call. Reid turned to listen, and Aaron turned to you, his back to his team. 

“This isn’t how I expected them to find out,” you said quietly, giggling. Aaron shook his head. 

“This is fine,” he said, and you knew that he was trying to convince himself, not you. 

“So, I don’t know what’s happening here, but we have to go,” Morgan said. “We will be discussing this when we get back, though.” He opened his mouth to say more, but then his eyes found Jack, and he shook his head. “It’s bad.” Keeping one hand on Jack’s shoulder, you pulled Phoebe to you with your free arm, her face going pale again. Aaron nodded, then bent down to say goodbye to his son. 

He took a step, then looked back at you. “Go,” you said, and he nodded, following his team out. You looked down at the people beside you; Jack, on your leg, and Phoebe, curled under your arm. “Jack, how about you go show Phoebe your art skills?” He nodded, taking Phoebe’s hand, and she muttered a ‘Thank you’ to you. 

~~~oOo~~~

That night, Aaron came home and held you. You had put Jack to bed earlier, and were sitting at the table, waiting for him, and when you stood to greet him, he pulled you into his arms and didn’t let go. 

You waited a few minutes, reveling in the feeling of him, moving your hands over his shoulders, wrapping your arms around him, and then you asked, “What happened?” 

He just shook his head. 

You pulled back just a little to look at him, and his face was wet. “Honey,” you said. He shook his head again, taking a deep breath, but it didn’t help, and he broke down again, and you pulled him back towards you. 

A few minutes passed, but you weren’t in any hurry to move. “I’m sorry,” he said, untangling himself from you, taking steps backward. 

You moved forward, grabbing his hand and holding it to your chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. Nothing.” You shook your head. “You need sleep,” you said, lifting his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. He nodded, bleary-eyed, not putting up any sort of fight when you led him to your room. 

He didn’t say anything as you helped him out of his clothes and into pajamas, and he didn’t say anything when you tucked him into bed, and he didn’t say anything when you curled up next to him. 

“I love you,” you said. 

“I love you, too,” he said, turning to you. He reached for you and pulled you closer to his, tucking your head under his chin. 

“Sleep well, my love,” you said, and he hummed in response. You didn’t fall asleep until you heard his breathing even out, and you whispered his name once to make sure he was out until you allowed yourself to rest. 

~~~oOo~~~

It was a week later when the team was getting together at Rossi’s. Aaron said you should come, and meet everyone, especially because Morgan and Reid wouldn’t shut up. So, you were standing in front of Rossi’s door, Jack and Aaron on either side of you. 

Rossi answered the door, a smile on his face, until he saw you, and he raised an eyebrow. His gaze dropped to your hands: Aaron’s fingers were interlocked with yours, and Jack’s small hand was held in your other hand. 

“Storytime,” the man said, gesturing for you to come in. Jack immediately ran over to say hi to Henry, and you realized the entire team was already there. You recognized each and every one of them from photos, and you were pretty sure you knew all of their names. They all looked up to you, and Reid even waved. 

“Hi, everyone,” Aaron said, squeezing your hand. “This is Y/n.” 

“Hi,” you said quietly. 

After a moment, the team all smiled at you, and all introduced themselves. Penelope gave you a hug, and that’s when Spencer noticed the ring. 

“You’re engaged?” he said, and you blushed pink. 

The team went silent, and you were worried that they hated you. But then Emily laughed.

“Wait, so how long have you two been together?” JJ asked. 

“Thirteen months,” Aaron said. 

“He proposed last week,” you said, and the team all shared a look, and then Emily laughed again. 

“That’s why you’ve been nicer to me!” she said, punching his arm. Then she gave you a hug, and said in your ear, “He’s so uptight all the time. You’ve had a very positive affect. Thank you.” 

Morgan shook his head. “This explains so much about the bookstore.” 

“What bookstore?” Penelope said, and Morgan threw his arm around her as everyone began to settle on the couch. 

“The one we went to for the case last week. Ms. Y/n here works there,” he said. 

“I own the place,” you said, smirking, and Morgan flashed a smile at you. 

“So she’s accomplished,” he said, and you laughed. 

“I understand not telling the team,” Rossi said, “but what about me? Why didn’t you tell me?” You almost worried that he was hurt, but his tone suggested that he was kidding. 

“Because if you knew, then the team would catch on. Do you not remember your first week? When a few certain people—” a pointed look at Emily, Morgan, and Reid “—decided to raid your office?” 

“They couldn’t have raided my brain!” Rossi said, and Aaron tugged a little on your arm, pulling you towards the couch, where everyone was arranged haphazardly, Emily and JJ thrown over each other, leaning against Penelope’s knees. Will was sitting on the ground beside them, laughing (but if you looked closely, you could see that he was holding JJ’s hand. You hoped that would be you and Aaron when you were married). Morgan was sitting beside Penelope, and was also practically thrown over Reid. Children. The actual children, Henry and Jack, were sitting beside Will, who was entertaining them with a toy truck. 

“Aren’t you profilers?” you said, and Rossi sighed, shaking his head. 

“Can we watch a Disney movie?” Penelope asked, and you looked over to see that she had the remote. 

There was a unanimous yes that went around the room. You ended up watching the Aristocrats. You curled yourself into Aaron, your head on his shoulder, your legs draped casually over his lap, his arm around your shoulders. At some point, JJ had untangled herself from Emily and was curled against Will, so halfway through the movie, Emily found herself lying beside you, her head in your lap. You almost laughed at her, but just smiled, because these people already felt like your family. 

By the end of the movie, most of the team was asleep, and your heart went out to the poor, sleep-deprived BAU. You untangled yourself, seeing that you and Will were the only ones awake. You found a blanket and threw it at him, and he promptly began covering those in proximity. You looked around, finding a few other blankets, and throwing them onto your friends. Jack woke up, and Will pointed him to you. 

“Hey, bud, everyone’s asleep,” you said. He nodded, and you picked him up. He settled his head on your shoulder. You sat back in between Emily and Aaron carefully, letting Jack lie half on you and half on his father. He drifted off rather quickly, and you held him in place with your arm as you set your head on Aaron’s shoulder, kissing his cheek. 

“I love you,” he murmured quietly, and you smiled. 

“I love you too, babe,” you replied. “I’m glad I met your friends.” You looked down at Emily, who was curled up in a ball next to you, and then Morgan and Penelope, their heads resting together, and Spencer, laying on the floor with his head on Morgan’s knee, and Rossi, asleep in the arm chair, and JJ and Will, asleep with Henry between them. 

“I’m glad they met you, too,” he said, and you kissed him, running your free hand through his hair, eliciting a soft noise from him. His eyes were closed, and you could tell he was exhausted. 

“Sleep, my love,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. 

“We’re all going to wake up sore,” he said, but he moved so that his head was resting on top of yours. 

“But at least you’ll have slept,” you said. He hummed, and you smiled. He was so soft, when he was tired. He was soft around you, most of the time, but especially when he was tired. He was right, though. Most of the team would wake up and regret falling asleep. You had half a heart to wake them up; Rossi had so many spare bedrooms. But there was something comforting about this family, that you had only met a couple of hours ago, surrounding you. 

