#yes these spoke to me when i had internalised homophobia :

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #tattoos #clint barton

[captianprices40thson]

good morning good fellow could you write more about Graves x male!reader? I love your writing and 🫡🫡🫡 this american twink makes me feel things I don't like.

It's only right to think about the guy you love and hold him tight.

Warnings: None. Very fluffy. There is a little bit of internalised homophobia but that’s only if you squint and use a magnifying glass. A swear word or two. Not edited.

Requested: Yes!

Words: 1.5k

Pairing: Phillip Graves x M!Reader

Pronouns used: You/Yourself. Reader is male and receives masculine compliments.

AAAAA SORRY I’VE BEEN GONE FOREVER. School caught up to me (you know how finals are in my country.) But I’m nearly on break and will be able to write a lot more. Enjoy this extravaganza of bullshit and pain.

“Phillip-” You groaned as he dragged you through the home you shared, blindfolded. Of course, you knew where he was taking you, you had walked this path a million times before…but he still wanted you blindfolded.

“Almost there, handsome.”

“Why am I blindfolded?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you. Sure, you didn’t ask any questions when he put it on you from behind, but it felt like he was dragging you around for a good seven hundred minutes.

“Because I have a surpriseee.” He responded and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. The American man continued to hold your hand with his own, which was surprisingly soft for a man like him who spent his days in gloves and handing things rather rough.

“Phillip, I have to cook dinner.” You mumbled, getting the slightest bit frustrated. Yes, you loved this man with all your heart, but he really needed to stop doing this shit when you had just gotten home after a long day.

“Okay, okay…we’re here.” He smiled and let go of your hand, leaving you in the darkness that was the blindfold. You were left alone for a moment, before his reassuring hands came from behind to remind you that you were not alone, and that he would be taking it off now.

“Surprise.” He smiled as the blindfold came off and your eyes scanned around the room. It was what was previously the living room, now turned into an assortment of pillows, blankets, a few stuffed animals that came from both you and him, and overall just a comfortable ass looking room. The TV and coffee table were not covered, although the coffee table had an assortment of food he knew you loved.

“I know you had a rough day at work and…figured you might just want to relax.” He continued, walking further into the room. He had taken his shoes off, revealing he was wearing cat paw print socks you had gotten for him ages ago as a joke. You were going to mention it, but he spoke first, handing you a pair of matching socks, although they were black and pink instead of his white and pink.

“Don’t think your amazing and totally cool husband would let things like a bad day slide. It's relaxing time, big guy.” He smiled and you felt like he could not have said anything more cringe. Though, that’s why you liked him. He was cringe and to be honest, so were you.

“Jesus Christ, Phillip.” You smiled, taking your socks off. “You’re so cheesy, you know that?”

“So are you? Remember what you did when I kissed you the first time?” He retorted, sitting down on the couch which was currently covered in a blanket with a stupid amount of pillows.

“Yes, I understand. I said crikey. I was seventeen. It was cool back then.” You responded, taking off your own shoes and socks in order to put on the pair your husband had given you.

“Was it though?” He asked, picking up the remote and turning the Tv on.

“Oh like you can talk, Mr ‘Totally straight until you met me.’” You smiled as you sat down on the comfortable couch next to him.

“Oh you know what?” He groaned and before you could say anything, he tackled you on the couch, ending up on top of you with his head in your neck. You both laughed, his body pressing on top of yours was comforting and felt like home. The weight of his body on yours was a reminder that you were very real and very loved.

“Wanna watch YellowJackets?” He whispered, knowing that you had a strange fascination with Jeff. When you had first watched it, you had thought that the man was your husband due to them looking so similar. He didn’t see it. You wondered if he had a twin named Warren that he either didn’t know or didn’t tell you about.

“Absolutely.” You mused, watching him sit up and lie down on the other side of the couch. He invited you over to lay next to him, your body pressed against his. You could feel his body pressed against yours, his arm snaking around your waist in order to hold you tight.

“This feels…out of character for you.” You told him, looking around at the pillows and blankets strewn all over the place. You were right, he would never usually do this for you…what changed? You turned your body over to face him, his features changing from resting to deep thought and finally, a loving look that said more than words. “I had a…realisation at work today. Nothing big but…my time with you is precious. I don’t want to constantly be Graves around you…I want to be Phillip. And Phillip doesn’t want his husband to come home to no comfort after what I heard was a shitty day.” He told you, moving his hand to hold your face, gently moving his thumb up and down your features. He was right, this was Phillip. Not Commander Graves that you knew so well...the Phillip who you married.

“Romantic.” You murmured, going in for a kiss. He reciprocated, holding you as your lips touched. It was a shitty day, but you were pretty sure this man could make anything better if he put the effort in. He was just like that.

____

Long after you had fallen asleep and he had turned the TV off, Phillip lay awake, still holding you close to him. You were facing him, so he was able to study your features. God, you were so handsome. In his eyes, there was literally no one else more beautiful than you (and he’s met Gaz so that is huge.) His eyes looked over your lips, your perfect nose, your closed eyes and soft breathing as you slept. Could he have anyone more perfect than you?

“I am so lucky…” He whispered, moving a hand to rest against your cheek, caressing your face. 

“You are so easy to love…and I was not. And yet you loved me anyways…god, I don’t deserve you.” He mumbled, a small smile on his face as he spoke to himself. He wanted you to hear him say that…but he didn’t think he was ready to admit this stuff aloud. The Phillip you knew was still under a protective layer of Graves.

“You are also very easy to please…and you’re a great cuddler…you’re just…amazing.” He told you, almost waiting for you to open your eyes and reveal you were awake the whole time.

“And…I want to be there for you more.” He continued to whisper, the ring finger on his hand suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier than it did before. He took a breath, ready to say it aloud for the first time.

“I want people to know we’re married. I don’t want this to be hidden anymore…I want to tell my shadows, I want to wear my wedding ring to work…I want to be romantic with you publicly. I don’t want to hide you anymore.” He admitted, a small tear in his eyes forming. “Starting tomorrow…I will be Phillip…the Phillip that loves you and wants you to know. The Phillip that isn't scared anymore.” He affirmed, the tears now rolling down his face. You continued to sleep, you dumbass, not knowing that this man was confessing his heart out to you right now. But not in the way he did when you were both nineteen. 

A small kiss on your forehead was felt, making your unconscious form form a small smile, before he wrapped his arms around you and fell asleep, feeling like he had gotten such a big weight off of his chest…and he had.

____

“I’m headed out. I'll be home late tonight so don’t wait for me.” He told you as you entered the kitchen, having gotten dressed into your own work clothes.

“M’kay. Love you handsome. Thankyou for last night.” You smiled, walking up to him and kissing him on the lips. He nodded, then turned to go and leave the house, opening and closing the door…and he was gone. 

You took a sigh, holding up your wedding ring hand. You also took it off every morning before work. It was something you hated doing but…you understood it was not ideal to be queer in your work environment. You took off the golden ring, moving over to the small wooden tray in the kitchen where you both placed yours every morning. You placed it down next to…no. His wasn’t there. He had taken his own to work. A wave of serotonin rushed through you as you realised what he had done. 

You picked yours back up, a moment of hesitance. Do you take yours with you as well, or put it back? If he was brave enough to do the act, why weren’t you?

A moment of thought, tossing the ring back and forth in your hands. Then, you made your choice.

HAHAHA SCREW YOU. CLIFFHANGER.  This is like inception. It's up to interpretationnnnn~.

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #fanfiction #fluff #writers on tumblr #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #graves x male reader #phillip graves x you #graves cod #male reader #phillip graves x male reader #very fluffy don't worry #internalized homophobia but only a little bit guys #GAY #fiction

[agent-leighreid]

BAU TEAM MEMBERS...

...BEING JEALOUS OVER YOU

-Part one of two

-f!reader

-!!TW!! Mentions of rape and murder. Sexual innudenos.

-Y/n (Your name)

-Y/l/n (Your last name)

-Written in Y/n's POV (unless mentioned otherwise)

-Part one of two includes Emily, Hotch and Spencer.

-Part two of two includes, Derek, JJ and Garcia.

EMILY PRENTISS

"Okay Morgan, she's going to a Nightclub tonight, scouting for another victim no doubt..I need you to-"

"Charm? No problem Hotch, it's in my blood." Derek said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I rolled my eyes, playfully hitting his shoulder. He chuckled, swatting me away, I raised my hand to attempt to 'hit' him again, but before I could continue, Garcia was calling in.

"Go ahead Garcia" Hotch said, putting it on speaker.

"A little birdy told me, that my Morgan is going undercover at a nightclub to flirt with an unsub?" she questioned.

"Don't worry baby, you're still my number one girl.." Derek spoke, smiling.

I glanced up at Emily and saw her smile, radiant as ever. She met my eyes and if I didn't look away, those pools of perfection would've had mine locked in place forever.

"Oh I had no doubt about that!" Garcia's response brought me back into orbit. "But that's not my issue, sugar" she said.

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked, growing slightly impatient.

"Our unsub is a lesbian." she stated.

Everyone's eyebrow raised, and through the corner of my eye I saw Emily look up at me.

"That explains her victimology, could be surrogates for an ex, or a girl who never liked her back.." JJ said.

"Or she could be acting out on her internalised homophobia" Reid suggested. "She grew up Catholic right? Recently Catholic churches have reached out to LGBT members to offer support..but that wouldn't have been the case for her growing up, most likely her parents tried to take her to therapy or they might've even tried to exorcise the homosexuality out of her..she's been manipulated into thinking who she is is evil, and wrong when in actuality she was just never accepted." he said. "Murdering these women is a way of killing that part of herself that no one, not even God, had been able to rid her of. She's trying to compensate for her so called “sins”. "

A small wave of silence washed over the room in the police precinct.

"Well, Y/l/n? Prentiss? Which of you is happy to do it?" Hotch asked, as Derek sadly sat back down.

Again, another small wave of silence until I grew confident and spoke up. "I'll do it." I said.

Yes, I was voluntarily putting myself in harms way but..

Number 1, it's my job

And Number 2, I can show Em I'm not just for the gentlemen.

"Are you sure?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah, we gotta catch this bitch right? And plus, I match the victimology better.." I responded, glancing up at the crime scene photos, my stomach sinking slightly.

"Okay, let's get ready" He said, walking off.

I was given a black satin dress, running from my shoulders to just above my knees. It had lace sleeves and was pretty thin. I shivered as I stepped out of the toilet that I changed in, my given high heels clicking along the floor of the precinct as I walked. While I never wore high heels, they weren't that hard to get used to.

(A/n: that's a fucking lie they're the worst shoes to ever be invented. Torture. And for what?)

I entered back into the room that we were set up in, whiteboards with speculations filling up the space and paperwork littering the desks.

I placed the handbag I was also given on one of the desks, putting my gun and badge inside.

A wolf whistle pulled me from my thoughts as the rest of the team walked in. The whistle came from Derek as he walked in smiling, Emily not far behind him, glaring in his direction. The rest of the team followed close behind, and we went over the plan.

Hotch and Morgan would also be in the nightclub watching over me and the unsub, while Emily, JJ, Spencer and Rossi, along with a number of officers from the police station, waited in SUV's outside. Watching through CCTV and listening through shared ear pieces.

The team got ready and walked out to the SUV's, the cold air hitting me like a brick; the dress wasn't exactly the thickest material in the world. I stopped in my tracks and folded my arms, feeling goosebumps.

"Want my jacket, Y/l/n?" Emily asked, coming up behind me, her warm hand placed gently on the small of my back.

My eyes met hers and I had to thank the city lights for hiding the blush that flushed onto my face.

"Oh, are you sure?" I asked, proud of my voice for staying steady.

"Of course! And hey, it goes with the dress.." she said, draping it over my shoulders as she looked me up and down, before entering one of the SUV's.

I had no idea if I fantasised that last part, but by the way Derek smirked at me while he walked past, wiggling his eyebrows as he followed Emily into the SUV, told me that I didn't.

I got into the other SUV, and we drove to the Nightclub.

I walked inside, music blaring in my ears, making them ache slightly. I glanced over the room and walked to the bar after JJ telling me she was there. I spotted her, and slowly approached the bar.

She sat fiddling with the little umberella in her drink.

"Can I just grab a lemonade please?" I asked the bartender.

The unsub watched me from her seat as I turned to face the dance floor, my arms resting on the bar.

"You not a drinker?" She said, initiating conversation.

Play it cool, Y/n.

"Me? Oh..nah." I said, turning in her direction.

The bartender slid me the lemonade.

"Thank you" I said, digging through my handbag for the money.

The unsub layed her hands on mine, stopping me from looking.

"Let me get this for you." she smiled.

I smiled "...oh, thank you" I said, my tone steady.

"It's no problem, why don't you drink?" The unsub asked, leaning toward me a little.

"Oh...my dad was an alcoholic.." I admitted to her, sheepishly looking down at my lemonade.

"Ugh, Dad's. Don't you hate them" she said, moving one of her legs on top of the other. "Or just...men in general.."

I saw Hotch a few feet down the bar, eyeing us up. "Yup.." I said, popping the 'p'.

"So many treat thier daughters terribly.." she said, taking another sip of her drink.

I didn't respond, but held my gaze.

"I bet I could treat you better.." she said, rubbing her high heel along my calf. "So much better than any man.."

My eyebrow arched as I copied her earlier move of leaning toward her.

"Oh yeah? How would you do that?" I asked, lightly biting the straw of my drink.

She smiled, her eyes growing hungry.

"Firstly.." she started, getting up off the stool.

EMILY'S POV

"Firstly.." she got up off her stool and took another step closer to Y/n.

"I'd show you how much of a princess you are.." she said, running her tongue along her teeth.

"Ew." I said, audibly. JJ, Spencer and Rossi drew their faces away from the computer and looked at me.

"What?" I asked. They said nothing and returned back to watching the unsub, while my eyes darted back to Y/n again.

"What then?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Oh then?" the unsub replied. "You'll just have to wait and see..." she said, paying with the lace of Y/n's sleeves.

I felt my heart leap into my throat.

"Can we go in already?" I asked, impatiently.

"Morgan and I are slowly etching toward them, be ready." Hotch replied.

I let out a breath and made sure my gun was loaded.

"Oh alright Y/l/n.." I heard JJ say, her eyebrows were raised, she sounded impressed.

I looked up from my gun "What?" I asked.

She pointed to Y/n just in time for me to see her tucking in some of the unsub's hair behind her ear.

The grimace on my face was painfully obvious, but I didn't care. I felt my chest roaring with flames of....I don't know what. Watching Y/n like that with someone else just didn't sit right with me. Maybe it was the fact that she was an unsub.

I watched the screen and saw the unsub pouring something in Y/n's drink, Y/n's vision blocked by the unsub's hand that she placed on her face.

"Hotch!?" I questioned, already making my way out of the SUV.

"I saw it, go." he responded.

"Already at the door."

Y/N'S POV

I heard her crush something in my drink, and my smile grew as I masked the slight fear creeping in.

"You're so beautiful" she said, stroking my cheek.

I giggled and reached inside my bag, pulling out my gun. "You're not, F.B.I" I said.

She turned to lose me in the crowd, but was met with Hotch right behind her. Morgan, JJ, Reid, Rossi, the police and Emily all filtered through the party goers, with thier guns pointed at our unsub.

The crowd of clubbers dispersed, some running out of the club, others huddling and watching from the sides.

She huffed putting her hands up. Emily holstered her gun and forcefully pushed down the unsub's arms, tightening the handcuffs around her wrists. "You're under arrest for the murder of 4 women, you have the right to remain silent-"

"I know my rights!" the unsub spat.

"Let's hope you do." Emily replied, shoving her toward a police officer to escort her to a cruiser.

I watched her leave, standing at the bar.

Emily turned to me, placing her hand gently on my elbow. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft.

I looked to her and smiled. "Yeah, I'm good" I smiled.

She looked down at my drink, the powder still visible. "I was scared you were gonna take another sip.." she admitted.

My heart fluttered. "I heard her crush it.." I said sheepishly.

"Crush it?" She asked.

"Yeah, it must've been like a pill or something..I don't know" I said.

Emily met my eyes again, her pupils dilating as she took in my features.

"Actually pills are pretty hard to crush, unless it was specifically made, she would have struggled to crush it without atleast looking like she was trying to. She may have snapped the pill if it had a casing on it but I don't think that's what we're dealing with. Due to how packed the powder is within a pill, a human's finger strength isn't enough to crush it how you thought she would have. Have you ever tried to crush an egg with just one hand? It's basically the same thing-"

"Reid.." Morgan smiled.

"Yeah?" he asked. Morgan just shook his head.

Reid looked back at Emily and I and noticed how neither of us were processing the information he was giving, we were just looking in each other's eyes. We were staring at one another a little too long to just be friends.

"Oh.."

AARON HOTCHNER

Was flirting with my boss unprofessional? Yes.

Was I certain I was one lip bite away from getting fired? Also yes.

Did I care? That's another story.

I sat next to Morgan on the jet as we ran through what we had and attempted to get as much information about the unsub as possible before landing in Detroit.

"Well this guy surely isn't organized, his work is sloppy. It's like he doesn't care about getting caught" Hotch said.

"But evidences suggest that he is organised. He's taken forensic countermeasures to ensure we can't ID him..." Rossi spoke from his seat.

"Well...I wouldn't care if it was you taking me into custody either, Hotchner." I said, looking up at him and smiling.

He licked his lips, staying slient. "Morgan, Reid, go the crime scene. Rossi, Prentiss and JJ, talk to the victim's families..see what you can gather. Y/l/n, you're with me at the station." he said.

"Alright Hotch! Friendly remarks aren't a crime now are they?" I asked, holding up my hand sin defence.

"If you're not careful they will be, and plus..they were hardly friendly.." he said, walking off to sit in his seat.

