#we have GOT fics to write!!! we have WIPS!!!!! they need our ATTENTION FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[altruistic-meme]

me: *existing*

my brain: hey heres another fic idea!!! and another!!!! oh wouldn't it be so cool if you wrote this??? wouldn't you LOVE to plan this fic out??? you should definitely plan this one, i promise you don't even have to write it ;) [<- is lying, knows that i'll want to write it even more if i plan it]

#and naturally bc i reread capri and have been reading capri fics that all the ideas im having are capri ideas #apparently my brain has decided there are not nearly enough canon divergent capri fics too bc thats all its throwing at me #mostly marlas-centered which makes sense since that's like #the most common point to diverge from canon in this fandom #though it did also provide me with 2 divergences at the start of the first book #anyway i don't need it to be providing me with ANY NEW IDEAS #we have GOT fics to write!!! we have WIPS!!!!! they need our ATTENTION FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!! #but no #no #instead i get 'what if it was theomedes and kastor who died at marlas instead of aleron and auguste?' #a king for a king and a brother for a brother #how would damen react? ;) #an end to the fighting for sure bc if he dies now then akielos will certainly fall #but akielos would also definitely NOT be getting delfeur in this #since they'd be the 'losing' side #and also 'what if damen got amnesia due to the head trauma on the ship to arles?' #'what if damen didn't remember who he was??? what if he had the vague knowledge of his culture and his life but not that he was a prince??' #i should. put my laptop up and try and sleep. #shh ac

[delta-pavonis]

Dream Journal Rescue for the wip game, please

WHOO! Thank you for asking about this one, Nonny.

For the 2022 Dreamling Secret Santa I took a risk and wrote something that can be very divisive in fanfic and in fiction in general: first person narrative. I wrote the first half of i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) as a dream journal that Hob used to record his dreams after they came back when Dream got out of the fishbowl in 2021. It draws both from the early comics and from the TV show in terms of events/timeline. This fic got significantly less attention than the others I had written at the time, but it was also the one I was most proud of that year (and that's with Eros in Pragma and Hypnopompia turtur in there!). I am still extremely proud of it because it is, for me, I think very poetic writing. However, the first version of i had a dream wasn't post-fishbowl, but actually started before the fishbowl. Hob still kept a dream journal, and it still started in first person, but the idea originally was that Hob would figure out that something had happened to his Stranger because of his dreams stopping. Which meant that they needed to have enough of a relationship/rapport by the 1910s that Hob would trust that Dream would not miss a dream "date" of theirs without very good reason. Hence, "dream journal rescue" as the name. I only have pieces of the fic, but I keep them because I still viscerally love what I did with i had a dream SO FUCKING MUCH that I want to return to that style at some point. If you have read i had a dream you will see the bits I took from this and transferred to that.

This is totally G-rated and starts before 1889, as Hob is anticipating that next meeting, and then keeps going into 1914. Here's what I have in that WIP file:

1:

21 October 1885

I think I need to write these down. Olive suggested I start writing these down. She is usually right about such things.  

Maybe it will bring some clarity to this… mess. 

I’m in the White Horse Inn. (It is always the White Horse.) 

The year is not obvious from the decor, which is a riotous mix of 1389 and 1489 and 1789. Delicate teacups and straw-covered floor and fireplaces with chimneys. Of course chimneys. But I know, in the way of dreams, that it is the day of our annual appointment, the next one, in 1889. 

I shake my coat and hat free of the London morning rain. I am many hours before the time of our appointment. This my usual - I always arrive early. To ready the table and, more importantly, myself for our meeting. 

But in this dream I enter the White Horse to find the Stranger already there. He looks exactly as he did in 1789. Which must say something about my imagination since he has always been in impeccable fashion specific to the era of our meeting. 

Or perhaps it is because he looks at me with the same burning intensity that made our last appointment so spectacular. His eyes devour me, just as they did when we parted last, and I am absolutely helpless to resist.

I am sitting then, across from him, cups of tea and venison pasties between us. His beautiful pale fingers trace around the gilded edge of the teacup. I am speaking, words tumbling forth, I can hear the droning vibrations in my ears and throat, but it is not where my attention lies. 

My attention is riding the wave in his coalblack hair. My attention is wafting the bob of his throat above his high collar. My attention is tracing the sweet pout of his pink lips. My attention is flying through storm-sky eyes. 

He reaches across and

Fuck. I can’t write this.

2:

[There are several attempts at starting entries after the previous one. None manage more than a sentence.]

[No attempts at entries are made after 1889.]

3:

1 November 1898

I woke up still drunk and still in very rural Wales (note: never ever always maybe return for Nos Calan Gaeaf in the future) and found this old journal in the bottom of my trunk, so I suppose I shall once again make a valiant attempt to take dear Olive’s advice to sort out the dreams of my Stranger that ever plague me.

(I have heard tell of work by a man named Freud who claims dreams can be used to better understand someone’s psychology and potentially even relieve psychosis. He'd have a field day with me. May I never come within 400 miles of him.)

My drunk mind lacks creativity for scenery and so when I sleep this night I find myself in the same village square I was in only hours prior… however, I am back in time about 400 years? Long before the industrialization of the region, before the extermination of these old traditions by the expansion of “civilization.”

I have just won the silly harvest mare from the clutches of the other young men bringing the last of the harvest in, a horse-shaped horror made from the final stalks of grain reaped. I am now expected to try to sneak this rustling beast into the home where the bulk of the feast is being prepared by the womenfolk without one of them dousing me with washwater. If I succeed in getting into the kitchen unscathed I will win their finest beer and an honored seat at the feast-table. I am always up for new games.

(This is all Iwan’s fault for convincing me to accompany him home for the holiday yesterday and for me getting drunk while they all told me stories of the Old Days. Let it never be said that I abandon a friend in their time of need.)

I easily weave through the crowds of women and children, in their dresses and aprons and smocks, clothing I haven’t seen in centuries but are still as real as yesterday, and cross the kitchen threshold only to find the room empty. An empty kitchen except for the crackle of the hearthfire and my Stranger sat on a barrel in front of it. 

The large fire paints him in oranges and golds and he looks warm and inviting in a way that I have never experienced outside of my mind. It is the moment I know for certain that this is a dream. 

When he looks up to me he appears confused, brows drawn, lips parted. 

I am the first to speak, although words do not come easily to me. “What…?” After our parting in 1889 I can scarce understand why I am seeing him before me now. Although nightmares of the night plagued me in the months afterwards, I had been blessedly free of any night-time visits from my Stranger for almost a decade now. It has been an unexpected boon after so many years of dreaming of him more carnally. I know these facts within the dream. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t stand, cranes his neck back to look up at me, and I realize he has a low collar this night, lower than it had been even in 1489. I can see flame-gold arcing around the shadowed hollow of his throat.

“It is a Ysbrydnos.” He explains in perfect Welsh, as if I am some child. I do not question why I can so easily understand him despite my mediocre grasp of the language. It is a dream, after all. “Many call on me such nights.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, ‘tis a Spirit Night and you a spirit.” 

He tilts his head to the side, bird-like and distinctly not human. “Not as such. But I will attend the dreams of many who call me here this night.” The Stranger’s voice is just as rich and decadent as it is in person. This detail my memory - traitorous bastard it is - does not neglect. 

“Of course. Even the version of you I make for my dreams gives non-answers and evasions.” I can feel my whole body hunch in defeat. I wrap my arms around myself, look to the floor. “Just why…” Even my dream cannot steady my voice. “Why does my mind show you to me now? Why this torment?”

“Ah.” Now his voice is choked and staccato. “You did not call me here yourself this night.” Perhaps he is surprised, or ashamed, I cannot tell. 

Still, I want to scream. “After last time…” I grit my teeth and continue to stare at the floor. 

I see the toes of his black shoes enter my field of view. His chest is perhaps a handspan from mine. “Do you truly wish to never dream of me?” This inquiry is a mocking echo of his usual question, but there is no mockery in his tone. “Given…" He shakes his head, unable to say the words. Say the words he should say: Given what I did to you… Instead he restarts the sentence, "It would be well within your right to request it.”

I sigh. He almost sounds remorseful. What a fantasy this is. How contrived. “No.” And if I ever doubted before that this was a dream the tiny bits of relief I see wash over my Stranger confirms it. His eyes soften minutely. His shoulders relax a hair's breadth. “This might be the only chance I have to ever see you again. And I would take the machinations of my mind, I would take delusions of your regard, over nothing.”

He hums, looking back to the fire as he takes a step away from me. I feel cold and bereft. “This dream is over.”

And then I woke up.

3: 

1 Nov 1898  I have not dreamed of him in six months. one year.         three years.         seven          ten          fifteen 

4:

25 May 1914

After almost 17 years I found myself dreaming of the White Horse last night and when I focused upon it in my mind’s eye I almost burst into tears.

Wait, Olive always said that this was more effective if I narrated as if I was reliving the dream. That I would get more details back that way.

I begin the dream standing outside the White Horse Inn and knowing that I am dreaming. It is the first time I have begun a dream this aware and therefore it is noteworthy. 

When I enter I feel his presence before I see it. Through the doors in the back, to the private room that had been set aside for us in 1789. He is once again in front of a fireplace, standing this time, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looks down into the flames. 

(Note: Ponder this pattern more later, that I associate him in dreams with fire.)

The door to the room automatically closes behind me and he turns. Despite the venue, he is dressed, as always, in the pinnacle of fashion. All black - of course - but a suit with long jacket and waistcoat and tie nonetheless. The ever-present ruby sits heavy and dark just below his throat.

“I did not intend the delay, Hob.” And doesn’t that throw me for a loop. I did not know prior to that moment that one could get dizzy in their own dreams. “I sometimes forget that time flows… differently… for you humans. But I did think on our last conversation.”

Thirty questions stampede through my mind at once. Everything from ‘Did he just directly admit that he is not human?’ to ‘Which last time?’ I throw all of these aside and instead opt for a cautiously lilted “And?”

A magnanimous wave of his hand and we are sitting, the same tea and sweets that were present in 1789 grace the table between us. I hold my breath. “Perhaps we can pick up, as much as we can, where we were in 1789 before the Lady Constantine interrupted us.” I am so taken aback by the turn this dream has taken that I cannot for the life of me think of what to say next. Luckily, my mind does not require me to as he continues. “I believe you asked my name.”

I almost fall over myself to give him leave to avoid it. “Only if you wish it.” Just don't leave again.

He smiles, something brighter than usual, and it feels like looking into the Sun. “I have a list of titles, which we can get to later, but the simplest name is Dream.”

I clamp down on the anguish that’s in my throat, but it still comes out as a high-pitched wheeze from between my teeth. “Dream?! DREAM?!?” I let myself slump boneless into the chair, impropriety be damned, and splay my legs out in front of me, hands over my face. “Oh fuck my mind and these GAMES. Why can it not send me sweet dreams of you? Of COURSE you are named Dream… you are a dream! Has my subconscious no creativity? Christ in heaven…”

“Hob!” He shouts. He has never shouted at me before. I look to him through my fingers, meet twilight-blue eyes. “My name is Dream of the Endless and I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Shock, bright white and violent, runs through me and I quite literally fall out of my chair.

And then I wake up.

5:

26 May 1914

I do not think I have ever been more wrong about something in my long long life.

Fuck. 

My Stranger is Dream. He lords over dreams and nightmares. They are his Domain, his Kingdom. 

F U C K

I knew that he was something Other. But this. This. 

We met again last night, in my dreams. I don’t need to work at this anymore (thanks for trying, Olive) because he asked me last night if I wanted to remember this, remember meeting him. Apparently he has some manner of control over such things.

I told him yes. Of course I said yes. But I think I want to continue to keep track of what has happened, what will happen, in my dreams, here in this journal. If only so that I have something to refer to later when I have absolutely zero confidence that this is real. Some proof that I haven’t gone completely barmy. 

Last night we talked. Just talked. It was in a liminal space, barely distinct as containing a floor and walls and chairs. All monotone, in blacks and greys and faint whites. It still reminded me of the back room from 1789.

He - Dream - told me so much. More than he had ever said to me in one go ever before. He told me some of his other names: Lord Morpheus (or just Morpheus), Prince of Stories, Oneiros, Shaper of Forms. He has a kingdom, home to dreams and nightmares alike. They are not only his citizens, but he creates them. Creates!

I have so so many questions.

But I must parcel them out carefully. Each answer is a treasure I will hoard. 

I returned his generosity with words of my own.

#Dreamling #Pavonis writes #another dream journal fic

[chronicowboy]

wip wednesday

tagged by two absolutely beautiful human beings @alyxmastershipper and @jeeyuns (who i can't tag in things for some reason 😤 homophobia)

as many of you may know i am still firmly in (fanfic) writing jail until i can get a doctor's appointment for my wrist in october 🫠 buuuut i do still have a half-written fic i swear i will finish one day about buck meeting another best-friend-slash-legal-guardian-slash-parent-figure-etc. for which you can find a previous snippet here last time was mainly oc so have some jealous eddie and dad buck

"Who were you texting?" he asks as he steals one of the beers from Buck's hands. If the simple brush of their fingers didn't have hope rearing its gruesome head, Buck maybe wouldn't think that Eddie seems reluctantly curious like he's scared of whatever answer Buck might give. And Buck really doesn't know how to explain this situation with Dina without blurting out a love confession, so he panics.

"A friend." Shit. Eddie's eyes narrow like a bloodhound catching its scent. That was possibly the worst answer Buck could have given, faux nonchalance and deliberate ambiguity only increasing Eddie's suspicion. Not to mention the fact that Eddie knows basically all of Buck's friends because they're his friends too.

"Uh huh." Eddie nods slowly, dropping the two empty beer bottles from the living room into the recycling.

"Hey, did you finish my beer?" Buck frowns, hoping he can steer them away from this conversation with their usual banter.

"You were drinking it slow." Eddie shrugs.

"I was savouring it," Buck argues back with a sniff.

"Buck, you eat like a Victorian street urchin who doesn't know when they're getting their next meal. You've never savoured anything in your life." Eddie rolls his eyes, overtly fond in that way that never fails to make Buck's blood bubble like champagne. His expression turns hesitant as he screws the cap off his beer. "Chris said something about Charlotte's mom?" He raises his eyebrows slightly, takes an almost too casual sip of his beer.

"Not her mom," Buck denies and why the fuck would he say that? "Um, Dina. You know her? Mom's best friend?"

"Oh." Eddie blinks, pausing where he'd been picking at his label.

"N-not that there's anything there," Buck adds quickly. "We just got to talking whilst we were waiting for—" Buck cuts himself off before he can say our kids like that's his to decide, clearing his throat. "It was nothing."

"Chris didn't think it was nothing," Eddie mumbles in the exact same voice Chris had used when he'd told Buck not to date Dina. He doesn't know what that voice means. He hates not knowing.

"Well, even if it wasn't nothing—" he pales when Eddie's eyebrows twitch "—which it very much is... Nothing. But if it wasn't, Chris asked me not to date her, so that would make it nothing, you know?" Eddie's face softens then, that same expression he wears whenever Buck gets too close to tearing his heart out of his chest and handing it to Christopher.

"So, that wasn't her?" Eddie asks with a nod to his phone in his pocket. It buzzes as if in answer, and Buck wonders if the universe has gotten tired of screaming and is now resorting to undermining whispers.

"Yes, but..." Buck sighs. "Again, I really have to point out that it's nothing like that. For a lot of reasons." He ignores the questioning glint that creeps into Eddie's eyes, somewhat more dulled than it normally is when Buck is embarrassing himself. "But Chris is always number one, so..."

"Can I ask you something?" He's not sure if it's the tone of Eddie's voice, hesitant and ambiguously hopeful, or the fact that Eddie asks the question at all when they've never needed permission to pry since the lawsuit and everything that came with it, but Buck's heart stutters in his chest.

"Of course," he rasps carefully.