So you didn’t do anything but lie there, holding the man you loved and his—your—son in your arms. 

~~~oOo~~~

Maybe he was a little bit right, because you did, in fact, wake up sore. You blinked your eyes open to find Morgan and JJ talking quietly from their positions, Rossi nowhere to be found, and the rest of the team asleep. Jack and Henry were sitting at the table together, racing cars. You could tell JJ and Morgan had told them to be quiet. 

“Hey,” you said, sitting up from your slumped position. Aaron’s arm slipped off your shoulder to your waist, and you realized he was still asleep. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen him as happy as he is now since Jack was born,” Morgan said, looking at you. 

You smiled, and then looked down at the sleeping man. 

“I just can’t believe he kept you from us for thirteen months!” JJ exclaimed quietly. She shook her head. 

“And how long did you keep Will from us?” Morgan said, raising an eyebrow at her. She frowned, and you laughed. 

“There’s definitely a story there,” you said as Rossi finally reappeared from the kitchen, where he must have been. 

“If you three will kindly wake up our sleepy friends, I made breakfast,” he said, motioning for Jack and Henry to go into the kitchen, which they did. Morgan took Penelope and Spencer under his care, shaking them both gently awake. JJ had already woken Will up, so you turned to Aaron. Part of you felt bad for waking him, but another part of you was hungry, so you shook his shoulder gently and kissed his cheek. 

“Hey, love,” you whispered in his ear until he was stirring. He hummed, his arm tightening around you as he gained consciousness. 

“Hi,” he mumbled before his eyes were open, and then he sat up, glancing around. “What time is it?” 

“Like, 9:30,” Morgan said, and Aaron huffed out a laugh. 

“Where’s Jack?” was his next question, looking over his shoulder. His demeanor was calm, and you could tell he wasn’t panicked, because he knew if something was wrong, you would be panicked as well, but there was a certain unease to his tone. 

“With Dave, in the kitchen,” you said. He nodded, then grinned at you, pressing his lips to yours slowly. You could feel the eyes of the half-asleep team on you, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

“I’m going to go say good morning to him,” he said, and you nodded, turning to the group as he left. 

Penelope, who was now fully awake, was making heart-eyes at you. “You guys are so cute!” she said, and you blushed. “He looks ten years younger when he’s around you.” 

You weren’t exactly sure how to respond to that, but you looked to the entrance of the kitchen, thinking about him. You hadn’t known any other side of him. Sure, you saw the changes between work-him and home-him, but you hardly ever saw work-him. When he was with you, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. 

Emily woke up, then, blinking rapidly for a few moments. “This is a comfortable couch, but you guys are never letting me sleep like that again. Everything hurts.” You laughed, and she grumbled, saying something about getting coffee before leaving the room. The group of you decided to follow, even as Spencer was still asleep. 

“Pretty boy doesn’t get enough sleep, anyway,” Morgan said, and you just nodded. In the kitchen, you found Aaron standing and talking to Rossi by the island. Henry and Jack were eating pancakes at the table a few feet away. You stood beside Aaron and he automatically slipped an arm around your waist. 

“Honestly, we’re supposed to be profilers. How did we not see this?” Emily said, nodding towards you. 

“I’m mostly surprised Spencer and Derek didn’t bring it up,” you said. 

“We were confused,” Morgan explained. “Our boss's son was calling some woman we had never met ‘mama.’” 

“And you didn’t think to tell the rest of us so we may figure it out with you?” Rossi said, and you all laughed. 

“I think we’re ignoring one important detail,” Penelope said. Everyone glanced at her, and she sighed. “They’re getting married! When’s the wedding?” 

You let out a breath and laughed. “He only proposed last week, we still have to decide.” 

“Sooner, rather than later, I hope,” Aaron said, and you grinned up at him. 

Sooner rather than later indeed.

taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed or if i forgot you): @quillvine @winterscaptain @agenthotchner @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @andreasworlsboring101

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

[elenamiria]

We’ll Never Be Royals

Royalty!Reader x Knight!Din Djarin

Rating: G Summary: A mysterious knight comes to your rescue and you find an unexpected bond on the journey home Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Light violence, reader in peril, tropes lol  Tags:  @fishswimbetterunderwater @a-dorin @blxwjobsforclones @lynnie51 @katrynec @mistermiraclee @theelvenvalkyrie​

1. Sorry for my absence in the past week, my family thought we potentially were exposed to covid (my mom’s coworker got sick and had to get tested) but good news! We’re all good!! 2. To my requesters I promise you I am working on my fics, I have had a little bit of writers block and I keep writing and then rewriting things because I go back and don’t like what I have so I’m so sorry it’s taking so long!! 3. I already had this written from a while ago and feel bad for the lack of content so I figured I’d throw this out there (Even though I’m not really sure if I like it, I kinda think it might be bad alsdhaiweo oh well) Also I’m pretty sure I want it to be a series but we’ll see how this goes

Anyways I love you all and I hope you enjoy!!

Din Djarin Masterlist     ~     Main Masterlist

Your knight in shining armor was not exactly what you expected. His armor was shining, gleaming silver, and he was dressed like a knight however he was not loyal to anyone but his covert band of mercenaries. He was a quiet man, never really speaking to you unless you spoke to him or he was telling you what to do. You had gathered that he was normally a bounty hunter after you had inquired which knight he was and he replied that you would not know who he was. You had also gathered that the king, your father, had sent him specifically for his quick and efficient ways as well as promising him a great reward if you were to be returned alive. You were beaten and bruised when he found you, the rival kingdom who had captured you desperate for the information you had on your fathers forces. When you had realized it was just one man coming to the rescue you fought back hysterics as you were sure the two of you were going to be killed, but he was quick with a sword and clever too. When you made it out alive you had wanted to see him, to know who he was, but he told you he couldn’t show his face.

There was a long journey ahead of you, traveling in secrecy did not lend itself to efficiency, and you found yourself growing closer to your mysterious knight. Always ensuring he had several portions of food ready for each meal while you made an excuse to wander off so he could eat in peace, you would watch the flames of your campfire reflect off of his armor and let your mind wander to what he was like under his helmet, you found you enjoyed his silence compared to the bustle of the castle, and you especially loved when he would gently tend to your wounds with a special salve. He would talk then, especially in the first few days when you were almost constantly in agony, you figured it was to distract you from the pain but you enjoyed hearing his stories. He told you of bounties he’d caught, of the lands he had seen and one day he told you about his creed, “I know you’re curious why I won’t show you my face. My people take this creed to protect ourselves from those who would wish us harm, it is our way. I am sorry I frighten you but I hope you can understand.”

You stared for a moment, slightly shocked he was bringing it up, before you spoke. Simply stating, “I am not afraid of you.”

His helmet tilted slightly before he turned to face you fully, “You do not have to lie to me your highness. I see how often you watch me, like you are anticipating my attack.”

You felt your face heat at the misunderstanding and you reached towards him but thinking better you let your hand fall to your side as you spoke, “My dear knight I do not stare at you because I am afraid of you.” You looked down as you continued, “I stare because I yearn to know you and I am curious. I do not fear you, in fact I think I trust you more than I have ever trusted any other being before.”

You glanced up with a shy smile at your confession. When you were met with silence you faltered, this time it felt different there was a tension in the air. When he said nothing for several very long moments you rose intent on retiring for the night in your embarrassment. A gloved hand lightly curled around you wrist as you brushed by causing you to freeze and turn to face your knight. There was a deep breath loud enough for you to hear through his helmet and then he spoke, “I do not trust easily.”

Something about his tone had you reaching forward to cup the helmet’s cheek but your gentle moment was interrupted by an arrow whizzing past your face. A startled yelp flew from your mouth and instantly he was in front of you shielding your front with his body, one arm pushing at your side to urge you behind him.

"Stay by me." he ordered, helmet scanning the area where the arrow came from. Your hands laid on his back as you looked around wildly, heart nearly pounding out of your chest, there was a noise and then another arrow was flying your way which was blocked and struck harmlessly off Din's armor. It seems the bandits realized with his protection they would have to take a more direct approach as three figures emerged from the shadows to charge at the knight. Barking an order for you to stay back he launched into action, sword drawn and clashing with the attackers. You backed away and aimlessly looked around for something to help, seeing nothing else you grabbed the metal pot that you used to cook your meals. Clutching it to your chest you continued backing up until you ran into something solid, you assumed it was a tree until the object wrapped a hand around your mouth and the other around your waist. Panicking you did the first thing you could and bit hard, your attacker wore thin cotton gloves that did little to protect him from your harsh teeth. The man cried out and pulled away from you and before you could even process what you were doing you were wildly swinging your pot into the man's head. 

He dropped and you stared with wide eyes unsure if he was dead, the loud shouts behind you disrupted you and you turned to see a blow to the side of your knights head knock him to the ground. This didn't deter him as his blade swung towards the attackers legs causing them to fall back while he recovered. He had just risen when one of them came from behind and wrapped a thick arm around his neck, the other two approached intent on disarming him. The situation looked grim and when a rough call of 'go, take the horse and go,' met your ears you knew you couldn’t leave him. Swallowing down your fear you approached quickly and as the other attackers shouted warnings to the third you made your attack. Once again you swung the pot as hard as you could striking the man on the head, as that seemed to do the trick last time. He stumbled and let go of your knight who stumbled but regained his bearings as oxygen filled his lungs once again. He landed a solid swipe on one of the other bandit’s arms and with that they seemed to give up, retrieving their friend who had only just stumbled up and they fled into the woods. You couldn't help the gleeful laugh that flew past your lips as you cheered in victory but it quickly died down when your savior stumbled. You rushed to steady him but he held up his hand and sunk to the log that you had been using as a makeshift bench while he caught his breath, "Gather our things, we'll stay in an inn for the night."

You nodded and hurried to collect your belongings. When you had completed the task, ensuring everything was securely attached to the horse, you fidgeted slightly before tapping your knight on the shoulder, "Everything's ready, are you feeling well enough to steer or would you like me to?"

He rose and turned towards you, "I'll steer."

He left little room for discussion as he extinguished the fire and mounted the horse, leaving you to climb on behind him. Wrapping your arms around him you rested your head on his shoulder as he stirred your horse to life. You found yourself drifting off as your adrenaline wore off despite the steady jolting sensation of your cheek against his shoulder armor.

You were roused by a call of your name and a gentle shaking sensation, you jolted up when you realized that you truly had drifted off, cheek sore from the harsh metal it had been laying on. The gleaming lights from the inn illuminated the night around you and Din instructed you to stay with the horse as he went to get a room. Dismounting you absentmindedly stroked your horse's snout, rambling softly to the animal, until a hand landed on your shoulder. You startled but relaxed when when you turned and it was just your knight, he hitched the horse and gathered your bags, leading you into the inn and up the stairs to your room. You paused in the door when you noticed the sleeping arrangements, there was only one bed. There was a low grunt behind you and Din muttered, "You can have the bed."

"No! You were the one who got hurt, you can have the bed. Please, I insist." You stared at him, and you assumed he was staring back at you, for several  moments until he sighed and nodded. You went about changing into your nightgown, quickly covering yourself with a spare blanket as you settled onto the floor and fluffed the pillow that you had taken from the bed. A throat cleared and suddenly he was speaking again, "Thank you. For earlier. You didn't go like I told you to."

His voice was questioning, even though you were sure it was supposed to have come out as a statement. You shook your head before you realized he couldn't see you and so you spoke instead, "I couldn't leave you, after all I suppose I was only repaying the favor. After all you saved me from a much more dire situation. But I wanted to help you, I....trust you."

You finished lamely wincing slightly, you sat in silence and as you waited for a response. Din's voice came hesitantly, "Earlier I said I don't trust easily." Your heart sunk, fearing that this was about to have the same outcome as last time - you going to bed full of embarrassment, until he continued, "I stand by that, but I trust you."

A smile crossed your face as your heart skipped a beat and you couldn't stop yourself from asking incredulously, "You trust me?"

There was another period of silence before, "I do, more than I thought possible."

And then yet another pause before so softly you almost missed it, "I think you deserve to know, my name is Din."

#Din Djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars fluff #gn reader

[biwenqing]

So this is for the day three prompt: Social Media AU for Spring Sleuthing over at @tsomdevents! I wrote this fic a while ago, and it fits perfectly for this. But I realized it was going to be more than one chapter. I will continue it once the prompt week is over!

teen | pre-relationship | WIP | ao3 link | formatted as tweets | wc:1767

WZ @theroommatedilema

i made this secret account to live tweet my two oblivious roommates having a quarantine romance. or not. they are idiots. follow to find out will they/won’t they.

he/him | Joined March 2020

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we are starting week 2 of quarantine and i realized i needed to document this. my two roommates who have been dancing around each other since before shit hit the fan are driving me crazy and if i have to watch this the world has to as well.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 we need to give them code names because, while i don't think either of them will find this account, best not to tempt fate. so we have 'hot chef' and 'smart aleck'.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 27 all that out of the way, we can now get to the live tweet. hot chef was doing his laundry so he was walking around the apartment shirtless. smart aleck walked into a wall, not once, not twice, but three times. hot chef didn't help this when he put on an apron

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 28 smart aleck started the day by almost burning down our kitchen trying to make breakfast to impress hot chef. luckily i was awake and stopped things before there was a grease fire, before making breakfast myself. they both seemed to like it.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 hot chef thinks we should try and exercise, but i think it is cold and slippery out, so if he expects me to join him on his morning runs, he is wrong. smart aleck did make an attempt and i got to watch him wipe out from the window. lucky for him hot chef caught him. yea i know