"He loves it really." I say to the rest of the team, as they either hid thier smiles or unshamefully giggled at my antics.

We landed in Detroit and separated, each of us leaving for where Hotch wanted us to go, of course, he kept me by his side. Can't help it can he?

"So are we just gonna set up and wait for the others?" I asked, walking to our given room at the precinct.

"No, not exactly. The Detriot Police already have a suspect in custody.." He said, nodding toward the interrogation room.

"And you were gonna tell the team when exactly?" I asked, looking through the glass.

"They know, I had Garcia notify them as they made their way to where they needed to be. You and I, are gonna crack this guy. Even if he didn't kill and rape those 3 women...he's got something on him.." He said.

I raised my eyebrow. "Let me guess, I should be the one to talk to him?" I said, tilting my head slightly.

Hotch stepped closer to me. "Steven Oaks. He's a typical Alpha Male, one who doesn't lack dominance, he's unlikely to talk with someone a bit too...similar." he said.

I matched his movements and turned to face him too. "So what are you saying, Hotch? You afraid your “Alpha” persona's gonna rub him off the wrong way?" I mocked.

"Not at all, I'm just saying he might take pleasure in talking to someone a little more...submissive" he said, glancing from my eyes to my lips again and again.

I let out a breath and bit my tongue. "Is this an order?" I asked.

He didn't respond, he just held his gaze, and so I stared right back. His eyes, though often darting south, were never drawn away by nearby policemen.

I shook my head. "Pfft, fine. What's my tactic, Hotch?" I asked, approaching the glass and getting a good read of the guy before going in.

"Just see what you can find out.." He said, his arms folded.

I approached the door and entered, not before undoing just one more button of my shirt.

"Listen man i-"

I smiled warmly. "Last time I checked, I wasn't a man.." I said, sitting across from him.

He smirked and leant back in his seat. Relaxed already.

"No..no you are not" he said, his smile not fading.

"Ma'am, I can assure you, I had nothing to do with those 3 women, okay?" he said, sitting up.

"Oh we know, well- I know.." I sheepishly smiled, playing into whatever persona I threw on as I walked in.

"I know what kinda man you are...you wouldn't kill.." I said, my smile not faulting as I began to brush his leg with the tip of my shoe.

He took a breath in. "Oh yeah?" he asked, biting his lip.

As much as this was killing me, I had to play along. It's all fun and games flirting with your boss whom you know (and cherish on that note) but it's another thing doing it with a creep that you're certain should be in a cage.

"So...tell me Steven. How many people are in your gang?" I asked. If I'm totally honest, it was a shot in the dark, the only thing I had to go off was the badly covered up tattoo on his forearm. It was the symbol of a pretty wanted gang in the area after they moved from Canada down to Detriot.

"Oh I have a gang do I?" he asked.

"I assume so, you seem like the type of guy who.. likes to be in charge.." I said, running my foot just that tiny bit higher.

"I am." he said.

I kept my gaze fixed.

He smirked again. "Mulier vivit ut serviat viro suo et viri qui in circuitu eius sunt."

(A/n: I used Google translate, do not quote me that that was a correct translation)

This time, I leaned back and drew away my foot. "A woman lives to serve her husband and the men who surround her." I said, translating what he said. The way this gang was first noticed, was through an investigation of rapes. Each woman was left with a word printed out on an A4 peice of paper, until the rapes stopped and the police were able to form a sentence.

“A woman lives to serve her husband and the men who surround her.”

By the look on his face, he wasn't expecting me to know Latin.

He smirked again though, drawing his eyes away from my face, to my chest.

"Oh the things I would've done to you..." he whispered, his voice low and his breath repulsive.

He leaned forward more, reaching out his hand, probably to stroke my cheek, but before I could move Hotch stormed in, slamming his hands on the table.

"Touch my Agent, or even think about it, and I swear to you, I have a registered Glock 17 in my holster with a new box bullets that I will personally fire into every single one of your limbs, until any low life friends you do have, won't be able to identify your body. The only thing left of you will be those already rotting teeth." He said, his voice stern.

Steven sat back in his chair, unimpressed. Hotch took me by the hand, and placed his other on my waist guiding me to the door.

"Was that a threat, Agent?" Steven asked as Aaron was about to shut the door.

"No." he said. "That was a promise." he said, slamming it instead.

"Are you okay?" he asked as soon as we were back in the BAU's room at the precinct.

"Yes." I smiled. "Didn't you want more dirt on that guy anyway? I mean...was the quote even enough to nail him?" I asked.

"The words left with each of the rape victims were never released to the public, the only people who would know that phrase are the Detectives who worked the case, or the gang members themselves..are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, taking a step forward. It was hesitant, compared to his pervious one.

I closed the gap between us, laying my hands on his chest. "Aaron Hotchner, I am fine. I was doing my job." I said, looking up at him.

He almost leaned in to my touch as he took a deep breath. "If you need to tap out of the case I will happily-"

"Aaron." I interrupted him.

"We've put away a freak, let's work on the unsub we were called in for, okay?" I asked.

His hand found itself at the small of my back, his thumb rubbing soft circles.

"Just let me know.." He said, before turning around away from me, just in time as Reid and Morgan walked in.

SPENCER REID

"-It's all maths really.." Spencer had climbed out of his pool of facts and statistics. He was trying to convince Hotch to let him come into the casino with me.

"And plus if..if anything happens then she won't be left on her own.." he said, glancing at me.

"Not that you wouldn't be able to handle yourself..I was simply-"

"Spence." I cut him off smiling.

"Hotch said you come in with me 5 minutes ago." I said.

"He did?" he turned his head to where Hotch was standing.

"Get ready" Hotch said, before turning on his heels and leaving the room.

Spencer turned to me and sheepishly smiled. That same smile in which I'd fallen for.

I exited the room also, to change into something more...gold digger appropriate. Wasn't exactly my style. I wasn't the type to dress so provocatively but if it's to catch a killer, I'll wear anything. I changed out of my shirt and got into the dress I was given, squeezing into the high heels and attempting to but on the mascara.

I huffed in the mirror after slipping for the third time.

"You..need some help with that?" Emily asked, walking into the changing room.

I smiled. "Please" I said, holding it out for her.

She took it and began applying it. "You're telling me you don't ever wear mascara?" she asked, concentrating.

"No? Have seen me with mascara? Or any makeup for that matter?" I asked.

"Well lucky for some...natural beauty and all that.." she said, turning to my other eye.

"Oh please" I said, waving her off.

"What?" she asked, almost offended. "You're gonna tell me you're not beautiful? Because I know I certain man with an IQ of 187 and interestingly enough, his intelligence gets slashed to 60 when he sees you for the first time in the mornings.." she said, smirking.

I tried to hide my blush, but that was hard considering she was right in my face. She turned my head with her fingers and examined her work. "There all done." she said, turning me to the full length mirror, taking in my appearance as a whole.

"Jeez that's a look" I said, slightly grimacing. "I mean...it'd look great on someone else I just don't know how I feel about it.."

"Well you're gonna have to embrace it!" She said, walking out. I followed close behind. "And besides you actually look really hot" she said, winking at me.

I laughed. "Don't let JJ hear you say that.."

Her mouth gaped and she hit me on the shoulder.

"Okay, we're ready" Emily said, as we walked back in to the room.

The others gawked at my outfit, never expecting to see me in something like it, even Hotch raised his eyebrows momentarily.

"Damn, pretty girl" Garcia said from the computer.

"Thanks Penny" I smiled. "Where's..Spencer...or Reid, sorry.." I asked.

"Oh he's just coming we gave him something to wear aswell" Hotch said, pointing to the door.

Spencer walked in, he wore a black jacket with matching trousers and a white shirt, with a number of the buttons undone. His hair a little less styled than before, and a bit messier.

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks in a frenzy, and the fabric around my chest got a little tighter.

"Sorry, I know what time the unsub gets to the casino and I didn't have time to do my hair..." he said, fiddling with a number of strands.

Too flustered to speak, I just did the first thing I thought of. I walked over and ruffled his hair up more. "You look beautiful." I said, and walked out immediately.

My eyes were popped out of my head as I walked away, the team following close behind me.

Morgan began walking next to me. "What was that?" He giggled.

"Derek." I warned, my blush still hadn't faded from when Spencer walked in.

SPENCER'S POV

"Sorry, I know what time the unsub gets to the casino and I didn't have time to do my hair..." I said, trying my best to fix it.

That's when my heart stopped. Y/n walked over, in a dress I'd never imagine her in. I'm sure she wouldn't have put herself in the dress either, but that's not to deny how beautiful she looked.

Sure, her persona for tonight was: 'flirt with and rub up the guy with the most money' (our unsub) but she looked like an angel to me.

"Reid!" Garcia snapped me out of my thoughts from her spot on the computer.

"Go! Everyone left with Y/n when she walked past you" she said, smirking. She disappeared off the screen and I scurried out of the room, catching up with everyone.

Y/N'S POV

"Here are your ear peices, they're small enough so no one will notice." Hotch said.

I put mine in, as did Spencer.

"Okay, Y/n you go inside first, all you need to do is steal his phone, it should be in the inside pocket of his blazer.." Hotch said.

"So my pick-pocketing childhood has payed off.." I said, jokingly.

I made my way inside the casino and let myself settle in. I'm here to find a man with a big prize pot. A specific man anyway.

I wandered from one end of the casino to the other latching onto winners of games until I finally noticed the unsub sat at a poker table.

I looked behind me, noticing Spencer just entering the casino. He saw me, we locked eyes. I reluctantly teared mine away and went and stood behind the unsub.

"Well isn't that a bad hand? Surely you should fold.." I said, looking down at the straight in his hand.

"Call." said the others at the table.

The unsub looked up at me and smirked as he showed the dealer his straight, winning the pot. He handed me a bill. "Why don't you go get us some drinks for the next game sweetheart? A scotch for me if you don't mind.." he said.

I made sure to be overly touchy. "Sure thing" I said, strutting away.

I made my way over to the bar, where Spencer was. "Can I have a lemonade and a Scotch please?" I said, making sure to not drop the act I'd put on.

"Is that Poker over there?" Spencer spoke up.

I faced him. "It sure is, takes a lot of luck.." I said, walking off with the drinks.

Spencer followed. "Or intelligence." he said, beating me to the table and sitting down.

I passed the unsub his drink and we clinked glasses.

The dealer dealt everyone their cards, including Spencer this time around.

Everyone took a brief look at thier cards, and each man tapped the table. They all called.

The dealer flipped over the three cards, resulting in two of the men to fold, the only ones in the game now were the unsub and Spencer.

"C'mon baby, you got this.." I whispered, not so quitely in the unsub's ear, running my hands in and out of his blazer, passing off as just really horny. The game continued as I felt up this little freak until I eventually felt the phone and managed to slip it out, unnoticed.

"I'll raise.." the unsub said, throwing in an abundance of chips.

I looked up at Spencer, trying to tell him that he could fold already as I had the phone.

Instead, he watched me fiddle with the collar of the unsub's blazer.

He said nothing, and just placed the chips in, seeing the unsub's raise.

"Okay, cards?" the dealer asked.

The unsub layed his cards down. "Full House.." the unsub said, smiling.

Spencer didn't even look at the dealer as he placed his cards down, his eyes were glued to mine. "Royal Flush.." he said, his head tilted slightly.

I of course had to keep up my act, so while running my hands down his arms, I slowly walked away from the unsub and over to Spencer, wrapping my hands around him this time.

"Well aren't you lucky?" I said.

He faced me. "It's all maths really" he said, placing his hand over mine as it layed on his chest.

"What do you say I cash in these chips and we...get ourselves outta here" he said, standing up, and turning to face me, his hands snaking around my waist.

I bit my tongue and further closed the gap between us. "Okay" I said. At this point I didn't even need to act turned on. I was.

SPENCER'S POV

We walked, arms linked over to the cashier and exchanged the chips I had for the money.

"You won big tonight didn't you, son?" The cashier said, gathering the bands. I looked at Y/n, examining every inch of her perfect skin.

"I did.."

We made our way out of the casino, and walked down the road a little, before hustling into the SUV.

"Y/n you got the phone didn't you?" Hotch said, his angry eyes not leaving mine until she pulled it out.

"Oh but of course Agent Hotchner" she said, passing it to him.

I faced her again, the dim light in the SUV glowing down on her like she was the center of the universe..well...she was the center of mine anyway.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #emily prentiss x you #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #bau x reader #female reader

[criminal-minds-girlie]

The man behind the badge pt1

Authors note: I've seen people asking for Ralvez with internalized homophobia so here's part ones :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

pairing: Spencer Reid x Luke Alvez

genre: hurt?/angst?

Summary: spencer is in denial about his sexuality and takes it out on luke (idk how to summarise it tbh)

word count: 1013

Part two | part three

Spencer Reid had always been a brilliant and dedicated member of BAU. Known for his intellect and marvellous profiling skills, he was highly respected by his colleagues and feared by the criminals he helped put behind bars. But there was one aspect of his life that he kept hidden from everyone… his sexuality.

For years, Spencer had struggled with his internalised homophobia,he was unable to accept the fact that he was attracted to men. Growing up in a conservative household, he had been told that being gay was wrong and something to be ashamed of. So when he started developing feelings for his new teammate, Luke Alvez, he was overcome with confusion and self-hatred.

Spencer tried to push his feelings aside, burying them deep within himself. But the more he tried to deny them, the stronger they became. He found himself constantly thinking about Luke, his handsome features and charming personality. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards him, but he also couldn't accept it.

As a defence mechanism, Spencer became snarky and abrasive towards Luke, hoping to push him away. He would make snide remarks and swear, something that was completely out of character for him. The whole team noticed the change in Spencer's behaviour, and they were all worried.

Rossi was the least concerned, boiling it down to Spencer finally growing a backbone after prison and most of the team thought the same, but Penelope, was particularly concerned. She had always been close to Spencer, and she could see that something was eating away at him. She decided to take matters into her own hands and called Derek, who had left to start a family.

Derek rushed back to the BAU, concerned for his friend. He was shocked to see the usually calm and collected Spencer acting so out of character. He watched as Spencer snapped at Luke, who seemed taken aback by the sudden change in his teammate's behaviour.

'What's going on,pretty ricky?' Derek asked,Spencer turned around hearing this nickname from derek.

Spencer was taken aback by Derek's sudden appearance. He had always looked up to Derek and valued his opinion.

'Nothing, I'm fine,' Spencer replied, his tone defensive and bitchy.

Derek knew there was more to it, but he didn't want to push Spencer. He decided to talk to Luke instead, hoping to get some answers. Luke was surprised when Derek pulled him aside, but he was more than happy to talk to him.

'I'm worried about you Spencer,' Derek said, getting straight to the point. ‘Why you left 8 months ago or something?’ The unspecified date gave Derek even more to worry about due to Spencer normally begging accurately ‘just 8 months?’

‘Yes just 8 months…3 days 14 hours ago oh fine i missed you alright’ spencer mumbled as he looked down at his file as derek grins 'there's the soft guy i knew’

Luke was taken aback by Spencer’s words. He had noticed the change in Spencer's behaviour towards him, but he had no idea why. He had always thought they had a good working relationship, and he couldn't understand why Spencer was suddenly being so bitchy to him.

Derek smiles ‘right tell me what’s going on here why are you being snarky to luke?’ spencer averted his eyes down to the file ‘i am not being fucking snarky derek’

‘Then what was that you've never once said the f-bomb in the years i've known you’ Derek sat and Luke walked off wondering if his presence is making it harder for Spencer to open up to derek.

‘I'll ask again spence…what's going on with you tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours’ derek spoke softly inadvertently pulling spencers walls down ‘i…i’ spencer’s voice went quiet and quivering  ‘i..i…i like him derek i..erm…i like like’ spencer's eyes were rimmed red the tears he was hiding flooding his face.

Derek's usual smug smile drops ‘is this your way of saying you're gay??’ spencer nods and gasps quietly as derek wraps him in a tight suffocating hug and speaks quietly ‘don’t cry spencer i love you and i accept you’ derek stands there holding spencer as luke comes back quietly and stands there next to jj and emily ‘what the hell happened’ luke said quietly.

Emily leans a little closer ‘spencer is gay he's just admitted it to der- wait’ she  turns to jj and gives her the look and jj speaks quietly ‘luke…i think spencer likes you but..he's in denial about it’

Lukes face burns red as he gives a tight-lipped smile his own battle starting in his mind. Does he stay silent about his bisexuality? He's not felt close enough to the team to tell them it's always been personal to him… 

‘Cool…i guess’ is all that fell from luke’s lips and he already wanted to kick himself  cool is that all i could think of stupid luke you could have said something else! 

Emily laughs quietly ‘cool? Just cool? No “omg i never knew he liked me i need to let him down gently”  your odd guy luke’ 

Luke groaned in thought he loved spencer but he didn't want to make work weird ‘emily please stop it there's alot about me you dont know’ jj smiles and pokes his side ‘ooo what's got into you are you annoyed luke’

Luke just sighed as he watched spencer leave with derek to get a coffee and calm down the sound of spencer’s sniffles broke luke's heart but he kept his feelings silent and unshowing

What feels like hours past realistically it was an hour and a half but spencer comes back his tears gone his signature tight lipped smile as he sits back at his desk as luke walks over and sits on the edge of his desk ‘hey spencer…i was wondering if you wanted to go out some time?’ luke smiles shyly  as spencer just keeps his snarky attitude ‘im not gay luke now fuck off’ lukes heart sinks into his ‘but you-…nevermind you keep deining it’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@wheelsup30 I think I saw you posting abt this or smt just thought I should tag you x :)

#criminal minds #spencer reid #luke alvez #ralvez #spencer reid fanfiction #cm #spencer reid x luke alvez #please reblog #please fill my requests

[confusedblakex]

Stars Fall: Good Ending

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki X (Male) Reader Angst

Summary: Though bittersweet, he understands his feelings just before it's too late but can't tell you until after

Wordcount: 1105

Warnings: Internalised homophobia, hidden feelings, denial

Requested by: N/A

Inspired by: N/A

Notes: Series is complete! Now for the soulmate AU series

Last edited: 12th May 2023

Part 1 - Part 2 - Good Ending - Bad Ending

Shoto had never particularly wanted this. He had never been interested in romantic relationships and was discouraged from having them, they would only distract him.