"Purely hypothetically," Eddie starts, keeping his attention on his beer bottle. "If you were to meet the love of your life," it's a struggle not to laugh in Eddie's face, "ask her to marry you, plan a whole wedding..." Eddie bites his lip and looks up at him with something burning in his eyes. "If Chris asked you not to marry her five minutes before you were set to walk down the aisle, what would you do?"

Buck frowns a little, wonders if that's even a question at all, but then remembers that Eddie doesn't know that Buck has already met the love of his life, has already been condemned to a lonely existence because of that.

"Well, I'd have a conversation with him about why he didn't want me to marry them," this he stresses, suddenly realising Eddie might not know that he's bi and hating the hope that rises in him, "but I'd be planning what I was going to say to them the moment he asked."

gonna tag my usual babes if you guys have anything to share <333 @danielsousa @shitouttabuck @folk-fae @butchdiaz @diazass

#sami rambles #forgot how much i love this wip #haven't been to the doc in like 2 months christ #buddie wip #wip wednesday #tag game

[blorbocedes]

okay, so. you love brocedes, you love lestappen. the arcs seem so polar-opposite so here go essay wild should you wish (mainly bc i would love to read it. and feel free to talk about carlando as well bc that too is a wildly different dynamic to brocedes and lestappen.)

what makes you love each?

do you have a favorite between the two (or three). does one pull on your heartstrings more than the other?

are there similarities?

<3

hi Xiao ☺️ here's my carlando essay so I'll focus mainly on the brothercedes and lest we stappens here. strap yourself, im about to maxplain

first thing about me: my favourite trope in the whole world is friends to lovers (crowd booing) it's having a shared history, the familiarity, how you can only truly hurt someone you love [and the possibility of reconciliation, to come back home insert seb clip about rbr]

brocedes is actually why I got into f1 fandom! i saw ONE (1) Richard Siken edit and it was over for me

literally. i have not used tumblr in 7 YEARS i used it just for lurking and that goddamn edit compelled me to write my first fic (during the writing of which I found out they still lived in the same building??? i lost my mind and have not found it since)

lestappen was a see it to believe it moment, I watched miami gp and saw these two championship rivals being Cute and Max's earnestness to talk to charl got to me. i was like oh yeah okay I see it. i don't choose anything I like, I either see The Vision or I don't -- and while brocedes is like I'm an archeologist excavating a fallen city trying to figure out what happened piece the lore, lestappen is happening In Front Of Our Eyes we're witnessing the stars getting crossed, the history in the making <3

I might have the most confusing layout cause I'm a max girlie whose pfp is charles, and header is brocedes named blorbocedes while I pray on merc's flop era 😭 (ending but never forgotten), while rooting for redbulls [sorry but I've seen my Ferrari girlies SUFFERING, I'll stick to my world champion 🥰]

in many ways, lestappen and brocedes are like a foil to each other (crowd booing, we get it u did literary analysis in highschool once) where brocedes were a childhood friendship gone wrong, lestappen are childhood rivals turned tentative friends. there's just something very compelling about a world champion and his main rival trying to keep a friendship alive while directly competing, and having years of shared history to get there. brocedes DREAMING of becoming teammates, world champions together; both max and charl saying how they have a mutual respect now that they'd both made it to f1. And that's before even touching the cut throat life and politics of getting into f1, the concept of being golden boys.

my favourite lestappen and brocedes parallel is that lewis and nico's first karting race nico led the whole race then on the final lap, lewis crossed him and won the race; and compare with the Inchident™️ but Nico & Lewis became best friends, whereas Charl held an admittedly one sided grudge against Max during their karting days.

brocedes is everything that went wrong, lestappen is how it can go right (we can learn from lovers past who didnt make it)

do I have a favourite? yes. brocedes. i, yeah. they light my brain on fire.

HOWEVER, I enjoy brocedes as a reader and consumer, whereas as lestappen I am compelled to write for them (also I'm the only one who gets them and everyone else is wrong 😤) I suppose it is a bit passé to say anything outside of "ahh I write for myself and inherent love for writing" fuck that lol I write for attention I like it when people read my shit and we can talk about it 🥰🥰🥰 I also disagree with popular fandom interpretation with lestappen (which is fine, it has a huge audience so it clearly works for a lot of people) but that's why I have to write my own food for them. I have so many lestappen wips 😭

(like I don't think charl is a soft fragile thing who needs taken care of, even tho I also mine charl pain for content so like I Get it but also no one else gets it, and don't fucking get me started on the 'jos verstappen's A+ parenting' tag that's another essay in itself)

#i hope that was comprehensive enough 😅 #thank you for letting me talk about my favourite ships hehe #blorbocedes ask #lestappen #brocedes #i have like 1.5 brocedes wips and even thinking about them gives me hives #also carlando? yummy #i refuse to get into sebchal beyond the tumblr mutual absorption because i KNOW they will fuck me up

[the-ravening]

You know I need to ask about Zemo/Torres, Secret Sugar Daddy because I also have a fic with a similar name and I want to know how close ours are to being the same fic because of FCCU chats 😂

We have definitely had this convo before, and our similarly named WIPs are 100% based on the same FCCU chats. If you ever get back into Zemo someday, I would totally love to write this fic together because it was a great idea.

For anyone else who’s wondering (and @zsparz you asked about this too, I’ll be answering yours next), this is a story where Torres is working with SBZ on missions, and picks up a daddy on a sugar baby app as his side hustle. He doesn’t know his sugar daddy’s real identity, and of course, it’s Zemo.

Here, have everything I've written, since it's not much.

Torres mentions to his daddy that his upcoming job is somewhere warm and the next gift he receives is a selection of skimpy speedos, which he makes good use of when their mission gives them the chance to turn one of Zemo’s fancy Mediterranean villas into their safehouse for a few weeks. The place is like something out of a travel guide, with its lush courtyards and outdoor patios and grape-trellis enclosed pool area. While they have a few days to kill, waiting for their contact and running remote surveillance, Zemo spends much of his time lounging poolside, wrapped in one of his many fine silk robes, fruity cocktail in hand, designer sunglasses perched on a slightly sunburned nose. He gives off the air of a man oblivious to his surroundings in his pampered state of leisure, but Torres gets the sense that behind his dark glasses, Zemo is watching him closely as he swims.

He should be weirded out by it. He should feel uneasy, left all alone out here to fend for himself against Sam and Bucky’s adopted terrorist. He knows what kind of man Zemo is, has read his files and details of all he’s done, has spent enough time with him on these missions to understand not to trust half the words that drip off his honeyed tongue. But the truth is, having the older man’s hungry gaze on him is a bit of a turn on. The intense midday sun glints on the water as he does lazy laps around the pool, and he can imagine how it must look rippling over the lean muscles of his back. As he pulls himself up onto the ledge after his swim, rivulets of it sluice down his chest, catching in the dips of his well-defined abs. He’s got a nice golden tan already, just from spending these first afternoons in the sun here, and he can feel Zemo’s eyes linger on him, running down his body appreciatively to settle at the telling bulge of his growing hard-on. It’s titillating having Zemo’s attention on him like this, and the tiny, form-fitting swim shorts don’t hide a thing. He lets Zemo get an eyeful as he slowly towels off, reveling in the thrill of being watched. Not one to miss an opportunity, he makes his way back to his room, still dripping wet and hard, to take some mirror selfies for his daddy in the ensuite bathroom. He’s well practiced at it by now, knows his best angles, turning just so into three-quarter profile to show off his tiny waist and clenching his muscles to get the desired definition. He squeezes a hand over his cock, gives it a few strokes over the speedo to get it nice and plump for the photo, and then snaps a few in quick succession, making sure to emphasize how well he fills out the tiny shorts. Choosing the best shot, admiring how the light and shadow plays over his golden skin, what a fucking meal he looks like with the thick head of his cock threatening to burst out from the waistband of his shorts sitting low on his hips, he sends it off to his daddy with a quick message consisting of a string of eggplant and sweat drop emojis. He doesn’t have to wait long before his phone dings with a reply. I knew you’d look delectable in them, his daddy writes. Stream for me now? Torres throws a glance out the window overlooking the pool to make sure Zemo’s still sitting out there on his lounger, and he is, right where Torres left him. Fortunately, the man seems completely engrossed with something on his phone, so Torres can be fairly certain he won’t be interrupted or overheard, can even make some extra noise while filming for his daddy. He starts up a video call and trails a hand down his chest, over the firm plane of his stomach, slowly inching it down to dip his fingers beneath the stretch of hot pink and neon green lycra where the hefty bulge of his cock is tenting the fabric…

And lest we forget, this is the Torres thirst trap selfie that inspired the fic:

#WIP meme #answered ask #@ex0rin #ravening writes #zemo/torres #I worked on this today just so I'd have more to share and I had SO much fun with it #this is truly the best fic idea it needs to be written at some point

[colesterstrudel]

You know... I was having a conversation with a friend early this morning. And it has come to our attention that there isn't enough sugar momma fanfic around. The trope is almost non-existing. Like don't get me wrong I LOVE the sugar daddy trope and would read it any time of day but like come on guys we need some sugar momma fanfic as well. We need to give these gals the attention they deserve too. And as I pondered about this for a while, I sort of dug myself into this hole of wanting to write a story that is dedicated to that trope. And it isn't just the urge to write for this trope anymore but I am also really inspired to write it. I have so many ideas for it! I have been thinking about it all day honestly. And it isn't like my brain is even considering the hundred other fucking wip that need attention so it's whatever I guess. I hate myself lol... Anyways I just wanted to rant to you about this. How has your day been so far? I see you still have the hots for priests lol.

YESSS I would luv to read some good sugar momma fics those would be amazing!!! If you end up writing some def let me know! It sounds like you’ve got some good solid ideas for it. I luv it honestly.

My day has been soooo busy I’ve been running errands all day lmao but I’m finally settled at home watching baseball and thriving 😂😂 but also yes lmaoooo I’m still obsessed with priests 😂 at this point it’s a sickness lmaoooo

[juniorgman187]

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments. 

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events. 

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt. 

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it. 

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate. 

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend. 

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts. 

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me. 

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong. 

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point. 

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun. 

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.” 

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us. 

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room. 

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug. 

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself. 

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?” 

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.” 

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery. 

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me. 

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction. 

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime. 

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today 

Grant: don’t need to. 

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me. 

“Who keeps texting you?” 

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business. 

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.  

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!” 

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. 

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it. 

“No one.” 

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going. 

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me. 

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously. 

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet. 

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing. 

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?” 

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?” 

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.” 

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’” 

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. 

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.” 

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid. 

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him. 

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub. 

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance. 

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly. 

“No, sir.” 

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me. 

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him. 

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field. 

“You are not going in without a gun,”  Reid ordered. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again. 

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in. 

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me. 

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling. 

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?” 

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more. 

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?” 

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”  

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return. 

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent. 

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out. 

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.” 

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red. 

This war was far from over. 

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good. 

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them. 

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing. 

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly. 

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.” 

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied. 

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.” 

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked. 

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all. 

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.” 

What you feel. 

I clung onto those words. 

What was I really feeling? 

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me? 

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me. 

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast. 

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me. 

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely. 

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added. 

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier. 

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked. 

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer. 

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence. 

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too. 

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _ 

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation. 

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way. 

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual. 

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?” 

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew. 

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.  

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken. 

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. 

“A dating app, actually.” 

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this. 

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?” 

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.” 

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.” 

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now. 

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung. 

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed. 

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice. 

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though. 

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.” 

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?” 

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling. 

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead. 

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face. 

He felt sorry for me. 

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book. 

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.” 

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.” 

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.” 

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words. 

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t. 

But I should’ve. 

_ _ _ 

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being. 

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end. 

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat. 

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would. 

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative. 

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?” 

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it. 

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction. 

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.” 

_  _ _ 

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however. 

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it. 

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this. 

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were. 

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now? 

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me. 

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic 

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them. 

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones. 

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head. 

You deserve more than that. Much more. 

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said. 

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened. 

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see. 

“I asked you first.” 

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.” 

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before. 

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know. 

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me. 

“What? What is it?” I urged. 

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?” 

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth. 

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.” 

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?” 

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was. 

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second. 

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed. 

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that. 

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize. 

That never came. 

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust. 

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments. 

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness. 

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.” 

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).” 

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either. 

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up. 

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too. 

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I. 

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well. 

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field. 

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room. 

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?” 

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet. 

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer. 

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it. 

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.” 

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?” 

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart. 

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat. 

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.” 

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here. 

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?” 

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least. 

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity. 

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though. 

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something. 

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.” 

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar. 

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me. 

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me. 

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again. 

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. 

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.” 

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image. 

“Always, trouble.” 

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know. 

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help. 

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.” 

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation. 

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her. 

_ _ _ 

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left. 

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied. 

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety. 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D. 

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful. 

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright. 

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened. 

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” 

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?” 

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.” 

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before. 

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?” 

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before. 

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit. 

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority. 

She was my priority. 

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear. 

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver. 

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms. 

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand. 

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms. 

She was so cold. 

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute. 

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again. 

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all. 

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.” 

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car. 

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way. 

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly. 

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible. 

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there. 

I need to be somewhere I feel safe. 

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _ 

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself. 

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize. 

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever. 

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?” 

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly. 

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?” 

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.” 

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.” 

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too. 

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that. 

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind. 

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” 

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence. 

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?” 

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?” 

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point? 

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt. 

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?” 

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth. 

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’ 

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never. 

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him. 

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything. 

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us. 

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. 

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting. 

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

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#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid kiss #fighting fire with fire #juniorgman187 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[buckys-other-punk]

What the Hell is The Catch?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve and Y/N are forced by their friends to go out speed dating. Little did they know they would find their perfect match.

Warnings: alcohol, fluff, teasing and cussing

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: HI I’m back!! First off, sorry @stuckonjbbarnes that this was late, I wanted to write this on time before the due date but my classes were literally beating my ass (BUT I did actually get inspiration for this fic idea by my stupid interpersonal relationships class so i guess that’s a win?) Anyways thank you for letting me join your writing challenge and ILY.  Second, hello again! Hopefully my writing is still worth reading lol, since I have free time I will try to write more and hopefully complete my WIPs. As always, please ignore my minor mistakes (i’m lazy to edit) and lemme know what you think of this fic!

Bucky and Sam had somehow convinced Steve to go on a speed dating event at a nearby bar. Steve wasn’t really in the mood to go out and mingle with horny women. All Steve wanted that night was to relax in bed and watch a movie about this group of people who dream hop (a/n: aka Inception lol i couldn’t think of an easier way to describe this movie). Steve sat on his bed ready to watch the movie then his friends bombarded his space about how lonely he is. As much as Steve wanted to brush the two off they annoyed him so much that he caved in. Now Steve was sitting at some bar with a pen and questionnaire in his hand.

Natasha and Wanda had somehow forced you to go on a speed dating event at your guys’ favorite bar. You, having no choice, rummaged through your closet looking for a good outfit. ‘At least I’ll be getting free drinks.’ saying to yourself. You picked out a black dress that has lace sleeves which accentuates your curves. Nat and Wanda of course approved the dress immediately, they gave you your red clutch and shoved you out the door.

You huffed as you got out of your cab staring at the bar dreading to ‘mingle’ with men. Walking into the bar a couple greeted you with obnoxious smiles.

“Hello! Welcome to our single’s speed dating night.” the woman said, handing you a name tag. You took note of her flashy diamond ring. You returned the smile and wrote a random name on the name tag. “Is this your first time, Twyla?” 

“Hmm?” you looked confused, then remembered your fake name. “Oh, Twyla! Me, I’m Twyla. Yes. sorry.” you replied.

“No need to be nervous dear.” the man next to her said. “We’re all here to have fun right?” he said with a smile looking around the area.

God, you hated being here already.”You two seem lovey-dovey. Did you two meet in one of these things?” you asked looking at the pair.