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 29 follow up to wipe out: hot chef helped smart aleck back into the house and then took care of him, before then still going on his run. smart aleck pouted next to me on the couch, watching out the window for when he came back like a puppy.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 smart aleck has decided he needs to clean and organize the whole apartment. i think he just doesn't want to do his real job. this has led to an argument with hot chef because smart aleck has taken everything out of the kitchen cabinets and messed with his books.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 as a household, we have a pretty solid 'don't touch my stuff' understanding, but that apparently goes all out the window during a pandemic. hot chef keeps all his cooking tools and supplies in a special order that makes sense only to him and i leave it be

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 but smart aleck wants to "help" and didnt ask if anyone wanted help so here we are. don't worry, this account isn't in vain, i can confirm that their argument is more bickering and that bickering is the stereotype of an "old married couple"

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: but you do so much, i wanted to help! HC: if i need help, i'd ask for it SA: *arms crossed* would you? give an example of when you have asked for help. HC: ....i haven't needed help SA: bullshit! remember when you got the flu last year and didn't tell us?

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: you practically passed out before you let WZ and i take you to see a doctor! and then you still argued about us making sure you got the food and fluids and everything you needed so you didn't die! HC: ...i didn't want either of you to get sick

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 SA: oh yes so ignoring the issue really helped? it’s better that you almost died? in case you didn’t already notice, smart aleck is always dramatic.

WZ @theroommatedilema . March 30 for those wondering, smart aleck is not wrong here. this is exactly how events occurred. it was only a few months after I moved in with them. for the fight i think smart aleck somehow won this round. tune in tomorrow for what happens next!

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 no updates because they have been pretending to ignore each other and focused on work. hot chef in particular. smart aleck claims it is because hot chef isn’t used to being cared about. he told me this in a deliberate stage whisper.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 4 i think it is important to note that hot chef did still make dinner each night to share... he just went back to his room after.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 i got a question asking what we all do for work. that’s classified. and mostly unrelated. though it is how we met in a very odd course of events.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 that was not an invitation to send me more questions. i know you are all nosy, or else why would you be following this account. but we have established this account must go unnoticed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 fine. general ages = smart aleck is in his 20s. hot chef is in his 30s. and because you for some reason all want to know: i am also in my 20s.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 5 pets = yes one. smart aleck has a pet cat named goat he inherited from a past roommate. goat the cat tries to eat anything and everything, thus the name. she particularly likes to eat house plants. she likes smart aleck the least, hot chef the most. i hold a pretty solid 2nd place.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 6 update: they made up. a package arrived today and it was apparently a pan to replace one smart aleck had destroyed. hot chef made smart aleck’s favorite dinner. SA talked the whole way through to meal, and HC looked smitten. so we’re back to normal.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 10 where do we rank the level of domestic where one person brushes their teeth/gets ready for the day while the other is in the shower? bonus points for some mild discussion and/or bickering.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 11 smart aleck has a new scheme. he is trying to persuade hot chef to teach him to cook. so far HC has held firm. we mark day one of this new standoff.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 i’ve been asked a few times why i don’t just use initials of smart aleck and hot chef’s names. it’s all part of keeping this hidden. i have also chosen nicknames that i don’t think they would think i’d use for them.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 smart aleck is the type to figure this out if i’m not careful. he’s both too clever and too dumb for his own good. which is part of the reason i must document all of this, so i can shove it in his face later.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 12 we are also on day two of cooking teaching standoff. i think some of you rightly assume SA is imagining hot chef standing behind him and idk helping him cut vegetables

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 13 standoff continues. i made dinner to see if that would throw the balance off. no change yet

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 resolution! hot chef did give in, on the condition that he teaches both of us. i didn’t manage to escape because smart aleck seemed to decide this was the only way. don’t know how this fits into whatever romantic daydreams he had.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 14 i see those comments that this might give me a chance to put them together. but i think it is more fun to not help them at all. they need to do this on their own

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 to do such teaching, a grocery shopping mission is needed. because the world is... well. i suggested just they go together so fine. maybe i will try and assist.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 level of domestic of sneaking things you know your “just friends roommate” loves but won’t buy for themselves in the cart without them knowing?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 15 you ask how i know that and it is of course because smart aleck, so proud of himself, announced it as soon as he reentered the apartment. goat the cat tried to get into the bags to eat raw fish while this occurred.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 first cooking lesson, some simple stir fry. i already can cook this so i get to just perch at the counter and watch. vote on the poll below how you think this will turn out

[hands brushing softly] [sparks, and not the sexy kind] [food hopefully?]

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 16 everyone who voted for fire won. the neighbors are quite upset. and not even goat the cat will eat the final product. i ordered take out and a fresh fire extinguisher while they dealt with the mild fire and smoke detector.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 17 smart aleck is pouting so there will be no cooking lessons today. the good news (for his employer) is he seems to actually be focusing on doing his job.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 hot chef actually asked smart aleck if he wanted to try cooking again. very interesting. this has mostly been coming from SA’s side, so i would call this positive movement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 SA has completely perked up and agreed.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 20 oh apparently the plan is SA will watch and i get the place as the student in the kitchen. this is probably safer for everyone

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 for those asking what happen: dinner was made with no issue. I was in charge of the main dish and that left HC to work on side dishes. SA even helped wash and chop some vegetables. goat took some chicken right off SA’s plate and ran away with it growling.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 21 i take that to mean the cat approves of my cooking. but she also tried to steal things from the trash, so that isn’t much of an endorsement.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 22 SA is avoiding work and trying to clean again. he actually asked if he could move stuff around. growth.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 hot chef spotted leaving smart aleck’s room this morning?

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 25 false alarm, he was just looking for the cat.

WZ @theroommatedilema . April 30 final report for this month: progress made in communication. new together activity established. the apartment has not burned down. a baby step closer, yet still so far away from them figuring this out...

#the sleuth of ming dynasty #tsomd #wang zhi #tang fan #sui zhou #springsleuthing #my fic #we'll pretend any grammar or spelling issues are on purpose idk amshauwhroaw #it is very late and i am Tired #sleuth trio #idk how dong'er fits into this i'm thinking on it #since this is only the start

[emutempo]

Strike A Pose (domestic SuperCorp one-shot)

Summary: Everyone has the day off but Supergirl. And even though it means leaving Lena home alone for much of the day, Kara's determined to make the best of it.

Posted to my Ao3 here. 

Notes: It's 4:40AM and I just couldn't sleep without getting this out of my head. And since I'm still anxious about posting any of my fics, I figured once again it'd be better to hit that post button before I get too nervous and hit delete instead. Anyway, I hope this brightens at least one person’s day.

----------

Rays from the sun pour in from the windows of Lena’s bedroom and her eyes flutter open as she feels the heat on her face. She forces her eyes open and stretches into a yawn.

She looked across the bed and first saw a mess of golden hair splayed across a pillow. Kara was still fast asleep after a long week working at the DEO. It had been a long week for both them and Lena was looking for to a relaxing Friday with no work.

 She was happy the 4th of July landed on a Friday this year. It usually meant she had a three day weekend with Kara all to herself. No L Corp, no CatCo. Except, today, Kara was on call. Even though the DEO was operating with the minimal crew, Kara had volunteered to cover for J’onn, Winn, James and Alex. They had been so accommodating of Kara’s requests for days off to spend with Lena that Lena didn’t mind.

Today would be like any other busy weekend day for them. They’d lounge around the house, playing board games, watching their favorite movies and cuddling on the couch. And when Kara was called away for her Supergirl duties, she’d give Lena a quick goodbye and take off to deal with the problem before eventually coming back to Lena and resuming their activities like nothing had interrupted at all.

For now, it was still early and the city itself was still waking up so Lena turned over and cuddled against Kara. Her head, barely hit the pillow before she fell back into slumber.

—

Later, Kara and Lena were sat up, cuddling on the living room couch, each with a cup of coffee in hand. On the TV, an episode of QI playing. Kara took a sip of her coffee before

Kara and Lena had taken to watching QI on their lazy mornings. Kara was fascinated with the random knowledge and discussion on the show and more-so with Lena’s endless intelligence. This morning, they were talking about the history of astronomy.

Kara cleared her throat, “so when did people start thinking the Earth was flat again? It’s like they’re afraid the Earth is round. They’re lucky it is or they’d be off floating somewhere in space!”

Lena loved these little conversations with Kara. No matter how long she’d spent on Earth, still so much surprised her. Lena shrugged. “You know, the only thing flatearthers fear is sphere itself.”

It took Kara a moment to realize Lena’s joke before a giggle escaped her throat, still a tinge of morning gruffness in her voice.  Lena stared into her eyes, trying to memorize the beautiful sound of Kara’s laughter. But it was short-lived as Kara suddenly tilted her head, listening.

Lena smiles, knowing in that moment that duty was calling to Supergirl. National City needed its savior. Kara looked up apologetically to Lena. “Small kitchen fire. No extinguisher. Should be quick.”

And a moment later, a whoosh fills the Lena’s living room as Kara disappears for a moment before another whoosh brings Kara back, clad in her blue suit and red cape. Lena blows her a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you, Supergirl.”

Kara mimes catching her kiss in the air and puts it to her lips before stepping out onto the balcony. Even though Lena’s a little disappointed, she can’t help but smile as she watches her go.

Kara has the goofiest grin on her face she holds Lena’s eye contact. Lena smiles, shaking her head. She knows what’s coming and she waits for it…

Lena watches as Supergirl turns around and takes a big step away from the balcony door. She turns around in place and mimes pressing an elevator button before taking a patient stance with her arms crossed in front of her, as if waiting. A moment later, still ‘standing’ with her arms crossed, Kara slowly floats up into the air as if riding an invisible elevator until she’s out of Lena’s view. But not before giving the Luthor a playful wink.

Lena can’t hold back the laugh caught in her throat. It’s loud and she knows Kara hears it.

—

Later, they’re sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, a chess board between them. It’s Kara’s turn but she’s gone on a rant and Lena doesn’t have the heart to interrupt her.

“I just don’t understand. Why are ALL of them so sad? Isn’t there a single period drama about two women falling in love where they get to be together? The endings are always so tragic. Unrequited love… pre-arranged marriage… and that’s only if we’re lucky enough one of them doesn’t die! Doesn’t anyone run away together? Or say ‘screw you’ to all the cranky old men?”

Lena can’t stop herself. She leans over the chess board and kisses Kara. It’s soft and sweet. When she pulls back, she gestures to the chess board and Kara finally realizes it’s her move. She hastily moves one of her pieces and by the look on Lena’s face, it’s not… the best move. But Lena ignores it.

“I think they’re just trying to be historically accurate, love. Times were a lot harder for us not too long ago.”

Kara doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Well, I still don’t like it. No more sad movies like that one we watched last night. Here Comes the World… or was it… A World to Come?”

“The World to Come,” Lena reaches forward to brush a hair out of Kara’s face. “We could watch Gentleman Jack.”

Kara pouts. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Lena chuckles, about to launch into an explanation of the history behind the titular character of Anne Lister when she sees that signature head tilt again and Kara’s eyes focus into the distance. Lena’s puts her hand up over the chess board about to say, “Kara, mind the chess board—“ but it’s too late. Two back to back WHOOSHES and Supergirl is again standing before Lena, who’s eyebrow’s cocked in ITS signature position. Kara notices the chess pieces all over the floor and looks at Lena apologetically, “you were winning anyway?”

Kara leans in and gives Lena a quick peck on the cheek. “Drunken brawl. I’ll get everyone settled down and be right back.” She keeps her eyes on Lena’s as she backs her way toward the balcony door. The look in their eyes and the suppressed smiles on their faces tell us that, again, they both know what’s coming. Lena watches as Kara steps outside, her cape flapping in the breeze, and takes her superhero stance. She double taps the emblem on her chest and then puts her hands out behind her and takes off in flight… Is she serious?

Lena guffaws and yells after Kara. “Iron Man? Are you kidding me?” But Lena giggles. Kara knows she’s gonna give her a hard time for that one later. As if to dig in even more, Kara loop-de-loops and flies by the window on her way to the drunken brawl.

Yeah she definitely heard that.

—

Back at home with Lena and Kara relaxing in front of the TV. Kara channel surfs while Lena plays with her hair. She lands on a movie that’s just started.

“Oh, I love Megamind! Have you ever seen it?”

Lena shakes her head, “I think most of the animated films I’ve watched in my entire lifetime on Earth I’ve seen first with you. And we haven’t watched this one yet.”

Kara scoots up closer to Lena. “Can we? Can we watch it together? It’s one of my favorites.”

Lena puts her arm around Kara and pulls her in. “How many times have I ever said no to your movie picks?” Kara turned around, wearing a hurt look on her face even though Lena knows it’s put-on. “You keep saying no to Hocus Pocus!”

“That’s because it’s a Halloween movie and we should watch it on Halloween.”

Before Kara can protest… another head tilt and yep, a WHOOSH away and back.

“Car wreck on the bridge. Firefighters’ jaws of life aren’t working. Back in a jiffy. We’re not finished discussing this.”

Kara went straight for the balcony and Lena thought she wasn’t going to get a special send off. But, of course, Kara had something else in mind. She turns around and grabs her cape, pulling it up over her head in a somewhat childish maneuver.