But now he had a lot to think about. You liked him. No… you loved him.

He hadn’t ever thought about you in that way and restricted himself from his mind ever straying there. Yet he couldn’t deny the butterflies that rose in his stomach when you confessed to him. It played on his mind since then and, despite his father pushing him into a falsified relationship for his public image, he struggled to define what he felt.

There was something about the relationship he had with you that just wasn’t the same as his other friends. You had been closer to him, and there were emotions there that he just couldn’t place.

He had initially come to the conclusion that it was just a close friendship, but that was before you confessed. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he also felt a part of him may be in denial.

Maybe he did love you? The thoughts spun in his head for days and weeks.

It was only the night before Valentine’s that he approached Momo about his feelings. He explained what had happened and told her of his dilemma.

“If that’s how you feel, then you probably do have romantic feelings for him,” Momo said, “You two were always so close, I want to be the last person standing in the way of that.”

“You’re not upset?” Shoto asked, he expected a more betrayed reaction.

“I suspected that you felt nothing towards me… Don’t get me wrong! I really do value our friendship, but don’t suppress your feelings for (y/n) because of our public image,”

“But how do I know for certain this is love?” He asked. There was too much risk in this for it to be so simple.

“Trust your intuition, if you feel it’s right to pursue a relationship with him, then do. We can work around the public side of it all with some secrecy and a bit of luck,” Momo said, placing a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

And it just made sense. He didn’t realise how much he missed your closeness with him. He didn’t understand that the butterflies he got whenever you were alone together was excitement. He thought that you had pushed him away, but he was also keeping his distance from you. A relationship was never something he wanted to risk, but he was willing to try it. For you.

Yes, he had been in denial. But he understood now.

The publicity stunt with Momo still took place, but as he made the announcement his eyes kept searching around the cafeteria for you. And when he found you sat next to Izuku, he noticed your state.

You looked distraught and sickly. He needed to tell you how he felt, he didn’t want to put you through this. Izuku helped you out of your seat and the two of you left the cafeteria. He wanted to go after you, but he couldn’t.

When you arrived back in the classroom, Izuku was holding your arm, seemingly guiding you around. You spoke briefly and quietly with Aizawa, who looked surprised… or worried? You bowed to him, and then you left the room with Izuku once more.

Chatter started up the moment you left, rumours flying across the classroom.

“Do you think he hurt himself in that quirk accident?”

“Did you see his eyes? I think he’s been blinded…”

“I heard he has some rare and uncurable disease-”

Uraraka stayed silent through it all, quiet and downcast. There was something wrong, and Shoto was only getting more worried.

There was a buzzing in his head, and his chest felt like it caving in. He needed to talk to you.

---

Shoto knocked on your dorm and waited for a response.

He had been trying to find you for a while now, but after hearing noise from your dorm room he decided to try there. The door opened to Izuzku, not you.

“Oh, hi Shoto,” he said, a smile forming on his face, “can I help you?”

“Do you know where (y/n) is? I can’t find him.” He asked, and Izuku’s smile dropped.

He was led to Recovery Girl’s office, and the feeling in Shoto’s chest only grew. It was dread.

Curtains were pulled back by Izuku to reveal you, sitting, staring into nothingness, with a very fancy-looking doctor looking at your eyes. The doctor turned to Recovery Girl with a solemn look, bowed to her, and then left.

“I’ll leave you to be,” Izuku said and turned to speak with Recovery Girl at her desk.

Shoto felt frozen. Not by ice, ice didn’t burn this deep.

“I was going to take you out for soba this evening,” Soto said as he sat down next to you.

“Sorry, Shoto, we might need to reschedule,” you said casually. The tension lessened, but the hurt in those words still lingered. You didn’t turn to look at him as you spoke.

Moving before he thought, he brought his hand to your cheek, moving your face to look at him. He was taken aback by your eyes. They were a glowing orange, the pupils a deep red.

You lent into his hand, pressing it into your cheek, revelling in the cold of his skin on his right side.

“It’s the star tear curse,” you whispered “I’m blind, Shoto. I loved you too much,”

So this was why. With all of his indecision and his denial, he was hurting you.

It was heartbreaking. Your future, your hero career, even your friends. There wasn’t an aspect of your life that this wouldn’t affect. There was nothing he could do now except try to heal the emotional wounds.

“I love you too, (y/n),” Shoto said softly, “I know it’s too late, and I’m sorry I took so long, but I know now.”

The tear that trailed down his cheek turned to steam as it fell, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Really?” You smiled solemnly, “If only you’d said something yesterday,”

“I’m sorry I can’t fix this, but I want to make up for my failures,” He said.

“Thank you, Shoto,” You said as you pulled him into your chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. He held you tightly as you quietly cried into his hair.

Shoto loved you, he knew he loved you,  and he promised himself he would never stop. The pain had gone. Your tears were no longer cursed, but your sight would never return.

#star tears #hanahaki #x reader #x male reader #shoto todoroki #shotou todoroki #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #angst

[mustangs-flames]

Hello. I stumbled across your AU on AO3 and I would like to tell you I am actively writing this post through tears. Anyways, where did you get the inspiration to start this AU? Many of the subtle things- the things the alternates say, the religion, the construction of the first story, entwining the pronouns of he, it and they, everything entwining and crumbling down, was so masterfully crafted. Do you have a degree in literature, if you don't mind me asking. I hope none of these questions are too invasive, please let me know if they are. Are many of these things written from personal experience? That aside, what do you think overdriven assimilation is? I always assumed that it was a alternate that had become so accustomed to human society that it completely forgets the fact it's an alternate, ||somewhat like Adam|| <<<<< SPOILERS FOR VOL 4!! But your take on the overdriven assimilation is very interesting. Like a skin stretched far too long up until it can't stretch anymore. One more thing that I feel is very interestingly explored in your story is the use of belief, since I find it to be one of the most interesting parts of being human. Everyone believes in something, and part of me wonders if thats the reason for our evolution, compared to say- an alternate who cannot feel, or think, or any of the sort, still being under the belief that mark is it's, and it being in such denial, fighting to hold on to its beliefs that it is the one in control, even when you, as a reader, can clearly see that control slipping away. Is this the main theme of Hail, True Body? I am very sorry for the disjointed thoughts- I am quite literally crying and it is 2 a.m. and I really felt the need to praise your work and I've interacted with anyone on Tumblr before, so I'm trying to write the best I can. Thank you for your masterful writing, you should write your own book. (If you want to.) -Sincerely, a sleep deprived and overly emotional anon with a lack of impulse control.

Hi! Wow! Thank you for sending this in! I'm sorry the AU made you cry, but I'm so glad to know you enjoyed it so far! It means an awful lot!

To answer your questions:

1. Inspiration came from before the AU was ever an AU to begin with. 'Its Name Was Cesar Torres' was very much a passion project that was just supposed to be a standalone fic and it had a very different ending before I decided that I actually wanted to explore the idea of an alternate gaining humanity and Mark as a character more. Initially INWCT was written because I couldn't find anything that really spoke to me and my idea of what an alternate gaining humanity would look like - I wanted something that explored it without compromising on the horror of TMC canon and what alternates were really like. I also wanted to read something from the perspective of an alternate with the idea that it learns to be more human like for selfish reasons, but those reasons slowly become more personal and complex, forcing it to question itself and its nature - whether it has to be one thing or the other, or if it even could step out of those categories to become something else entirely. Thus, INWCT was roughly planned out and I started writing it. By about chapter 5, I developed it into an AU, still under its original premise - to explore humanity and what it means to be human without compromising on the tone and horror of the canon series! So I scrapped the original ending for chapter 6 and worked it into the one you all got!

2. I have a joint honours degree in English Language & Literature!

3. Yes, many things in the AU come from my experiences! Alt!Cesar itself was inspired by my own feelings as I worked through a lot of gender and body dysphoria before coming out at trans. Mark's religious trauma, guilt, and internalised homophobia is based on my experiences with the Church and faith growing up. Quite a few of the characters who become disabled and who are already disabled are based on my own experiences with disability, as are those with depression and anxiety. There are more, and some are written from outside perspectives I had on certain things growing up. I probably won't talk about all of them outside of the fic though.

3. Overdrive Assimilation in the AU looks the same as it does in canon TMC - creatures and people with impossible proportions, that look wrong like the deer alternate does. However, the AU interprets it as alternates that are too impatient to learn how to mimic people and things, which is why the deer alternate fails to look like a convincing deer. It just makes approximations because all it cares about is getting a kill whatever it takes. A doppelganger alternate like alt!Cesar is practically flawless because it takes time to learn the nuances of the person/thing it wants to replace because it wants to use that position to then lure other unsuspecting victims in - alt!Cesar spent about 7 months in the Torres household learning to perfectly mimic Cesar and Lola Torres (and even Mark's voice). When an alternate falls into its true form though, it becomes overdriven because it's no longer making the effort to try and disguise itself.

4. Control and the loss of it definitely comes into alt!Cesar's story a lot, and both he and Mark share a parallel with their beliefs. Alt!Cesar clings to the idea that he can become the alternate he used to be before INWCT just as tightly as Mark clings to his faith.

Don't worry about coming across as disjointed or anything with your thoughts! It means an awful lot that you sent them in - it's always really nice to know that something I wrote was liked by someone who read it <3 thank you, it really does mean the world /gen

#hail true body au #mustang answers! #this was such a nice message. thank you anon <3 #i hope the rest of the au lives up to expectations!! #i really needed this today

[ibringthepoptothecinema]

Just One Yesterday- Steddie Fic (Angst/Smut)

Warnings: internalised homophobia, angst, softish smut, slightly rough (mentions of genitals), possible disassociation and drug and alcohol use. 

STEDDIE ANGST/ SMUT So, no one asked me to write this but, I was listening to Just One Yesterday by Fall Out Boy and I had to write a little angsty/smutty Steddie fic to go with it. So, here ya go. Did I take the lyrics quite literally and far out of context? Yes. Is this a slight out of character fic? Also yes. Please give it a read, there's some delicious scenes in it!

Here’s a little sneak peak: “Come on, Stevie, tell me how I’m making you feel, I want to to hear you. I can already feel you, fuck, you’re so hard, you sweet thing.”

Just One Yesterday

This wasn’t the first time Steve cautiously headed to the trailer park in the middle of the night. He slowly walked around it, looking at each of the dull trailers, trying to get the visions of what happened here last year out of his mind. Eventually, as he had done the previous week, he made his way to Eddies trailer, walking up the steps and tapping on the door. It was just turning 2 am but he knew Eddie would be wide awake. At least, if he remembered Steve was coming. 

Of course Eddie had remembered, he had been pacing the trailer for a good 20 minutes, anticipating Steve's arrival. This was, he thought, the second or third time Steve had come to his place to smoke weed and drink. Well, definitely to smoke weed. The drinking usually happened naturally when both boys came down slightly from a delicious cocktail mix of the high of being alone together and of course, the marijuana. Still, it didn’t make Eddies anxiety any easier, he always felt slightly on edge in Steve's presence, always like he had to be on top form. They’d both seen each other at their worst, mentally and physically but even though that was pretty much over for now, the trauma was still there and poor Eddie still couldn’t shake the feeling he had to impress Harrington. Steve on the other hand didn’t feel he had to go as far as impressing Eddie. He had his own anxiety when it came to the the metal head, something he didn’t want to talk or think about. Not without being intoxicated. 

When Steve knocked on the door, Eddie waited a few seconds before frantically running over and opening it, a tremble in his hand as he did. 

“Right on time, as always Harrington, excited to see me, huh?” Eddie chortled as he stepped back slightly, opening the door to let him in.  

“Oh yeah, of course. I love being awake at 2 in the morning, I keep myself awake just to see you.” Steve replied, his voice dry, no hint of humour. His eyes were tired, bags heavy and fully formed under them. They both knew the real reason Steve was awake. The nightmares, the night terrors. Eddie suffered from them too. 

Steve walked to the sofa and sat down with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“Bad day, huh? Or, ya know, bad night?” Eddie questioned, his voice getting quieter as he scurried to his room to grab his carry container of drugs, potions and pills. Anything to numb both their brains that were equally full of torture and turmoil.

Eddie got a reply from Steve in the form of a grunt and a nod that he couldn’t see. Steve wasn’t much for talking this late at night anymore, not until he’d had a few hits of Eddie’s stupidly fat blunts. 

After a while, as the two boys sat on the sofa near each other (close but far enough that they weren’t touching), Steve let out a breathy laugh. “Never thought I’d be doing this with you Munson, we never even spoke to each other before you know…everything happened.” 

Steve waved a hand, the blunt between his fingers, the smoke circling around him. He seemed so blasé about it but Harrington was good at masking his feelings. Sometimes. 

“Yeah, well, here we are man, here we are.” Eddie replied, taking the blunt from Steve, putting it between his own fingers and taking a puff.

Eddie looked at Steve, looked at his blown out pupils, looked at the way his eyes were slightly glossed over. The weed was strong. Even for Eddie. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop looking at every inch of the other man that was visible to him. The moles on his neck that his sweater exposed, the outline of his thick, toned thighs in his stupid blue jeans. Every damn time he was over, Eddie would find himself staring. And every damn time Steve came over to his, they’d have a similar back and forth. 

‘Can’t believe we are doing this, look at us, huh.’

It was the same conversation recycled over and over. But it wasn’t just conversation. It was also the exchanged looks of longing between the pair. Equal on both sides. The same yearning. For something. For touch? For comfort? For intimacy? Hell, both Eddie and Steve separately thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they were both longing for each other. Neither of them had ventured further than an outrageous flirt or cheesy pickup line, though. But Eddie had taken on the role of the most scandalous flirt in Hawkins when in Steve's presence. Which came as a surprise to Steve at first. Everyone knew Steve was a flirt, he still was, given the chance. But this wasn’t his normal territory, this wasn’t his normal forte of wooing the ladies as the ‘King of Hawkins High.’ This was different, this was an exchange exclusive to him and Eddie. Eddie, a boy, a man, a goddamn demon from hell? Someone capable of making him feel the way he did? Well, Eddie must have had some sort of otherworldly power over him. It seemed that the grief shared by the both of them had brought hell’s rain pouring down on Steve in the form of the Munson Boy. Maybe he’d have to clip Eddie’s tiny wings, keep him from flying away. Isn’t it odd that that’s what he wanted, to keep him close, despite his reservations. 

After a while of silence, not awkward but stifling, Eddie grabbed some beers from the fridge and chucked one at Steve before he sat down and opened one for himself. Steve cracked his own open, causing a sizzling noise as the carbonation was let out the can, and took a sip before placing it between his thighs, an action Eddie didn’t miss. 

“So the cops after Chrissy and Vecna…did they…you know, did they say: ‘Anything you say can and will be held against you?’ Steve asked with a grin, holding both his hands up in a mock ‘drop your weapon’ pose. 

“Shit, Harrington, surely you know this, man?! They didn’t arrest me for what happened.” Eddie answered, handing the blunt back to Steve after picking it up from the ashtray, making Harrington lose his pose. Outside of their trailer meetings, the two didn’t talk much. Even after sharing the experience they did. 

“But wouldn’t it have been a perfect opportunity to crack out a good one liner?” Eddie replied, a grin just as stupid as Steve’s on his own face. 

Steve tilted his head in reply. Like a dog who had just heard an odd noise. “What’d you mean?” He asked

“Well, ‘anything you say can and will be held against you’…I should have said your name…if it meant you’d be held against me, pretty boy.” Eddie answered, taking a drag of his joint, laughing at his own joke. That was brazen, even for him. 

“Oh Jesus, what the hell was that Munson? Was that an attempt to flirt with me?!” Harrington groaned, going slightly tense at how normalised Eddie was making this situation seem. 

Before these shared nights with Eddie, Steve has never thought about flirting with someone of the same sex. At least, not in his recent memory. But a lot of his memories had been lost to injury or to trauma. Maybe his sexual preferences were filed away under the ‘Caution, do not open: Pandora’s box!’ section of his memories that had been lost. 

 “Who said anything about flirting, sweetheart? But, Yeah you’re right. If I wanted you held against me…well, I’d have other ways of making it happen..” Eddie suggested, not once breaking the gaze he had stuck on Steve. 

Steve finished the blunt off, exhaled and then sighed. He was curious as to what Eddie had meant. He could see him watching him. He could feel the tension in the room. He didn’t dislike it, really. But he didn’t how he fully felt or even how he should feel. 

Having now finished his can of beer, he grabbed another one Eddie had set on the floor, opened it, took a large glug of it and placed it once again between his thighs. 

“Fuck, Eddie, you can’t quit running your mouth, can you?” Steve laughed, looking straight at Eddie’s lips. Whether on purpose or not, it had happened and he couldn’t take the glance back. 

Eddie noticed. He held back a grin, opting to run a hand through his curls, to try and ground himself. But Instead of coming off as calm and collected, he actually got a clump of his hair caught in one of his chunky rings that he wore everyday. He wore them everyday. Every fucking day. And right now was when this had to happen?! 

“Ow, fuck..shit, Jesus Christ.” He cried, trying to pull his hand away, causing himself more pain. 

“Eddie stop tugging at it!” Steve pleaded, a laugh obvious in his voice. He thought he’d have a break from babysitting duty tonight but here he was, trying to stop Eddie from scalping himself.

Steve moved closer to him, moving the half full can in his lap to the floor. They were now both next to each other, close, thighs touching, body heat mingling. 