“Yes we did actually!” she said with a smile looking up at her man. “And just a few months later he proposed.” she added looking at her ring. You smiled then looked at the man, he looked behind you and quickly went back to his fiance. You turned slightly to “take in the area” and saw a woman with a flirtatious smile towards the man. 

Rolling your eyes and glancing back at the couple. You just wanted to get some free drinks and go back home. “Are the drinks free?” you asked the couple. 

“Yes, but-” the lady started to say but you waved her off grabbing the questionnaire on the table.

“That's all I need to hear. Thank you.” you said walking away from the pair and towards the bartender. “Hey, can I get a old fashioned please?” you asked the bartender who nodded and proceeded to make you drink. You scouted the area like you would on a mission and nobody was really peaking your interest. There was a woman who seemed right up your alley, but you had a feeling she wouldn’t swing your way. Sighing, you turned back to the bartender who handed you your drink. Taking a sip and pulling out your phone from your clutch you began texting the girls about how sad this event is and that you were ready to walk out.

“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” the lady from earlier said through the microphone in her hand. As you looked up from your phone you saw her fiance standing next to her with his own mic in his hand. His other hand holding the woman’s hand as he eyed a woman near him. 

‘Dear lord. He’s going to cheat on this poor woman.’ you said to yourself. You downed your drink and signaled the bartender for another one.

“We are going to ask the guys to pick a table with a number on it and stay there. Ladies please go to the table closest to you and begin talking with your partner. Once you guys hear this bell.” the lady’s boyfriend rang lightly. “You can move onto the next table going counter clockwise.” she added with a giddy smile.

“Alright love birds. Let’s get this thing started.” the man said to the crowd. You grabbed your drink and headed to the table closest to you. You saw the man who was seated at the table, on his phone not really caring about the event. He was wearing a leather jacket and dark shades. ‘This dude is a douche.’ you thought to yourself, downing your second drink as you stood across from him.

“So, you come here often?” he says not looking up from his phone.

“Oh god, no.” you replied with a fake southern accent. “I just came because my boyfriend turned into a mountain lion and tried to kill me.” you said politely looking at the man.

“Oh that’s nice.” he said but then realized what you said. “I’m sorry…” he began as he pushed his sunglasses a bit down to read your name tag. “Twyla? Did you say he turned into a mountain lion?” he looked at you concerned.

“OH, yes!” you said ever so sweetly. “You see, Caleb wanted me to join his cult and I refused. He got so angry that his eyes began to turn yellow and he started clawing at his face with his hands. Just when he finished turning into a mountain lion, the high priestess of his cult commanded him to capture me to be their sacrifice for their next meal.” you said with a straight face, looking dead into the man’s wide eyes. His mouth was hanging open, speechless. Just when he was about to ask you another question you both heard the bell. The man sighed in relief downing his drink as you waved goodbye to him and chuckled as you walked to the next table.

____________________________________

Steve was staring at his drink as a woman walked up to him. He noticed that this was the woman who was eying up the man who hosted the event. Steve smiled at the woman anyways as he introduced herself. He looked down at his questionnaire trying to figure out what to ask the lady. The woman who talked to him earlier just wanted a rebound and the woman before that didn’t even say anything to him.

“So, I noticed that you don’t really have any interest in being here.” he said kindly, looking at the woman.

“Yeah, I just did this so I can get my boyfriend’s attention.” she replied looking back at the male host.

“Your boyfriend seems to be a bit occupied.” Steve said as glanced at the man and back to the woman in front of him. “Are you sure he’s worth it sweetheart? I mean I don’t know your situation with him right now, but it seems that if he’s with that woman you’re not his main priority.” he added looking at the lady in remorse.

She looked up at Steve and pondered to herself. “You know, I think you’re right. I mean I’m practically his side chick when I want to be his main chick.” she said to Steve. “Thank you for making me realize that he’s not worth it and I should get my priorities straight, Steve. I’m sorry to leave you here alone, but I hope you find someone who deserves your kindness.” she said kindly, patting Steve's hand as she began to exit the bar.

__________________________________

You noticed the woman who the male host was staring at earlier left the bar. ‘Good for her. Realizing that man ain’t shit.’ you said to yourself as you downed your third old-fashioned. You wanted to change things up..so you ordered a long island iced tea. The man who was sitting in front of you was going off about his sex fantasies and how he was looking for the right woman to please him. The previous man you only talked about work and was completely monotone.

You were completely ignoring whatever he was saying and waited for your drink and the damn bell to ring. A waitress brought your drink over and you looked around the bar as the strange sex crazed man kept going off about his fantasies. Finishing your drink in one go, since you weren’t drunk enough for this, your prayers were finally answered as you saw the lady host ring the bell. She seemed to be looking for her fiancé who left the bar to run after the woman, but she didn’t know that. 

“Let’s make this next session a few minutes longer.” she said with a brief smile as she began to look for her fiancé. ‘Oh sweetie.’ you said to yourself feeling extra sorry for the woman. You grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter that was walking around the bar and sipped the drink as you walked to the next table.

While walking over to the next table not really paying attention to the man seated there, you were thinking of another crazy lie to tell the poor soul. Maybe lie about how you believe that an alien had taken over your body this very night and that the alien was looking for someone to bring back to their home planet. Or maybe that you believe that the world will be destroyed in exactly 24 hours from now and that the only way to save it is to kill a man who was at this very event. That idea might be too dark, but might scare them off. 

As you approached the table you heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

Looking up at the man in front of you in shock.  “Steve? What the hell are you doing here?” you asked the man.

“Well, Bucky and Sam kind of convinced me to come down here and find a girlfriend.” he answered. “Why are you here?”

Right when you were about to answer he stopped you. “Wait, let me guess. Free drinks? Don’t you already raid Stark’s liquor cabinet every weekend?” he said with a smile.

“Hey, fuck you Rogers. I’ll have you know I was forced to come here by Nat and Wanda.” you said sassily but paused. “But I mean you’re right anyways.” you added chuckling.

“I guess our friends thought the same about our love lives.” he said while taking a sip of his drink.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” you smiled at him.

“We don’t have any.” he chuckled and you laughed along with him.

“I mean, you do have a point there Rogers.” you giggled as you finished your drink. You waved the waitress down ordering another glass of champagne.

“How many have you had?” Steve said motioning at your empty glass.

“I don’t know like 3 or 4? I’m not keeping count if they’re free.” you replied to the man.

“Well I don’t want you running off somewhere.” he said protectively.

“Rogers, you do know I have a strong alcohol tolerance” you asked looking at his blue eyes.

“Yes, but I still want you to be safe.” Steve replied as he drank his glass of water.

“Steve, I am literally an Avenger like you. I can take care of myself.” you huffed rolling your eyes. “You should live a little anyway, the drinks are free for a reason.”you added wiggling your eyebrows. This time Steve rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Fine, since you’re keeping me company for how long our little speed date is I’ll drink.” he smiled as he waved the waitress over and asked for a glass of whiskey. “But you do know that my alcohol tolerance is stronger than yours right?” he said, winking at you.

You giggled as your cheeks began to warm up. ‘Oh god, why is the alcohol now getting to me.’ you said to yourself as you gleaned around the room. You noticed that the host of your event went outside and found her fiancé. 

Steve thanked the waitress as she returned with your guys’ drinks. He looked up at you and his eyes skimmed over your frame. He had never seen you in that dress before, maybe it was new? Regardless, you looked beautiful wearing anything. Taking a sip of his drink he looked towards where you were staring at. He saw the host of the event talking to her boyfriend aka the man that was cheating on her. 

“I talked to the girl he was seeing.” Steve said.

“Yeah, I saw her leave the bar. Did you upset her?” you asked, looking back at the supers soldier.

“God no, I gave her advice.” he replied looking back at you. “I told her that he wasn’t worth it.” 

“Smart. I was thinking of telling our host, but she seemed so in love with him I didn’t want to hurt her. I mean I am a stranger to her after all.” you admitted taking a sip of your drink.

“Hopefully, she’ll find out.” Steve shrugged. “So find anyone interesting?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nope, I’ve been trying to scare most of them off.” you giggled as thought back to your first date.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” Steve laughed when he finally noticed your name tag. “Twyla? Y/N, you really didn’t want to be here huh?” he asked as he looked at you.

“Well, clearly no if I was messing with these poor men.” you chuckled while finishing your drink. “Why don’t we play a game since I don’t wanna mingle with anyone else right now.” you said as you looked up at Steve.

“What, now? What the hell is the catch?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your glistening eyes.

“Why does there have to be a catch? I’m just suggesting something to do, unless you do want to mingle with one of these women?” you replied with a quirked eyebrow. 

Steve shook his head, “Not really, but I feel like you’re up to something.” 

You shook your head no. “Come on it’ll be fun.” you begged.

“Ok fine. What did you have in mind.” he sighed as he looked at you.

“An easy game of Fuck, Marry, Kill.” you said with a smile. The alcohol was now affecting and building your confidence. You saw Steve’s Adam's apple bob as he nodded. 

“Kill? That’s a little harsh.” Steve said as he looked at you. 

“Seriously? Kill is harsh, but fuck is ok?” you whined at him and he nodded. ”Fine, then avoid instead of kill, you baby.” you added shaking your head.

“Who are your picks then?” he asked as he downed his drink.

“Simple, the lady you gave advice to, the woman in the very short dress and me.” you smirked as you took a sip of his water. 

“Ok, avoid short dress woman, marry the woman I gave advice to and then have sex with you.” he answered honestly staring at you. You blinked in astonishment by his answer.

“Damn, Rogers you answered that way too quickly. Can I get an explanation as to why your answers came so easily?” you asked, staring at the blond.

‘Well, short dress woman I would avoid because I talked to her earlier and I was not feeling it. I would marry the woman I gave advice to because she seems to have good intentions.” Steve said confidently. “And I guess that leaves me to fuck you because I want to.” he added with lustful eyes.

‘Holy shit! Did he just admit he wanted to fuck you?!’ you thought to yourself as you sipped some water.

“Some bold words coming out of your mouth Rogers.” you said trying to think of something or anything to get more information about that last thing he said. 

“Why is it bold, when it’s the truth.” he said looking dead into your eyes.

“Well then fuck me already.” you whisper winking at him.

A/N: Was that good? I hope this was good. I feel like there should be a second part to this with some smutty action 🤔 Again if you wanna be tagged in future fics, have any requests or just wanna chat hit me up! 

Taglist: @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @sebtheromanianprince @aquabrie @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan  @anbrax5553 @wintersoldierissucharide @caplanbuckybarnes @miraclesoflove @kitkatd7 @saiyanprincessswanie @chaoticpete @fandomsandxfiles @hailmary-yramliah @coffeebooksandfandom @thefallenbibliophilequote

^please lemme know if you wanna be added/removed for future tags or dm me if I forgot you^

#dani’s 2021 #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve #reader x steve rogers #reader insert #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 11

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 2,909

A/N: First of all, I have a couple of new readers (hi, thank you, I love you) if this is your first Sapere Aude, stop here, go back, and start from the beginning. This series has a lot of bombs and surprises, so none of this is going to make sense, and it’s going to make it less exciting if you aren’t reading from the beginning. 

Sorry, another long wait for a chapter. I got stuck, and distracted, and like a million other things. The Choices Insider email last week kind of lit a fire under me. When I started writing this (in December) the plan was to have it finished before the last book came out, so I have like a month to get through this. I’m going full out on getting this completed now, I will be working on nothing but this until it is done, and am hoping to finish it in time for the next book to come out so that PB has plenty of time to steal my ideas. 

This chapter took a while for me to work through, but @jessiembruno was amazing and helped me every step of the way, and got like a million rambling text messages from me once the idea dam finally broke. And then pre-reading and leaving me some amazing love notes, and super helpful suggestions. She also kept encouraging me, and pushing me to work on it when my mind would wander into new ideas, or thoughts on some other random WIP that I started throwing together. I love you, and I am so grateful for this friendship that goes way beyond any of this. By the way, you are an AMAZING writer, and I will continue to shout it from the mountain tops as long as I live. 

As always with this series, I need to thank @txemrn for pre-reading. I was having SUCH a miserable day and feeling so shitty about myself (for non-fandom reasons), and your reactions to this chapter made me laugh out loud for the first time in what felt like forever. I appreciate you so much my dear friend. 

And of course, thank you @twinkleallnight for my beautiful series moodboard. 

Tags: Listed below, you know the drill. 

Liam exited the bedroom and walked toward the sitting area. He paused at the end of the hallway to observe his wife and his daughter sitting on the couch. Riley had her blouse in hand, sewing on the button Olivia sent her for her undercover mission. She was showing Eleanor how to sew, talking her through every stitch. The princess was watching and listening intently, taking in every word her mother said. 

He leaned his right shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he admired his family. He didn’t understand how it was possible to fall even more in love every time he looked at them. All he wanted in this world was their happiness and safety, and now here he was, sending his wife straight to the enemy. 

“Hi Daddy!” The angelic voice of his daughter pulled him from his thoughts. 

“Hi Princess. Are you being a good helper for mommy?” He lifted Eleanor off the couch and sat in her seat, placing her on his lap. 

“Best helper a girl could ask for.” Riley held her hand out, palm up, and Eleanor gave her a high five. 

Liam enjoyed the company of his family for a few more moments, before placing a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Alright Eleanor, why don’t you go play in your room for a little while? Mommy and daddy have to talk about grown up things.”

“Yes, daddy. Will you come play after?” 

“Of course, I believe I am owed a tea party.” He gave her a hug before setting her down and watching her run to her room. When she was gone, he turned his attention back to Riley. “How are you feeling, love?”

Riley cut the lingering thread from the button and placed her blouse on the table in front of them before responding. “I mean, obviously I’m nervous, but I’m optimistic that I’ll come back with something we can use. How are you feeling?”

He sighed and pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her head as it landed on his chest. “Riley, I love how much you worry about me, but let me worry about you right now. Let me be your support system. Tell me truly, how are you feeling?”

“I’m...I’m terrified.” She pulled back and looked him in the eyes, tears beginning to pool in her own. “I’m trying so hard to be strong, to put on a brave face, but this is fucking terrifying. We don’t know how deep it goes, we know some of the people that are involved, but how do we know that that’s everyone?”

“You’re right, there are a lot of unknowns, and that’s scary.” He cupped her face in his hands, wiping a falling tear with his thumb. “But I truly believe that we are going to end this. That you are going to end this. Don’t forget, you are the Champion of The Realm.”

“Yeah, but I’m sleeping with the guy who makes those decisions, he may have been a little biased.” She shrugged, half joking. 

Liam removed his hands, his expression becoming more serious. “Riley, that’s not funny. You have earned every single thing you have received since you arrived in this country, our country. I don’t ever want you to believe that my feelings for you overrule my judgement when it comes to your abilities. You are the strongest person I have ever met. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“IF anyone can do this. What if nobody can?”

“Then we will face the fallout together. Like we always do, like we always will. We are the King and Queen of Cordonia, Liam and Riley Rys. We are a force to be reckoned with.” He raised an eyebrow as he parroted back her reassuring words from a few nights before. 

She smirked at him. “Hey, no fair, you can’t use my own words to prove your point like that.” 

“Yes I can, old negotiation tactic.” He winked at her and stood from the couch reaching for her hand. “Come on, we still have the whole day ahead of us. Let’s go have a tea party with our daughter, then I’m taking my girls out for dinner.”

****

Two days later, Riley was sitting in the back of an SUV heading toward the Fierro Estate. She was doing her best to quell her nerves, but she couldn’t help her hands from fidgeting in her lap. 

“You seem on edge, ma’am. Is everything ok?” The sound of Mara’s voice cut through the silence, startling Riley. 

“Oh...yeah, I’m fine Mara. I’m just not really sure what to expect from this meeting. Last time I went to one of these events, I found out my mother in law wasn’t actually dead. I don’t know if I could handle another surprise like that.”