What the hell is she doing this time? Then Lena gets her answer when the cape puffs up revealing Kara blowing air into it to resemble a parachute before she floats up, up, and away.

“Ok, that was a good one.”

She can picture the shit-eating grin on Kara’s face and shakes her head, turning back to the TV and hitting play.

—

Kara and Lena in the kitchen, making an early dinner. Kara’s arguing a point and waving a spatula around like a judge waves a gavel.

“You agree that Bette Midler’s amazing and this is one of her favorite roles she’s ever played. She said so herself. I know because she follows me on Twitter.”

Lena flicks a gravy-covered whisk at Kara, flinging the brown sauce onto her shirt and face. Kara mouth drops open and she freezes in place, shocked at Lena’s gravy betrayal.

“That’s what you get for showing off.”

Kara, hands and face still frozen, pivots to face Lena, “oooh, you’re going to be sorry for that.” With a burst of speed, Kara reaches out and tickle Lena’s sides. Lena squeals as she tries to escape but she knows it’s futile. There’s no way she’s escaping Kara’s grip so she does the next best thing and flicks more gravy at her. And now it’s Kara’s turn to squeal. “You are gonna HATE gravy by the time I’m through with you!” Kara dives for Lena but before she can catch her up in her arms again… you know what it is. The head tilt. Kara listens for a moment as she wipes gravy from her face and licks it from her finger. Lena takes a swipe for herself too.

Kara quickly glances at Lena before a smirk takes over her face. But Lena can’t stop her before…

“Kara don’t—“

… Kara WHOOSHES away, spinning the gravy off her body and flinging it EVERYWHERE, including Lena.

“—Do the whoosh thing.”

Lena stands there for a beat. Now SHE’s the one frozen with gravy-face. Kara whooshes back into the kitchen and licks a spot of gravy off Lena’s face.

“Break in at the pawn shop. Don’t try to sneak any kale into the fagioli ‘cause I’ll know.”

Kara makes her way to the balcony but Lena doesn’t turn around. She waits a beat for the tell-tale whoosh but doesn’t hear one. She knows Kara’s waiting for her to turn around and although part of Lena doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of turning around, she does. Supergirl has places to be and she doesn’t want to keep Kara waiting.

Kara smiles as Lena turns around before jumping onto an invisible broomstick and doing her best interpretation of a witch cackle as she ‘flies’ off.

Lena rolls her eyes as she wipes the gravy off her face with a towel. “Ok, ok! We can watch Hocus Pocus when you get back.”

Lena goes to the fridge and grabs the bunch of kale she’s hidden in one of the fridge drawers.

—

The evening. Lena and Kara lay on the couch, the remnants of their dinner on the coffee table in front of them. Kara swipes a remnant of gravy from one of the plates and quickly dabs it on Lena’s nose. Lena’s nose scrunches at the cold liquid as Kara fights to keep a straight face. So does Lena.

“I’m starting to understand why these witches want to eat these children.”

Kara playfully smacks Lena’s arm. She knows Lena isn’t mad in the slightest. Kara giggles as Lena tries to lick the gravy from her nose with her tongue. But her tongue can’t reach. Kara leans forward and licks it off for her.

“I could eat you.”

Lena blushes and leans in for a kiss. It’s tender and sweet. Lena pulls away to look Kara in the eyes. “Well, you have put a spell on me so I’d probably let you.”

Kara’s eyebrows perk up and she bites her lip, “is that a request, Ms. Luthor?”

But of course… Lena doesn’t get the chance to answer before Kara’s head tilts once again. A beat before… WHOOSH.

“Run of the mill creep following a woman home. Give me five minutes to set this guy straight.”

Kara plops a kiss on Lena’s nose where the gravy was before she turns and runs straight out for the balcony. She doesn’t wait for Lena to turn around but Lena watches anyway as Kara takes a running leap toward the balcony bannister and lands on top of it. She takes a few more jumps like she’s on a diving board before leaping and tucking into a somersault as she “dives” off the bannister and disappears below the balcony.

“Go get him, love.”

Lena hits pause on the movie and sits back, staring off through the balcony windows at the city, her eyes filled with a dreamy haze. She’ll wait for Kara to come back and watch with her.

—

Later that night, Kara and Lena are finally lying in bed cuddling and listening to the last of the fireworks going off.

Kara flips through Twitter on her phone while Lena reads a book in one hand and uses the other to stroke Kara’s hair. She hears a small yawn escape from the blonde’s mouth and looks at the clock.

“It’s getting late. Are you ready to go to sleep, love? Should I turn off the light?”

Kara drops her phone dramatically and tucks her head into Lena. Her arm lands with a thud across Lena’s stomach, collapsing as if exhausted.

“I’m not tired if you’re not.”

Lena strokes her head a few more times before she dogs ears the book she’s reading and places it on her night stand. She leans over to turn off the light when she feels Kara sit up. She turns and sees Kara’s head tilted, listening. Lena picks her book back up, ready to continue reading while she waited for Kara to come back from another rescue.

“What is it this time? Wild assassin penguin on the loose? Three crazy witch sisters kidnapping innocent children?”

Kara stiffens up and tilts her head the other way. “No, it’s a woman…”

Lena sets her book to the side, noticing the serious tone in Kara’s voice. “Kara, what’s wrong?”

Kara looks at Lena, seemingly concentrating on a sound in the distance, a look of concern across her face. “She’s dying… of patience.”

Lena’s eyebrows scrunch together and she squints at Kara, confused. “What?”

Kara turns to face Lena, still as serious as ever.

“She has this girlfriend who keeps rushing off all over the city, leaving her alone at home and she’s just… been so patient.”

Lena’s face relaxes and falls into a lazy grin as she catches on to Kara. Kara can tell Lena’s savvy to her playfulness but she doesn’t drop the series tone.

“See, she’s a very important and very busy lady who doesn’t get a lot of time off to spend with her girlfriend and when she does, her girlfriend always has to fly off. So, if it’s ok with you, I’ve gotta go fix that.”

Lena pulled Kara in close. She didn’t try to feign shock or surprise or play along. She was too consumed with earnest love and she didn’t want to waste any more of their time today, “so how long will it be this time?”

Kara leans in close, kissing Lena with soft lips and tenderness, “forever.”

#supercorp #karaxlena #kara x lena #ao3 #supergirl #fluff #domestic fluff

[thathcwriter]

IronDad and SpiderSon Ficlet: Just One Word

Warnings: Implied/Mentioned Kidnapping and manipulation (this fic takes place in the aftermath of a kidnapping, nothing is graphic) 

(A/N): this is not based on a request (though those are open), this was just for fun.

Peter had been rescued from the grasp of a madman nearly a week ago. He was finally starting to make some real progress in terms of healing, Tony was still worried about the kid. He was healing, he was home, he knew he was free, but yet ever since he’d been home, the kid had yet to utter a single word. 

The first day or so, he barely even noticed Peter’s strange behavior. Tony remembered how he felt after Afghanistan, his mind coated in a veil of shock too thick for words to permeate and his body nearly too weak to do anything but recover. To Tony, Peter not wanting to talk for a day or so after he escaped made plenty of sense. 

But now, a week on, it started to get to him. He never even realized how normal the kid’s voice felt, hell, how comforting it was to hear the kid drone on about whatever nerdy escapade he’d been up to recently. Peter still sat with him in the lab that day, just like he did before, but the kid was uncharacteristically, unnervingly silent. On a whim, Tony mixed the nearest alloy with the rest of his concoction, an action Tony damn well knew was wrong (not dangerous, not flammable, but wrong),  hoping distantly that the kid would call him out on it. 

Peter only stood up quickly, dashing to the wall and poising his hand over the panel of glass protecting the fire extinguisher. Tony sighed, walking to the kid cautiously as Dum-E quickly disposed of the mess. 

“Pete, hey. No harm done, okay? It’s already clean.” Tony gestured widely to the robot behind him. Peter relaxed a bit, moving in a stupor into Tony’s arms. Tony froze for a moment, eyes widening and face scrunching. “Woah, hey, you’re alright,” Tony moved one of his hands to the back of Peter’s head, rubbing his hands in short, soothing circles. Peter huffed quietly, leaning into the older man’s chest with increased fervor. 

Only then did Tony notice short, raspy, almost pained sounds coming from Peter as he dug his head further into his shoulder, and by some strange twist of circumstances it was the best thing he’d heard all day. Normally, after hearing something like that, he’d send Peter straight to Cho, or even to Strange if he was in a pinch but in that moment, it felt like a weight off of his shoulders. 

Yes, they were pained and strange, but the kid was making a sound. As awful as it felt to say, this was progress. 

“Do you want to say something, kid?” Tony asked tenderly, resting a soft but steady hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter winced as if he’d been spat on. Tony softened instantly, not breaking eye contact. “You’re free now. You can talk if you want. Honestly, as much as Pep says I like to, I’m kind of sick of just hearing my own voice. What am I gonna do, have a chat with Fri?” 

“If I may sir, I think I’m wonderful company.” Peter chuckled. Tony thought he was hearing things, but no, Peter did, indeed laugh. The older man cupped his cheek, smiling widely. 

“She’s a smartass, isn’t she?” Peter nodded, drawing a sigh out of Tony. “Right. Right, okay. Fri, put on a movie for us, what do you think Pete, Star Wars? Nah, you’ve seen that too many times, we’ll...” Peter groaned, shooting a glare at Tony and beginning to open his mouth before he stopped abruptly. The older man threw up his hands, feigning surrender. “Alright, alright we’ll watch it.”

Peter smiled sadly, opening his mouth once again, but falling short of saying anything. Tony steadied himself, settling into the couch next to the kid as Threepio and R2 evaded the first platoon of stormtroopers. A few moments later, Peter gently tipped his head onto Tony’s shoulder, closing his eyes blissfully. The older man didn’t move, allowing the kid to lean in ever so slightly.

“M...r,” Peter grumbled, trembling ever so slightly. Tony turned to him fully, slinging an arm around him properly.

“What’s up kid. You can talk, nothing’s gonna happen if you talk. Do you have something to say?” Peter nodded, burying his face slightly deeper into Tony’s neck. “You can tell me. It’s gonna be okay, you can tell me,” Peter drew a deep, trembling breath, tightening his hold on his mentor. And then, Tony heard it. Small and meek and frightened, but there none the less and that, that was enough.

“Thank you.”

#my writing #h/c #hurt/comfort #irondad #spider son #peter parker and tony stark #fanfic #selective mutism #recovery #star wars reference #kidnapping #peter parker angst

[let-it-raines]

I’ve been in such a Neverland/3a kinda mood with fic reading lately, so I figured I’d send my fave CS fic writer a prompt! Or not really a prompt... I’m giving you free reign of everything, I just want to read something from you set in that time period ❤️

@dorisquinn you flatter me so because I am the worst at writing canon and/or canon divergence, but I figured why not? I 100% went down the road of neverland smut because, well, I’ve never done that before, and I feel like that’s a right of passage here. lol. If you want something different, shoot me a message and I’ll try to figure something else out! 💕 

thanks to @shireness-says for making me sprint so that I actually wrote for once

found on ao3 | here | 

-/-

She’s quiet tonight, but really, he would never expect otherwise, especially after everything that’s managed to transpire today.

Rarely is Emma Swan a woman of many words, but now? Now when they are in the most dreaded place in all of the realms, at least to him, and she is constantly working to try to save her boy? Now she is more silent and pensive than ever, but the fire behind her emerald eyes burns just as brightly as always.

As someone often on the receiving end of her rage, he knows that look and that flame better than most.

He knows that look because he feels it too.

Or, well, he felt it, long ago, and on occasion, sparks flicker back to life, the fire igniting and burning so brightly that he thinks the inferno will begin again with no chance of being extinguished.

Yet, as he sits with his back against a hardened tree and watches Emma ignore her parents fervently talking, he knows that what he feels is not the same.

He knows that he does not have a child, no matter how much he felt like Bae was his, and while his loss stings far more than Killian is willing to admit to himself, it is not the same. It is not Emma missing Henry, constantly worried over his well-being as she keeps their little group from killing each other, and while he is not particularly fond of any of their partners in this adventure, at least he is not counting on a woman he despises and parents who blatantly do not understand him to save the one person in the world who matters most to him.

Oh, and a dastardly pirate who not a soul trusts even though his intentions are good. He swears of it, but it has been a long damn time since someone believed in him like that.

The Charmings do not seem to find him capable of living up to their namesake, but he can’t blame them. His first impression was not one he would call particularly good.

Lies, deceit, violence and the works, but he was in a different mindset then. He didn’t know these people, didn’t have any inkling as to who they were, and he had an end goal in mind that he would have done anything to accomplish.

Still would, most likely, but there’s decidedly something different now. When he wakes up, his first thought is not of vengeance. Those thoughts creep in often, but they are not everything.

He’s been given a reminder that he might be capable of more than the evil he’s been for longer than he’d care to admit.

Killian has done horrible things, has ruined lives, and he won’t pretend he has not. If Snow White can forgive the woman who ruined her life in more ways than one can count despite the Queen showing little remorse, maybe Killian can be worthy of the same kind of forgiveness.

Though, he cares little for the forgiveness of Snow or trying to get on her good side.

But he is here and helping to save Emma’s lad, and he knows this devilish island better than anyone else here.

Well, the Crocodile is wandering around here somewhere and tends to know more than he should, but Killian prefers to think of him as little as possible lest he get caught up thinking of his own vengeance and not the goal here.

Henry.

Bae’s son, which Killian still can’t quite believe.

Emma’s son.

That’s why he’s here. That is all, even if David keeps telling Killian that he is only here to seduce Emma. Killian chuckles to himself. That might be nice, but that is not his goal.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be out of any trickery or misdeeds.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be dishonestly. That hasn’t been important to him in centuries, but there she goes again, reminding him of things he has forgotten.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and Killian stops sketching words into the dirt with his hook and prepares himself for battle with one of the Lost Boys before realizing that it’s simply Emma standing from her spot.

And walking toward him.

Well, maybe he’ll be preparing for a battle of another kind then.

She settles down next to him, the tree’s width large enough for them both to have a place to rest their backs, and he can feel the heat of her skin flicker across his as her hand accidentally brushes against his own. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain her presence, and he silently reaches for his flask and hands it over to her. She takes it and then downs a healthy amount of rum. His preferred kind is strong, likes to burn down his throat despite his tolerance, and there’s a part of him that is always impressed by how easily Emma can handle it.

As those words flicker through his mind, he’s immediately brought back to earlier today, to his taunting and teasing. All he wanted to do was get a rise out of her. It’s simply so bloody fun to see her nose scrunch and her eyes roll, and while he’s wanted to kiss Emma for weeks now, to feel how soft her pretty pink lips are, he was not expecting her to take him up on his offer.

Then again, Emma is always surprising him.

The way she grabbed his coat and pulled him to her sent heat to his groin almost immediately, and there was a hunger in her kiss that he felt in his own. It’s been decades since he felt a fire like that deep in his belly, and Killian was reminded of just how much he likes when a woman takes charge of her own desires.