“Let me do it, stop moving.” Steve demanded, raising his hands up to meet Eddie’s own clumsy one, slowly untangling the boy from his own web of hair. Once the hair was freed from the ring prison, Steve brought Eddie’s hand down from his head. But instead of letting his grip go, he held on, running his thumb gently over the offending rings then ever so slowly, he ran the pad of his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, refusing to make eye contact with him. 

“What was it you said you wanted held against you?” Steve asked, his voice breathy, shaking. 

“You. I’d ask for you, I’d say your name, if I’d known you then like I think I do now. Theres nothing else I could think to say, nothing worth it anyway.” Eddie replied.

 Moving his hand away from Steve’s grip, he lifted the other boys head up, his thumb and pointer finger hooked under his chin. Steve had no choice but to make eye contact now. And he could see that Eddie was now looking in the same direction he had done earlier, eyes laser focused on his lips. 

“You’d only say my name? So…say it. Only say my name..” Steve whined, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Come on man, now who’s the one running their mouth?” Eddie smiled, still holding Steve’s head up so their gaze didn’t break.

 Steve looked down but didn’t pull away. Eddie thought for a while, feeling out the atmosphere in the room before taking his hand and placing it on the back of Steve’s head, pulling him close, snaking his hand through the perfectly styled mane of hair. 

“Steve.” He said simply. “Steve.”

Steve pulled away, gently and stood up, stretching. He reached his arms over his head, his sweater raising, exposing a small line of flesh for Eddie to gaze upon as he sat dumbfounded on the sofa, staring up at Steve. Eddie thought Steve was going to walk away, out of the trailer, into the night. If Steve had left and spilled his guts, the world wouldn’t ever look at Eddie the same way. This small town already hated him. This small town that bred small minded people. Small minded people that already wanted him out. Add being a queer into the mix? Well, Eddie could already see the glow of their pitchforks. He didn’t care. But others did. 

But Steve didn’t leave. Surprisingly. 

Instead, after running the scenario in his head multiple times and taking a deep breath, Steve came back over, standing in front of a sat down Eddie. Steve bent down slightly, still towering over him and placed one arm behind the long haired boy, resting it on the on the back of the old sofa they had been sat together on. Eddie immediately sat up right, almost to attention and moved slightly further to the edge of his seat. He looked up into Steve’s eyes, his own changing into something he himself wasn’t used to. Almost like his pupils had fully dilated and taken over the iris, his already dark eyes now taking on the colour of a late, winters night. Maybe he’d turned submissive. Probably not. 

With one hand still resting behind Eddie, Steve now took his free hand and snaked it behind Eddie’s head, mimicking Eddie’s own moves from before. His fingers tangled into the perfect little perm below him, his nails grazing over the delicate skin on Eddie’s head. 

Eddie’s mouth was slightly slack, he was very rarely speechless. He really thought Steve was going to set him up and then leave. Others had done it to him before.  But here he was still, under his grasp. 

Finally, Steve went in for the kiss, Eddie’s eyes fluttering closed almost instantly. But still, Eddie knew that even being physically below Steve, he could still take control. So, he scraped his teeth over Steve’s bottom lip, pulling it out, letting go and then licking gently over the bitten and slightly raw skin, making Steve open his mouth so Eddie could let his venomous tongue explore. That movement earned a gasp from Steve as he moved his hand from behind Eddie’s head. His hand was now hungrily grabbing anything of Eddie’s he could get purchase on. The back of his head once more, his shirt. Fuck, even his hair. Harrington was now straddled on top of the metal heads lap, his knees bent under him, his thighs either side of Eddie’s. Their crotches were dangerously close to each others, clashing with every subtle movement. But Eddie was still always in control of the kiss, of the situation.

He once more slipped his tongue over Steve’s lips into his hot, wet, needy mouth. Steve let out a delicious moan, his pulse quickening, his hands moving frantically. He needed something to ground him, he could feel himself floating, his body aching, craving more and more contact. He wanted to be consumed by this demon, this angel, whatever the hell Munson was. It was so hard for Steve to control himself, he could feel Eddie hum a diabolical moan into his mouth. The vibration reaching the back of his throat, making his whole body tingle with anticipation and biblical desire. Their foreheads clashed, sweat making their hair stick to each others skin. Wasn’t this just a perfect representation of them losing themselves in each other? Mingling, intertwining. Becoming one. Giving themselves over to their basic animal instincts, to unholy desire.  

Eddie was trying to find a place to put his own hands. He decided to move one away from Steve’s neck and snaked it up the front of the rich boys sweater. Eddie fumbled manically, his knuckles forming bumps underneath the fabric, raising it up slightly. He scratched at Steve’s skin with his nails, hard, fast, unrelenting. 

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re gonna leave a mark.” Steve complained, sucking in a moan through his teeth. 

Eddie chuckled into the kiss and continued to fumble for an erogenous zone. He found it when Steve bucked forward slightly, his grip tightening in Eddie’s hair. Eddie then knew for certain that he’d definitely found it. 

“Oh, you like that, hmm? You like me touching you there, you like me making you fall apart? All from me touching you just a little bit.” Eddie asked, his voice like velvet as his thumb circled Steve’s hard nipple under his sweater. 

Steve nodded in reply, not able to form words from a mixture of pleasure and disbelief at what was happening. 

“Use your words, sweetheart, you can do it. You’re the one who wanted me to say your name ya know, so I was held against you and all that.” Eddie gasped for air, laughing gently as he pulled away from the kiss, one hand still under Steve’s sweater, the other dropping to run up and down his thigh. He looked at the other boys lips, they were bright pink, glossy with saliva and puffy. Eddie internally commended himself for making Harrington look like this.

“Come on, Stevie, tell me how I’m making you feel, I want to to hear you. I can already feel you, fuck, you’re so hard, you sweet thing.”

Steve had never been called Stevie or any other pet name before. Not during moments like this anyway. But now wasn’t the time to bring it up. Instead, he looked down at Eddie, his hair dropping into his eyes. “It feels so fuckin’ good. Keep…fuck, just keep touching me there, please Ed-.” Steve was cut off as Eddie pulled his thumb away from his tender nipple, out from under Steve’s sweater. Eddie reached his now free hand up to Harrington's face, ran his thumb over his cheek, then gently down to his mouth, over his bottom lip, eventually pushing it through his teeth and flat on to his tongue. 

“It’ll feel better if it’s wet, most things do.” Eddie explained as he watched as Steve took his thumb in his mouth. “Get it nice and wet, don’t be shy, darlin’” He coxed, encouraging Steve to suck his thumb harder. Steve was good at doing what he was told. That was making the fact Eddie was getting increasingly more erect harder to hide. Although there wasn’t much hiding going on from either of them. Both men were rock hard against each other. Once Eddie was satisfied with Steve, he pulled his thumb out of his mouth with a *pop* and commenced his duty of circling Steve’s nipple, not stopping until Steve was almost breathless. He was a mess, a whimpering mess. Made even worse when Eddie decided to nip, roughly with his teeth, at the delicate flesh on Steve’s neck. That nearly tipped poor Stevie over the edge. Fuck, the moans he was making nearly tipped Eddie over the edge. 

“Eddie, stop…stop...please, just for...ah fuck, just for one minute.” Steve panted, pulling back slightly. He was finally coming back down to earth, reality hitting him hard. 

Eddie stopped immediately. He wasn’t going to push Steve over the edge. Not tonight. 

“You okay, big boy?” Eddie asked, trying to lighten the mood, while still carefully looking over Steve’s expression. “We can stop, is that what you want?” He asked gently. Steve genuinely looked on the verge of tears as he nodded and got off Eddie’s lap. “Steve, was this too much?” Eddie asked. He adjusted himself, pulling the fabric of his tight black jeans around his dick. Anything to ease the friction and restriction. 

Steve did the same, pulling the fabric of his jeans, his hard cock begging for a little less restraint. 

“Eddie…I don’t know. I don’t even know what that was.” He admitted, shaking his head, standing in front of Eddie who was still sat on the sofa. “I have to go, I gotta go.” He said quickly, fumbling to check if his keys were in his back pocket. 

Eddie got up, went over to Steve and placed a hand on his arm. “Woah, let’s talk about this Harrington, yeah?”

“Oh, it’s Harrington again now? Eddie just leave it, I’m gonna head home, I gotta take Dustin to camp tomorrow.” Steve lied, pulling away from Eddie. He just wanted to get out of here. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love every minute of what had just happened. But what had just happened should never have. This wasn’t who Steve was. He was fine with Robin being gay, it didn’t involve him. He was fine with anyone being gay. But not himself.

“You think this was a mistake then?” Eddie asked, his fake confidence in the trash. He looked down at the floor, looking at his feet as he shuffled anxiously. 

“We can pretend it never happened?” He laughed, pitifully. He was right back where he was when he’d first started getting with guys. It would always end in them saying ‘it was a mistake’. That ‘it should never have happened’. ‘Don’t ever fucking tell anybody that it did, Munson or I swear to God.’ All those words from previous guys came flooding back to Eddie as he watched Steve walk to the door. This wouldn’t be the first time Steve had driven his car home drunk and or high.

“Remember yesterday when this hadn’t happened? When none of this had happened? Well, I would trade all of my tomorrows for just ONE yesterday.” Steve said, the words coming out meaner than intended as he opened the door to the cold night air. Steve had twice the heart of any person Eddie had ever met, those words stung him just as much as they did Eddie. But, he had to make himself the bad guy, had to have a reason to leave. 

“Well look at us, Harrington, haven’t we royally fucked up a good thing? I guess fucking shit up and letting people down is my thing, baby.” Eddie quipped, feigning little confidence in his voice as he watched Steve leave the trailer and walk to his car. 

Steve had heard Eddie but had no words to reply to him. If he was more open with himself, he’d give Eddie all his love. But he just couldn’t face the love being taken all away when things would inevitably go wrong. The world wasn’t built for people like them. That’s what he thought, right now, at least. 

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie angst #steddie fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiemunson #steveharrington #steve and eddie #munson #harrington #eddie x steve #josephquinn #joe quinn #eddie #stranger things fanfiction #joseph quinn #hellfire

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Once stung, thrice bitten - Chapter 15

AN: This is a Riley-centric chapter and it contains some internalised homophobia, references to religious beliefs, mentions of stress, crying, Riley being self-depreciating, and Athenodora being an amazing Grandmother.

You were talking with Athenodora and Chelsea when Chelsea stopped speaking abruptly. You were about to question why when you heard footsteps and Riley’s head peeked into the room around the corner.

The young vampire looked stressed, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can come…”

“Nonsense.” Athenodora waved an elegant hand impatiently, “Join us and speak your mind.”

“Yes Grandmother,” Riley obeyed. He made his way into the room and stared at his hands for a while.

None of you spoke until Riley opened his mouth to inhale unnecessarily. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times before he began to speak.

“When we were in that field after Victoria was killed I felt this pull in the back of my mind the second that I saw Jane and Alec. I didn’t think too much of it at the time because the vampire that was hiding in the tree distracted me and then Bree and I were inducted into the Volturi. Then on the plane, the pull returned and I wanted to go over to them so badly but I was too afraid. I was a coward. Ever since we returned to Volterra, I’ve been doing my best to avoid Jane and Alec and until today, I was able to. I was in the library when the twins cornered me and demanded to know what was going on and why I hadn’t come to them the second things had calmed down. I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. Eventually, I just sped away and now I think they’ve taken that as a rejection and I don’t know what to do.”

Chelsea folded her hands in her lap, “That’s quite a lot to unpack, Riley. You mentioned that you were too afraid to approach them.”

Riley nodded.

“Why is that?” Chelsea questioned.

Riley’s gaze fell to his hands again, “I don’t know.” He muttered sullenly.

“Lying will not help us help you.”

“Sorry Grandmother.” Riley’s voice was barely a whisper, “When I was human and a child, I went to church every weekend with my parents. The idea that romantic bonds are between two people and a man and a woman only was constantly drilled into my head. Then when I was in college, I didn’t go to church at all but the beliefs were still there and then I was changed into a vampire and…”

“The beliefs remained,” you breathed, “Riley.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of your voice, “Take all the other people and their opinions out of the equation and tell me what you want in regard to Jane and Alec.”

Riley wrapped his arms around himself, “I want to get to know my mates,” he stated firmly, “but…”

“No “but,”” Chelsea interrupted, “sit down with both of them. Tell Jane and Alec what you have told us. Tell them that you want to take it at your own pace. They will listen. I guarantee they will not force you into anything mainly because it would hurt you in the process and that is the last thing they wish to do.”

“I’m worried about what people will think and say.”

Athenodora scoffed, “I did not realise that you were romantically involved with those people too. Should I arrange rooms for these people?”

Riley cracked a smile, “No.”

Athenodora fixed Riley with a kind look, “You will face no judgement here. The Kings do share one mate after all. Aro sees Jane and Alec as his children. He will be happy for all of you and will only seek reassurance that you will not consciously harm them. Should any humans or vampires be narrow-minded and ignorant enough to voice disdainful opinions, they will be dealt with swiftly and you will be around those who accept you and your mates for the vampires you are.”

You could see venom trickling from Riley’s eyes as he processed Athenodora’s words.

You could see venom trickling from Riley’s eyes as he processed Athenodora’s words. up. “I’m off to talk with Jane and Alec.” Before he sped off, you caught a glimpse of a much less stressed vampire.

#mywriting #star wars x twilight crossover #twilight x reader #oncestungthricebitten #female reader #aro volturi #caius volturi #marcus volturi #volturi kings x reader #jane volturi #alec volturi #riley biers #athenodora volturi #chelsea volturi

[smcc212]

Shelby Meets Solomons

Pairings- Thomas Shelby x Solomons! Male reader

Word count- 1,966

Warnings- internalised homophobia, fluff, ooc Tommy, smut-anal, kinda hand-job? Not proofread. I think that’s it, let me know if I missed any.

A/N- Thank you, @follow-donttelltheelf-x for requesting some Tommy Shelby x male reader. I’ve actually wrote two Tommy x male reader fics. I’ll tag you in both. By the way, I’m sorry if I missed up the tag, I have dyslexia so it took me awhile to understand it-hope I got it right. Anyways, Enjoy!!

A Shelby and Solomons. A doomed love if there ever was such a thing. But, Thomas couldn’t help falling for (Y/N). He was nothing like his brother, the only thing they had in common was their name and their accent.

They met for the first time in Alfie’s office. Thomas and Alfie has just made a new deal when (Y/N) came storming in.

“Fuck sake, Alfie! Will you stop having your fucking men follow me everywhere!” He shouted, he knew Thomas was there but he didn’t care. He was pissed. All he wanted was to have a somewhat normal life, but he couldn’t do that when he had Alfie’s men trailing behind wherever he went.

“(Y/N), this can wait,” Alfie spoke sternly, glaring at his little brother.

“No, it fucking can’t! I can’t live a normal life when there are randoms following me around!” Thomas just stared at (Y/N). That part of his mind he’d worked so hard destroy rebuilding itself as he looked at the younger man. He wasn’t much younger, he looked about thirty. As the Solomons brothers continued to argue, Thomas’ eyes took in all of (Y/N). He was a strong, handsome man and Thomas couldn’t help but let himself wonder what (Y/N) Solomons looked like beneath his shirt.

They met for the second time when Thomas went to visit Ada, his sister. He stopped on the threshold on the drawing room, shocked to see the Solomons brother that had plagued his mind with thoughts he’d fought his entire life to ignore.

“Tommy, this is (Y/N).” Ada smiled at her brother who continued staring at the young man. “Fuck sake, Tom. He’s not interested in me... or girls of any kind,” mirth laced her words.

“Ada!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, darting back and forth between Ada and Thomas.

“Come down, Tommy doesn’t care. He sure as hell won’t go to the police.”

“(Y/N).” Thomas cleared his throat before extending his hand out towards (Y/N). “I’m Thomas.”

“Have we met before, Thomas?”

“I’m in business with your brother I believe.” Thomas’ heart was racing as he looked at the younger man, but on the outside he looked his normal cold, calculated self.

“Ah, so you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Alfie. I promise I’m nothing like him,” (Y/N) chuckled nervously, not only had Ada revealed his biggest secret, but she’d revealed it to someone that knew his brother. He’d never told Alfie,he never planned on telling Alfie. Alfie was the only family he had left, he couldn’t lose him.

“Will you let me talk to my sister, alone for a moment?” Thomas asked, he could see Ada adding everything up in her head.

“Of course,” (Y/N) spoke, his eyes trailing along Thomas’ body before he left the room, left the siblings alone.

“So,” Ada began, “‘re you gonna tell me what that was about?” She asked pointedly.

“What are you talking about, Ada?” Although he maintained his calm appearance, Thomas had never been more scared in his life.

Ada took a deep breath, recognising his fear. “Tom, I know we’ve had our differences, but your still my big brother and I’ll always love you no matter what. You know that don’t you?” Her voice had softened, as had her eyes, she needed her brother to know that she’d love him no matter what; she just hoped Thomas would understand.

“Yes, Ada. I’m aware.” Thomas’ could hear his heartbeat in his ears, could feel bile rises into his throat, feel sweat gathering on his back as his breathing started to pick up.

“So, you know I’ll love no matter what, right?”

“What’s your point, Ada?”

“You introduced yourself as ‘Thomas’, no one outside the family calls you that. And, you let him check you out. Tommy, do you... y’know... like men?” She spoke softly, placing a loving hand on your brother’s shoulder. “I don’t care if you do,” She quickly added, “and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

He tried to talk, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He nodded, so softly it was almost unnoticeable.

“Okay,” Ada said slowly, nodding her head.

“Okay?” Thomas repeated, his eyebrows furrowing. His fear never leaving him.

“Okay,” Her voice was firmer this time. “And, I’m guessing, you fancy (Y/N) at least a bit.”