Mara chuckled at her concern. “Don’t worry your majesty, this is a simple strategy meeting followed by a dinner. You have met all of the members, so there will be no surprise guests this time around.”

Riley nodded and turned her head, watching the scenery pass by as they continued to their destination. Her mind was racing thinking about what this meeting would have in store. She practiced taking pictures with the pen, and activating the recorder she had sewn into her shirt. As they got closer to the estate, she felt her heart rate speed up, and the knot in her stomach tighten.

When they arrived, Riley was ushered into the grand room, which had been set up with a large table. The other members were standing around in small groups chatting until it was time for the meeting to begin. Riley fidgeted with the pen, twirling it in her fingers before lifting it to her face and tapping it against her chin and clicking it several times. She hoped it came off as a nervous habit, providing cover for the fact that she was actually taking pictures around the room. 

She gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin at the feeling of a hand gently being placed on her shoulder. She whipped around to see Eleanor smiling softly at her. “Riley dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, Eleanor. Hello.” Riley held her hand to her chest, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. “It’s ok, I’m just a little nervous. Not really sure what to expect from this meeting.”

“Don’t worry, I promise it’s just regular business, nothing earth shattering. Come on, it’s time to get this started, and you’re sitting next to me.” Eleanor wrapped her arm around Riley and led her to the table. The other guests took this as their cue to follow, as the meeting was about to get underway. As Riley sat, she adjusted her skirt and blouse, using the opportunity to activate the microphone embedded in her button. 

As the chapter president, Eleanor kicked off the meeting by greeting their newest member, Queen Riley, and explaining that she was there to help push their initiatives though with the King. Riley clenched her fist ever so slightly, a trick she used when she was trying to keep her expression neutral. They continued on, reviewing the minutes of the last meeting, it all seemed to be pretty mundane, things that wouldn't even necessarily cross hers or Liam’s desk. 

Then they opened up the floor to new business, and Neville stood to address the room. “I would like to revisit the Auvernal alliance.”

Riley was able to maintain her stoic expression, but her body tensed at the mention of Auvernal. She and Liam had made it perfectly clear that there would be no alliance. “I don’t believe there is anything to revisit there.” She chimed in. “King Liam and I determined that the alliance would not be beneficial for Cordonia.”

“Actually, I believe you determined the alliance would not be beneficial to you and your husband.” Neville rebutted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t want to marry off your daughter, you didn’t bother thinking of what the alliance could bring to our country.”

“Are you questioning the decisions of your monarchs? I urge you to remember your station, Lord Neville.” Riley raised an eyebrow and stood a bit taller. 

Neville scoffed at her threat. “And I urge you to remember that you may have slept your way to the top in Cordonia, but the Via Imperii is bigger than the monarchy, and in this society, I outrank you.”

“Well, if being the Queen doesn’t matter in this room, then there is nothing stopping me from coming over there and beating your a...”

“Ok ok ok, let’s all calm down here.” Eleanor grabbed Riley’s arm, stopping her from charging at Neville. “Let’s all sit down and have a rational conversation, weighing out the pros and cons of an alliance.” Riley and Neville both sat down and exchanged narrow glances. “Now Neville, since you have brought this proposal to the group, you will go first. Please explain to us your thought process on revisiting the alliance.”

Neville nodded and smirked at Riley. “It is clear that combining the financial security of Cordonia with the military strength of Auvernal would make us an unstoppable force. Besides, we need the extra protection given our country’s recent history.” He glared at Riley once again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Riley huffed. 

“Look at the instability we have faced in recent years. Our crown prince abdicated, his successor, our current king, broke off a perfectly suitable engagement to marry a foreign commoner who was marred in scandal.”

“He released a statement that cleared that whole thing up. The scandal is irrelevant.” She could feel her cheeks heating up.

“Do you really think people stopped talking about it? You can’t really believe that it won’t be a part of your legacy as our Queen.” 

Riley slouched down in her seat. She knew she should remain composed, but bringing up the Tariq scandal hit a nerve that she didn’t know still existed. One of her biggest concerns in continuing her relationship with Liam, and accepting his proposal, was that his success as King would be overshadowed by the scandal she had faced. She had thought that after all these years, it would have been forgotten, but Neville bringing it up just brought everything back up and made her realize it would be something that was attached to her name forever. 

“Besides the personal problems our royal family has faced, there have been multiple attempts to overthrow them just within our own country. Sons of Earth, Duke Godfrey, Barthelemy Beaumont, just to name a few. Other countries are seeing this, and it won’t be long before they try to come for us as well.” Neville continued. 

“While I don’t agree with his delivery, Lord Neville does make some valid points.” Emmeline interjected, the rest of the room began murmuring in agreement. Riley couldn’t hide her shocked expression as she felt tears start to build up in her eyes. She blinked them away, she was not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing their queen cry. 

Eleanor took back control of the room before turning to Riley. “Riley, would you like to counter? You and Liam worked directly with Auvernal during the marriage alliance talks, you clearly have some insight that we may not be privy to.”

Riley took a deep breath to get her emotions under control before standing to address the room. “Aside from the fact that Bradshaw and Isabella are deplorable people with hell spawn children, the main reason that we decided an alliance was not in the best interest of Cordonia, was because it was clear that their interest was not an alliance, but a hostile takeover of our country.”

“Perhaps we would prosper under their rule. I haven’t heard of any coup attempts in Auvernal, it seems to me like they’re doing something right.” Neville spoke up. 

“So that’s it then? You all think Bradshaw and Isabella would do a better job as your king and queen, so I’m just supposed to convince Liam to relinquish the throne?” Riley threw her hands up in frustration and stepped away from the table. 

“Your majesty, we’re not making the final decision right here, right now, we just want to remain open to the idea and explore some options.” Emmeline tried to talk Riley down. “Perhaps you and King Liam could take a meeting with them, a friendly lunch maybe, just to open the lines of communication.”

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you all expect me to agree with this!” Riley was now pacing the room, overcome with a nervous energy.

Eleanor stood and lifted a hand to quiet the room. “Alright, that’s enough. I think we’ve gotten as far as we’re going to get with this conversation tonight. Dinner is being set out in the dining hall. I suggest we adjourn for the day. Let’s all compose ourselves and think about all sides of this conversation. We will pick up the conversation at the next meeting.”

As the members started filing out of the room, Eleanor approached Riley and gently placed her hand on her arm to keep her still. “Are you alright Riley?” 

Riley shrugged Eleanor’s hand off of her, anger clear on her face. “Of course I’m not alright. I basically just had a room full of my subjects telling me that my husband and I are doing a shitty job, and they think those monsters are better suited to look out for their best interests. Of course I’m not fucking alright!” Riley moves in closer, lowering her voice but not losing any of the anger in her tone. “I thought you were here doing this to protect Liam. Do you really think that this is protecting him? Handing his kingdom over to Auvernal?!”

“Riley, I always have Liam’s best interests at heart, I promise you that. Why don’t you head home, take a couple of days to relax and take everything in. I will set up a meeting for you and I later this week to talk about everything and work out a game plan.”

“Fine, I can’t stay here anymore anyway. And I definitely don’t have an appetite for dinner.” Riley walked out of the room, looking for Mara so that they could get back to the palace. She stepped into the dining area and saw Mara standing in the far corner talking to Neville. She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath before approaching the pair. “Mara, we will not be staying for dinner. We are returning to the palace immediately. I want to be home to put my daughter to bed.” She wasn’t going to give Neville the satisfaction of knowing she was leaving because of what he started. 

“Of course, your majesty.” Mara nodded and exited with Riley. 

The ride home was silent. In all the years that Mara had worked for Riley, she had never seen her this upset. She wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it, or what would be considered overstepping her duties, so she decided to stay quiet and let Riley speak, if she wanted to. She didn’t. 

They arrived at the palace and walked together to the royal quarters. As Riley placed her hand on the doorknob to enter, Mara cleared her throat to get her attention. “Your majesty, I know this was a difficult evening for you, but I do feel I need to remind you that discretion is key in the Via Imperii. His majesty cannot know what happened tonight. You will need to lock those feelings away for the time being.”

Riley pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. She knew she was going to fall into Liam's arms and cry the second she saw him, and then she would tell him everything, but she couldn’t let Mara know that. “Liam and I will be staying in for the rest of the night. You are dismissed for the evening.” Riley walked into her quarters and shut the door before Mara had a chance to respond. 

As soon as she closed the door, she leaned back against it and dropped her head into her hands. Liam came walking into the room, the smile that appeared on his face when he heard the front door open quickly faded as he took in the sight of his wife sobbing at the front door. “Riley?” She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face as she tried to catch her breath. He rushed over to her and pulled her close, she buried her head in his chest as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head trying unsuccessfully to soothe her. “Shhhh, it’s alright love, I’m right here, I’ve got you. Tell me what happened.”

Riley could barely speak, but she slowly tried to explain everything that had happened that night. Liam walked her to the couch as she spoke, she needed to sit, anything to help her relax and calm down. He stared at her in disbelief as he listened to his wife tearfully recap her evening. 

On the other side of the door, Mara pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket, selecting one of the contacts and bringing the phone to her ear. “My lord, you were right. We will need to put your plan in motion.”

Permatag:

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Sapere Aude:

@burnsoslow @busywoman @gardeningourmet @ofpixelsandscribbles

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612

Liam:

@amandablink @yourmajesty09

#choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices fic writers creations #choices trr #choices trh #trr/trh #trr fandom #trh fandom #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #the royal romance #the royal heir #trh book 3 #choices the royal romance #choices the royal heir #king liam #trr king liam #trh king liam #trr liam x mc #trh liam x mc #trr mc #trh mc #Sapere Aude

[kaepop-trash]

I finished Unintended Consequences two days ago and I still can't get it out of my head. How do you do it? How do you make him playful and funny one moment and sexy the next? I can't get the Epilogue out of my mind!!! This might be too much to ask since you mentioned that you've been working on a few WIPs, but I've been reading your fanfiction for a long time now and I know you sometimes answers asks with small bits of extra plot. I need Daddy Johnny, I can't stop thinking about it.

Please! Ask anything, I love doing these. Finding out someone wants to see more of characters makes me giddy because I focus on characters the most in any story. You can ask about any character from any fic at any point of time in any situation and I will gladly write it. This is maybe on of my favourite things to do, like an excercise in character. If you have more please don't hesitate to ask. But for now, here's daddy Johnny. Enjoy!

__

Her bottom lip puckered and she look at her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Johnny laughed softly, changing the gear as the traffic light turned green.

"What has gotten into you today?" He was still chuckling to himself.

Her eyes traced the rain covered streets as they passed by slowly. Taking in the sight of her city, her home.

She turned to face him, devilish intention in her eyes. "A lot of things. Unfortunately, none of them were you." She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She took pleasure at the sight of the humour dropping away from his eyes.

She looked out through the windshield, her voice turning back to conversational. "I appreciate that you came to the airport. Though I'm not sure I enjoyed how blatantly Isabelle was eyeing you." She frowned, remembering her colleagues shameless giggles and elbow touches.

"I thought Isabella was married?" He said off handedly.

She resisted the urge to smile, noticing his deliberate effort to mispronounce her name.

"All the more reason to dislike it. Isabelle should laugh at her husband's jokes." Her forehead creased together.

She sighed as they stopped at another red light. New York traffic aged a person more than the pollution.

Johnny turned to face her as he turned off the ignition, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I thought you weren't the jealous type?"

"I am the possesive type, remember?" She pointed a finger at him. "I don't doubt you for a second. But I still don't see why Isabelle needs to stroke my Daddy's arm." She saw his nostrils flare, a sudden fire in his eyes. On her part, she bit back a smile.

There was a moment when he just watched her like a predator sizing their prey up while her breathing hitched with every passing second.

Then a horn blared behind them.

Johnny peeled his eyes from her, looking back at the road. His jaw set tight.

She turned back to the road as well, going back to filling him in on her work trip. "I did manage to squeeze in an amendment in the budget bill. Though I had to corner a senator in a bar for it. How was your week?" She questioned.

_

It took more than two hours, but they finally drove into the garage. Johnny got out and took out her suitcase, still mostly silent.

She tapped her feet on the ground as they waited for the elevator.

"Is there any food? I'm famished." She sighed as her stomach growled.

His eyes widened the smallest bit, "There's some cold pizza on the counter. I think there's an orange in the fridge." He thought over it.

She sighed, her head falling. "I leave for seven days and you've already given up food? Johnny Seo I've told you to at least have a decent dinner." She shook her head.

"I missed you too, (Y/N)." He said it absent-mindedly, practically fluent in her habit of missing what was really bothering her.

She was so deep in love with this man.

"What are you in the mood to eat?" He asked as the elevator dinged open. He lifted her suitcase and placed it inside as the elevator closed them both in.

Without too much of a malicious intent, her lips tugged at the corners.

"Jesus fucking Christ, baby." He huffed, "You need to stop." He warned.

"Why?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "I can say what I want to you. You're my boyfriend." She smiled at the word, still not used to the butterflies it gave her after almost three years.

"Wait till we get home." He sighed.

"But this is more fun." Her lower lip puckered up again, "Look at how impossibly red your cheeks are right now. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What should I do to your cheeks when we get back then?" He raised a brow, a flick of a switch for heat to pool in between her legs.

"Kiss them lovingly." She smirked, ignoring the intentional play on words.

His lips tugged on one corner, shaking his head as a chuckle slipped out his lips and looking away to the screen as they rose through the floors.

"Cold pizza is fine." She spoke, earning a distracted hum from him.

_

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he looked down to lock his gaze on hers. She sat on her knees at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with big, eager eyes. Wearing lingerie he once bought for her, the sight milking every last reserve he had.

The delicate cream-beige silk was thin despite being opaque, teasing his senses as her nipples currently stretched against the fabric.

He knew she wore it on purpose.

"Did you enjoy it? Constantly saying things that almost made the car crash?" He clicked his tongue.

"You aren't crashing any cars at 12 miles an hour." She mumbled.

His fingers grabbed her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. Humour dancing in his eyes, but a deliberate frown on his face.

"Look at me when you speak, princess." His voice impassive. "We're feeling very brave today, are we?" She blinked, batting her lashes in a slow deliberate move that made him groan.

"You always have more self-control than I do." She pouted. "All week I craved you. I just wanted to see some of that in your eyes."

His thumb brushed against her lower lips, pulling on the skin and letting his gaze linger on the plump flesh, before bringing it back to her eyes. "I'm always craving you." He bit the inside of his cheek when her lips parted to wrap around his thumb, flicking small licks against the pad of his thumb.

He clasped her jaw, "Wretched girl." He groaned.

"I missed you so much." She whined against his thump, letting it fall from her now wet lips with a soft 'pop'. "I was even sitting in a conference room before a meeting looking at your pictures. That bitch Isabelle peeked in and then would not stop asking who you were." She frowned.

His eyes danced with amusement. "What did you do then?" He dragged his thumb down her throat, dragging his wet finger down the skin.

"I told her exactly who you were." She sounded indignant.

"And what is that?" His fingers brushed over her breasts with a feather light touch, enjoying the sensation of the soft silk under his knuckles.

"Mine."

His eyes snapped back to hers, his lips parting.

She continued like her words didn't knock the ground from under his feet, "She looked like she didn't even want to believe me." She rolled her eyes.

Johnny raised a brow, "Is that why you grabbed my ass in the middle of the airport?" The smirk that lifted the corner of her lips drove him insane.

"Maybe." She bated her eyelashes. "Isabelle needs to pay more attention to her own husband." She frowned again.

"Can we not talk about Isabelle in our bed?" He snapped.

She gave him a soft nod, looking to the floor. Johnny grazed his lower lip with his teeth till the skin broke.

He lifted her chin to look at him, "Say it again." He demanded.

She scoffed, "You just said–"

"You know what I mean, princess." He narrowed his gaze at her. Her lips tugged. Otherwise patronising nicknames sounded like filthy praises when they came from his lips.