(Another reminder, another reminder, another reminder.)

He simply did not expect for his desires to turn into a want that he’s dared not hope for again.

It was a reminder that he didn’t want, that good things could happen to him, but he knows who he is to this woman and these people. He’s an outsider, and if David’s words earlier weren’t clear enough, he is not welcome amongst them.

And yet, here is this fierce woman who has been like a siren to him, calling him back when he wants to stray, sitting so close to him that her thigh keeps brushing against his own.

The jungle is quiet tonight outside of their camp. He hears no birds or other creatures, only the crackle of the fire and the words being shared between Charming and Snow White. They’ve been huddled close together ever since Snow was informed of her husband’s condition, and while it is obnoxious to have to view, Killian so wishes he’d had time like that with Liam. It’s not a happy future for the two of them, especially having to be separated from their daughter and grandson should they chose to stay here to be together, but it is a future.

There is a possibility of one, and that’s more than most people get.

It’s more than he got.  

The Queen is hidden behind a tree across camp, avoiding everyone, and truly, it should be the other way around. He’s no saint, but that woman ruined this family. He understands that a young Snow shared a secret that had horrible consequences, and while Regina was certainly a victim there, she is not one now. At least when it comes to this family. Her son is in trouble, but no one in this camp is at fault for that.

He needs to get off this damn island. It’s giving him too much time to think about people he should not be giving a second thought to.

“How does this rum never run out?” Emma suddenly asks.

She hands him the flask back, and he takes his own sip. “It’s enchanted.” “How’d you manage that?”

“I’ve gotten around.” Emma snickers, and he arches his brow. “Something funny, Swan?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

Killian hums and tucks the flask back into his pocket. “I’m aware of what the phrase ‘getting around’ means, love. I was in your world long enough to pick up on a few things.”

“Of course you would pick up on innuendos.”

He winks, and there’s that eye roll he so fancies. “I do my best to make sure I’m well versed in things that I need to be well versed in. Makes life easier.”

“Innuendos make your life easier?”

“When it comes to beautiful women such as you, aye.”

“Do you always flirt to get what you want?” “Why, darling, are you admitting that I’m flirting with you? Are you going to return my affections?”

She kicks at the dirt and turns away from him.

Push and pull.

Push harder. Pull further away.

That’s Emma.

“No matter,” Killian continues, waving his hand in the air in front of them. “Did you come to sit with me for any particular reason? Perhaps to get away from your parents?”

She groans next to him. “I can’t listen to it anymore. I mean, I can’t imagine how they feel, but I – you know what, never mind.”

“Pan got your tongue?”

His lips curl up at the same time that hers pull down into a frown. She is obviously not amused by him tonight.

“My apologies, milady,” he sighs before standing from his spot. The leaves rustle underneath him, but no one from the other side of the camp notices his movement. They’re all too wrapped up in their own lives.

Emma cranes her neck up to look at him, and he’s never seen someone so swan-like. She lives up to her name, but with Emma, he thinks it must be the other way around.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I, too, would like to have some time away from the doting lovers and the moaning queen, so I thought I’d take a walk. I know this area well enough to know that we’re near the beach. Would you like to join me?”

Her eyes narrow and dart over to her parents and then back to him. “Is that safe?”

Killian pats his sword with his hook. “I’ve got weapons, as do you. I think we’ll be fine. C’mon, love. I know you need to have your mind taken off of things. This island will drive you insane if you don’t find something that calms you.”

Emma’s shoulders sag before she stands and steps up to him. “What was that for you?”

He swaggers closer, the magnetic field around her always pulling him those few inches forward, and then dips his head so she has a direct view of his wink. “A man likes to keep his secrets, love, but if you play your cards right, I might let you in on it.”

“Can’t you ever be straightforward about anything?”

“I find that I’m straightforward about many things. You simply never pay attention because it’s not what you want to hear.”

Killian doesn’t bother to wait for her reaction. Instead, he turns on his feels, grabs a lit lantern, and starts heading down the path they made earlier to make his way to the beach. He can hear the ocean waves already. It’s a sound that usually calms him, one that he’s nearly always searching for, but here, the echo is different. It’s loud and brash even when the waves are gentle, and he aches for the sound of the waves in the Enchanted Forest or even those of the ones in Storybrooke.

Anything other than this.

Anything.

Emma’s boots crunch behind him, and he lifts an overgrown branch until she steps underneath it and begins walking at his side. A part of him doubted that she would actually follow, but deep down, he knew the odds were more in his favor than disfavor. She’s silent as they walk, but occasionally her hand will brush against his arm, and he feels the heat of her touch spread over him.

There are no truly nefarious plans in his mind as to what they are to do on the beach once they get there, and he wouldn’t be opposed to simply watching the moonlight glint off the water. However, he knows what he was implying when he suggested them leaving the campsite, and he knows that Emma does, too.

A one-time thing, she’d said. Emma may possess a superpower for telling when others are lying, but she’s not the only one who is good at reading people.

The beach comes into view past a few vines and bushes, and Killian slashes through them with his sword before putting it back in its holster and stepping over the newly slain foliage. Emma steps behind him, following exactly in his footsteps, and then all of the sudden the sound of footsteps stop when they step onto the sand.

That was the one good thing about these beaches. It’s soft sand instead of hard pebbles.

There’s a scratch of nails down his back, a faint feeling through the thick material of his leather, and Killian twists his head to see Emma standing so close that he can see all of the freckles on her face, counting them one by one until he knows them as he knows the constellations in the sky.

He’s rather more interested in them than the constellations here.

“You were saying something about getting my mind off things?”

Killian nods and reaches his hand up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, and his fingers ghost across her cheek, feeling the soft, velvet skin. He’s seen many a beautiful woman in his few hundred years, but there’s something different about this one that he believes might not be physical after all.

Though, she certainly is beautiful in that way.

“Aye, love, I believe I was.”

And then he dips his head and slants his mouth over hers. The initial shock is much the same as it was earlier today, but this time, it’s his turn to take charge. He gets to thread his hand into her hair first and pull her into him before she can grab onto the lapels of his coat, and he gets to control the pace. It’s fast and heady, her tongue already swiping across his bottom lip, and while he wouldn’t mind slowing it down to savor the feeling of her, that’s not what either of them need.

That’s especially not what Emma needs.

It’s been awhile since he’s done this, his taste for bar wenches fading away a long time ago, but the movements haven’t been lost on him. The push and pull, the teasing and tasting, it’s all second nature, but right now, it feels new.

Everything about this is refreshing, but he has to push those thoughts down. He’s had too many sentimental ones about Emma today, too many realizations and questions since their dalliance, and this isn’t a time to think of him yet again not getting something he craves because he isn’t good enough. This is the time to let his body take over and to forget.

That’s why they came here after all.

Emma’s hands tug on his lapels before moving to the inside of his jacket. She runs them over his chest and over the chains hanging from his neck before they settle on his shoulders. He can feel her nails much more clearly with only the thin layer of his shirt keeping her from his skin, and his eyes shut even more tightly at the feel of it all as his tongue tangles with Emma’s in slide so perfectly in sync that he doesn’t believe it’s real.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

“You tell no one of this,” Emma grunts against his lips as she works to remove his coat from his shoulders.

“Aye, I understand.” His hook tugs against her backside, and he releases his hand from her locks to help her take off his coat. It’s heavier than he would like, but it’s what he’s needed to keep warm in ports and on the deck of the Jolly over the years. Now, it will be a nice barrier between the two of them in the sand. “It will be a private dalliance between us.”

“Do you always have to talk like that?” “Like what?”

“Like you’re from a Jane Austen novel?”

“What’s that?”

That gets a smile from Emma, and maybe he’ll be destined to only make her smile when she’s teasing or feeling superior over him not knowing something about her world. For now, he’ll take it.

“She’s a writer. She writes romance.”

“Oh? You read those? I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Shut up,” she groans, pushing him down until he gets the idea and settles down on the ground. Emma sinks down onto her knees and settles on his hips before she dips her head and rejoins her lips to his. “Just be quiet, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Her mouth stills at the words, the same ones he used earlier, but then she’s continuing the kiss, and Killian can feel her over every inch of her. His skin is prickling and beginning to become sweat-soaked once more, but now that he’s without his coat, he can feel the cool breeze of the ocean wafting up onto his skin. He doesn’t know how long they lay in the sand with their mouths moving together with no destination in mind until he feels Emma’s hands near his trousers. She’s pulling apart the laces, and as her mouth breaks away for her to get more access to it, he takes the opportunity to pull at her blouse with his hook. She gasps at the touch, but she doesn’t push him away. Her skin is sun-kissed and glistening with sweat, and her chest is heaving, heart obviously beating as quickly as his is. He swears that he can feel it, but he knows that’s not true.

She’s glowing underneath the moonlight and the flickering of the lantern, and this may be the first time he’s been truly fond of the moon here in a lifetime.

There he goes thinking those thoughts again, and he swore to himself that he would not do that.

Ever tried, ever failed.

Finally, he gets her blouse down enough that he can see the roundness of her breast, and Killian groans at the sight. He’s spent more nights than he’s willing to admit dreaming about something like this, but the reality is much better.

Bloody hell.

Her hand brushes over him through his leathers, and he hisses. But the pain is good, a pleasant burn, and Killian lifts himself to lick away sweat that is gather on Emma’s collarbone. Her skin is salty on his tongue, and he savors it.

“Why the hell are your pants so frustrating?”

“I believe it takes a more patient hand.”

“I don’t have any time for patience,” she huffs, and he notices that her hands are shaking and that she really is struggling to get his leathers down. Killian takes the opportunity to lift his hips to help her, and she finally gets them tugged down, smiling as his cock juts out.

Well, maybe that’s another way he can get an elusive smile out of her.

“Aha,” she laughs, almost giddily.

“I don’t believe that’s a reaction I’ve ever had before.”

She shrugs and starts working with her own bottoms. She handles them much better than she handled his, the zipper easily tugging down and the material peeled off of her so that he can see the toned legs she possesses, all of her muscles defined.

Beautiful.

His mind simply can’t get past that.

“Yeah, well, I’m always one for new things.”

Emma kicks her trousers off until they’re resting on the sand, and she settles back on top of his hips, her softness brushing over his hardness. She’s more ready than he thought she would be, but he’s certainly not going to complain, not when he so desperately needs to be inside of her. Maybe if he’s allowed to do this again, which he doubts, he’ll be able to take the time he usually would with someone like her.

Someone who is more than a conquest.

Someone who should be treasured.

“Really, now?” he questions. “In that case – ”

She slaps his chest, and he grabs onto her hand, holding it to his chest as he chuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

“Aye, and while I do so love a woman who takes charge, you have to let a man have a little fun.”

Her groan is frustrated as she tilts his head back, making her neck swan-like again, and all he can think is how much he wants to bite the delicate skin. But that thought is quickly dissipated when Emma takes him in hand, stroking him a few times, before guiding him into her.

Bloody fuck.

It’s better than he could ever imagine to feel her warmth stretching around him and to hear the groan straining in the back of her throat. She’s a vision like this, still half-dressed but entirely indecent, and he almost tells her so before her hands clutch at his shoulders and grab onto the chains around his neck. They’re the only cool thing about this moment, the Neverland heat and heat of their activities consuming him, and it’s a nice touch to feel the mementos he’s collected over the years.

He wishes that he had a way to collect this moment.

“Fuck,” she hisses as she begins a gentle rocking, adjusting a testing out this new position they’re now in. “Fuck.”

“At a loss for words there, Swan?” “Don’t be cocky.”

He juts his hips up at her words, and she moans, and digs her nails into his skin so hard he may bleed.

“Apologies, love,” he says, not meaning it.

In fact, he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’s sure she despises it, but Killian doesn’t care to stop himself when he hasn’t felt this good in ages.

But they’re doing this to forget, he reminds himself, not to remember.

They quickly find a rhythm that works for the both of them. Emma takes control, like he knew she would, and continually changes up how deep he enters her over and over again. It’s like she can’t figure out if she wants shallow or deep, fast or slow, and eventually he tires of it and wraps his arms around her to flip them over, careful not to hurt her with his hook. She gasps at the movement and opens her mouth to say something, but then he’s pushing into her as his mouth deliciously slants over hers.

Emma hooks her foot against his backside, pushing him further inside of her, and he can feel his heart between his ears as he finds the pace that he wants. Her nails keep scratching into his back, and Killian groans before trailing his mouth away from Emma’s to find her ear. He begins whispering to her, working around her rule of him not being loud, and when she complains, he tells her that he’s very much being quiet. Besides, he thinks that words he whispers to her keep her from protesting anymore.

He’s getting close, his high nearing the edge, and he props himself up on his left arm so he can reach between them and rub his thumb over where they’re joined. Emma lets out a long moan that he hasn’t heard before, and then he feels her fluttering, feels her falling around him.

Fuck.

The feeling nearly causes him to fall right there, but he has enough mind to pull out and take himself in hand to finish himself off since he doesn’t believe Emma has any of the potions that prevent pregnancy with her.

This was never really in either of their plans.

Going off of plan is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him on this damned island.

He’s almost there, teetering on the edge with shaky limbs, and as soon as he feels Emma’s soft hands on him, he’s gone.

Afterward, they don’t spend time lingering on the sand. Before they can catch their breaths, Emma is standing and straightening herself up, tugging her clothes down and back on, and he does the same. Though, he’s much slower than her, partially due to his hand but mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t seem to be fighting the internal war Emma is.

He knows that he just slept with a woman he fancies from time to time, while she just slept with a man she most likely still finds despicable despite them getting along rather well lately.

Nothing like a crisis to bond people.

“Thanks for that,” she finally mutters as she twists her locks back to remove them from her face. She’s flushed, the heat still lingering, and he can see the slightest bit of redness on her chest from where his beard rubbed against her. “It was…”