“For fuck sake, Ada, keep your bloody voice down. He’s in the next room,” Panic was thick in his usually cold voice.

“Tom, (Y/N) likes men too, you idiot. And know that I think about it, I think you’re the ‘good-looking bloke that was in Alfie’s office the other day’.” She smiled, she hadn’t seen her brother act nervous since before the war.

“I wasn’t the only person visiting Alfie that day, don’t be stupid. Anyway...”

*

(Y/N) couldn’t stop himself, he knew it was wrong, but he listened in to Ada and Thomas’ conversation. He hadn’t forgotten Thomas’ face, how could he? Thomas was beautiful. His ocean blue eyes. His chiseled face. His jet black hair. His... everything.

He asked Alfie who he was, but all Alfie said was: ‘don’t get involved with him, (Y/N).’ But (Y/N) wasn’t known for following Alfie’s orders, why should he start now?

When Thomas started to talk to Ada about business, (Y/N) stopped listening. When he heard Thomas walking out the door, however, he jogged out to catch him. He’d never been more scared in his life, his heart was racing as he spoke:

“Thomas.”

“Yes?”

“Erm... I-I was wonderin’ if ya’d, maybe, wanna get a drink sometime?” It came like a question, (Y/N)’s nerves getting the better of him.

“Well... alright, I’ll... call Alfie I guess.” Thomas tried his best to seem calm and collected, but the excitement in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N) not Ada.

“Right, well, erm, okay. See you later I guess,” (Y/N) spoke, instantly kicking himself for sounding like an idiot.

“Okay,” Thomas chuckled. “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“Goodbye, Thomas.”

*

They met for the third time when Thomas came to his house.

“Hey,” (Y/N) mumbled as he opened the door, his nerves eating him alive. It didn’t help that his brother was glaring at his date.

“Hello, (Y/N). Ready to go?” Thomas asked, his voice clear and firm.

“Aye. See ya, Alf,” He exclaimed before shutting the door behind him.

“It was kinda difficult to find a place we could go,” (Y/N) began, “I mean there’s clubs but someone might recognise you, so, I thought we could go somewhere more... private. Only if you’re okay with that,” He added quickly.

“Where is this ‘more private’ place?” Thomas inquired. He didn’t want anyone to see him, but he was also aware that he was going on a date with Alfie Solomon’s brother, so, he was wary.

“There’s a spot near by that’s isolated at night, it’s just over there-“ He pointed to the north-east.

“Alright.” Thomas nodded.

They sat there talking to each other for hours, getting to know one another-jobs, interests, aspirations, family, friends, and everything in between. Both men, for the first time since France, could feel butterflies in there stomach as they slowly inches closer towards one another. Hearts race as lips brush together.

*

The first time the family found out about the relationship was after Arthur saw Thomas and (Y/N) together. They were careless, sharing a moment of passion in Tommy’s office when Arthur walked in to see them with their tongues down each other’s throat. He whipped around to tell the rest of Shelby/Grey clan. Thomas and (Y/N) rushed after them.

Ada knew, and Polly didn’t seem fazed, the boys, however, all looked perplexed.

“Well, what’re gonna say, Tom?” Arthur grumbled, but a wave of worry flushed through his words.

“What do you what me to say, Arthur?” Thomas asked rhetorically before clearing his throat, “everyone, this is (Y/N) Solomons, my boyfriend.” At the mention of ‘Solomons’ the full family-except for Thomas and Ada- went wide eyed, staring at Thomas as though he was an alien.

“Thomas,” Polly began. “Did you say he’s a Solomons?” She asked in disbelief.

“Yes. He’s Alfie’s younger brother, but he’s nothing like him. He has nothing to do with Alfie’s business.” (Y/N)’s eyes darted back and forth between the family members. He was terrified. But he had to stay strong for Tommy, for the man he loved.

“Tommy’s right. I ‘ave nothin’ to do with my brother’s business. I’m nothin’ like him.” He takes a breath. “I love Tommy, I wouldn’t let my brother stop me being with him and I won’t let you. (Y/N) mentally kicked himself for saying that, but then Polly smiled.

“You’re gonna fight the Peaky blinders to be with him, eh?” Polly asked, mirth tracing her words. (Y/N) gulped. Took in a deep breath.

“Yes. I would,” He spoke with his chest. Arthur stepped forward, but Polly grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“I trust him,” She spoke.

“You what?” Arthur spat.

“Call it gypsy intuition, we can trust him. We’ll still keep an eye on him, just to be sure, but for now, we can trust him.” (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief, as Polly smiled at him. Then Thomas decided to speak.

“If any of you have a problem with my relationship, keep it to yourself. Speak of it and I’ll have to shoot you, family or not.” Everyone in that room knew he wasn’t lying and agreed.

“Very good. Back to work then.” Tommy grabbed (Y/N) hand, dragging him upstairs to his old bedroom.

“Tommy,” (Y/N) giggled, “you can’t be serious.” Tommy looked at him, his eyes blown with lust.

“Deadly, my love.” (Y/N) fell back on the bed, Thomas climbing over the top of him, leaning down to capture his lips. As their tongues danced, they tore at each other’s clothes. Tommy kissed his collarbone down to chest before moving back to his lips. (Y/N) lifted up his hips, sliding down his trousers and boxers. Tommy did the same.

Tommy warms up some oil in his hands, before carefully pushing one finger inside of (Y/N), working him open while sloppy kisses were shared between the two.

Eventually, Tommy rubbed a generous amount of oil over his cock before gently rocking into (Y/N). Low groans filled the room as Tommy starts to softly thrust. One hand grabbing ahold of (Y/N)’s cock, jerking it while his hips pick up speed. Lewd slapping noises fill the room, along side pants and moans.

“I love you,” Tommy mumbled breathlessly into (Y/N)’s neck as they both chase their highs.

“I love you too.” (Y/N)’s about to speak again when the coil within him snaps, eyes rolling back as he comes onto his stomach. Tommy isn’t fair behind. A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s crying in ecstasy as he fills (Y/N) up. Using the last of his strength, Tommy carefully pulls out, rolls onto his back, and pulls (Y/N) into his chest.

As they catch their breath, the door opens and in walks the one and only Finn Shelby.

“Tom, I-“ He cuts himself off as he takes in the sight in front of him. “Erm, shit, sorry, Tom,” He stammers, turns, and walks out, slamming the door shut behind him. Tommy turns to (Y/N) and opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by his younger brother bellowing through the house: “Stay outa Tom’s room, he’s got company!”

“For fuck sake,” Tommy groaned.

“We know, Finn,” Ada shouted.

“Tom! You takin’ it or givin’?” John asked. (Y/N) giggled at Tommy’s exasperated face.

“I’m gonna kill my own fucking family. If they don’t shut the fuck up,” Tommy complained.

“Aww, you poor baby,” (Y/N) cooed, placing a kiss on his lips and cuddling into him. “Can’t wait for Hanukkah, slash, Christmas this year. Should be great fun.”

“Oh fuck.”

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinder oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x male reader #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fics #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby x male reader #tommy shelby x male!reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder fic #peaky blinders x male reader #peaky blinders x male!reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders gay

[wavesofinkdrops]

Take Me to the Depths with You

Read on AO3

Fenris/Dorian (Dragon Age), Rated M

Summary: The other eyes him for a moment, green eyes tracing him carefully. The deep timbre of his voice when he speaks takes Dorian by surprise, and quite a bit with interest. “What?” he asks, and it’s barely a question with the way he bares his teeth at the word. The look of intense distaste on his face remains.

Dorian’s smile hasn’t left his lips, but it’s hardly a welcoming one. “I like to get to know the men whose intense gazes linger on me,” he says flippantly, and the way the elf’s eyes narrow, he knows he’s on his first mistake of the evening. Night.

Warnings: Various warnings apply, this list is incomplete. Overall, PTSD/flashbacks, implied alcoholism, past sexual abuse/negative sexual experiences, non-graphical/implied sex, canon-compliant (and canonically implied) violence, internalised homophobia/homophobic language, (brief) racist language, (brief) instance of choking. The fic does have a happy ending, but it comes with a lot of angst before it. A more comprehensive list of tags/warnings is on AO3.

***

The sharp edge to the elf’s glare is entirely for his personal benefit, Dorian knows that much.

The Herald’s Rest is nigh empty at this hour. The single glass of the swill they call wine that Dorian had meant to come fetch to help soothe him into unconsciousness had turned into numerous more than were originally intended. Then again, he had hardly ever cared about his own intentions when it came to drink, and he was not planning on starting anytime soon, either. Cabot had grunted whether he wanted the whole bottle, to make matters easier, but Dorian had waved him off — his progress through the bottles was information he was unwilling to think about. Skyhold knew far too well his penchant as it was without him keeping track of it, too. It was easier to ignore this way. A mask of any kind is mask enough, wear it long enough and you forget your own reflection, and the pretense solidifies. A lesson he’d learned early.

One of the few remaining patrons is the infamous elf Dorian heard ghosted in behind the Champion of Kirkwall into the Inquisition. And the elf’s gaze is intermittently fixed on him, as if prepared for Dorian to attack any minute, otherwise giving the rest of the tavern a wary glance-over, before inevitably landing on him again.

“Yes?” Dorian calls over to him with an unpleasant smile on his lips, realising that perhaps by now the wine’s gotten to his mind and addled his capacity for self-preservation, since he’s calling over an elf that doesn’t look far from the definition of murderous intent . Then again, it had to be something else, he’d only had enough glasses to perhaps justify poor decisions, but he should not yet be at the stage of hoping to die by a provoked accident. At least as far as he was aware.

The elf’s glare sours even further, but he stands and comes over to Dorian’s table, having knocked back the rest of his drink and left the glass behind. There's a determination in the elf's gait that catches Dorian. He can tell the elf is stone-cold sober, and that makes him wonder what exactly a man was doing at the Rest at this hour, yet still somehow sober and visibly intent on staying so? It also meant he'd recently missed the elf's entrance into the Herald's Rest, which was another tally against how much alcohol he'd consumed so far.

The other eyes him for a moment, green eyes tracing him carefully. The deep timbre of his voice when he speaks takes Dorian by surprise, and quite a bit with interest. “What?” he asks, and it’s barely a question with the way he bares his teeth at the word. The look of intense distaste on his face remains.

Dorian’s smile hasn’t left his lips, but it’s hardly a welcoming one. “I like to get to know the men whose intense gazes linger on me,” he says flippantly, and the way the elf’s eyes narrow, he knows he’s on his first mistake of the evening. Night.

“Dorian of House Pavus,” the elf says, and Dorian’s almost amused by the way he’s echoed his own introduction back to him despite having likely heard it second-hand at best. He’s done his research, it’s clear. The question remains, why?

Dorian merely sweeps his hand leisurely in front of him, palm open and conceding this fact, but makes no additional response. It wasn’t a question.

The other’s eyes narrow further. “A magister?” There’s the barest hint of a faded Tevinter accent on him, one that’s been worn off by years of disuse, but it’s been crudely painted over by a desperate imitation of a Fereldan provenance, intended to hide whatever past the Tevinter elf was trying to disown.

Dorian hides his snort into his glass as he takes a sip. He responds after he’s put his glass back down. “At this rate? Hardly.” There’s the barest quirk of the elf’s eyebrow, but Dorian presses on, eager to flip the topic. “Yet I know not a word of who you are, other than perhaps a guard dog for the Champion.”

Something flashes in the elf’s eyes. “Watch your tongue, mage.” If his words had been cold before, these are a threat. Second transgression, clearly.

That really means he should have known better. But instead, he’s trying to drown enough things at the bottom of whatever bottle he’s draining, so common sense can be yet another victim for the day. He sends him a leering grin, eyelashes veiling his eyes. “Is that an invitation, elf?”

It seems that is the third transgression.

The elf gives him a last blazing glare. “If you don’t, I will cut it out .” He leaves, storming out of the Herald’s Rest, the door slamming shut behind him on the blizzard outside.

***

Dorian corners Varric the next day. “Who’s the elf?” is the eloquent conversation opener he provides. He can’t be blamed for lack of flourish for the day, since the headache slamming behind his ears would be enough to take out the Iron Bull.

He’s used to it, and the guilt behind the hangover is enough to keep him on his feet. Something about the vicious cycle of evading his problems and drinking that created an unbreakable trap that ended in guilt.

Varric gives a laugh. “We’ve got a few of those around here, Sparkler, you’ll have to be more specific.”

Dorian almost says with the vallaslin , but realises that with some number of Dalish elves in and around the Inquisition, it barely narrows it down. “The one who came with the Champion.”

“Fenris?” Varric’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Why? What happened?”

Dorian gives him an equal look of astonishment. “And that’s your first assumption, that something happened? You wound me.”

Varric shakes his head. “I think you’re the last person who should be going near that elf. He’s got a chip on his shoulder about mages, specifically Tevinter mages with a link to the Magisterium. Can’t blame him, but I doubt it’d be good for your health.”

Dorian leans against the wall. Getting discouraged from doing something is only an incentive to do it more. A hard habit to break, that one. His curiosity is less than satiated.

“An escaped slave, right? Why hasn’t he returned to his clan then?”

Varric’s confusion rises, before realisation crosses his features and he shakes his head again. “He’s not Dalish, Sparkler. That’s not vallaslin on his face, it’s lyrium.”

There’s a pause as Dorian considers this, and then he understands. A lyrium elf. The Wolf. He’s heard of him, of course, it was scandal enough when the Magisterium had gotten wind of Danarius losing him. Well, it certainly explains the elf’s peculiar behaviour the previous night.

The knowledge leaves with it a leaden taste behind that Dorian swallows around, forced to think again of the horrors endured by those who fell into the Imperium’s hands.

With that, he leaves Varric to the rest of his day, and instead proceeds to turn himself to something more productive than falling to the spiral of dread that comes when he thinks too hard on Tevinter — it’s particularly dreadful wanting to return to a nation he’s less and less sure is possible to fix by the day.

***

It’s by accident Fenris crosses his path again in the library, some days after the exchange Dorian had with Varric. He had decided to avoid the elf, preferring his organs where they are.

He finds him seated on a windowsill with a book in his lap in Dorian’s usual corner of the library, but Dorian hides his startle better than the elf does. Fenris is out of his comfortable curl faster than Dorian can blink.

“What do you want, mage?” he challenges, and it’s obvious he’s concealing how he jumped like a startled halla at the appearance.

Dorian merely turns to a shelf, continuing to look for whichever book he’d come searching for. “I believe I’m here to do what people generally do in libraries — find books, that is.” There’s a moment of silence, before Dorian continues. “If it’s any worth, I acted foolishly when we last spoke. I wasn’t aware of your past.”

Fenris scoffs audibly. “And now you are, and you’ve grown wisdom?”

“People in Skyhold like to talk.” Hardly about Fenris, but the truth of where he got his information mattered little. “I hadn’t realised you were the pet project Danarius advertised across Minrathous.”

“If it’s a deathwish you have, find someone else to satisfy you.”

“Ah, but you make such a good option,” Dorian provides, and the fact the elf is strikingly beautiful and so visibly detrimental to his well-being is clearly making everything worse. It clearly hadn’t been just the wine the other night. He wonders why his words remain so biting, and realises it’s because he’s desperate for a reaction. It would almost be pathetic if it weren’t putting his life on the line whenever he spoke to the elf.

“I have no interest in being a magister’s exotic plaything.” There’s a snarl in Fenris’ voice, and Dorian doesn’t even wonder what the damage he bears behind the words might be — he can figure it out well enough on his own.

It’s hardly even worth correcting, on most fronts. And he still turns to Fenris. “I’ve no interest in having a plaything,” he replies, before retreating with the book he’d come for in his hands.

***

The first time they have to come to terms with one another is when they share their first mission together, by the Inquisitor’s personal request.

The outing itself is uneventful, but in the aftermath of the adrenaline, the lyrium and the magic and the fight, they’re both wound tight. They’re sitting by the fire when the other members of their team are resting, the silence around them makes the fire crack like a whip. Fenris has taken first watch, while Sera and the Inquisitor are already slumbering. Dorian’s made the unwise decision to keep Fenris company.

“Why does the Inquisitor trust you?” Fenris asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dorian doesn’t take his eyes off the flickering flames in front of him. “Are you looking for holes in her reasoning?”

“I’ve had little luck figuring you out.”

Dorian’s lip quirks imperceptibly. Usually he’d be flattered at this kind of attention lavished on him by someone else. “I assure you, one of my talents is incredible shallowness.”

“Your saying that points to the opposite, mage. Why desert Tevinter?”

Dorian remains silent. He knows Fenris is asking to goad him; he’s likely already gotten enough of an answer from the Inquisition. He can feel the agitation in Fenris, vivid despite the way he seems to sit idly.

“Why leave a perfect life behind?”

“Perfection has its costs,” is all Dorian is willing to say, almost grit out, by way of explanation. It’s meaningless words, but he knows Fenris can glean enough from their hollowness itself to know it’s not flippantness but avoidance that masks the truth. But the tension between them doesn’t relent, it only comes to a head. And in a rare case of candour, the pain that slips into the words is true.

Their conversation doesn't progress from there. They’re standing at the edge of a blade that tips in the wrong direction.

Dorian can feel the way the lyrium flares under his hands as they kiss, and he can tell it’s a bad idea the moment Fenris’ teeth dig at his skin just on the side of too much . He doesn’t even want to rectify it — he doesn’t want kind from Fenris.

Everything goes wrong the first time they’re together. Dorian can tell Fenris twitches at the wrong moments, and Dorian’s mind won’t stop drifting to the blood and the darkness and it makes him want to forget even more. It’s desperate, it’s bruising, and it’s everything neither of them need but both of them want.