She looked up, unfaltering ease in her eyes. "You're mine."

"Again." He growled, his breathing down to a shallow mess of strong effort.

She sat up on her knees, coming up to make her eyes level to his, "Johnny Seo you belong to me."

He presses his lips to hers. She wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to grab his sweater, pulling him till he was over her.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips still pressed on hers, "Turn over." He ordered.

She obeyed, lying on her stomach on the mattress, looking back to watch him do quick work of undressing.

"Did you miss me?" She questioned, knowing the answer already.

"Every fucking hour." The words filled her with pride anyway.

"Hmm. You don't seem like it. Telling me off like you are." She hid her smile in the pillow. He dragged a stray finger down her spine, the air in her lungs stuttering on it's way out.

"You've become a little tease do you know that?" His fingers lingered on the curve of her ass. She pressed it further up in the air, enjoying the sound of his soft exhale.

"Learning from the best." Her voice was softer.

When the first smack landed on her ass she gasped from shock. He rubbed the flesh softly, soothing the sting from a second ago.

"Anything else to say?" He questioned. She pictured the raise of a single brow, the challenge in his eyes. She sucked in her breath and parted her lips to speak.

The second smack landed on the other cheek, making a moan leave through her lips instead. She buried her face in the pillow, feeling like she'd go mad with desire.

"That's what I thought." He hummed, "My precious brat needs a little encouragement once in a while, doesn't she?" He kneaded the flesh of her ass. "Speak." He demanded.

"Yes, Daddy." She spoke through her teeth.

The third made her wince, his palm landing in the middle, impossibly close to her increasingly wet hole. She jumped, burying her face further and whining.

"Are we good?" He questioned, stroking her behind again.

"Yes." She lifted her head to gasp out.

Johnny was so good at pushing her till the very brink of desire, but never pain. His touch was stern but never harsh. And he was foremost gentle.

She turned her head to press her cheek into the pillow instead of her face. "I love you."

"I love you too, (Y/N)." His voice was soft. "I'm crazy about you." He huffed.

Two of his fingers stroked down her clothed slit. When he pressed her folds right above her clit she bit down on her lip.

"You're so wet." He growled, pressing a finger through the silk of her underwear into her.

Her leg jerked at the sensation.

"Absolutely soaked." His voice was dangerously low, "Turn over." He took his finger away too quick.

She turned over, lifting her torso on her elbows to look at him.

Her lips parted as she finally realised that he was completely naked. She was certain she could see it everyday and still not get used to how he looked without clothes.

Johnny bit his lip, "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? Flushed and needy for me. In that beautiful lingerie that I'm trying my best not to tear off of you." He groaned, eyes drifting all over her body.

"Johnny." She whined, his breath caught in his throat at the plea, "Come here. Touch me, please." She shivered.

He gave her a gentle smile, one full of love. That one thing, she thought, despite everything else at hand, could move her to tears.

He crawled up to her, eyes meeting hers as he cupped a cheek in his hand. "I don't know what life would have been without you, my love." He whispered.

Her heart picked up so fast that she was sure she saw spots in her vision. Her face turned red and she covered her face in her hands, groaning.

Johnny laughed, kissing her fingers. "That makes you blush?" He chuckled.

Unintended Consequences

#nct johnny #johnny smut #nct smut #nct scenarios #miscellaneous #unintended consequences #nct #johnny #nct 127

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Hi y'all!

So I realized today that it's been about three months since I started cross-posting my stuff to ao3 (those of y'all who were here for After Each Midnight while it was still a wip will know that I've been writing for longer than that but anyway). With the latest fic I just posted, I now have 30 works published to ao3 within those three months! Which is wild to me!

Since that averages out to ten fics a month and I like round numbers, I decided to celebrate by listing my 10 favorite fics...of my own lol. Narcissistic? Maybe! But it's fun anyway!

This is a really long post as each rec includes a summary, an excerpt (or a few), and some personal notes/anecdotes about the writing process or what inspired me to write the fic, etc. so I'm putting it all under the break. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea then of course please just skip over this one, but for anyone who wants to revisit some of my older works with me, or if you're curious about which fics I personally like the most, or if you want to talk about your favorite fics of mine in the replies or anything, then that's cool too! I just wanted to find a way to mark this down because it feels like something of an achievement ^_^

Thank you!

1. After Each Midnight Begins A New Day, (54,401 words, Rated E) Ship(s): 3zun, Wangxian Summary: When Lan Xichen wakes up the morning after the fifth anniversary of his life crumbling to rubble around him in Guanyin Temple, he's shocked to find both Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao in his bed, both whole and alive and...married to him?! (A time travel fix-it in which the time traveling and fixing of things has already been done by Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen accidentally gets dragged along for the happily ever after.) Excerpt(s):

1. “Poor da-ge,” [Meng Yao] teases again, this time with a bit of an edge, and Lan Xichen cracks one eye open just enough to see him stripping first out of his shoes and socks, then his third layer of robes, then his second, until he’s dressed much as he had been the prior evening - in nothing but a black under-robe so sheer that it actually almost looks gray. It clings to all the petite, lithe curves of him and the sight makes Lan Xichen’s mouth practically water. “What if I want my turn with you now? What if I’m jealous that er-ge got to have you all to himself for hours , while your poor A-Yao had to go have a drink with Xian-didi just to pass the time.” “Oh gods you’re a beast too,” Nie Mingjue groans as Meng Yao slips on top of him gracefully to lean down and pepper kisses up and down his neck and shoulder. “Get off of me, foul creature. Go tempt our husband, I’m temporarily immune to your wiles.” “You’re never immune to my wiles, da-ge, and er-ge is meditating oh so diligently. He’s certainly not smiling and watching us through his lashes as if we’re not well aware of his tricks and what he likes to watch.” - 2. “It took years of practice, you with your painting and I with my answering, but when you were a teenager I finally decided on the best advice I could think to give you: Do not seek for every answer in this life all at once, Xichen,” he instructs with a smile as he returns to painting. “Let them come to you gently and in their season, and trust that all will be as it should in the end.” Lan Xichen takes another breath and returns to his painting with a slightly trembling hand - a trembling that ends up creating a lovely branch on the tree he is painting that, when he turns his head to look, is modeled almost exactly after the one growing in the garden behind the Gentian House, just beyond the window. “I don’t remember ever seeing this tree,” he whispers and Qingheng-Jun hums across from him in clear understanding. “And yet it flows from your brush all the same. Now we can all know that you have nothing to fear, your memories will also come to you in their season. Until then, allow yourself to rest, and remember that you have the support of your family whenever you need it.” “Yes, father,” he replies with a whisper and a tremulous smile, feeling lighter than he has in days. - 3. “I will go into seclusion.” The statement is a stone dropped into the gently rippling water of a spring-fed pool. The stone is jagged and pitted with all that the world has done to chip away at it, to make it rough and painful to the touch. It is sharp in his hands, heavy with all the hurts he still carries in his chest, all the grief he has no more room to hold. He feels lighter with it out of his grasp, the words settling into the ensuing silence with some bittersweet relief.

Notes: I know I've said it before but it bears repeating: this entire fic exists solely because of the smut scene in chapter 1. I thought of the smut first, and then the lead-in to it, and I intentionally left the end of chapter 1 ambiguous - it could have ended right there as an angsty one-shot with Lan Xichen believing that it was all a hallucination, and there's nothing really in the text to say that it's not because Lan Xichen is a very unreliable narrator in this fic. But then I wanted to write the backstory for the smut if, in fact, it wasn't a hallucination - and everything kind of...butterfly-effected out from there to become what it is now, along with all the extras in the series that's now roughly 120k long altogether and still not finished. Oops. Oh and also: this fic that started the ball rolling only exists because for some reason the servers for Omegle went down for months where I live, and prior to that I used to spend hours rp'ing. Without that creative outlet, I filled the vacuum with writing fic instead and now here we are. So if you're grateful for my fics then thank Omegle for sucking for a few months lol --//-- 2. Loving, Loud, Wild, and Theirs (7386 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Xuanli & Gen (kidfic), 3zun (briefly) - an extra for AEM Summary: A brief look at how in this kinder world, Jin Zixuan managed to find and legitimize his three siblings as well as a snapshot of the chaos of love and fun that is his family with his siblings, his beloved wife, and their seven children. Excerpt:

He had listened to [Madam Qin] and her handmaid, and he had believed them, and he had been unsurprised to find himself thinking quite uncharitably of his father following his promise to Madam Qin that he would do everything in his power to make it right, as much as he could. [Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao] return to Jinlintai the day after the next, once their business is concluded. He’s relieved when nothing needs his immediate attention as it means he’s free to retreat into his and Jiang Yanli’s quarters so he can tell her everything that’s weighing on his mind. “No more surprise siblings from now on,” he sighs into the comfort of Jiang Yanli's chest when he’s finished outlining what has happened and his plans to prepare a new suite of rooms in the family wing of the tower. For Qin Su. His sister. Jiang Yanli just laughs her tinkling laugh and kisses him, her hands gentle as she combs his hair back from his face with her fingertips. “You’ve got more siblings now than any of the rest of us,” she teases with a mischievous smile down at him that is a bit too reminiscent of, weirdly, both Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu for comfort. “Two brothers, a sister, and of course we must keep Mianmian in her spot on the list. If you would like to count brothers-in-law as well you’ve also got A-Xian, A-Cheng, Huaisang, Wangji, Xichen, and Mingjue...” He groans and hides his face properly in the soft silk of her robes even as she laughs again over his head.

Notes: This fic is actually a request fill for someone and I had some trouble ending it because there's a lot more I want to write with this wild family, though I did eventually find what felt like a good place to cut it off with 3zun arriving in Jinlintai for the visit they leave for at the end of AEM. There is something of a follow-up floating around my wips that - if it ever gets written - is a direct sequel to AEM that continues where this extra leaves off, with 3zun getting to spend time with their hoard of niblings in Jinlintai. No promises about if/when that will get written though. --//-- 3. Performance Art (8106 words, Rated M) Ships: 3zun, Wangxian (briefly) Summary: A Modern AU inspired by the 'Hysterical Literature' performance art project. Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Meng Yao take turns doing their best to read aloud from chosen written works as they're filmed. The twist is that they're trying to do so as they're being pleasured with a vibrator controlled by one of their partners off-camera, each of their turns ending when the partner being filmed/played with has an orgasm. Excerpt(s):

1. “Engage people with what they expect; it is..- it…it is what they are able to discern and.. ngh.. confirms their projections. It settles.. ah settles them into predictable-“ He cuts off suddenly to set the book down flat and slap one hand down sharply on the tabletop. Meng Yao simply clicks another button and Nie Mingjue groans as his newly unoccupied hand twitches back to rest on the edge of the table closer to himself, as if about to drop down beneath it. Lan Xichen and Meng Yao both shift forward in their seats but Nie Mingjue catches himself before they have to intervene, returning his hand to the middle of the table and forcing a deep breath into his lungs so he can continue. “-Predictable patterns of..of response, occupying their minds while you w-wait for the ex- extra-“ he huffs out a sharp breath and curls his hand into a fist as he tilts forward and forces out the rest of the sentence in a rush. “Extraordinary moment — that whichtheycannotanticipate. FUCK!” - 2. It’s a few hours of quiet, peaceful work later when Lan Wangji shifts his weight in the way that means he wants Wei Wuxian’s actual attention and not his ‘ I’m sculpting so I’m periodically looking at you ’ sort of attention which he is, of course, quick to grant. He pauses in his muttering half to himself and half to Lan Wangji to say, “Hm? What’s up Zhanzhan?” “From Xiongzhang,” he says by way of explanation, holding his phone out for Wei Wuxian to squint at the screen. It takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the small black and white video that’s playing after having spent hours looking between Lan Zhan and the clay form taking shape under his hands. “What is this?” he asks as he leans in closer and squints a little harder. He blinks and his eyes go wide in the next moment as he realizes what’s happening on the screen as the woman’s tension climaxes ( literally ) - and then it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to figure out just why he’d been asked to create an eerily similar setup in his own studio the previous afternoon for three men he might as well consider his sort-of brothers at this point. His next exhale is a wheeze as his ears go hot and Lan Wangji is instantly shrugging into a robe to stand from his lounging position and approach, concern written all over his features. “Wei Ying?”

Notes: I don't really have too much to say about this one except that it brought me so much joy and laughter to write and it honestly kind of surprises me that it's one of my less popular fics - it's nothing but a fun, sexy time! But I'm also terrible at guessing trends/what people will want to see so that might be on me haha. Oh! Also - a minor thing but something I'm very mildly proud of: the narrator voice is dependent on who's behind the camera! I wanted a way to make the person filming feel just as involved as the other two and I thought that was a fun way to do it since within the narrative it's technically going to be their perspective used for the video they're recording. Just to give y'all a little insight into my decision-making when it comes to my writing style for this one. --//-- 4. Anything For My Nie-Zongzhu (6411 words, Rated E) Ship: NieYao - pre-canon (just barely) Summary: Meng Yao is Nie Mingjue's trusted right hand, intelligent and valued by his Sect Leader, at least, who has learned lately to appreciate him a hell of a lot in private too - and for much more personal matters than the minutiae of running the Nie Sect. Seeing as Nie Mingjue trusts him so much, he finds it in himself to ask for something new - for Meng Yao to top him. [Technically an extra for AEM but can be read as a standalone] Excerpt:

“Am I to play into this boorish act you’re putting on tonight?” he teases instead as he steps closer until he’s near enough to feel the way the steam from the bath has turned the air sticky and humid. Nie Mingjue finally looks up at him and Meng Yao is internally crowing with triumph as he watches the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth fall away, his expression smoothing into quiet contentment. He did that. His presence alone is enough to help Nie Mingjue relax. It feels nearly as good as the day the man had angrily defended him to his own disciples and promoted him on the spot. “It’s not an act, I’m plenty boorish,” Nie Mingjue gruffs, returning his gaze to the letter, but this close Meng Yao can actually watch his eyes do nothing but try to glare a hole through the center of the page. “Of course you are, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao allows, his tone openly humoring - as is the smile tightening the corners of his mouth. “Therefore I can only suppose that you would prefer it if I returned to my walk and left you to continue your...correspondence in peace.”

Notes: Once again not really many notes on this one! I just love NieYao, I think their dynamic during Meng Yao's Nie Sect days has so much potential and I love exploring it every so often. --//--

5. Bite The Hands That Feed (1590 words, Rated E) Ship: XiYao Summary: After being forced out of the Nie Sect, Meng Yao has to come to grips with the hunger that's been chasing him his whole life, and he finds temporary satisfaction over and over in Lan Xichen, who is always so generous with his time and his body and is willing to help him feel less empty even just for a night. Excerpt:

He would never bite the hands that feed him, that stuff him full enough to make him believe for a moment that he’s no longer starving. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t inflict pains. He bites and he scratches and he plants himself in the bloody furrows until flowering moans reward his violent care, until pleasure bursts sun-warmed and sweet between them, berries ripe for the picking. He stains his mouth red with them, his fingers purple with the bruises he paints so delicately on his devotee’s body. If Meng Yao is being clawed to a slow torturous death from within, then it stands to reason that his other half will be ripped to shreds from without. He keeps his nails sharp and his teeth bared to tear into his flesh and drink sweetly of the vintage he offers - sweat, spend, blood, saliva when their mouths meet for crushing kisses. All of it is his to consume. He puts his mouth to the feast of Lan Xichen’s body and eats until the hunger pangs are satiated, drinks until he feels dizzy with it.