“Bloody satisfying.”

“Yeah,” she huffs, her lips turning up even as she looks away from him. “But also, a one-time thing. I mean that this time. Today has been complicated.”

“Aye, Swan,” Killian sighs, “whatever you say.”

He’ll respect her wishes with no hesitation, but like he thought earlier, Emma isn’t the only one who knows when someone is telling a lie.

#dorisquinn #cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

[tonystarkbingo]

Our TSB party is still going, and here is one of the games we’ve had fun with so far!

Fic Titles Game

Glitter - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@huntress79 - Idea: Dum-E teams up with Steve (other Avengers optional) to bring some Christmas cheer to their favorite in-house Grinch (aka Tony XD)  Massive amounts of Glitter involved

@rebelmeg​ - tony kind of has an accidental thing for glitter. it's not his fault. the iron man suit has a glitz and glamour of its own, he's always told his eyes sparkle, and his favorite tie pin is that gaudy ruby one that pepper hates. he loves the stars, the way sunlight sparkles on the waves outside his malibu mansion, and he can't really be blamed when a tiny speck of glitter under a certain someone's eye catches his attention one december day.

@psychiccatpanda - Clint refills DUM-E's fire extinguisher with purple and silver glitter as revenge for Tony making Clint's most recent armor change to red and gold with body heat. Hijinks ensue.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Decorating the Christmas tree, the Avengers get into an argument over who is responsible for the missing tinsel. Half an hour later they find it, in a tangled web draped all over Dum-e. He objects strenuously to its removal, but eventually concedes to their assistance in rearranging the strands so he can still move.

@huntress79 - The Avengers are invited to a Charity gala, but they have to wear costumes that are NOT their usual ones. And of course, Tony can't resist an opportunity to rile up a certain Captain, just a little bit. Best way to do so: a dare, in this case who wears the most glittery costume. But what Tony didn't expect was that Steve comes up with his own counterdare... (author's choice ;))

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It's pride, so there was bound to be some glitter floating around, it was inevitable. But this much? Someone was obviously being irresponsible with glitter and needs to be given a warning for the good of the world (and the Tower's cleaning bots). Tony follows the trail of glitter... all the way to Steve's room? Does this mean that Tony's crush on Steve actually stood a chance of being more than just a crush.

@ralsbecket - It was Steve's first Father's Day being Morgan's step-dad, and Tony helps her with cooking breakfast in bed and sprinkling red, white, and blue glitter on a handmade card (not particularly in that order). Steve still finds glitter everywhere weeks later.

@rebelmeg​ - i can't art very well, but i want art of the aftermath of tony opening a glitter bomb that rhodey left out for him

@huntress79 - (Stony) - During a mission in space, Tony and Steve are stranded on a planet, with no immediate way to get back. After a while, they encounter tiny little beings who introduce themselves as fairies. But while they can't fulfill their wish to get home (for whatever reasons), they might be inclined to use their glittery fairy dust for something else… (could also be used for a crossover with Hook/Peter Pan)

@rebelmeg (with some inspirational help from @dreaminglypeach) - tony coming home with glitter all over his suit and looking super smug, and everyone IMMEDIATELY assumes strippers. but of course it's gotta something completely different and silly.  like... he wandered through the christmas department at the store and slipped on something and ended up sprawled on the glitter strewn floor

 @yesmooshoe - Tony is somehow de-aged to around 5. The Avengers do their best to take care of him while they figure out what to do, but don't keep a constant eye on him. Tony likes all of his new friends though and wants to do something special for them, so he acquires a bunch of glitter and glue (maybe jarvis helps? maybe thor likes crafting? fuck knows.) Tony proceeds to embellish everyone's stuff - glitter all of steve's shield, thor's hammer, glitter all over Clint's arrows (which really throws off the balance but he can't be mad), and even a weird-looking red and yellow robot suit. When Tony is finally returned to normal he's upset with his younger self for how haphazardly he glued all the glitter to his suit, because it could have looked super cool if done well.

Collaborative effort that started with strippers and then went off the rails

Glitter lube

Scratchy, what a terrible idea

oh my god but imagine shitting out glitter

Edible glitter

Edible glitter on cakes

Edible glitter exiting the human body

So many glitter poop jokes and anecdotes

@ralsbecket - The Avengers are forced undercover for a mission to catch a villain red-handed, and this villain just so happens to work from the basement of a strip-club. Tony draws the short straw, but at least he can choose his own stripper name.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's sure it looks very pretty. Gentle waves ruffling the surface of the bay. Each strand of grass on the dunes lined in perfect crystals of frost. Dawn sun painting the sky pink. And right there is the problem: dawn sun. It is far too early to have to deal with all these stray rays of light stabbing through his eyes.

(More under the cut!)

Vices - suggested by @ralsbecket

@huntress79 - (Stony) - Steve's a hard working cop on the vice, Tony's his "favorite" frequent delinquent (aka Tony's a bit of a bad boy who usually gets arrested by Steve, for rather minor things, but Tony can't shut up when Steve's around, so it's more for his talking than anything else) (Steve, of course, can be replaced by any other character, whatever floats your boat XD)

@rebelmeg - tony kicked a lot of these habits a long time ago. it's been ages since he's been high, or slept around, or partied until he literally dropped. but around this time in december, he's allowed a few of his other vices. his need for near-constant touch and attention. drinking. staying up to keep the nightmares away, and being coaxed to bed when he's so exhausted he's asleep before his head eats the pillow. eating all the food he loves that aren't that great for him. it's okay, though. this time of year, he's allowed.

@lbibliophile - "... This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing." And it was in that moment - confronted by the picture he made trapped in the grip of supposedly-helpful machinery - that Tony decided he really needed to prioritise a better way of getting the suit on and off.

@rebelmeg - some kind of profile art with the arc reactor depicted as one half of a vice clamped on tony's chest

@dreaminglypeach - vices: DUM-E was only trying to help squishy-dad with his work. He didn’t mean to get his hand stuck in a vice. If only sky-dad would stop chastising him and call for help…

@Magicadraconia16 - Dum-E does not understand why everyone keeps saying that vices are bad. They're very helpful tools! He loves the one that Tony gave him for his very own. He can show everyone, then they'll see! If only he can get it off of U's arm, first…

@huntress79 - Knowing that Tony will fall back to some of his old vices as soon as December rolls around, the whole Tower teams up to keep him from doing so (can be gen aka Avengers as a family, or end with your favorite partner for Tones)

@psychiccatpanda - [potential WinterIron] Bucky has been researching everyone on the team and it seems like the media has nothing better to do than to gossip about Tony Stark's vices - women, booze, and expensive cars mostly. The trashier gossip bloggers openly speculated on what (or who) Tony's latest mistake would be. When Bucky gives Tony a judgmental look after he's returned from being out (much longer than the hour Stark had said he'd be gone), Tony frowns. The bag clanks like metal. What the hell had Tony meant when he'd said he needed to 'go pick up some new vices'?? ((hint - it's actual vices. It always takes longer at Home Depot or any hardware store because Tony has to look at everything before he leaves!))

@tehroserose - [Stony] Steve had only one vice. Well, two, but they were related. He loved watching Tony's backside, and he loved getting him angry. The genius was so alive when he was angry, and then he was treated to a wonderful view of the amazing backside. Bucky was about ready to smack him upside the head for his kindergarten way of having a crush.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Before the serum there was a lot of things Steve couldn't experience, whether it was because of his conditions or lack of money. Steve's favourite thing about the 21st Century is all the foods and flavours. Being able to eat things he couldn't eat before. Being able to taste things he wouldn't've been able to taste before. Steve spends his military back-pay on food and treats... a part of him burns at the idea of spending his money this way, there were more beneficial things he could be doing with it... But he can't help himself, especially when some flavours taste like euphoria. Tony notices and decides to indulge in Steve's vices.

@huntress79 - (potential HawkIron) For the longest time, Clint always had to choose before a mission between wearing the team comms and his hearing aids, otherwise his ears felt like being in a vice. SHIELD didn't see it as a necessity to equip him with better things, but once he joins the Avengers, and Tony notices the obvious problem, things start to look up for the resident archer....

@huntress79 - Ever since he got free of the programming and came to live at the Tower, Bucky's been doing repairs on his metal arm on his own. But after a mission, putting his arm in a vice and working with the fine tools isn't the easiest thing to do. And Buck's too proud to ask anyone for help, be it Steve or anyone else. Good thing that he can't stop JARVIS alerting Tony to that particular problem... (can be friendship/mending bridges between them, or WinterIron)

5 Times Tony Stark was a Terrible Cook, Plus 1 That One Time He Finally Ordered a Pizza - suggested by @yesmooshoe

@tehroserose - Tony/Others, Tony/Rhodey end. Tony has always tried to cook for his dates. He wants to impress them. Problem is, he can't cook. And too many people just want the Stark money and lie and say it is good. Or they're too afraid/intimidated to tell the truth. Later, much later, he realizes they aren't good for him. Then there's Rhodey, who's never afraid to tell Tony that his cooking sucks... and then, after the last relationship ended, this time when the white lie was out of care, Rhodey again tells Tony his food sucks, let's get pizza. And they kiss, over the pizza.

@rebelmeg - first it was cookies. cookies burnt to a crisp that even ana jarvis couldn't salvage. second was spaghetti, so mushy and overcooked that rhodey couldn't stop laughing even when tony threatened to throw his enormously thick math textbook at him. third was that whole "raw in the middle" chicken incident that happy still won't let him live down, and fourth was the disastrous omelet for pepper. fifth was morgan's 1st birthday cake, and thank heaven's pepper was wise enough to ignore him and order a backup. this time, he's just gonna order a pizza.

@huntress79 - Tony The Cook: The Jarvises tried, Mama Rhodes as well, but for all his genius, Tony can't figure out a cooking recipe. Nonetheless, he tried to impress several various dates with his cooking skills. Needless to say that none of these attempts (both cooking and dating) ended well. Then, he meets Steve, a guy who doesn't care at all what they eat, as long as they eat together. And so, Tony orders pizza for their date…

@Magicadraconia16 - It's an unfortunate historical fact that Tony cannot cook to save his life (hmm, there's an idea for the next HYDRA kidnapping...). Rhodey's meal was burnt to unidentifiable cinders (seriously, even Tony doesn't know what it was supposed to be); Pepper's gave her an allergic reaction; Natasha chipped a tooth; Hulk came out and threw Bruce's food out of the (closed!!) window; and Steve got food poisoning. Steve!!! So when Bucky turns up in his workshop one day, Tony decides to selflessly save everyone from a hangry Winter Soldier and just orders pizza, instead.

@ralsbecket - 5 + 1 Pizza: Tony Stark was many things. He was a genius, he was a billionaire, he was a playboy, he was a philanthropist. The thing he was decidedly not was a good cook. It was one burnt omelet too many before Pepper begged him to just order out. The person delivering his pizza was... attractive. If he started ordering pizza on Fridays at 6PM every week for a month, that was nobody's business.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony just wants to offer a fancy home-made anniversary dinner. It's not so much that Tony is a terrible cook, but that something (or several somethings) always go wrong. His significant other's flight was delayed. He gets distracted by a minor crisis half way through cooking. He tries to prepare beforehand, but forgets to label it before leaving it in the common fridge. Had a mistranslated recipe or the wrong measuring spoons. Dum-e tried to 'help' while he was distracted. The next year, his SO requests that they just order pizza to eat cuddled on the couch.

@psychiccatpanda - Single dad Tony tries to do it all. He feels terrible about the amount of time his three kids (all under the age of 5) spend in daycare, but college will be expensive, so he works -and works. But he tries to make the after-work before-bed moments really count. Sometimes his carefully planned dinners don't work out. Monday, the slow cooker wasn't plugged in and their chicken and potato dish spoiled for being on the counter for almost 13 hours unrefrigerated. Tuesday they were out of bread and ate PBJ on the last three hot dog buns. Wednesday, he thought dinner was fine, but Peter declared it was 'too spicy' and so none of the kids would eat it. Thursday he burned the chicken nuggets in the oven because he had to help the kids with their baths, and Friday? Well no one was gonna talk about that again. Saturday Tony's ready to cry because he's pretty sure Morgan is coming down with something. So he orders pizza. When the pizza delivery guy arrives, holding Morgan, she barfs all down Tony's back. Pizza delivery driver yanks the pizza away and asks if he can come in to set it down in the kitchen, then helps out with the kids while Tony takes a shower.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It was meant to be romantic, cooking for a date. But with Tony it was definitely not romantic. Cooking for Rumiko he managed to burn everything, yet have the food still raw. Firefighters had to be called when he set his dorm alight cooking for Janet. Ty needed to have his stomach pumped after Tony's cooking (how was he to know what was too much alcohol, wasn't it meant to burn off?). Indries had stomach problems for weeks after Tony cooked for her. And he managed to poison Pepper... Needless to say, Tony wasn't a good cook... So when he scores a date with Steve Rogers, he thinks "why bother try? Steve is too good for me anyway", there was no way they were going to last. So he orders a pizza. Steve is relieved when he sees the pizza. He had been hoping Tony would pick something down to earth, worried he wouldn't know how to eat whatever posh food Tony put in front of him and make a fool of himself. Steve admits he doesn't know how to cook either. Maybe Captain America isn't so perfect. Maybe... Maybe this could work out. Him and Steve

@huntress79 - Of all the people, Tony has probably the most irregular eating rhythm. He has been known to try and cook for himself, but the results are less than stellar. So, one by one, each of the Avengers try to cook for him, until Steve joins him in the workshop with a small stash of pizzas…

@lbibliophile-mcu - It was all Steve Rogers' fault. Him and his insistence on 'team dinners' to 'promote bonding' and 'improve cohesion'. Not that Tony necessarily objects to the dinners - pending his schedule - but Steve seems to have this odd conviction that having home-cooked food is a necessary part of the ritual, and none of them can change his mind. Natasha tried logic. Clint tried begging. Bruce, he's pretty sure, is sneaking in pre-made food and just cooking the final steps. Thor thinks it's a great idea... but is always for some reason back on Asgard on his nights. But Tony is a genius, so he decides on a different approach. He grumbles a little bit, but otherwise doesn't complain when it's his night to cook. He cooks... and watches as each of the Avengers gives up on choking down the barely-edible meal. The next time he is rostered, the scene repeats. And the next. And the next. By the sixth time he is due to be cooking dinner, Steve comes up to him and politely - but pointedly - suggests that maybe they just order pizza. Tony thinks of the several meals worth of tasty leftovers hidden in the penthouse fridge, and graciously acquiesces.