Dorian’s life has been a series of unhealthy pleasures. He finds safety in the comfort of routine, despite how it may someday kill him — how it very well nearly has. He lets his mind drift away from that thought, to be dealt with only once necessary. Not before that.

***

There are lines neither of them are willing to cross, but anything in-between is within bounds. It’s evidently self-destructive, what they’re doing, but they’re both more than content to let it be that way.

Fenris sometimes accidentally calls him magister in bed. Dorian’s happy to let him use him as he pleases, and in return takes the distraction when he can get it.

He can tell whenever Fenris loses himself in a memory from the way his eyes glaze over or his breath hitches just too much and too wrong, but whenever he tries to retreat he’s abruptly halted. His questions are met with avoidance, his assurances are met with being ignored.

Dorian knows he slips, too, and that Fenris notices it; the sharp way his eyes observe every detail of his movements is too precise to miss it if he falls too fast into submission or looks away at certain movements.

It’s a silent pact they have, to notice these things and pretend they didn’t happen. And yet, they both always proceed to avoid the motions that caused hesitance on the first try. It’s a false sense of uncaring, a pretense of disregard despite the way they’re both far too aware of the other’s weaknesses. It reminds Dorian so much and yet so little of the stints he had in Tevinter — painful. His considerate partners ended up hurting as much as his cruel partners did, if in a vastly different way.

But with Fenris, with the pain comes something else. Dorian’s Andrastian in a way no one else recognises very easily, and most of the time, he sways on his own faith. Fenris manages to bring him to blasphemy and prayers he’s never uttered before. He doesn’t think where he’s learned these skills, and instead he takes pleasure in seeing the way that the control Fenris carefully builds around himself crumbles down around him when Dorian takes his own turn.

Perhaps it’s easy enough to act like nothing’s wrong, if their minds are in turmoil but their every vein and every nerve screams for more like an addiction.

When it’s over, Fenris never spends time in the bed and Dorian can instead see him lace up his leathers and make his way to the balcony, decidedly ignoring the man still in his bed. Dorian’s left to watch as the moon reflects off the still-shining lyrium markings, both of them having long since accepted Dorian’s loss of control over his magic in the throes of it.

Dorian spends some time observing the way the elf sits himself on the balcony railing, a solid gust of wind away from falling several stories down. After enough time spent with the futility of the moment, he gets up and dresses.

Dorian doesn’t try to stay the night. Fenris doesn’t bother to ask him to.

***

There’s a thin, raised scar near the crook of Dorian’s elbow, a narrow line, perhaps three inches long, down the forearm. There’s enough scars on Dorian from being around the Inquisition that it’s easier to ignore, but Fenris recognises it immediately, and he draws every wrong conclusion from it.

“What is this?” The question is rhetorical, and Dorian knows where the conversation is going to go. Everything is written plain as day on Fenris’ face, and he’s almost tempted to let the elf think what he wants of it — after all, whatever it was that they had between themselves was bound to break off someday. The chasm separating them is infinite.

There’s a dangerous grip on his wrist, not that Dorian’s tried to take his hand back. There’s so much fury in Fenris — he has tenderness, too, and that always stings Dorian when he displays that soft side of his. It’s all too foreign, too wrong, and too undeserved for him to allow himself to process it properly. But his anger, the burning rage that’s so easy to trigger in him, that, Dorian can handle.

“What is this?” Fenris repeats, his thin fingers digging into Dorian’s skin. “Since when have you had this?”

Dorian’s gaze doesn’t wander from the scar. He briefly wonders if hearing about the degeneracy of the upper classes of Tevinter would please Fenris, but he figures the former slave has also seen enough to know more about them than Dorian does.

“What happened to the last resort of the weak mind, Pavus?”

It’s peculiar, Dorian thinks, how there’s almost concern in Fenris’ voice. His stare at the scar remains detached, much like the way he’s thrown into the memories of how he got the scar until he looks up at Fenris’ eyes. Their deep green searches his eyes, demanding answers — begging for them.

His resolve shatters. “It’s the reason I left Tevinter,” he says quietly, before finally attempting to snatch his hand back to himself. Fenris lets him.

“What, you performed blood magic and they found out?”

Dorian sits up in the bed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and taking his night robe to drape it over himself.

“Answer the question,” Fenris demands, and Dorian wants nothing more than that. The pain on Fenris’ face is too much for him to bear, but he doesn’t know how to frame the matter. Presentation matters.

“Is that what you still think of me?” Dorian snaps back instead of answering, standing and realising he isn’t sure where he was aiming to go. So he turns to look at Fenris. “Do you truly think I’ve been a blood mage this whole time?” He’s not sure he wants to know the answer, because he knows that if that’s the case, he’s spent months in the wrong bed for all the wrong reasons.

There’s a pause when he can see Fenris considering it for himself, before reaching a conclusion. “Fine. So you’re not a blood mage, and yet miraculously you have a scar on your…”

Dorian looks away when he sees Fenris’ brows furrow. The fact that it’s confusion on his face and not shock like the few others who’d heard of the matter is a bare consolation. Perhaps it’s the sense of kinship with someone who knows what Tevinter is like.

“You were bled?” This time, the words are a question, but he’s hardly asking.

“I’ve perhaps never been quite the scion of the house my parents would have wished, but being an unrelenting invert was too far for my father.” He bites back the venom of the words, but the betrayal stills seeps through them.

Fenris doesn’t reply to that, instead simply gauging Dorian. A second later he crosses the line.

“If you wish, you might stay the night.” It’s an invitation, and it’s left up to him, and the words burn with the memory it brings.

Stay, why don’t you? We’ve nowhere to be.

Dorian can almost smell the mixture of cinnamon and sweat and blood, and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

I’d love to.

“No. I’ll take my leave,” he says with finality.

***

They both know they’re playing a dangerous game they’re bound to lose, when their opponent is time itself. It’s a matter of weeks before they’re both deeper than either of them is willing to admit, and perhaps they’re already there anyway. Dorian knows he’s acting like his feelings haven’t been involved since the first moment they touched, and he’s doing his utmost to pretend like he can break this off any moment he wants.

If he were to guess, he’d guess that Fenris knows this too. The confirmation of it comes when Fenris avoids him like the plague outside of their momentary trysts, and when he’s with him he’s asserting every ounce of dominance his slim body carries — which, from an elf with no small amount of power at his disposition, is not an unimpressive and unattractive prospect. It’s a false sense of distance he’s created between them. Dorian knows this can only lead to one of them getting hurt, but he lets the illusion happen as long as he can.

When they’ve both hid their vulnerabilities, desperate to act as if they never existed, it’s bound to falter. There come two breaking points.

The first is when Dorian accidentally spent the night in Fenris’ bed. He fell asleep after an evening spent well that had grown far too long, and before he realised he’d drifted off. He wakes up with a hand around his throat and the elf’s lyrium shining vividly in the darkness of the night, not even a moon to brighten the sky.

“ Fenris —”

The elf snaps out of it, his markings flickering and soon dim again — yet not completely settled, casting still a blue ember of a glow around him — and he scrambles away from Dorian. Dorian coughs the air back into his lungs, grateful that he’d managed to return to reality quickly enough.

When he looks back at Fenris, the elf is trembling, with his back to Dorian. Dorian sits up, trying to gauge whether he should simply leave or comfort Fenris.

“Fenris,” he says softly, and he knows that his facade has already broken, the mask has already slipped from his face. “Look at me.”

He never gives the elf orders of any kind — he’s wiser than that. He can tell Fenris needs a grounding presence, though, and he can’t provide that as a half-measure, no matter how unafflicted he tries to say. The treacherous conscience that every day begs him to return to Tevinter and fix it is the same one that makes him fold now.

Fenris turns to him, and his eyes are more lost than Dorian’s ever seen them. Dorian debates whether to reach for him, but doesn’t have to consider it as he watches Fenris’ hand itself almost move towards him, so his instincts take over and he twines his fingers between Fenris’.

Dorian can try to pretend he’s still aloof. That he’s not falling. That he won’t let himself be overrun by his feelings, unlike for each and every damned boy he’d ever loved for being kind.

“I don’t wish to speak about it,” Fenris says, and Dorian doesn’t argue. Instead, he just sits, thoughts drifting between the bruises he can feel at his neck.

Fenris’ eyes stray guiltily there too.

After a while of sitting in the bed, Dorian finds himself tugging Fenris back to lie down. The elf complies, and despite his vow to never stay the night, for fear of what might happen after it, Dorian finds himself wrapping his arms around Fenris and holding him close, feeling his breathing at the crook of his neck. There are still tremors running through him, and Dorian can hear the faintest whisper from him just as he’s about to drift back to sleep.

“I can’t go back.”

Dorian can’t be sure what he means, but the feeling is raw, and he can hear in his voice the fear of vulnerability he’s familiar with. He forgets to ask what the words meant, in the morning.

***

The second breaking point comes around with the Inquisitor informing him of a letter. The words of the letter are by now engraved into his mind, and he can’t very well forget it despite his best previous attempts to drink it into the bottom of a glass. He has to know, but he’s terrified of what that might mean.

Fenris doesn’t let him try to weasel a half-answer, instead reading the letter for himself despite Dorian’s protests.

“Are you planning on attending this meeting?” There’s a bitter note to his voice, and it’s something that comes from somewhere personal.

“I have to know,” is the explanation he offers, but Fenris’ expression drains further.

“It’s a trap,” Fenris states.

“You’re very certain of that.”

“Because I’ve been on the same end as you, Dorian.” Fenris hands the letter back to him, and Dorian spends far too much time folding it properly.

“Would you like to share, or shall I have to remain in plain mystery of your ominous warning?”

There’s a moment’s pause as Fenris’ eyes trace the carpet, and he leans nonchalantly against the wall near where Dorian’s lounging in an armchair. “I have a sister. I corresponded with her, after finding out about her. I arranged to meet her.” His eyes rise to meet Dorian’s, finally, and it’s not in the least reassuring. “Upon going to the arranged meeting, Varania was there, and so was Danarius. She’d led him there for her personal gain.”

His voice is pure steel, as if the incident doesn’t affect him, as if it’s someone else’s story he’s retelling. Dorian knows it’s something he’s refused to process. He can’t blame him.

“I don’t trust such a meeting set up by any Magister.”

“Perhaps this retainer is a henchman, hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“Or worse,” Fenris says, gaze drifting to Dorian’s arm.

Dorian has the sudden memory of the way he’d been captured in bed, the bodies of murdered men lining the corridor as he was dragged back to his father’s estate.

Or worse is perhaps not a far-fetched option.

“I have to know.” Fenris doesn’t say anything to that.

Dorian’s almost grateful for it, except when he finds himself ready to leave and Fenris stands beside him, armed to the teeth. No amount of arguing with the elf is going to dissuade him from coming with them, so he doesn’t even try. He would rather Fenris not see the state he’d left his affairs in back in Tevinter, but perhaps it was better he lay all of his cards bare.

Fenris had been right; the meeting is little more than a farce, and it goes just about as well as Dorian had dared expect.

He leaves feeling worse than he had before entering and spends the way back in silence. Fenris doesn’t press, and the Inquisitor — kind enough to accompany them, largely to ascertain neither caused too much damage, and that Dorian would make it out alive — doesn’t seem keen to be the first to break the silence.

They reach Skyhold again, and it’s late, and it’s cold, and Dorian’s ready to collapse and sleep for days on end. The ideal might be to just sleep through the rest of his life, he feels in that moment. But Fenris is at his side even as he makes his way to his own quarters, and Dorian doesn’t question it.

He arrives at his room, and sets his armour and staff aside, as Fenris lays his weapons away.

Neither of them says a word as they silently move to the bed, Dorian far too drained to even attempt to do anything. To his surprise and comfort, Fenris gathers him in his arms. The reflection of this against the nights Dorian holds Fenris through nightmares is vivid. Fenris has been there for him through Dorian’s own nightmares, but this is something else; it follows a pain not provided by his own imagination, but instead by a very harsh reality.

Perhaps it’s what makes the embrace feel that much more real.

***

It’s some days spent in unsettling silence and avoidance later that Fenris comes to his quarters. The days have been miserable, with the weight of everything behind and between them pressing down with urgency. Fenris’ past is intricately woven into every part of him, and Dorian’s past makes him a flighty presence on the best of days. But he’s in his room, standing near the desk when Fenris approaches him until he’s standing just in front of him. Dorian looks at him, realising only now that Fenris is shorter than him. It’s not something he’s ever considered, especially when the elf seems always such a presence with his thorned armour and extravagant greatsword.

“I do not know how to do this. How to be this,” Fenris says, and they’re so close Dorian can feel the tension between them ready to snap.

“Neither do I.” His eyes search Fenris’. What do you want?

What can I give?

“You’re not an easy man to love.”

Dorian’s lip quirks involuntarily, even as the weight of the words sinks into his heart.

Love?

“I believe it’s a burden we both share,” he responds in kind, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s theirs. All of this, only theirs. He dare not hope.

“I can’t be a slave, not to a Tevinter. Not to anyone.”

Dorian can guess the meaning behind the words. The fear, the worry, the terror of falling back into old behaviours.

“I can’t have you, nor let you have me, the way you deserve to love someone.” And Dorian means it, because he’ll never be able to give him a stable relationship, especially when he’s made it clear he aims to return to a land that would have Fenris in irons just as soon as he stepped across the border.

Fenris’ hands come to cup his face and Dorian’s hands fist in Fenris’ tunic. There’s hesitance on both their parts, a question that remains unasked, words that remain unsaid. It almost feels like the world is running out of time.

The kiss is searing, but not as a sudden flashfire. It is a searing that spreads through them in increments, before it takes over everything they feel, making sure that there’s nothing else between them than this feeling and each other.

“If you’ll have me, amatus ,” Dorian whispers when they’re a breath apart, foreheads pressed to each other’s, “I swear to do right by you.”

It’s about as much as he can promise. He can’t promise perfection or unshakeable loyalty. He will only swear to what he can give, and that’s his heart and a vow for love and respect.

Fenris nods almost imperceptibly. “And I, you.”

Dorian knows they’ll both hurt, with the way that their pasts haunt them. But perhaps they can hope to hurt through it, together. It makes nothing right, it doesn’t fix anything.

It’s a promise.

#dorian pavus #fenris #fenrian #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age ii #my writing #fanfic #angst #trauma #angst with a happy ending #heed the warnings please #theyre both damaged #but its slow healing #consensual but probably not safe or sane

[catmaid-john]

Have some soulmate gretchella content courtesy of me (elliott) and em 👀 there was a lot of projecting as far as *ahem* character traits go, hope y’all enjoy!!!!

Summary: Gretchen has grown up with a less than ideal mindset about soulmates. How will they react when they meet their own?

Characters: Gretchen, Pamella, Marion, John, Jessique (mentioned), Vesna (mentioned), Eliza (mentioned)

Pairing(s): queer platonic gretchella

Warnings: subtle(?) homophobia and internalised homophobia, and that may be it but do read with caution as it’s pretty heavy. Let me know if I missed anything!!

Word count: 1,705

~

Gretchen was six when they asked about the red string on their finger.

“Daddy, what’s this?” they asked, holding up their pinky.

John sighed, closing his book he’d been reading in the study. “It’s a sign that you have a soulmate.”

“What’s a soulmate?”

“Someone meant for you. Like Vesna and I. We were soulmates, but didn’t let that define us.”

Gretchen tilted their head to the side. “What’chu mean?”

“Don’t let the world fool you. Everyone says soulmates are the most important part of life. They’re all wrong. You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you. Do you understand?”

Gretchen crossed their arms. “Okay, Daddy. Can we go fly kites today?”

“No, not right now. I have work to do. Maybe later.”

John hadn’t been doing work when Gretchen walked in.

They were ten the first time they saw a pair of soulmates first meet.

They were both boys. The red string that held them together turned white and they hugged.

Could Gretchen’s soulmate be a girl?

“Daddy?” they began as John drove them home from school that day. “I saw two boy soulmates today.”

John’s grip on the steering wheel tightened a bit. “I see.”

“Could my soulmate be a girl?”

“I’m not sure. I should hope not.”

Gretchen furrowed their brows. “How come?”

“Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers. Not to mention they’re prone to… well, frankly, divorce.”

“But you and Mommy divorced.”

John’s grip tightened further, and Gretchen could see the marking on his pinky finger where his string once was.

“Yes, straight soulmates do divorce sometimes, but it’s higher in same sex soulmates.”

“Why? And what's morality?”

“Mortality. What I meant is that same sex soulmates more often die young and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.”

Gretchen was suddenly scared. “What if my soulmate is a girl?”

“Don’t worry about that for now. It doesn’t matter.”

The conversation dissipated from there.

Gretchen was thirteen when they decided they didn’t want a soulmate anymore.

The odds of their soulmate being a girl were far too high. They didn’t want to end up like the dead soulmates their dad was talking about.

They took a pair of scissors and tried cutting their string. The scissors broke and clattered to the ground.

What? This had worked for John when he didn’t want a soulmate anymore. Were they doing it wrong?

They took a knife from the kitchen and sawed it across the string. The knife became ground down and dull.

They tried to untie the string but couldn’t find the knot. This soon became a game of finding the most slippery substance to help them slip out of the string.

Nothing worked. It was hopeless.

There was a chance that Gretchen was doomed to die young and there was nothing they could do about it.

Please let my soulmate be a boy, they thought. I wanna live.

They were seventeen when they stopped caring about what their father thought.

They also started using they/them pronouns alongside their step-sibling, Marion. John had married a woman named Eliza, who he claimed he met at a “gathering” for people who abandoned the soulmate life. Her kids were Marion and Jessique, who Gretchen liked much more than Eliza. Their dad had bad taste.

Gretchen was walking home from school when they felt a tug from their string. They usually felt an occasional pull from it but this was much stronger than that. It just about knocked them off their feet.

Before they could question it further, they were being pulled into the middle of the road. Luckily no one was driving, but Gretchen was still not having any of this today.