Notes: So I wrote this one when I was getting a little tired of the straight narration style of all my other fics and I wanted to try my hand at something looser, a little more prose-like but also a little darker than my usual fluff. I'm not sure how successful I was - this is actually one of my absolute least popular fics, number-wise! - but it's one of my favorites anyway. --//-- 6. A Figure, A Mouth (2788 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A quiet, intimate evening spent in the comfort of the Four Seasons Mountain Manor sometime between their arrival/fixing up of the place and the confrontation with Ye Baiyi. Excerpt:

After a while of warming each other up Wen Kexing urges him back up to push the bed under the window just as he’d said he would. Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to blow out the candles before he rejoins Wen Kexing in their bed, the sudden darkness leaving them free to admire each other clothed in nothing but broad swathes of cool, sweet blue light bisected by deep black lattices of shadow from the trees out in the yard, the shadows from the contours of the wall and decorations around the window blocking and revealing them in turns. Lao Wen is, of course, as beautiful like this as he has been in every way Zhou Zishu has ever seen him, and he takes the time to savor it, to indulge in the decadence that Wen Kexing presents for each of his remaining senses. He’s a feast for the eyes, all hard muscle and skin glistening with glittering diamonds of sweat along his shoulders and the soft curve of his cheek. He’s a symphony for the ears, breathless desire and tender calls of his name that Zhou Zishu never lets go unanswered when they’re like this. By now Wen Kexing is an expert at drawing pleasure from him in every unlikely way there is to make sure that the effects of the nails don’t keep him from reaching his peak at least once, occasionally more in spite of his fading sense of touch.

Notes: Wenzhou makes me so soft and emotional, y'all. The next one on the list is also a Wenzhou fic and I just can't seem to stop writing them in fluffy/smutty situations because it's what they deserve. I really don't have anything more interesting to say about this fic, I just love them haha. --//-- 7. Tease Him Just Enough (2537 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A possible outcome if the conversation post-face reveal in episode 6 had gone differently - i.e. if Zhou Zishu had called Wen Kexing out on all his flirting and challenged him to do something about it - and then he does. Excerpt:

They don’t need words to communicate that at least right here in this particular moment there’s no one else they would rather have in their arms, pressed up against their bodies, no one else’s tongue who would find a new home in each other’s mouths or any other body their hands would rather explore. Wen Kexing has already known that they’re fated, but for the first time it feels like they’re agreeing to be so. Even if it’s just for a night. (Not that he thinks it will be just one night for them, but getting Zhou Xu to agree to anything remotely of the kind is like trying to drag a stray back-alley cat into a bath so he’ll take what he can get.)

Notes: My first fic for Word of Honor! The whole time I was watching the show (read: obsessively binge-watching) I was like 'Okay I like this show a lot but it's not nearly as compelling as The Untamed, idk if I'll be motivated to write anything for it'. Then I got to the end and I was like NEVERMIND YES I AM. I played myself. --//-- 8. You Need Tending (12,108 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji & Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren & The Jades & Wei Wuxian (this is a kidfic so nothing romantic!) Summary: Wei Wuxian is alone and homeless on the streets of Yunmeng, unaware of the presence of his parents' old friend so nearby. Lan Wangji is a child grieving for the loss of his mother in silence, overwhelmed by the world his uncle keeps dragging him out into. It takes their paths crossing more than once for Lan Qiren to realize just who Wei Wuxian is and that he needs their help, but he gets there eventually. Excerpt:

He watches on as the man comes to a stop next to the boys and squats down to check over the one who had been lost and suddenly he remembers lying on the ground and looking up at a stern-faced man with gentle hands and a ribbon across his forehead. The man who had given him medicine and bandages after a small boy had defended him from dogs, and an older boy had talked to him so kindly and helped him to sit up off the dirt. Wei Ying gasps as the memory hits and he scrambles back down off the roof, landing on the packed dirt of the space between the buildings with an oof, excitement bubbling in his chest. Along with the memory comes a name and it flies from his lips as he scrambles up off the ground to push his way into the crowd again. “Master Lan!” he shouts, his tiny voice lost in the din of the market. He tries to shove closer but the little family is already walking away, their backs to him as he strains against the flow of people much bigger and stronger than him. “Master Lan!” he tries again, desperation lending extra strength and emotion to his cry. Wei Ying stops struggling as he watches the two boys in white walk away, the pair of them flanking Master Lan in his sky blue robes as they move through the market, radiating serenity in the midst of the chaos. His vision blurs and he scrubs his forearm against his eyes angrily to dry them, trying to keep the three of them in his sight for as long as he can just in case they turn around and spot him. Just in case they remember him and maybe want to tell him to come with them.

Notes: Baby Wei Ying T-T He just hits me right in the heart, and so does baby Lan Zhan! And baby Lan Xichen. All the babies. This fic was actually completely inspired by an utterly adorable fanart of Lan Xichen giving a grumpy baby A-Zhan a piggyback ride! I'd been wanting to write a kidfic type fix-it for a while and that art was the spark I needed to come up with something workable. (Edit: here’s my reblog of the art I’m talking about!) --//--

9. Familial Circumstances (5393 words, Rated G)

Ship(s): Lan Qiren & Original Characters, Lan Qiren & Jin Zixuan, Lan Qiren & Qin Su, Lan Qiren & Mo Xuanyu - An extra for AEM

Summary: Another kidfic extra for the horde of children in Jinlintai, this time as seen through the lens of their beloved Great Uncle Lan. It's a simple relationship-study-type look at how all the children love their Great Uncle and how much he loves and treasures them in return.

Excerpt:

An unusual stillness accompanies [Jin Ruhai's] playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait [Lan Qiren has] noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time !!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

Notes: I'm definitely biased because they're all my oc's except for Jin Ling, but I genuinely love all of the Jin children in the AEM AU. If anyone is ever interested in knowing more about their individual personalities and the like please don't hesitate to ask me, I've actually put quite a bit of thought into all 6 of the kids I created wholecloth and I have a lot of feelings about Jin Ling getting the chaotic siblings and loving parents he was robbed of.

--//--

10. Opportunities To Practice (5710 words, Rated M) (*WIP)

Ship: Xuanli - An extra for AEM

Summary: Jin Zixuan is nervous for his..marital activities with Jiang Yanli - after all, who could he possibly ask for advice? His father? No thank you. Thankfully Jiang Yanli is sweet and patient and knows her husband well - he just needs a bit of time and he'll get it figured out.

Excerpt:

She shivers with an interesting combination of want and intense vulnerability as she stands there, feeling bare in spite of her remaining layer. It’s of a material so sheer as to be practically nonexistent, nothing more than a delicate veil of a red so pale it’s nearly pink that sits on her body like a second skin. Until it falls gently away at the knee to flutter around her ankles, it clings to every curve, every contour, and as she watches Jin Zixuan doesn’t even bother to hang the robe he had just removed on the screen. He lets it drop into a soft pool around her bare feet, his gaze roaming her newly exposed figure - she would perhaps feel strange about it did he not look so devoted , so in awe of seeing her practically naked in front of him.

Yanli gasps softly as he suddenly drops to his knees at her feet and oh - that’s heady. Her body, which she hasn’t really thought of too much in the past beyond the occasional irritation that it’s weaker than she would prefer, has put the man she loves on his knees. He’s looking up at her now, his eyes wide and his hands reverent as he raises them to rest on her thighs, thumbs caressing her too-warm skin through the barely-there robe that bunches up softly under the pressure of his grip.

“You’re right,” he finally breathes, sounding slightly strained. “I’d like this to stay on. If that’s - are you alright?”

“I am,” she reassures.

Notes: This last fic is technically a wip, the only one in the list! However! - it's going to be a collection of one-shots centered around Xuanli and their sexual exploits that lead to their seven children, and possibly also the ones that are just for fun (horny Yanli rights forever). It's not currently high on my list of priorities or anything and the one chapter that's up so far can stand on its own so it's a wip but it's not? I just love Xuanli so much and I want to explore their relationship in my happy fix-it AU whenever the mood strikes, and whenever that happens this is where those one-shots will go.

--//--

And that's it! My personal top 10 favorite fics of my own as of right now. I thought about doing my top 10 according to statistics like hit counts or kudos, but I genuinely love some of these unpopular fics and I wanted to give them some love and attention even if it's just for me. I know there's a lot here to sift through but if any of y'all enjoyed the list or any of the specific fics on it let me know! I liked taking this little pause to take a look at what I've actually been producing these last few months.

Thanks for reading!

#the untamed fanfic #gonna tag the main romantic ships listed: #3zun #NieYao #XiYao #Wangxian #Xuanli #Wenzhou #y'all I legit spent hours formatting this and writing all this out #I also went looking for the fanart that inspired You Need Tending so I could link it and my page refreshed #which I suspected it would do so of course I hit Ctrl+A and copied it all - #only to find out that doing that doesn't extend past the readmore break which I had already put in #so I lost the whole introductory bit and had to rewrite it #T-T I didn't even find the fanart I'm gonna look for it again on mobile cuz it's easier #ANYWAY - literally no one asked for this and I don't even know if anyone was curious to begin with but I wanted to make this anyway soooo #It's also lowkey one of my goals to write something one day that becomes popular enough to end up on rec lists #So this is me kind of indulging that in a very 'tooting my own horn' kind of way that I refuse to apologize for #No shame in my game #Also if you see any typos or formatting weirdness No You Don't :) I've been doing this for 5+ hours and I'm hUNGRY

[zet-sway]

@the-wip-project day 35:

I don't know what today's question is but I gotta write a wall of text about what happened last night because holy shit

I was on the verge of falling asleep and, like I usually do, I decided to hunt for some spicy fanfics to read on my phone. I found one.

All my posts are long but this one is real fucking long. CW for touching on dub-con and injury mentioned in the type of context it probably shouldn't be.

It's time for me to admit that not only am I a oneshot writer, I'm also a oneshot reader. I am drawn to short fanfics. If I click on a chaptered fic, it's (usually) because it's rated E for smut and I'll go in with every intention of skimming it for the spicy bits. I'm not proud of this. I've avoided saying this for years because I don't want to disappoint people who work hard on their very long and well thought out chaptered stories. I have a short attention span, and I know what I want.

But anyway, last night I clicked on a fic with 5 chapters and some amount of words, around 30k? Long, by my standards, but I was tired and I just wanted something to read while I dozed off.

This particular fic hooked me in, though. I still skimmed it, but the writing was so unique in a way that made me writhe with writer's envy and admiration. Whoever wrote this had their own language - nothing borrowed - their own vision.

I guess I should tell the good people who read my posts (ya'll, seriously, thank you) that the fic in topic is called Fault Lines by Recidiva on AO3. I would link to it but uhhhh I may be using my work PC for "extracurricular purposes" right this moment ^^; so maybe when I get home I'll remember to add it.

I skimmed it - like I said above - for the spicy parts. It generally follows the plot of Bioware's canon. Thane begins as possessive and manipulative, likely uncomfortably close to dub-con for a lot of people. He kisses her and knows full well that his kiss will make her willing but intoxicated, and how he will use that to fulfil himself. But as the story progresses, he falls in love. Their relationship is what I'll call "edgy." Both of them are renegades. There's a scene where they get down in the shuttle after a fight and they're both still injured and it borders on downright unrealistic but fuck it, it's fanfic and I bought it. However their relationship develops a certain heart-wrenching tenderness. She asks him what Siha means over and over again, and eventually tells him she thinks "bitch" when he says it. But in that moment they have a playful banter, he knows full well she's probably already looked it up on the extranet, and they fall into bed together. The smut is mind-boggling.

By the time it gets to Shepard's arrest, he's taken up a place on Earth and visits her, breaks into her house arrest. There's a scene where they see each other for the first time in a while, she tells him how much she's missed his mouth and how it's not right how bad she wants him, and wants him bad enough to smother him with affection. She says something to the effect of "if you're looking to die, I'd volunteer to be the cause," implying that her lust is powerful enough to endanger his life. And it was at this moment I realized I fucked up.

It's established that I live in my own headcanon and I'm not burdened with considering the end of Thane's life as part of my fics. And the suspension of disbelief was such that I forgot he doesn't make it. So at this moment in the fic, chapter 4 out of 5, I realized "Oh shit this isn't going to have a happy ending." I skipped to the end right away, I wanted to confirm my fears.

In their final exchange, she asks him to lie to her - something that's repeated in other chapters of the story. I forget what he says, I was reading desperately, but he asks her in return to tell him something true. She kisses him and tells him she loves him, and he breathes his last breath with the lingering tingle of their kiss to carry him to the other side.

I was so entrenched in the depth of their relationship up to that point. The level of fathomless love the author conveyed, unlike anything I've ever managed to write before, but more realistic to my own understanding of love as I've experienced it. Not because they're renegades, but just the selflessness with which they feel, communicate, banter, and make love.

When I read that last paragraph, something inside me broke. That sounds dramatic but that's honestly how I would describe it. It felt like waking up from a night terror, when you bolt up in bed from a dream so bad you immediately get up even if it's 4am because nothing feels real and you're so terrified you have to get up and do something - literally anything to take your mind off it, to ease you back into reality. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness of my bedroom and told myself "it's just a fanfic, no need to get upset." And then I started to cry and I didn't stop for 30 minutes.

My husband was downstairs watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I went down there and wrapped myself around him so tight and cried. Bless this man, from the bottom of my heart - bless him - for his unfathomable kindness. I felt like a fucking fool because I was crying over fanfiction but he paused his movie and just listened while I tried to articulate how it wasn't exactly about the character death, or the characters at all, it was just the writing and how it wormed into my brain so convincingly. I felt the loss like it was my own loss. I am terrified of losing my husband. So many feelings coalesced and I realized one day I may be in that situation, kissing the man I love goodbye for the last time, never to hold him again. I'm at work right now and I'm tearing up because it's so hard.

I tip my hat to the author, but I genuinely wished I hadn't read that fanfic. And isn't it kind of funny after that grandstand I took yesterday about not wanting to write the pain of loss and grief, that I ended up reading it instead and probably fucking myself up just as badly, if not worse, than if I had tried to write it myself?

It gets worse, too. Because it got me thinking about my own writing, and how I could never hope to achieve what that author did. So I sat there crying out my painfeelings while simultaneously feeling like a shit writer and like nothing I put out matters. I got up from the couch, sat down at my PC and picked up where I left off in the Omega DLC in ME3 because video games are great for taking the mind off things. It didn't exactly help with the intensity I'd hoped for, but I managed to fall asleep, by 3am.

Fast forward to this morning. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed 4 hours later and drove to work. By some fucking miracle, no one is here right now except our field director. And I'm stewing in how this one fic really fucked me up bad, reconsidering everything. I feel like I've been put in my place.

So what changed?

Yesterday I posted about how I'm struggling to write a plotline. I know what happens, but I'm not interested in the little bits that tie it together. I want to write the romance. I think there's a way to write the plot and the romance at the same time, but it's damn hard.

I started doing this because I wanted to grow my skills as a writer, and I knew it might be more than I could chew. I'm at that moment now where I'm about ready to give up.

Even if I felt like a shit writer last night (and still kinda do this morning), I know that the stuff I've put out has value. We can't all write these epically tragic smut-romance-renegades-to-lovers tales, we'd all be sad all the damn time. There's a time and a place and - I would argue - even a need for lighterhearted fic out there. There are really no rules. I'm confident in what I know how to do.

But the plot. Fuck it, man. I think maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. I'm trying really hard to write like other people. I may have mentioned before that I saw a post about how many artists spend their time pining for the skills of others, thinking "wow, when I can draw like that, I'll have made it as an artist." That same post cautioned against this, basically saying you already have your own unique style, it's just harder to see through the lens of your own eyeballs. It's fine to challenge yourself but try to acknowledge what you do that sets you apart already. I feel like I have that something - maybe not to the extent that I wish, but I have something.

So what's the point of the plot? Why do I need to tell my readers how I cured Keprals? I'm asking myself important questions here. I like to think I've come up with ideas that no one else has, but as I said above, I don't read a lot of chaptered fics. I very well may have come to the same ideas as other writers and I'm not even aware of it. I don't know if my ideas are unique but I still arrived at them all by myself.