I hope Thistle cheer you up - by @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - it was the pun war to end all pun wars. and it was probably going to end all of them. clint was fine, he loved puns almost as much as he loved pizza. steve hated puns so much he had taken up swearing. tony took sadistic glee in saving his worst puns for when steve was around. nat was famous for using the most clever of puns at unexpected moments. bucky could deadpan a pun so seriously it always took them by surprise. thor was terrible at it, still grasping the nuances of american english, but he sure tried hard. bruce tolerated it all and made half-hearted attempts at participation, though chuckling at his own puns was usually funnier than the puns. sam loved making puns, but hated it when other people did. it started creeping into other areas of their life, onto social media, in interviews, and at one point hawkeye was trending for awhile after he screamed out "THISTLE CHEER YOU UP!" whilst battling some kind of plant monster. tony helped, because he retweeted with the comment, "ooh, talk dirt to me."

@ralsbecket -  So what if Tony had gotten laid off? So what if Tony had a mountain of bills sitting on his dining table? The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was his baby girl Morgan, with her hair falling out of the ponytail and her cute little lisp. She'd come back in from the backyard with a handful of dandelions, saying, "I hope thistle cheer you up, Daddy" so sweetly that for just a moment, everything was okay again.

@psychiccatpanda - [IronHawk] Tony's been working on the reams of paperwork that he's put off for SI. He's still not sure why it all needs to be done before the end of the quarter, but here he was. Needless to say, Tony Stark has been in a foul mood the whole week. The snide comments he usually keeps to himself have started to slip out and he feels guilty on top of the grouchy, so he decides to barricade himself in his office. He falls asleep on a sheaf of papers and wakes up with the impression of little ridges of paper on his cheek. It takes a moment (he hasn't been asleep that long) for him to fully realize the plant in front of him was real. An aloe plant - with a plate of chocolate muffins, fruit, cheese, and nuts. A post-it on the aloe's pot read, 'I hope thistle cheer you up,' written with a purple felt tip pen., which meant either Clint had left it - or Natasha pretending to be Clint.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bruce looks at Tony, then back down at the spiny dried flowerhead in his hands.

"I know that you were getting frustrated trying to find these for your new fibre arts project, so I decided to help." His eyes light up as he realises the pun. "Thistle cheer you up!"

Bruce sighs even as he smiles.

"Tony... I appreciate the thought, but as you said, this is a thistle. I need a teasel."

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Tony really doesn't like his neighbour Justin. The man was always trying to find ways to report him to the local council. Mailbox too close to driveway? Reported! Weeds in his lawn? Reported! Fence too high? Reported! Didn't clean his pool that weekend? Reported! Lawn too long? Reported! It was ridiculous. But the council won't do anything because taking action against someone who's reported you (even if the reports were false) is apparently considered wrong and vindictive. There was nothing Tony could do but grit his teeth and bear it. One day Tony receives a box in the mail, addressed from his neighbour across the street. The handsome blond guy with the body of a Greek god and a garden that looked like a literal paradise. Steve Rogers. Tony wasn't too shy to admit (to himself) that he had a crush on the man. He eagerly tears into the box to find a small note and a lots of little bags of mulch wrapped in tissue paper. The note reads: "Tony, I've heard you be having some trouble. I hope thistle cheer you up. After the rain comes flowers. Ps. Throw these over Justin's fence." And so he does. Watching Justin battle all the weeds after it rains brings Tony so much joy. Especially when Justine reports him to the council and the council shrugs him off this time. He heads over to Steve with some home cooked food as a thank you gift and they get talking. Turns out Steve is an Environmental activist with a passion for guerrilla gardening. Tony is hooked. Maybe it has more to to with Steve then the revenge on Justin (as sweet as it was)

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb discord party #titles game #discord party games

[thewolfisapartofmysoul]

Hey lovelies,

Another fic... This time its a Beetlejuice x reader. Actually i was planning on a quick drabble but got sucked into it. 😅

Reader is coming out as not-straight to Beetlejuice. Either bisexual, lesbian, asexual, tanssexual, pansexual, aromantic, gender-neutral (or any i've missed)...

Any 🏳️‍🌈single one of you... i love you and you are valid as hell. 💕

Thanx for reading. Hope you enjoy.

@paxenera @demonwifey @hoodoo12 @ironmansuucks @stranger-strings @vicunaburger

You were lounging on the couch with your favorite ghost-with-the-most, laying on your back with your head on his thigh as he gleefully chatted about the last scare he gave Lydia 10 minutes ago. You chuckled as Beetlejuice tried to reproduce the scream of terror Lydia had made when he jumped out of her mirror. Again. For the 4th time this week.

The vibe was relaxed and happy, his hair was vibrating-neon-green because of the joy he just had pulling a scare on Lyds. Sometimes you felt pity for the goth teen, but then figured that she would get back to him the same way soon enough. It was often only a matter of time untill she figured out a plan to scare him back.

A smile creeping up your face as you praised yourself lucky to be part of this loving odd family.

As Beetlejuice stopped talking, you noticed him looking at you as you were laying on his lap. His eyes narrowing as he thoughtfully scratched his scruff. You got uncomfortable at his stare so you blurted out: "wha-... whatsup BeeJ...? Do i have someting between my teeth again?" He rolled his eyes saying: "No babes. You look as pretty as always... its just... you dont have the mood-ring-hair-awesomeness going on like me. But i can tell that you're upset about something lately."

You took a deep breath. Of course Beetlejuice would notice. He was your best pall.

"Yeah... i uhm... did some thinking recently and erhmmm..."

He was looking at you with kind eyes as you stuttered through your scetence. "I... want to tell you BeeJ, i just can't... quite... say it."

Beetlejuice nodded quickly, understanding where you were coming from. Far too many people could hear you around the house right now.

His eyes glinsetered and his while body perked up, smile forming on his lips as he started to yell at the top of his lungs: "Hey Babs...?! Uhmm....I think i set the stove on fire AGAIN!!!" He winked at you and clipped his fingers, wicked smile on his face as even more neon green appeared in his hair.

Whitin seconds you heared everyone running through the house towards the kitchen, a swearing Charles rushed past the living room first, with a fire extinguisher in hand. Lydia right behind him, scolding Beetlejuice as she ran after her dad. Barbara and adam following suit trying to calm Charles and Lydia down. Delia followed quickly behind mumbling something about bad karma, also rushing towards the kitchen.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the demon you were still lounging on. His eyes smirking as much as his mouth did, and you smacked his arm. "Ouch! Hey!! Gimme a break babes... i got you some nice and quiet talking-time!" beetlejuice defended himself.

"Yeah... well... you could have just poofed us away youknow?" you mumbled, but had to laugh at his antics anyway. A smirk was creeping up his face as he hummed: "Its more fun this way! Now... im all ears doll... you were saying?"

You sat up next to him and pulled your legs under you, so you were sitting cross-legged beside him. He was once again looking at you intently.

"Well... the thing is... i think i... might not... be... straight?" you winced a bit at your own words. Watching his face closely, expecting him to do the same. He never did. Instead he frowned a bit as he started to speak: "Babes... you do realise that i am literally attracted to every human being, regardless of whats in their pants... right?" You nodded. "Then you do know that that shit is NOT what makes you less then the awesome breather you are."

You felt tears pickling behind your eyes as he said so. Swallowing thickly at his kind words. "If you ever want to talk to me about how you feel, im here for you babes. And i am the last demon around thats going to judge you.... Besides...." he clipped his fingers again. Bouncing with excitement as he did so. The green smokenaround you dissapeared you were both wrapped between a rainbow flag together. "...we are both KILLING the rainbow look, babes." You chuckled, feeling happy and relieved your bffff foverever accepted and supported you.

He went to lay his scruffy cheek on your shoulder as he tugged the rainbow flag closer around his shoulders, getting comfortable next to you. He purred softly: "... now... tell me all about it babes... im listening."

#alex brightman #bouncy oddball #beetlejuice imagine #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice/reader #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice #pride #lgtbqia+ #lgbtq positivity #you are valid #never forget #lgbt 🏳️‍🌈 #🏳️‍🌈 #🏳️‍🌈pride #myownfic

[iloveyou3thousand]

For @squishy-parker who suggested I write a lil fic based on a specific TikTok challenge. This was so much fun to write so thanks for the suggestion!

CW for nudity and slightly questionable social distancing skills...or are they?

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Peter knows he’s been in quarantine for far too long when he finds himself in some of the slightly more questionable corners of the internet. It’s only been two weeks since the Tower went into lockdown and yet he’s done just about everything the internet has suggested him to, from Facebook challenges to an Avengers-issued message of encouragement for the people of New York and throughout the rest of the world. He’s made bread from scratch, sewn several little felt mice which Steve seemed strangely fascinated by, and he’s keeping up pretty well with his workout routine. 

And yet boredom has struck severely by the time he finds a new challenge. He can’t believe he spends hours on TikTok daily, both watching and making videos, and yet he hasn’t come across this particular challenge before. It’s no wonder why, though. TikTok is supposed to be family friendly. Right? Right. 

“FRIDAY?” Peter sits back in his desk chair and looks toward the ceiling. 

“Yes, Peter?” Comes a pleasant voice. 

“Where’s Tony right now?” 

“Mr. Stark is currently in his workshop. Would you like to send him a message?” 

For social distancing’s sake, although the Avengers have been quarantining together, they’ve all kept mostly to themselves and have communicated primarily through the house AI. Just to be sure. Occasionally Peter will go down into the workshop to tinker at his own workshop bench and keep himself updated on what Tony is doing, too, but they’ve mostly kept their distance and it’s killing him. 

The last time they’d even shared a bed was two weeks ago. Two weeks and two days, to be exact. Sixteen whole days, dragging out to feel like several months have already passed. It’s like Peter’s quick metabolism also makes time feel like it’s passing him by at a rapid speed. Like that time he’d been locked away in a large storage unit for hours. 

He’s starting to miss Tony a little more every day even though they still see each other, still talk to each other, and still occasionally touch. If they hadn’t gotten together officially literally just over a week or so before the Tower went into lockdown then maybe all of this would have been much easier to bear, but it’s not like they’ll find out. 

Peter has decided it’s been long enough. They’re already in lockdown together, and while he doesn’t want risk Tony catching anything, for as far as he knows they’re both still perfectly healthy. 

So he kindly dismisses FRIDAY, watches a few more videos, strips himself down until he’s stark naked, and hurries to the elevator with his phone in hand, ready to record. He only realizes he’s standing naked in an elevator in a building that houses at least four other people at the moment when it starts to go down, and he spends the whole ride to the workshop nervous – but thankfully comes out safely on the other end. 

Now it’s just a matter of… Going. 

Peter’s nervous. Suddenly he starts to have his doubts. What if Tony dismisses him? What if he tells him to go upstairs and get dressed? What if he doesn’t even acknowledge him or look at him because he’s too busy with one of his projects to be able to really take his attention away from it and see what Peter was doing? 

He almost walks back into the elevator. But as if FRIDAY senses his hesitation and wants to encourage him, the doors close, and the elevator continues further down. Probably picking up someone. 

So Peter takes a deep breath, and pushes himself down the hall, shuffling on bare feet, toes cold on the marble floor, until he reaches the sliding doors into the workshop. He stands there and listens for a moment but he doesn’t hear anything, and is briefly convinced that maybe Tony’s left, maybe to get himself another mug of coffee. Maybe that’s why the elevator continued on its way – maybe it was going down to pick Tony up and he’s now coming up and is about to walk up behind him and then Peter’s surprise is ruined! 

But then Peter hears a very telltale beeping, followed by Tony’s firm “No, Dum-E. Don’t you dare…” and he feels a surge of relief.

The doors slide open to allow him entrance to the workshop and Peter presses record on his phone as he follows the sound of a torch burner in the distance. 

Tony is sitting hunched over another one of his projects, Dum-E looking the part of reprimanded bot a little further down, holding a fire extinguisher. It almost makes Peter laugh. Would have, if he’d felt any less nervous. He approaches Tony, who has his face shielded with a large, protective mask against the flames from the burner, and it seems he doesn’t hear Peter come closer over the sound of the thing. 

Only when Dum-E beeps happily upon apparently recognizing Peter, does Tony look up – first to the bot, before turning his head toward Peter. Peter can’t see his expression through the mask, but that’s quickly solved when Tony lifts it over his head after freezing for a moment. 

He looks taken aback, eyes a little wide and just a touch confused, but taking Peter in with greed at the very same time. 

Dum-E beeps again, and Tony jumps, quickly turns the burner off, and puts it down to his bench before slowly taking off the mask entirely and dropping it down too. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and he sounds a little bit amused, a shadow of a smile on his lips as Peter steps even closer, heart beating quickly. 

“Nothing,” Peter says, face hidden behind his phone, trying to hide his widening grin. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing...” Tony’s gaze drops just as he reaches for Peter’s naked waist when he’s finally within reach, smoothing callused palms up from the boy’s hips to his ribs. 

It feels so good to finally have Tony’s hands on him again, however innocently and however light. Peter can see in Tony’s expression that the feeling’s mutual. Tony leans in slowly and brushes a soft kiss to the center of Peter’s chest, looking positively awestruck when he pulls back. 

Peter’s already forgotten that he’s recording, phone tilting down to show the slope of Tony’s back over his shoulder. 

“Put that camera away, baby,” Tony purrs, reminding Peter. 

“It’s for a challenge,” is what Peter manages to breathe back. 

Tony pulls Peter into his lap, hands wrapped over his hips, fingers caressing the small of his back. His mouth finds the crook of Peter’s neck and has the boy melting instantly, folding around Tony like a delicate flower. 

Tony pulls back and looks up at Peter, face soft as he admires Peter’s features from up close at long last, after so many days of only having been able to look at Peter from halfway across the room. It’s not over yet by far, but if Peter’s resolve has crumbled – as it clearly has – then Tony knows he doesn’t stand a chance. 

“Did you win?” Tony asks.

Peter pulls his phone closer, ends his recording, and puts his phone down on the work bench so he can wrap his arms around Tony’s neck again and brush his nose against his lover’s. 

He grins, and brushes his lips to Tony’s.

“I’d say I did.”

#starker #fanfic #starker fanfic #peter x tony #ironspider #my writing #mine #ficlet

[tsuki-chibi]

Harry Potter Valentine’s Fic: The Rules

Read it on AO3!

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"Harry? What are you doing still awake?"

"Waiting for Charlie."

The room brightened briefly before Ginny extinguished the tip of her wand with a flick. "It's almost 3am. Charlie owled last night to say it might be after sunrise before he touched down..."