“Let me go!” they called uselessly.

It hurt to pull against the string but they really didn’t know what else to do. It was a little while before they suddenly collided with someone and was finally able to stop. Unfortunately the two of them crashed to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger yelped.

Gretchen put a hand to their forehead, which had bumped into the stranger’s. “No, it’s all good. No harm done.”

“I should have paid more attention but my string was pulling me away and I—”

Gretchen finally took a look at the stranger in question. Bright orange hair overtook every feature and it was radiant as the morning sun. Eyes like drops of chocolate, enticingly sweet. She was too perfect.

Gretchen looked down at their string. It was white.

“Hi,” the stranger murmured. “I’m Pamella. I guess we’re—”

Gretchen got up and ran.

They were in tears when they came to terms with what happened.

They stood in the bathroom sobbing in front of the mirror. John’s voice echoed in their head.

Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers.

They shook their head to rid themself of their thoughts. They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Same sex soulmates more often die and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.

No. It was all stigma. It was all lies. Shut up.

You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you.

Shut up!

Gretchen was on the verge of screaming but kept as quiet as possible. They didn’t want to worry their siblings.

They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Even still they couldn’t accept what they have faced.

Gretchen was eighteen when they met their soulmate for a second time.

Perhaps not entirely true, given that they had spotted Pamella at school a few times since their run-in. This, however, was their first proper encounter since Gretchen ran.

“Uh, excuse me!” Pamella’s voice called out, catching Gretchen’s attention. They realised who it was and tried to walk away faster.

Go away, go away, go away—

“Hey!” Pamella caught up with them, standing in front of them with a shy smile. “So… I, uh… wanted to give you time to process everything, but I’ve seen you avoiding me like crazy. I just… wanted to know why? At first I thought maybe you were upset about me knocking you over, but I don’t know. Man, I feel like an asshole.” She chuckled awkwardly.

Gretchen blinked. “Sorry,” they said on instinct. “Uh… it’s not you, it’s me, I gotta go.”

They walked away without another word.

Gretchen was home alone with Marion when they confessed to what had been going on.

“Wow,” Marion murmured. “I mean, obviously I knew you’d met your soulmate, I just thought… well, I don’t know. Why’d you run?”

Gretchen buried their face in their hands. “It’s complicated.”

“C’mon, talk to me, bestie.”

Gretchen sighed and sat up. “My dad scared me as a kid telling me I was gonna die if my soulmate was a girl.”

Marion paused, their expression never changing. “The fuck?”

“He was talking about, like, mortality rates of gay soulmates and divorce and shit, so… ten year old me took it to heart for some reason.”

“Huh. So when you realised your soulmate is a girl… aw, Gretch.”

“I know, it’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. I promise you, it’s not stupid. Your dad is a piece of shit.”

Gretchen snorted. “Yup, sounds right.”

“Don’t let him ruin your experience with your soulmate. I promise you, if you let your parent try to run your life, it’ll just hurt. Trust me.”

Gretchen glanced over at Marion. They couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Mari.”

“You gonna go after your soulmate?”

“I might have to.”

The next day at school, Gretchen was the one to approach Pamella.

“Hi,” they murmured shyly.

“Hey,” Pamella replied with hesitation.

“I, uh… I know I’ve been a dick… but… I wanna… try this whole thing again. You deserve better from your… soulmate.”

Pamella was clearly shocked, and Gretchen gave her time to process what they had said. She took a deep breath and finally spoke.

“Hi. I’m Pamella. He/him pronouns.”

Gretchen blinked. That was unexpected.

“Oh. Uh, Gretchen. They/them pronouns.”

Pamella smiled. “Nice to meet you, Gretchen. I’m sure you’re a bit surprised that I’m… ya know, trans. I’m not out to my parents, so that makes it a bit hard to transition, not to mention I’m scared to get my hair cut.”

“I mean, you don’t need a haircut to be trans, though. Being trans makes you trans. I mean, I’m still feminine and nonbinary as fuck, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Pamella blushed. “Thanks. I’m glad you get it.”

Gretchen grinned. Maybe having a soulmate wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Gretchen and Pam were twenty when they decided to label themselves as platonic soulmates.

They weren’t romantically involved and they were okay with that. Gretchen was aromantic and Pam didn’t care about relationships. He really just wanted to be with Gretchen in a platonic way. They were all he needed.

They had tried to make it work as romantic soulmates, which didn’t last long.

The one thing they continued to do in their platonic relationship was cuddle.

Gretchen laid on top of Pam, who laid on his back and ran his hand up and down their back. Gretchen was having a difficult day and all they needed was cuddles on the couch with a movie on the TV.

Gretchen looked up at Pam, his new haircut still ravishing in their eyes. Gretchen had been tempted to shave their head but decided against it since they liked how they dyed it. Black on one side, their natural brown on the other.

“Pam?” they murmured.

Pam glanced down at them. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re soulmates because we just understand each other so much?”

Pam smiled. “I think we’re soulmates because we complete each other in a way no one else gets.”

Gretchen smiled back. They laid their head back down and closed their eyes, Pam running a hand through their hair.

“I’m glad we crashed into each other.”

Pam chuckled. “Me too, love.”

@nachosforfree

#me? projecting being aro onto gretchen? and projecting being trans onto pam? #its more likely than you think #half heart #half heart fanfiction #gretchen freasa #john freasa #pamella casson #marion enneson

[paradoxicalpatton]

I’m Not In Love

Title: I’m Not in Love Summary: “He thinks about them owning a dog, a golden retriever to be exact. A girl, they’d call her Honey. The Captain would fight for a regular name such as Charlotte, but Pat would convince him that Honey is much more fitting. ‘It matches her fur!’ he’d say. The Captain would immediately give in. He thinks about what it would feel like to be the object of Pat's affections. To be completely and utterly enamoured by someone so full of love." The Captain and Pat's friendship is put on the line. Pairings: Patcap (The Captain/Pat) Content Warnings: Very mild period typical internalised homophobia Chapter: 2 Word Count: 1744 Read on: Archive of Our Own  Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“I can’t believe we’ve just sat here for five hours and have done absolutely nothing.”

The setting sun cast a warm golden glow on the land as it began to slowly cross the horizon, the trees and bushes gently swaying to and fro, adding a soft, cool breeze to the scene. The lake had mirrored the sunset, the transition from sky to land now almost impossible to distinguish if it weren’t for small ripples from the wind delicately distorting the light over the water.

The once vivid greens and browns of the foliage among the ground and surrounding the lake had now been muted by the vibrant yellows and oranges that were now reflecting from the sun and onto the water, a deep rich blue quickly chasing away the final remnants of the day completely from the vast stretching sky above.

Pat and the Captain had been sitting by the lake since late that afternoon, having finally escaped from the chaos that is Button house. It was nice. Peaceful. For once they could relax without being interrupted by Julian with a story of some sex-capde he had been in followed by Fanny’s usual disgusted complaints, or by Thomas demanding that one of them tell Kitty to leave him alone while he comes up with the next great piece of literature.

Alison had come to realise just how much she depended on the two of them to keep the other ghosts in order, so she had organised an afternoon full of activities the ghosts would enjoy and participate in so Pat and the Captain could finally have some time to themselves.

Sitting underneath the large tree, Pat watched the grass move with the wind, longing to reach a hand out and run it across the ground so that he could feel it between his fingers. It made him think back to when he was alive. Carol had always complained about their front garden, how the weeds in the flower beds were overgrown and that the bushes were always untrimmed. He had always wanted to fix it for her, but he was usually preoccupied with his scout duties, and when he did find time to think about it he simply couldn’t come up with anything.

He owed it to his son Daley, however, when the young boy had asked him if they could plant flowers for his Mummy’s birthday, that way she didn’t have to throw them out after they died. So when Carol left to spend a week at her mothers before her birthday, Pat and Daley drove out to the garden store and bought everything they needed to fix it up for her.

Forget-me-nots, marigolds, daffodils, and pansies now filled the once weed-infested flower beds. The bushes had been trimmed, the trees cut, and the lawn mown. A small wooden bench had even been built and placed at the end of the garden. The smile on Daley’s face as him and his father admired their hard work from the bench was brighter than anything Pat had ever seen. They were so proud.

Pat wished he could smell the rich soil at this moment. Wished he could run his hands along the grass, listen to the sound of the fallen dead leaves crunch as he walked over them. He wished he could relive the feeling of pulling his son close to him in a tight hug after planting the final flower.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crickets waking up for the evening, as the last remaining rays of sunlight dropped below the horizon.

----------

Not wanting to return to Button house just yet, Pat directed his gaze at the man next to him. The Captain had been leant against the tree since they had got there that afternoon, the two occasionally making small talk before the Captain closed his eyes in an attempt to have the most peaceful nap of his entire existence. He’d woken not long ago, just in time to watch the sun fall and the moon rise.

For a moment after he’d woken up, the Captain had almost forgotten he was dead. At that moment, there was nothing but him, Pat, and the ground they were sat on. The tranquil smile that graced Pat’s face was more than enough to set the Captain’s heart racing. He tried to imagine what it would’ve been like, had the two of them been alive at the same time where loving the same gender was legal.

They’d move to the countryside, he decided. They’d have a large backyard with a vegetable garden by the white picket fence, maybe an apple tree, maybe even a chicken or two. The Captain had always found the thought of fresh eggs in the morning very appealing, as well as the structure provided from owning and caring for the animals.

He thinks about them owning a dog, a golden retriever to be exact. A girl, they’d call her Honey. The Captain would fight for a regular name such as Charlotte, but Pat would convince him that Honey is much more fitting. ‘It matches her fur!’ he’d say. The Captain would immediately give in.

He thinks about what it would feel like to be the object of Pat's affections. To be completely and utterly enamoured by someone so full of love.

It’s wrong, thinking about Pat that way. Imagining the two of them living in domestic bliss, running away and starting their lives all over again together. The Captain isn’t entirely sure why it’s wrong though. He was there for Sam and Claire’s wedding, he knows it’s not illegal to love the same gender anymore. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t fully accepted it himself.

He was so used to hiding away his feelings, burying them deep inside of him so that no one would ever see. So that no one would ever know he was defective. If he didn’t get close to anybody, he couldn’t betray them if they ever found out the truth.

Maybe he thought it was wrong because he truly believed that Pat would never love someone like him. He was cold, a stickler for rules and order. Not to mention that Pat was married while he was alive, to a woman no less. It was clear the scoutmaster was as straight as a pole.

It wouldn’t do any good getting his hopes up. Instead, the Captain would ignore the longing inside of him, he didn’t want to ruin what was quite possibly his only friendship in the entire house.

“Yes, well we have Alison to thank for that. Maybe we could convince her to turn this into a monthly thing. I could do with some time away from that lot every now and then.”

The Captain turned his attention toward Pat as he replied, hoping the younger ghost would be in favour of the idea. With a small nod of agreeance, Pat stood up and offered a hand to the Captain to avoid the struggle of getting up. The two of them slowly made their way back to Button house, the sounds of the other ghosts getting increasingly louder the closer they got. Hoping to stay undetected by the others, Pat and the Captain quietly snuck into the room where Alison and the other ghosts were playing some type of game.

They had almost gotten away with it without anyone noticing until Fanny got insulted at something Julian had said and jumped up to storm away. Seeing the Captain and Pat at the back of the room, she immediately took her complaint to them, the two male ghosts now preparing themselves to be thrown back into the chaos with everyone beginning to talk at once.

Alison made an attempt to calm the other ghosts down and distract them once more but was unsuccessful. It wasn’t until Pat raised his voice that everyone finally quietened down, pointing a finger at Robin asking him to start.

“Where you two go? We all play game, you not here.”

Before either of them had a chance to respond, Julian cut in with a thought that sent the ghosts into disarray once more.

“Probably off somewhere doing the old ‘horizontal tango’ if you ask me.”

“Now listen here, man! I won’t take any of this bum rap from someone of the likes of you. I would never do anything of the sort, and especially not with a brown-noser such as Patrick!”

The room stilled. The sudden silence wasn’t because of the Captain’s outburst, however, instead, the other ghosts looked past him at the short scout leader.

Without saying a word, Pat turned around and walked out, making his way to the dilapidated fountain outside the front door. He wasn’t really sure why what the Captain said had upset him. It hurt, to be completely honest.

Sitting by the edge of the fountain, Pat traced the overgrown vines with his eyes and ignored the presence slowly approaching him from behind.

“Patrick, I’m terribly sorry our friendship was misconstrued in such a way, I understand how embarrassing it was.”

“Embarrassed? You really think I’m upset because Julian’s comment embarrassed me?”

“Of course. Is… is that not the reason you’re upset?”

“No! Julian always says inappropriate things, it was what you said that hurt me.”

The Captain’s hands tightened around his swagger stick as Pat spoke, something in the younger man's tone made him want to embrace the scout leader.

“I don’t understand how, I was simply disproving Julian’s abhorrent comment.”

“That’s how! He said something about us together in passing and you acted like it was the worst possible thing in the world! Am I really that revolting Captain?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Patrick!”

“Seriously? Can’t you see that I’m angry at you? I’m upset! And you... you don’t even care!”

“How dare you, of course I care! But you’re acting like a child, it’s time to grow up-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the Captain was shoved back, his feet tripping over one another causing him to fall to the ground. Looking up, Pat stood above him, the man’s face a mixture of regret and anger. The Captain watched as Pat turned around, his hands clenched by his sides.

“Cap, you’re a broken man, haunted by the choices you've made. I really thought we were becoming good friends. I’m sorry if I interpreted our relationship the wrong way.”

“Pat…”

“Don’t. Please, just don’t Cap. Sorry I pushed you.”

#bbc ghosts #six idiots #the captain #pat butcher #patcap #my fic #ghosts season 2 #ghosts bbc #ben willbond #jim howick

[vesperione]

It Started With A Whisper

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901156

Wordcount: 3,060

Relationship: Xander Lee/John McNamara

Tags: The Apotheosis, transition from non infected to infected, songfic, phone call, angst, crying, last words, flashback.

Full fic below 

A flash of golden hair and two hands slamming down on the table, the face of pure rage over the bustling in the room. “I said SILENCE!” He roared, and his agents seemed to get the idea. They silenced themselves and looked down to their table, except one, who was a physicist and remained looking up. The general didn’t stop. “We are in a situation where the spores could spread to become a pandemic worldwide, ending humanity as we know it! We know thanks to Lieutenant Lee that the origin of these mutating spores came from the meteor that crashed into The Starlight Theatre last night during the touring production of Mamma Mia! We know these spores in particular alter DNA to mimic someone in a musical, but once you get infected, you’re dead. We must not panic and remain safe!” He said and glared at each individual soldier, his eyes lingering on the Lieutenant’s face beside him. It was worried, sad, fearful. He looked away first, and the general took a breath.

“Any remaining survivors must be shot dead, once in the head, once in the heart. We don’t know who is infected. The plan after is that we incinerate the corpses of the dead, destroy any last spores with fire and blow the meteor to shreds. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices rang from around the table.

“I wish for Lieutenant Lee to stay behind and as for the rest of you? You are required to head straight to your stations and do not move once you are there! PEIP will be in lockdown once everyone is in the correct position. Dismissed.”

With that, the shuffle of chairs against faded carpet, the soldiers left, aside from two. The Lieutenant remained sitting down, his hands putting his head in their hold, while John, pull a chair beside him, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Dear, a lot of people have died, and it is our duty to make a clean sweep of the island. We can’t allow any others to die today.”

“But if you go out there, there’s a higher possibility that you will die. You can’t go out; you won’t make it back.”

“Xander, listen.” John looked down to his husband, his hands placed in a firm clasp. “We are strong. We are McNamara’s.”

“No, you’re a McNamara, we got married illegally.”

“Regardless, you’re my husband, and you’re the strongest man I know. The McNamara’s are the strongest family in Hatchetfield, we’ll be fine.”

“No, we won’t. Things are indefinitely gonna change whether you make it back or not.” John looked to the Lieutenant, just in time to see a tear drop on to the glass table. He bit his lip and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll make it back.”

“Stop lying to yourself, John.” Xander said, his voice shaking as tears continued to fall down his face. “If you go, you’re gonna die. You know that, deep down.” He looked up to face his husband. “The agents we’ve already sent out have died, you know that, I know that, Ben knows that, and you’re gonna send yourself into the epicentre?”

“Xander, you know it’s not like that.” John looked at him, trying to reason, but he shook his head.

“Speaking from a Lieutenant’s point of view, if our general dies, the entire precinct goes down with it. I’m aware Colonel Schaffer is prepared to take over PEIP at any sudden chance you go, but PEIP will never be the same. It won’t be General McNamara’s precinct anymore. Sure, you’ll get your place on the PEIP Hall of Commemoration, but there’ll be a new leader, new rules.”

“I know but-“

“And as your husband, who the fuck am I going to come home to every night aside from the cats?” He looked up at John and took in the slight grey thunderbolt streaks that clashed with his stormy blue skies of irises, creating the picture-perfect storm on what could have been a blank canvas. It was a while before John broke his eyes away and stood up. “No, John! You tell me! You can’t run from this! You can’t run from the pain you’re gonna cause others if you step out that door!”

“It’s hard enough as it is for me to have to leave you, but as the general of this god-forsaken branch, it’s my duty to protect the remaining agents while they stay in the precinct and calculate a cure! You will be one of those to go into your lab and get working!”

“Yet I can’t go with you?!”

“You don’t have the current training!”

“Stop trying to fucking protect me, John! I’ve been here since 2007 and you treat me like a Private most of the time! I’m a 35-year-old Lieutenant with a degree in theoretical physics and I’m fully trained as a medic! I have the training, so why are you sacrificing your life instead of mine?!”