The challenge here - the thing I'm struggling so much with - is how to put them together with the same elegance of my fellow writers. I'm looking at you, shrios fam (yeah I'm calling you that, yall know who you are). I know I can write words, but it's like I have a bunch of pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles and I'm struggling to make a new picture out of them. I struggle with the transitions between them.

The point here is I have to find my own way. And I have to stop taking myself so seriously. In fact this level of "seriousness" is one of the things that got me into so much angst over World of Warcraft over the last two years. At least I know how to recognize it.

I have to find my own way. I have my own things that are worth sharing. The author I read last night had a language all their own, and I have a language all my own too. Their wordplay was actually more choppy than I would ever write. I've talked before about how I'm scared of starting too many sentences with pronouns, how I maybe write too many run-on sentences, whatever. This author did that with reckless abandon. It worked for them. So if they can make that shit work, I can make my own shit work.

I have to find my own way.

My most current WIP is Thane and Shepard's first time. I've been working on it pretty nonchalantly because I hadn't intended to publish it until I built up to it. It takes place further into my timeline, and it would probably ruin the point of a slow burn if I put it out there now. There are some really memorably moments in this WIP, and there are other moments that need to be smoothed over as well. I never knew what I'd really imagined for their first time but I think I've mostly developed something that's unique in its own right, and I think will be fun for people to read.

I'm just so fucking torn over what to do with it. I feel guilty for working on it. I should be writing "other shit" leading up to it but I don't fucking want to. I actually wrote probably 2-3k words this weekend, which is a pretty staggering amount by my standards. Some of it was for this smutty WIP and some was for something I just threw together, Thane observing Shepard on Horizon and the emotional toll it takes on her. He's seeing her humanity. I don't know if it's worth it to continue but I wrote a lot of it and the words are more precise than usual for a draft, I don't know. I have so much fucking insecurity. Fuck dude. I want to write this longfic, but I don't want to write it. I want to skim to the spicy bits like I always do.

I am wracked with insecurity, of my own making. I know what I can do but I feel compelled to see this idea through. Somehow I have to find my own way.

TLDR I feel like if I don't publish something soon I'm going to burst and I don't even know what the fuck to work on first and fjslfjsojoiejrj

I would be really down for, like, a bunch of hugs and a bowl of ice cream shared over memes and fanservice.

#this post is EXTREMELY fucking long send help #ITT: i read something that probably changed my brain chemistry for a few hours and it's painful #zet vs 100days #i'm just glad to get this off my chest good lord #anyway if people want to send me links to their favorite shrios fluff i would welcome it

[darkpoisonouslove]

Ah, good that you reblogged the ask game again - I was supposed to send some of these, but I forgot! Anyway, 💖😐👀🌝✨👩‍🏭 (and of course (as long as you want to) 🖊 !)

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

I love the way that I weave words and concepts together. Sometimes it just comes out of nowhere and sometimes it takes a little effort but I love the way that it all comes together like a puzzle that has the most unexpected pieces but they still fit with each other. It makes for unique images. I haven't quite seen anyone do that the way that I do and I am proud of it.

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

Descriptions are way up there, especially in English because there are so many words about movements and I just have zero idea which one I am supposed to use. I do not know all of them (or that many either) and it's just 😅. I have no idea what is going on aND IT BOTHERS ME SO MUCH!!!!!!!

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

That I would never let see the light of day? I have so many ideas that a lot of them probably won't see the light of day because I simply won't have the time for them. But something that I won't let see the light of day? Probably all of those Erendor x Samara ones that are so OOC that they would need MAJOR reworking (to the point of changing the entire idea) in order to be presentable to anyone else's eyes. And I have several fics including the Winx girls that are just too dark to be let out in the internet space. I don't feel like having hateful anons coming after me.

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

I answered this here. But hm, okay, if I were to pick another one, I guess I'm really looking forward to writing Luna. The show was scarce with characterization for her and I have given her a more prominent role and, hopefully, made her more interesting.

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

Clever, emotional and insightful (I would like to believe so)

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Probably one of the dub/non-con variety because the purity police never sleeps. (I don't want to pick a particular one and call attention to it just in case.)

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Here's an excerpt from the SoL bachelorette party:

"You were the first one to know her. You have to tell us what kind of wedding little Griffin dreamed of!" Zarathustra would fall over in Faragonda's lap as far forward as she was leaning.

Ediltrude's wine glass was just short of touching her lips as if it couldn't satisfy her thirst despite how tempting it was and Griselda fixed her glasses on her nose, waiting to read into every little detail. Even Marion was staring at Faragonda, the quietness clinging to her shifting into anticipation.

"It's not my place to say." Faragonda locked eyes with Griffin, their squabble over the photo Griffin had threatened to send to Hagen put to rest. She could count on Faragonda to be the bigger person in their friendship. At least when it really counted.

"Come on!" Ediltrude whined. "It's not fair. We don't get to go to a wedding, we don't get to hire her strippers because you're boring," she pointed at Faragonda and Marion who'd organized the party, her wine swishing around in the glass with her vehemence, "and we barely got her to throw one lousy bouquet." That was unfair to the housekeeper who'd done her best with the flowers blooming in the garden and put together a little bouquet for Griffin to toss at the others.

"How long are you gonna sulk over catching it?" Zara made herself the victim of a kick in the shin from Ediltrude's heel but quickly retaliated with an elbow in her sister's ribs.

Ediltrude threw her crumpled napkin at her. "At least we'll get to hear the details from Auntie Em who hasn't been banished from your wedding."

Griffin blinked at her, the words echoing in her ears like a siren. An alarm for danger.

Zara stepped on Ediltrude's toes but it was Faragonda's glare that made Ediltrude crouch. "I'm sorry, Griffin. I didn't mean to…"

It was Griselda's hand on hers that saved Griffin from the current that had drowned Ediltrude's voice. The warmth startled her against the tears already blurring her vision. Her father had never seen Valtor, would never see her in her improvised wedding dress, could not lead her down the isle. And Valtor had no loving parents to see him through their wedding, had no family except the one she'd said yes to and she hadn't wanted to make him more aware of that. More aware that the feeling was shared despite all the people offering her a hand currently, despite her mother's presence at their wedding. Her family had been broken, too, and without a blueprint she could mess up the one they were creating together beyond repair.

"It's okay," she squeezed Griselda's hand lightly but didn't let go when Griselda didn't try to either. "I know you didn't mean it like that. And I'm sorry I can't invite you to a wedding." Their happiness for her was infectious and she was already full of sparks that would flicker out without Valtor's hand in hers. "I promise you we'll have a celebration when we get back from our honeymoon." It wouldn't be just about her and Valtor but a celebration of all the relationships in her life, of her family. All of her friends understood her pain in one way or another. And all of them understood her love.

"At least that way you might have gotten fucked enough that you won't look like you'll jump Valtor's bones at any moment." Ediltrude scrunched up her nose before pouring her disgust down with some wine.

Griffin flashed her a smile. "Never." She glanced at Marion to make sure she wasn't spacing out from discomfort.

Ask me fanfic questions

#my wips #my writing #my writing process #winx club #the truth can be a dare too #sparks of life #winx griffin #winx ediltrude #winx zarathustra #winx luna #ask #her-majesty-wears-jeans

[txemrn]

Hey, sweet friends!

I inadvertently took a smidge of a step back from writing thanks to real life (you all can relate!). Between Covid relief (9 months later *wink*wink* 🤰🏼🤰🏼🤰🏼) and a crazy ❄⛄SNOW⛄❄ storm here in Texas, writing took that metaphorical backseat.

But I'm here, and I've got some WIPs I'd love to share with y'all...  who's ready for WIP Wednesday?  Click "Keep Reading" to enjoy five bits of fics I've been writing (the fourth and fifth are bonuses that I have NO idea when they will be released; they are for your amusement, to tease you a bit *shrugs* or something like that).

Before I continue... @lucy-268 @anjanettexcordonia @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @shannonsaid @khoicesbyk @shewillreadyou @irisofpurple @lem-20 what are y'all working on?

The Missionary’s Daughter (Chapter 1--Name TBD; TRR) 🍋

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

Of course, it’s her.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Did she come clean to Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

------------------------------- Caroline (Chapter 3--Name TBD; TNA/OH crossover)

"Hello? Anyone here?" Her voice echoes throughout the Dalton penthouse as she pushes the stroller further into the living room.

A stirring Mason catches her attention as she cautiously bends over to settle him down.

"It's okay, um--" she looks at his monogrammed onesie for his name, "--’Mason’. Come here, sweet boy," she snuggles him into her neck, soothing him with gentle rubs and taps on his back. "There, there."

"Sof?"

The platinum blonde instantly twirls around to face the deep voice as she grips tightly around Mason.

"Oh, Sam--" she sighs with a forced laugh. "You scared me--"

"Is Caroline with you?" he stutters as he finishes his whiskey neat.

"No, um--" she bounces Mason on her hip, averting her eyes to a yawning Mickey. "She--she should be back sometime this evening though. I--I don't know--"

"Is--" he interjects, his voice growing husky, "--is Robin here?" Sofia feels the prickling of a thousand goosebumps ignite across her body as Sam's hand glides across her lower back. She clears her throat, stepping away from him.

"C'mon, my little munchkins," she joyfully chimes to the twins as she gathers Mickey into her arms. She sits them softly into their play pin, tossing each of them a musical toy.

As she stands back up, Sam grips tightly to the curve of her hips

"Sam--!" she gasps as he intimately runs his hands across her abdomen to rest on her voluptuous breasts. Her eyes flutter shut; she nibbles on her lips as he nuzzles his nose into her neck. She feels him grow against her backside.

"Sam, please--"

"'Please' what, kitten?"

"Ugh--" she scoffs as she throws his hands off of her body. "We said that the last time would be our last--"

"Please, Sofia, " he stops her in her tracks, "I need--" his lip trembles; liquor dances on his tongue as he leans closer to her dangerous curves. "I need--"

"--your wife."

"Fuck!" He abruptly throws himself onto the couch, raking his hands through his thick, tousled hair.

"I'm losing her, Sof." He leans back on the couch as Sofia cautiously sits next to him. Heated tears streak down his chiseled face as he plays with his wedding band. He lowers his voice as he chokes on his sobs.

"I think I've lost her. "

-------------------------- Boughs & Mockingbirds (Part 5; TRR/TRH)

After modeling three dresses, Hana twirls out in a dreamy white ball gown with a flattering fitted-bodice. The ornate gold filigree bead-work brought out her natural ethereal tones, instantly brightening and highlighting her gorgeous, exotic features.

“Hana--!” Riley spits out her sparkling water. “Oh-- oh my God!”  With a stunned-look plastered on her face, she jumps from her bed, skipping quickly to her floor-length mirror. “Look at you!”

“I’m guessing this is a keeper?” Hana giggles as she walks on her tip-toes, envisioning the dress with her new shoes.

“Uh, yeah!” Riley squeals, twirling Hana’s silky hair into a make-shift up-do to show off her bare skin. Biting her lower lip, she lowers her voice to whisper into her friend’s ear: “Not to mention, a certain ‘Maxwell the Glorious’ won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”

“Riley! You’re wicked! We’re just--” she blushes while shrugging her shoulders, “--um, friends.”

“I’m pregnant, not stupid,” she jokingly chides. “These past few weeks with the book tour, I’ve noticed you two becoming quite the dynamic duo.”

Hana falls silent; she mindlessly admires the beading of her white gown with her fingers as a joyous smile crawls across her face. Her bright, brown eyes pierce into Riley’s as she slowly nods.

“He’s pretty great--”

“I knew it!” Riley grabs Hana’s hands as they dance recklessly in a circle, laughter filling the room.

“Oh, you’re gonna dance with somebody--” Riley sings, purposely changing the lyrics to jest with her best friend.

“I’m gonna feel the heat with somebody--” Hana cups her mouth, laughing at herself with what she just sang.

“’Heat’?” Riley howls. “Ow! Ow! Now who’s being wicked?” They both grab their bellies as their sides ache from their silliness and excitement.

“Oh gosh,” Riley strains to breathe, “Thank you, Hana. I haven’t laughed like this in--”

“Oh my God! Riley?” Hana’s voice suddenly drips with panic. “Your nose--” ------------------------ Fractals (Bonus wannabe series; crossover of Platinum/TRR; I have fantasized about this series for probably 8 MONTHS, and I finally took off writing a chapter; this is a smidge of that chapter, and this series will come, at the earliest, after B&MB)

“Here’s to living in the headlines,” she mutters to herself, offering her glass as a toast in the air.  She tosses the rest of her drink back. The bartender quickly replenishes the alcohol as she digs frantically in her oversized Dior bag.  Pulling out a lone cigarette, she sets it neatly between her teeth as she searches for a lighter.

“Miss?” a soft, baritone voice calls to her, but floats away as she continues to sift through her purse.  The gentleman clears his throat in hopes of catching her attention. “Pardon me, miss?” His thick, European-influenced accent is more apparent this time, but still she doesn’t notice.

“Excuse me, miss--?”

“What?” She interrupts angrily as she hastily swivels in her barstool, knocking her bag and its contents on the floor. “Shit--!”  she clumsily fumbles to the floor to gather her belongings.

“Here; let me help--”

“You’ve done enough, sir--” she cuts off the young man as she madly shoves tubes of makeup, magazines, loose coins and scrunchies back into her satchel. She looks around the floor for any wayward items when she notices something black being offered to her.

“Miss?”

Looking up, she finally takes notice of the man behind the voice. And freezes. The electricity of his presence overwhelms her fragile senses. He offers her a bright, charming smile, creating dimples that soften his chiseled bone structure. A sensual aura of citrus, guaiac wood and leather dance across his coastal skin as sun rays illuminate brightly from his wavy blond hair. 

She gradually stands along with him, her brilliant jade eyes locked into his striking baby-blues. His strong physique impressively towers over her petite frame. She admires his handsomely neat demeanor of pressed dark-wash denim with a light heather-gray sports coat.

“Hi,” she manages to squeeze out as her mouth confuses between dropping and smiling.

“Hello,” he chuckles with a smile. “Pardon me, but I do believe you, um--well, you, uh--,” he pauses as he glances towards his outstretched arm, “you dropped these.”

Regretfully breaking her trance from his hypnotic gaze, the color quickly drains from her face as the feeling of horror crawls across her porcelain skin. Her crotchless, black-lace g-string tangled effortlessly between his fingers.

“Oh-- oh my God!” she shrieks as she reaches to grab and hide them; but unfortunately, the missing gusset between the leg bands, snags on his gold signet ring, leaving his first two fingers hung on the crotchless portion of the thong.

“I must say,” his eyes twinkle as he laughs harder at her incessant efforts to detangle the fabric from his hands, “I didn’t realize getting into a woman’s undergarments would be quite this easy--” ------------------------- Title TBD (TNA Valentine’s Day: First vs. Last... this is in the Once...Always... Universe, and I just couldn’t get it finished before Valentine’s day. So! It will be coming out on another random holiday lol)

Reaching for the doorbell, she catches her reflection in the apartment number brass plate. And panics.

Oh, God! I--he can’t see me like this!

It has been nine months since Brynn caught her husband cheating on her with their daughter Olivia’s nanny. With the story hitting every gossip column and news channel, multiple women came forward with their private trysts with Sam over the years; however, most of their stories will never be heard thanks to the family’s heavy payouts for their silence.

Sam and Brynn’s divorce was finalized five months ago, two days before baby Charlotte was born.  Despite the scandal, his lies and his betrayal, Brynn wars with her feelings towards Sam.  He was the love of her life; even though he broke his vows, she never dreamed of going back on her own. He made his choice; he didn’t want to be with her the moment he chose to have his extramarital affairs. But, everyday life without him by her side is awful, like living a horrible nightmare. Her heart flutters around him, missing him terribly, but her brain begs her to stop.

Brynn pinches her cheeks to life as she swipes on a rosy color of gloss on her pout. She finger combs her almond tresses into a low ponytail, ensuring the wayward wisps are hidden.