"I know," Harry said, not moving. He was curled up on the window seat in the living room of the Burrow. The fire was banked, providing just enough light for him to be able to see Ginny's thoughtful expression. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she would put up an argument the way that Hermione had. She hadn't wanted to leave Harry down here alone, and it had finally taken Ron practically dragging her out of the room before Hermione gave up and went up to bed. That had been about two hours ago, by Harry's best guess.

"Okay," Ginny said finally. "But here." She padded across the room to a chest and opened it, pulling out a thick blanket that had doubtlessly been knitted by Mrs Weasley. It was a riot of colours, blues and purples and greens fading into yellows and oranges, but blessedly warm when she walked over and settled it around his shoulders. Harry snuggled into the blanket gratefully, not even having realized how cold he was until that moment.

"Thanks," Harry said with a small smile.

Ginny smiled back. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night." He watched her go before he turned back to the window. It wasn't snowing tonight, but the clouds were thick and heavy with the promise of an on-coming storm. Wizards were fortunate, Harry reflected, in that at least two of their ways of transportation were unaffected by snow. Travelling by Floo didn't even require stepping outside. But Charlie had said that he was coming as far as the next town by train, and then he was planning to fly the rest of the way by broom. Mrs Weasley had spent a good deal of time tutting under her breath about boys and their brooms.

But Harry could understand where Charlie was coming from. He knew from the letters that Charlie wrote that the reserve was extremely busy lately, so Charlie didn't have much of an opportunity for flying. There was nothing like a good flight to clear your head, so it made perfect sense that's how Charlie would want to start off his vacation... to Harry, anyway. Which he figured was part of the reason why he was the only one waiting up.

Then there was the other part.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he pulled his knees up against his chest, draping the blanket over his cold feet. Upstairs, there was a spot for him on Ginny's floor - or so he suspected, considering that Ron and Hermione had gone upstairs after Mrs Weasley had gone to bed. But there was also another spot for him several miles away: in Draco's bed. And while Harry had been very happily claiming the latter every night for about five months now, he needed to talk to Charlie desperately before he could do so another night.

Luckily, Christmas was a convenient excuse. Draco was spending the night with his parents, but he had agreed to come to the Burrow tomorrow morning. Harry fully expected that Draco would be here no later than seven, because both Draco and Lucius usually woke up around six, and an hour was more than enough time for Lucius to be his usual self and piss Draco off to the point where Draco would leave rather than say something that would upset Narcissa. That meant Harry had - he checked his watch and sighed - about four hours to talk to Charlie first.

He rested his head against the cold glass for a moment, then straightened. Had that been a flicker of colour off in the distance? He strained his eyes, holding perfectly still, before biting back a whoop. That was definitely someone on a broom, and there would only be one person heading for the Burrow at this time of night. Harry jumped up, bringing the blanket with him as he dashed over to the door. He stopped just long enough to jam his feet into an old pair of trainers before he threw the door open and rushed outside.

Charlie was just touching down, though had Harry not known it was him he wouldn’t have recognized Charlie at all considering how heavily he was dressed. His dark blue cloak was pulled up around his face and he was wearing a hat pulled low over his forehead and ears. But that couldn't disguise the huge smile that appeared when he saw Harry, and he lifted his gloved hand in greeting.

"Hey Harry! Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas," Harry said, crossing the snow towards him.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," said Charlie, tucking his broom beneath his arm.

“It was no big deal,” Harry said with a shrug. He shivered. The blanket really wasn’t enough to ward off the chill.

“Let’s get inside,” Charlie said, motioning to the door, and Harry eagerly complied. The Burrow felt wonderfully warm after just a minute outside, and he couldn’t imagine how Charlie was feeling. He stood aside and watched as Charlie shed his outerwear, hanging it all up on the pegs.

“What happened?” Harry asked, noticing a bandage Charlie’s right forearm.

“New dragon at the reserve. Bit prickly, but she’s coming around,” Charlie said. “Mum’ll sit me down to one of her lectures about finding a safer job, I’m sure.” He grinned, not looking bothered by the thought, and gave his head a toss. He’d grown his hair out, Harry realized; it wasn’t as long as Bill’s by any means, but it was long enough to be tied into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. Something else Mrs Weasley wouldn’t be pleased about, no doubt.

“So, your work is going well?” Harry said politely.

“Harry, forgive me, but I don’t think you waited up until 3am to ask me about my work. I’m very tired, so if we could skip to whatever is bothering you that you don’t want anyone else to overhear?” Charlie’s voice was very kind, but Harry still flushed.

“I – sorry. It can wait –” Harry turned to go upstairs, inwardly berating himself, but Charlie’s hand caught his shoulder before he could take more than a few steps.

“Hey now, that’s not what I meant. I’m happy to talk to you anytime.” He chuckled. “Besides, if we wait, who knows how long it’ll be before we have a moment to ourselves? The house is stuffed to bursting right now.”

He had a point. The Burrow was big, but right now it was already stuffed with Bill, Fleur, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Harry, Charlie, and Mr and Mrs Weasley. Later this morning, Percy, Draco, Sirius, Remus, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell were slated to show up – and there was no telling who else might wander in. Mr and Mrs Weasley prided themselves on the Burrow being a welcome space to any friends who needed it this time of year.

“If you’re sure,” Harry said, still ready to rush upstairs at the slightest suggestion that Charlie was too tired for this.

“I’m perfectly sure. Come here.” Hand still on Harry’s shoulder, Charlie towed him over to the kitchen table and made him sit. Then he started poking around the kitchen. Harry watched, not sure what Charlie was looking for, until Charlie opened a pot on the stove and made a sound of satisfaction. He grabbed two mugs and filled them, then brought one over to Harry.

“Hot chocolate?” Harry said, blinking. He’d expected tea.

“Good ol’ Mum. She knows I love a cup after I travel.” Charlie sat and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

But now that the time to talk had come, Harry found himself tongue-tied. He fidgeted, lowering his gaze to the table as he wondered how best to explain. Charlie waited, watching him patiently, which just made Harry feel guilty. He was positive that Charlie was thinking longingly of his bed upstairs, and here Harry was keeping him up longer… Finally, he forced himself to say it.

“I think I broke the asexual rules!”

… That wasn’t how he wanted to say it.

Charlie snorted with laughter, then covered his mouth and cleared his throat. “Err, what’s that now?”

“I… um…” Harry mumbled, so embarrassed the tips of his ears were burning.

“Harry, my lad, you know there are no rules that you can really break,” Charlie said gently. “We’ve talked about this; there are no asexual Aurors who are going to break the door down. Just tell me what happened.”

Right. Harry could do that. He stared harder at the table and said, “I think… I mean, I’ve been dating Draco and it’s going well… really well. I-I love him.” He suspected that wasn’t surprising news to Charlie. It certainly hadn’t been to anyone else. Even Ron had greeted that pronouncement with a weary resignation, like it was something he had long ago got used to.

“That’s good. I’m happy for you,” Charlie said sincerely, as Harry had known he would: he’d already told Charlie as much in his letters. Charlie and the twins had been the most accepting by far.

“But lately I… I realized…” Harry clenched his hands into fists. “I think I’m attracted to him.” He blurted out the second bit and hunched his shoulders.

Charlie was quiet for a moment, then he said, “You mean sexually?”

Still not daring to look, Harry nodded miserably. He couldn’t even quantify how long he’d been feeling this way, but he thought it might have been a month or two: it had hit him suddenly last week, when Draco got out of bed naked and stopped to stretch right in the middle of a patch of sunlight. The golden light had lit up the panes of his body, making him look like a god, and Harry had felt a surge of lust so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet.

It had freaked him out big time. Harry had never felt anything like that before. It was the first time in his life he could honestly say he wanted to have sex with someone. He wanted to have sex with Draco. He was sexually attracted to Draco! And had been for some time, though he hadn’t realized that what he was feeling was sexual attraction until that stretch.

Now he didn’t know what to do. Back in his seventh year, when Charlie had pulled him aside for a chat right before Bill’s and Fleur’s wedding, the whole world had opened up. Suddenly, Harry had a label for himself that made sense and explained why he wasn’t sexually attracted to anyone. Romantically, well. That was a whole different story, as in the months following the war, he’d fallen head over heels for Draco.

Sex had never been a big deal for them. Harry still liked sex; it made him feel good and he liked making Draco feel good too. They did it once or twice a week, depending on their busy and varying schedules. But he had never wanted it before with a specific person. He’d never wanted to pin Draco down and do things to him. It was honestly a little scary to suddenly feel this way.

“And that’s bad,” Charlie prompted when the silence had stretched without either of them speaking.

“Well, yeah! I’m asexual! I’m not supposed to feel this way!” Harry said shrilly.

Charlie snorted again. “Oh, Harry. There are no rules about this sort of thing.”

“But you said –”

“I know. I know what I said,” Charlie said. He shifted, and finally Harry looked up at him. Charlie was smiling as he added, “Sexuality can be fluid. Some people go their whole lives relatively set in their ways, but others can change. It happens.”

Harry chewed his lower lip, mulling that over. He supposed it made sense, but… “But… then I can’t be asexual, right?”

“Well, technically no,” Charlie admitted. “You can keep using that label if you want to, but honestly it sounds more like you might demisexual.”

“Demisexual,” Harry repeated.

“Yeah. I have a friend like that. They don’t feel sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection with someone. For them, that’s not limited to romantic relationships. They’ve been attracted to friends before too. But for you, it could be more limited because there’s so few people that you really trust.” Charlie lifted his mug and sipped at it, watching Harry with shrewd eyes.

He had a point. Harry’s circle of friends hadn’t widened much in the years since the war. It didn’t help that in the end, he had foregone Auror training and decided to take up the mantle of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. So, he saw the same people – his fellow professors – on a regular basis, and you weren’t really allowed to be friends with students, so his scope was limited.

Draco was really the first person Harry had ever seriously dated. There had been Cho, but that hadn’t ever gone anywhere. He’d dated Ginny briefly post-war, but both had been too damaged to really make a go of it, and now Ginny was happily dating Luna. There had been a couple of other women after Ginny, but no one that really made Harry feel anything close to what Draco did. Enemies or not, he could never deny that Draco had always inspired feelings of passion.

And he did trust Draco. More than he had ever trusted anyone except for Ron, Hermione and Sirius, to be honest. Enough so that Harry had started to talk about what had happened during the war, including things that he had never told anyone. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking about the way Draco would hold his hands during those moments, and the way that Draco always seemed to know exactly when Harry needed a hug or when he didn’t want to be touched at all – often before Harry himself even realized.

“I love him,” Harry said again in a tiny voice. “I love him a lot. So that’s why…?”

“It’s my best guess. Harry, listen.” Charlie leaned forward. “I wouldn’t let this freak you out too much, okay? You and Draco have a really good thing going on. I can see how happy you make each other. As long as he keeps making you happy, that’s what you should be focusing on.”

“Right.” Harry took a deep breath, feeling the knot in his chest loosen some. “Do you think I was always demisexual and didn’t know it, or was I asexual and changed?”

Charlie shrugged. “I’m not sure, sorry. You’ll have to figure that one out on your own.”

That made sense. Harry leaned back in his chair and finally took a sip of his lukewarm chocolate. Demisexual. There was a name for it, for what he was feeling, and that was more of a relief than he really wanted to admit. Because if there was a name for it, he wasn’t the only person that this had happened to. He wasn’t a failure as an asexual: he was demisexual. He liked that.

“It was scary,” he said at last. “Feeling that way suddenly. I didn’t expect it.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine.” Charlie made a face and stood up. “Just… take it slow, maybe? I hear that kind of thing can be overwhelming at first. Did you talk to Draco about it at all?”

“No. I wanted to get things clear in my own head before I told him. Knowing Draco, he’s going to take it as a huge compliment that he was the one to awaken my sexual desire.” Harry sighed and rolled his eyes as Charlie sniggered.

“Probably,” Charlie said, amused as he took his cup over to the sink. “Are you okay now?”

“I’m fine. Thanks, Charlie,” Harry said. He was surprised when Charlie came over and hugged him, but quickly sank into the hug.

“No problem, little bro,” Charlie said, ruffling Harry’s hair. Harry yelped and swatted at him, and Charlie laughed again and disappeared upstairs.

Rather than follow, Harry rinsed out his cup and went back to the couch. He curled up, feeling better now that he had spoken to Charlie. Now that he had a word for it, he’d be able to talk to Draco. And to Hermione: as soon as she heard about this, she’d be tripping over herself to do research. Harry would shortly know more about being demisexual than he’d ever wanted to know.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep but did. He only woke up when someone began to gently shake his shoulder; he opened his eyes and found himself looking into Draco’s beautiful grey eyes. Harry blinked, realizing that he could hear Ron, Luna, and Sirius laughing. A smile crept across Harry’s face and he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Draco’s shoulders.

“Hello to you too,” Draco said, laughing.

“Mm, what time is it?” Harry asked, rubbing his nose against Draco’s neck. Much as he might tease Draco about the expense, he loved the smell of Draco’s cologne.

“Just after 6:30am,” Draco replied. “My father woke up early.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said with an inward grimace.

“I’m not. It gave me an excuse to leave.” Draco was smirking, Harry knew. He pulled back to look and – yup. The smirk made Harry’s heart flutter, and it also made certain other parts of him interested. That was new. He’d have to get used to that.

“Can we talk tonight?” Harry whispered.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talk? In a bad way?”

“No! In a very, very good way,” Harry said, smiling in that way that he knew Draco thought was sexy.

“Colour me intrigued,” Draco said, and was just leaning in for a kiss when -

“Harry!” Sirius yelled, descending on them. “Happy Christmas, you two!”

“Happy Christmas!” Harry said, laughing as Draco squeaked indignantly when Ginny, Hermione, and Luna all piled in on the hug. Draco was trying hard to look annoyed, but even Draco couldn’t stop himself from smiling when Ginny and Luna kissed his cheeks at the same time.

“Better now?” Ginny asked him when Draco managed to squirm free. Sirius chased after him, threatening to change into his dog form and lick Draco’s face all over. Hermione and Luna collapsed into giggles, and even Remus, standing in the doorway, started to laugh.

Harry smiled. “Much better.”

#harry potter #charlie weasley #draco malfoy #demisexual #drarry #demisexual harry potter #asexual charlie weasley