The door suddenly opens, catching Brynn by surprise.

“Mommy!” A curly-chestnut hair Olivia dashes to Brynn with open arms.

“My baby girl!” Instantaneously, she welcomes her oldest daughter into her arms, pulling her up onto her hip for a sweet hug and tender kiss. “Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Uh-huh,” she beams, “Look what I made you!”  As she pulls out a bright pink homemade Valentine, Sam steps around the door with baby Charlotte in his arms.

“Princess--” he whispers in a deep, syrupy voice, “what do you say?”

“Oh, yeah!” her chocolate brown eyes brighten to her mom, “Happy ‘Valentime’s’ day, Mommy!”

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby girl!” Brynn squeezes Olivia into a tight embrace while she presses her lips into her cheeks. “C’mon, let’s get your things.”  

As Brynn glances back at Sam, the wind is abruptly knocked out of her chest as she sees him dressed handsomely in her favorite Armani slate gray suit with soft petal-pink accents. Her eyes stay glued to him as he fastens a sleepy Charlotte into her carrier.  As he stands back up, she notices his tie is crooked.

“May I?” Brynn steps forward, motioning towards his tie.

“Please,” he chuckles, “I miss your meticulous eye--”

They both awkwardly flinch at his words, Brynn focusing on the knot around his neck as Sam clears his throat.

“So--” he attempts to change subjects, “any special plans tonight?”

“Mason and Mickey are out with friends, so it’s just the girls, me, and--”

“Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown,” he interrupts as he flashes an alluring dark look at his ex-wife. He begins to run the back of his fingers sensually down her arms. “Some things don’t change--”

“But--” she glowers at him, tightening his tie close to his neck, “a lot of things have.”

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

#wip wednesday #the missionary's daughter #boughs & mockingbirds #caroline #trr #tna #trrfic #tnafic #oh/tna #trr/platinum

[dothwrites]

2020 Writing in Review

Well, it’s been a shitshow of a year, ain’t it? The one bright spot in this year was that it left me a ton of time for writing! With no further ado, here are the fics I worked on the year of our lord, 2020. 

---

the blood which we drew | Rated: M | Word Count: 7335 | COMPLETE

Castiel bears the Mark. And for a few months, it's fine.

It's fine until it isn't.

---

ramble on | Rated: E | Word Count: 26,875 | WIP

A series of Season 15 codas, crossposted to tumblr. Tags, Warnings, and Rating may change, based on source material.

(Technically started this in 2019, but I added to it this year, so I’m counting it)

---

protect and serve | Rated: E | Word Count: 49,953 | COMPLETE

Police officer Dean Winchester's next assignment seems easy enough: a protection detail on Assistant District Attorney Castiel Novak, who's been receiving death threats in conjunction with the case that he's prosecuting. Dean's assignment is to keep ADA Novak safe, alive, and in one piece so that he can start his trial against Dick Roman, notorious CEO charged with the death of at least eight people.

With threats that quickly spin out of control, a missing teenage genius, Dean's attraction to Novak, and Novak's mercurial attitude towards Dean--Dean Winchester's next assignment is anything but easy.

---

what stays (and what fades away) | Rated: E | Word Count: 64,421 | COMPLETE

Cas Novak’s life is perfect. He has a job that he loves and friends who support him. Most importantly, he has his husband, Dean Winchester, and his two adopted children, Claire and Jack. With them, nothing could ever go wrong.

That is, until he starts having flashes of a life that isn’t his and meets someone who shares his husband’s face but not his personality, someone who insists that he’s someone, something, different altogether. Cas’ life shatters when he’s dragged into a world that he doesn’t belong to and doesn’t understand.

Dean Winchester’s life was already shattered when he lost Castiel.

---

thunder road | Rated: E | Word Count: 20,883 | COMPLETE

After Chuck is defeated and the Winchesters settle into life without God, Dean Winchester is bored.

OR: Dean and Cas take a road trip and figure out some stuff along the way.

---

alone together | Rated: E | Word Count: 74, 239 | COMPLETE

Like the rest of the world, Dean Winchester’s job sent him home with the supplies necessary to work from home and a vague farewell of “We’ll see you when this all blows over”. Unlike the rest of the world, Dean Winchester is entering into a quarantine with Castiel Novak, his incredibly hot and incredibly uninterested roommate. How is Dean supposed to concentrate on his job while Cas is just a few feet away, being...well, Cas?

Castiel Novak was already working from home, so the news of social distancing doesn’t affect him that much. What does send him into a panic is the knowledge that Dean Winchester, his stunning and straight roommate, will also be working from home for the foreseeable future. After spending so long trying to distance himself from Dean, Castiel now has to face a future where Dean is present. All. The. Time.

They’ve got food, Internet, and all the toilet paper they need, but neither one of them is prepared for quarantine.

---

for a sinner released | Rated: E | Word Count: 8,800 | COMPLETE

Testing his theory, he runs his fingers over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist, until his thumb is pressed firmly against Dean’s hammering pulse. Cas pulls, gently but inexorably, until Dean is forced to take a step forward. The shift in positioning pushes the barrel of the gun into his forehead.

Cold metal touches overheated skin, and Cas inhales sharply at the contrasting sensations. The gun is unforgiving, relentless, beautiful.

It’s like Dean.

---

and all this devotion | Rated: M | Word Count: 10,572 | COMPLETE

Dean’s not stupid. He’s seen the looks Cas has aimed his way, when Cas thought he wasn’t paying attention. He’s leveled his share of looks back at Cas when the angel’s attention was elsewhere. More than once, he’s been caught in the act. At this point, they’re both dancing around the same elephant, too scared and caught in their ways to make the first move.

OR: Dean gets hurt on a hunt. Cas takes care of him. There's only one bed. Confessions ensue.

---

lost in translation | Rated: T | Word Count: 3,720 | COMPLETE 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean.

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish.

---

a new song about a new life | Rated: E | Word Count: 21,282 | WIP

There is no happily ever after. Mostly because there is no after. Life is just a series of days and nothing ever really ends. It just continues on, even after the curtain closes, and while the struggles might not be epic, they're no less impressive. Domestic life isn't without its pitfalls and trials, but at the end of the day, Dean and Cas still have each other and in the end, that's enough.

A series of timestamps detailing the small adventures of Dean and Castiel. Will contain teensy amounts of angst and a heap of fluff and domesticity.

---

angel in black | Rated: E | Word Count: 95,325 | COMPLETE

Bounty hunter Castiel Novak has simple rules for how he conducts his business. Get in, get out, deliver the fugitive, and do it all with the least amount of effort possible. Never become emotionally involved.

When he takes on the job of hunting down Sam and Dean Winchester in order to bring them to justice, his rules start shifting. Threatened by supernatural forces as well as his attraction to Dean, Castiel soon has to decide what he’s willing to stand for…and what he’s willing to die for.

---

ghosts that we knew | Rated: E | Word Count: 89,411 | COMPLETE

Dean can’t help it. Castiel’s laugh is infectious, washing over him and sweeping him up in its tide. His throat and stomach ache with the feel of it, unfamiliar muscles worked past their endurance. He hasn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe years.

Cas doesn’t stop laughing, and Dean relishes it. It’s such a good sound, deep and throaty. It rumbles over him the same way that Baby’s engine purrs, to where he can almost feel it in his gut. Dean’s giddy, the kind of happy that hunters don’t get to feel, and if it weren’t for the ceiling, he thinks he might float away. Cas’ eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his smile goes wide and gummy. He’s so brilliant, so alive—

But you’re dead, Dean thinks helplessly. But you’re dead.

---

Castiel Novak is one of the best hunters Dean Winchester has ever worked with. He's witty, whip-smart, and has enough knowledge about the supernatural to rival an encyclopedia. He's got humor dry enough to put the Sahara to shame and he's pretty easy on the eyes as well. All in all, he's the best partner Dean could have hoped for.

Too bad he's dead.

---

the best of things | Rated: G | Word Count: 2,494 | COMPLETE

There’s something.

This is significant because, for as long as Castiel can remember, there’s been nothing. --- Castiel finds a way out of the Empty.

---

freedom | Rated: G | Word Count: 4,804 | COMPLETE

Freedom.

Dean rolls the word around on the tip of his tongue and tastes how it feels. Freedom.

It’s a strange concept, especially since he always assumed that he was. Ever since Apocalypse Version 1.0 was averted, Michael and Lucifer locked in the cage, thanks very much, he’s always assumed that he was the one calling the shots. No matter how badly he fucked up (and he fucked up a lot), he could at least take comfort in the fact that those were his choices. No one’s hand up Dean Winchester’s ass, no siree.

And then Chuck came and ripped that certainty away from him in one quick motion and then...everything was suspect. Sam, Mom, Jack...Cas. Every word, every action, every emotion... He couldn’t trust anything, so he trusted nothing.

--- OR: Dean makes a choice.

---

at the end of the world | Rated: G | Word Count: 4,631 | COMPLETE

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems.

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed.

--- OR: Team Free Will gets the soft epilogue which they deserve.

---

let your heart be light | Rated: M | Word Count: 31,651 | WIP

It's Dean and Cas' first official Christmas together as a couple. What could possibly go wrong?

Just Cas' weird family, his own personal hang-ups about Christmas, Dean's persistent belief that the miracle of Christmas can heal all wounds, and meddling friends and family.

Have a Merry Christmas.

#dothwrites #long post #2020 masterlist #i did not realize how long this was #good lord me #i'm a long-winded little SOB

[wonderofasunrise]

32 or 61 for Kerry/Susan please ❤️

#61 - "I'm pregnant."

Okay, I'm letting the cat out of the bag now - I have a WIP, a passion project of some sorts in the form of a multi-chapter Kerry/Susan AU fic. I've been working on it on and off for months, writing whatever I can come up with out of order (a process which involves at least three different Google Docs files for notes etc and not-so-subtly tweeting about it every now and then), and I can't promise anything because I just...well, suck at planning things ahead especially when it comes to writing anything lengthy (unless it's an academic essay *laughs nervously*). Fingers crossed I will be able to post the whole thing someday - if and *only* if I manage to finish it in advance, because I love the idea so much I don't want to take the risk of posting it early and writing as I go along...only to (God forbid) abandon it. I don't want to give away too much, but hopefully you'll get the gist from this excerpt of one of the chapters I've managed to finish:

“Susan?” a voice calls me almost immediately as I step out of the cubicle. I look up in a swift move to find the source of the voice, and sure enough my head starts to spin again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see none other than Kerry Weaver—her bright red hair kind of gives it away—with a very concerned look on her face, which I try my best to ignore.

Slowly, I make my way to the nearest basin, and just as my hand is about to turn the faucet another wave of nausea surges over me. Please do not vomit, please do not vomit, it was bad enough to storm out of a fucking trauma but to vomit in front of Kerry of all people…?

“Are you okay?” she asks just as my nausea passes, the tone of her voice as concerned as her expression. I know that at this point even saying a single syllable will bring back the nausea, so I simply nod.

“Are you sure? I was in the trauma room, and I was just as surprised as everyone else to see you storm out like that…”

“Yes, Kerry, I’m fine,” I suddenly snap, though immediately I can feel guilt lingering over me as I know Kerry is genuinely worried. Say what you want about her, the woman does care about the wellbeing of her colleagues (or employees? Whatever.). I glance at her while putting some water into my mouth, somewhat grateful that I don’t see any sign of her being offended. If anything, her expression grows even more worried, and I know that at this point there is nothing I say that can ease her concern.

“Okay,” Kerry says, seemingly giving in. “It’s just—you normally have the best composure of the lot, and I never expected a trauma to affect you that badly, that’s all…Susan? Can you walk?”

Her concerned tone returns as soon as she catches the sight of me dropping to my knees, no doubt thanks to me turning around too quickly after I finished my business in the sink. Instinctively one of my hands travels to my stomach, and I pray to all that’s holy that the gesture somehow goes unnoticed by Kerry, who is now kneeling next to me, her crutch abandoned, with one of her hands on my back.

“Can you stand up?” she asks in a tone that I would never expect Kerry Weaver to use when speaking to an adult. I nod, though I myself am not quite sure. I try anyway, with one of my hands still firmly on my stomach and the other holding onto Kerry for support. Once I get back on my feet, I let go of the other woman and I take a deep breath, relieved when no more sign of nausea kicks in. I try to make my way out of the ladies’ room, and I can feel Kerry’s eyes firmly on my back as I turn around—more carefully this time.

“You know, if you’re not feeling good, you can go home and rest,” she says. “I-I would hate to see you not in your prime at work, and more importantly it’s clear you really can do with a rest. We have a busy day ahead, and if you’re...feeling like you’re not up for it, you can go home. I can cover for you.”

I can tell she chose her words carefully, and she tried her best not to insinuate that I am not up for a busy day at work. Heck, she knows I’m more than capable—I’m one of her best attendings, after all, but still…who can really guess what Kerry Weaver actually means?

As for going home and resting, I can’t deny that I need it badly. I barely got any sleep last night, partly due to anxiety ahead of my appointment with Coburn this morning, and who can guarantee that I won’t storm out of another trauma? Still, part of me is trying to fight the urge to go home, because work is the best form of distraction I can think of and at home I know I will drive myself mad over everything, with no one to talk to and all.

“I’m pregnant,” I suddenly blurt out, the words coming out of my mouth far more quickly than I could comprehend. My eyes grow wide at the realization of what I just said, to Kerry of all people, and I try to avoid her eyes so much it’s ridiculous.

Unexpectedly enough, Kerry steps closer toward me, and she puts a hand on my shoulder. Just as unexpectedly, I find the gesture quite comforting, and God knows I have been deprived of comfort for far too long the last couple of weeks. It doesn’t feel as awkward as one would expect, coming from Kerry Weaver, and I sigh as I let her hand give my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“How-how far along are you?” she asks in a tone that can barely conceal her surprise.

“Four weeks. I-I saw Coburn this morning,” I say with a shrug. She nods, and then lets go of my shoulder so that she can focus on looking me in the eye, which always makes for an interesting sight thanks to our significant height difference.

“In that case,” she states matter-of-factly, “You should go home and rest. I don’t want you to feel worse than you already do. Go home, get something to eat, and rest. I’ll cover for you for the rest of the shift.”

Now that sounds more like the Kerry Weaver that everyone knows and loves (though that part is still up for debate, I reckon). At this point I know there is no use fighting with her, so I nod and turn back to the door, silently hoping that somehow nobody will pay any attention.

“Kerry?” I mutter, suddenly remembering something important before we part ways. Letting her know of my pregnancy is bad enough (though it’s by no means a fault on her part); having everyone else know before I’m ready will be a disaster. I have enough on my plate at the moment, and the last thing I need is being the center of the latest ER gossip. “Um…thank you for letting me go home for the day, and I guess—well, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. I have too much to deal with at the moment,” I say in a voice so low I will be surprised if she actually listens.

But apparently she did, because she nods and puts a hand on one of my arms and gives it a gentle squeeze—which, again, does not feel as awkward as one would expect coming from her.

“Of course,” she responds. “It’s not my call to let people know. It’s yours, and yours only. Don’t worry about it.”

And with that, I mouth a thank you before exiting the ladies’ room, trying my best to forget everything that has happened today. It’s not even noon yet, and too much has already taken place. Perhaps Kerry is right: I really can do with a rest.

#okay...i have a LOT to work on #i will get on it i swear #it pains me that i've been working on this for *months* yet achieved so very little #unless random notes on my phone and Google Docs files count as something #as always it started as 'why hasn't anyone written about it?' #which then turned into 'fuck it i'm taking matters into my own hands' #that kinda explains my career in a nutshell #anyway please wish me luck #i really want this to come to fruition #now that i have waaaay more free time i really should work on this more often #i will i will i will #writing prompts #drabble #er drabbles #er fanfiction #er #nbc er #kerry weaver #susan lewis #kerry weaver x susan lewis #kerry x susan #...sort of at this point #sapphicsandscience