“Because if I have to watch you die, then what’s the point of trying to go on, Xander?! I’d be alive, yes, but I’d only be surviving! If I had to watch you die, then I wouldn’t be able to call myself a married man and the person who kept me alive wouldn’t be there to comfort me. I’d be down, I’d be so down, and I’d end up dead anyway! I’d prefer it if you stayed here, under my orders, and for you to stop being so damn stubborn with me!”

“Me? Stubborn?!” Xander laughed tearfully and looked at him. “You’re the stubborn one! You run from your problems instead of solving them, you bask in your insecurities instead of delving upon them, you-“ But he was cut off by the familiar feeling of John’s semi-chapped lips against his own. John’s hands were cupping his face, and John was standing on his toes to kiss him better. Xander couldn’t help but hold his waist as he kissed him back. He didn’t want to be the one to pull away, and he didn’t think John would want to be the person either, so he could feel the kiss deepening. Eventually, John’s face left his, but his forehead was pressed to the physicist’s. The soft thumb attached to John’s hand wiped away the bead of salt that threatened to roll down Xander’s face.

“Hey, baby,” John started, his eyes closed and his voice quiet. “I’ll be home by ten. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Xander said, a soft whisper in his voice as John moved away from his husband, not before he dropped his wedding and engagement rings in Xander’s fist. Before Xander could process it, he was gone.

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

(a JEIP is a peip officiated jeep)

John started up the JEIP, hearing Xander’s music playing through the speaker. He immediately switched it off. He’d rather not be reminded of his husband as he accepted his fate.

His husband, his smart, incredible, the pure definition of ‘tall, dark and handsome,’ Xander James Lee. His mind was like no others, and John had hired him on the spot. They started dating within a year and got married two years after. They’d both cried when they’d gotten home that night. It had been illegal, and they both knew that, but they had each other. He was John’s new addiction, aside from the cigarettes, and Xander became the only thing he thought about ever. When Xander spoke, sometimes it sounded like what John was being given was fiction, but it was only because John’s mind was struggling to piece together the creative aspects of Xander and the complicated phrases he uttered. It didn’t matter. John was a sorry sucker for the smart, and he found that this kind of thing happened all the time. He was an easy target to gain a crush on someone, but he rarely acted upon it. If Xander hadn’t kissed John in his office to begin with, he wouldn’t be married to the smartest guy in town.

He shook his head. Thinking of Xander would make everyone worse. He started driving deeper into the centre of Hatchetfield to reach Hatchetfield High, the school where he suspected there’d be a few survivors, if any. The grey haze around him soon became a paler blue. He locked his doors and windows, but he feared it was too late.

It started with a whisper. It was only the smallest thing, but it was in the back of John’s mind, and he knew he was gone.

He doesn’t love you.

“ No, John, ignore it.”

And you don’t love him.

“ Of course you do, you’re married to him, don’t cave in.”

That was why you kissed her when you were drunk.

“John, you only kissed her when you were seventeen, it was internalised homophobia and we didn’t know Xander back then.”

But you liked the way she felt against your lips.

“No. I didn’t.”

And then she made your lips hurt.

“Shut up.” The voice was getting louder, and it was being sung to him.

But we can hear the chit chat, so take us to your love shack-

He hit the breaks and he jerked forward, panting at the memory. It was internalised homophobia, and nothing came out of it. He was left in silence until he heard the voice sing again.

Mama’s always gotta back track, when everybody talks back.

He growled and got out the car, lighting a cigarette. He was in Hatchetfield High, or near enough to it. He held his gun in his hand. He had to go and find any survivors and eliminate them.

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

Eventually he did. He found a tall, flimsy man with brunette hair who looked a lot like Xander aside from the pale skin. John grabbed a chair as the man became conscious, groaning with pain. The voice had gone away, and the general was having an internal debate as to whether he was truly infected, or whether his mind was convincing him he was. Either way, he was beginning to get scared. He’d broken his promise to his husband, he’d lost the fight.

“Sorry for the knock in the head, son. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Paul…Matthews.” The guy said, and John smiled reassuringly.

“Good evening, Paul. My name is General John McNamara of the United States Military, special unit P-E-I-P, we call it PEIP.” He said as he took a seat, facing the taller man.

“PEIP? I’ve never heard of you guys.” It was clear he was confused, which was the correct tactic. No citizen outside of PEIP should know what the army base was. Even if a member had a husband or wife or kids who didn’t work there, they were strictly forbidden from knowing what PEIP was. If information got leaked, it would traumatise a lot of people. They had to be careful who they hired and had to ensure they remained to have top secrecy 24:7. It wasn’t fair on the innocent citizens for them to be placed in a situation like that, and immediately begin to panic. He’d watched it happen when his mentor, Wilbur Cross, was unintentionally too loud when discussing a case they had to work on. Needless to say, that woman lost her life that day before she could spread rumours.

John shook his head at the faint memory, quick to come up with a joke to make the situation more light-hearted and less threatening as he’d been taught during his training.

“And you never will, not a peep.” He grinned, but Paul’s fearful, brown eyes remained wide and dilated. John sighed and took another drag on the cigarette. “That was a joke, son.” Only then did the song begin to start up again.

Hey, honey, you could be my drug. You could be my new prescription.

John froze as Paul started asking questions about the scene. The song was back, and he was losing hope about himself. John answered the questions the best he could, explaining how they dealt with crises of a certain nature and such. Then he bought up the helicopter, and Paul perked up. When John stood up with Paul’s phone in his hand, he went to throw it until he heard the song again.

Too much could be an overdose, all this trash talk make me itchin’.

John swallowed and decided to only throw it a short distance, beginning to get scared. Him and Paul continued to make short conversation about his crush, Emma, and where to go. Once Paul ran out the building, John headed back over to the phone. The lock screen was nothing special, and he didn’t know the passcode, but he was able to swipe on to the emergency phone call section. He had Xander’s phone number memorised, so he typed it in, sitting against a mat on the floor, leaning against the wall as the song continued in his head.

Oh my, my. Everybody talks, everybody talks. Everybody talks, too much.  

John felt tears prick his eyes, grateful when he heard the static of the other end picking up.

“Xander Lee, theoretical physicist speaking, how may I help?”

“Hey, baby.” John said, unable to stop a smile from forming as it always did when he heard Xander’s voice.

“John! Shit! Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear.” That was a lie. The song was getting stronger and he was starting to feel a faint rhythm in his veins. He was getting scared. Maybe he wasn’t making it home…

“You sound panicked.”

“I’m ringing to ensure everything’s running smoothly back at HQ. Is it?”

“As smooth as it can be.” Xander’s sigh was heavy, pulling his entire weight down with him. John found himself sinking further down into the ground at the sound. “But I’m okay. I’m in my lab and I haven’t let anybody in. I’m quarantined.”

“Good.” John said, moving his beret more over his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I understand. You’re doing what you have to do. You’re the general, I should have trusted you before-“

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t play the blame game now. It’s okay and I’ve forgiven you, understand?”

“Understood, John.”

“Good.” John said, clutching the edge of the mat as the beat began to become something similar to an annoying itch. He began to tap out the beat on to the carpet beside him with his other hand, trying to keep fighting the virus that consumed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I can’t wait for you to come home, I know you’ll be able to do it.”

That seemed to trigger something inside of John, and something slipped out of his mouth that wasn’t supposed to. “I never thought I’d live to see the day, when everybody’s words got in the way.” He was still speaking, but the beat was as clear as day. Luckily, he heard Xander laugh over the phone. His soft laugh that was rare to hear. John was the only one who heard it lately.

“You’re still annoyed at me for trying to stop you from leaving earlier, aren’t you?” Another laugh followed. “I knew you would, I’m not surprised.”

John couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to tell Xander the truth. He was gone, and he was falling quicker. He had to say goodbye while he still could. “Hey sugar, show me all your love. All you’re giving me is friction.”

“John?” The question was meek and scared, the tone of the call immediately fading. John never used that pet name. Something was wrong. He knew John wouldn’t have rang otherwise.

“Hey, sugar, what you gotta say?” Another way to reveal John wasn’t himself anymore. He hardly abbreviated his words and was unable to keep himself fighting the infection. He felt weak, and he knew he was. He fought back for consciousness as tears formed more in his eyes. What was worse was Xander’s panicked voice.

“John, what’s going on?!” The frantic clicking of keys on the other end of the line signalled to John that Xander was trying to access John’s medical information stored in John’s watch. He took a breath. He had to admit to Xander the truth.

“I’m sorry, Xander. But it started with a whisper…” He was quiet himself, trying to prevent sobs.

“No! Don’t you dare, John! Don’t you dare!”

“And it felt like the first time I kissed you, when you made my lips hurt.”

“You are staying alive! I’m working on a cure, I nearly have it finished! I’ll get you back!”

“And suddenly, I could hear a conjoined group of voices in Hatchetfield all singing in one harmony…there was a lot of chit chat regarding a situation that turned into a song… and I’m sorry.”

“John! You’re lying!”

“Take me to your love shack.” He slipped up and heard a sob come from the other line, or maybe it was a scream. “I’m sorry, Xander, I’m trying to fight but it’s heard when everybody talks back, everybody talks, everybody talks-“

“John, keep fighting-“

“Everybody talks, everybody talks.”

“I’ve almost gotten the cure!”

“Everybody talks, everybody talks back….I’m sorry, I love you.”

“John, fucking fight!”

“Say it back, Xander! I love you!”

“I-I love you too!”

The phone hung up and John threw it until it smashed on the ground, letting the warmth fill his body as his own thoughts became clouded with the hives own.

“It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed him.” A smirk formed on John’s face as he looked to the damaged glass he’d left on the floor. He pulled himself up, like a puppet controlled by a master. “Everybody talks, everybody talks back.” He took a final glance at the room before he walked in the same beat as the new song beginning to form. It was close enough to eleven o’clock at night. There was a guy with a moustache he didn’t recognise, but he was talking about the military and his American pride. John would have scoffed, but this wasn’t John. He drew his gun and shot him, grabbing the man’s shoulder. Xander didn’t exist to the hive. Xander was weak. Xander could be thrown away. John couldn’t. His smile was stained blue as he looked to the bleeding man.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but American’s should fit a mould…”

#mcnamander #john mcnamara #xander lee #general john mcnamara #fanfic #ao3 #peiphq shenanigans #the apotheosis

[aelysalthea]

Oh Nicky

Summary: Nicky hit his wall. An insurmountable wall. Germany had been a chance taken without thought and he didn't have any real hopes of it fixing anything. How could he fix the unfixable?

He'd never been more wrong in his life, and never happier for it.

Or, the moment Nicky met Erik and the life that was saved.

Rating: T

Warnings: Internalised homophobia, hurt/comfort

A voice resounded on loudspeaker overhead. It seemed to echo throughout the cavernous building, rebounding off vinyl floors and white walls. Had Nicky been consciously aware of the words it uttered, he might have whimpered at how utterly different the foreign, accented words were from the stilted syllables of his classroom.

Nicky didn't think such a thing. He didn't think much of anything as he drew his gaze around the sea of people clamouring through arrivals. It was difficult to think when he felt so much.

Fear was prevailing. Fear that bordered on terror. Alone, practically helpless, and fearful. A little miserable and self-pitying too, for though the flight had stopped over in North Carolina, it was a full twelve hours and counting from Columbia to Munich and he hadn't slept a wink in that time.

Scared. Exhausted. Kicking himself, most definitely, because what in God's name was he doing? When his teacher had posed the suggestion to him, Nicky had been hesitant because there was no way. Not a chance in any lifetime would his parents allow him to travel abroad for exchange.

But they had. And he did. And now Nicky questioned just what the hell he was doing so far from his home city, from his friends, from people that spoke a language he could fluently understand and respond to in kind. Why had fleeing the country sounded like such a good idea in the first place?

Because it can't be worse than home.

The thought filtered through the groggy mess in Nicky's head, the only thing tangible amidst the field of fear and misery. Grasping the strap of his rucksack with one hand, Nicky squeezed until the trembling all but vanished. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be so far away from everyone he knew, but he wanted to be home even less. Nicky just didn't want. Period. So what was he doing standing in arrivals at Munich airports?

The voice from the overhead loudspeaker echoed once more, and though Nicky didn't listen any more this time, it nudged him into awareness slightly less hazy than that which had frozen him in place. Blinking, shaking himself with what was more of a shiver than a confident shedding of his nervousness, he squeezed his luggage bag with his other hand and continued through the gate with stuttering steps.

There were people everywhere. So many people and all of them unfamiliar. Shoulders tucked to his ears in what had little to do with the pervasive autumnal chill, Nicky darting his gaze over heads and beanies, hats and coats with collars flipped up around bare chins. Wheelie bags squeaked on the floor, nearly drowned out by the click of heels and the slap of business shoes.

Nicky tucked his own luggage a little closer to himself, picking up his pace to skitter towards the side of the flowing tide of arrivals. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I…? The thought played on incessant repeat in his head, increasingly pitched and nearly hysterical. The panicked edge only spiked when, once more, the overhead voice relayed instructions in clipped words.

This time Nicky listened. Or he tried to. Gaze raised aimlessly in pointless search of the source of that voice, he strained his ears to make out the words where they were almost swallowed by the playback echo of the sound system. Flight number… what had it been? The speaker relayed it too quickly, words too skewed, for him to make out. Some flight, and going to – to Amsterdam, was it? He thought it was. He hoped it was. For some reason, that Nicky could make out the specifics of the words – "flight something to Amsterdam is delayed" – felt integrally important. Even more important in contrast to the words he couldn't understand at all.

"Fucking hell," Nicky croaked, his words low and quaking. "What am I even doing?"

He was good at German, wasn't he? Or at least his teacher said he was. Good enough that he could make his fumbling way through an airport to pickup, surely. Except that with each passing second, each step Nicky had taken from the tarmac, he'd become less confident in the skills his teacher so heartily believed he had.

What if he got lost? What if he never made it out of the airport? What if he couldn't find the family who was supposed to pick him up, never made contact, and had to somehow scramble his way back onto a plane and take the long haul back to Columbia? Back to his family and the drudgery of school. Back to what felt like literal hell and the daily exhausting grind of it, the pain of waking up every single day and feeling like shit, the fear that someone, anyone, would ask him about… would talk to him about…

Nicky knew his lip trembled, but he couldn't help it. He knew that his hold on his luggage and rucksack was too tight, that he might even develop lasting marks on his fingers with how tightly he was grasping the strap. He knew that he probably looked more than a little pathetic – a teenage boy, most likely distinctly American, standing like a lost puppy in the middle of the airport. And yet all Nicky could do was stare across the cavernous expanse of the yawning gate, the lights overhead becoming increasingly bright and painful as his eyes blurred, and struggle to breathe.

Just to breathe. Just to breathe. Just to… why bother? What was the point when he couldn't even -?

"Nicholas? Are you Nicholas Hemmick?"

The words struck Nicky like a much-appreciated slap in the face. It wasn't only because it was his name – his name? Someone that knew his name? – but because the words were in English. Accented and nearly as skewed as the overhead speakers, but definitely English.

Blinking rapidly in an unsuccessful attempt to clear his blurry gaze, Nicky spun towards the sound of the voice. It took him a moment to make out the trio of people wading through the crowd, barely a handful of steps away but previously unnoticed. It took another second for Nicky to recognise the faces of the man and woman leading the way; vaguely familiar faces only, but even vagueness was a welcomed lifeline in an instant of utter petrification.

Nicky had only seen the one picture of Mr. and Mrs. Klose, but he could recognise them. Thank God he could recognise them.

The blurriness wouldn't quite leave his eyes even as Nicky took a hesitant step towards the Kloses. He nodded rapidly, opened his mouth to answer their question, then resorted to more feeble nodding when words failed him.

Mrs. Klose offered him a smile as she drew before him. The slight lines on her face were more pronounced than they'd been in the picture, but it added to rather than detracted from the softness of her expression. "Welcome," she said, warmth thickening her words. "We weren't sure of the exact time your flight would be in."

"So we got here early," Mr. Klose added, drawing alongside her. "Probably a little too early."

"There is no such thing as being too early for a flight."

"If you are the one going onto the flight, yes. Picking up, though? Not quite so much."

"I would rather be early than late."

"Yes, yes. Of course."

Nicky glanced between them, switching back and forth as they spoke. The words weren't nearly as fragmented as he'd feared, as his teacher has warned him he might have to work his way through, and like their greeting, he grasped the comprehensiveness like a sacred gift.

"You're –" Nicky attempted, then paused as the word came out as little more than a strangled warble. Swallowing, cringing as the pair blinked at him expectantly and hoping to God his cheeks weren't as red as they felt, he cleared his throat. "You're Mr. and Mrs. Klose?"

"You seem so scared!" Mrs. Klose said, a smile tinged with sympathy rearranging her entire face. "There is no need to be, really."

"And you don't have to be so formal with us," Mr. Klose said. "Just Fred for me, and Leonie –"

"Yes, of course, you can call me Leonie." She smiled with that same sympathy radiating from her in waves. Nicky could feel it as though it physically struck him.

Suddenly it was too much to maintain his composure even. Or perhaps too much again, for Nicky wasn't sure if he'd been anything close to composed since he'd left the States. Not since he'd clambered out of his car at the airport and glanced over his shoulder at his parents. Not since he'd turned away from his mother as she gnawed her thumbnail, forehead crinkled into thick lines, or cringed at his father's parting words.

"Take the time to get yourself together, son. Use this as a learning experience, the Lord lighting your way, and you will flourish."

Too often of late his father's words lashed him like a whip with their unspoken undertones. Too often they echoed in Nicky's head on constant repeat, demanding and reprimanding even when the words themselves were anything but. How it could persist half a world away Nicky didn't know, but all of it, everything – the distance, the time, the exhaustion, and the flinch that afflicted him with every bad passing thought – became too much to handle.

Nicky's lip trembled and he couldn't make it stop. His eyes blurred once more and his throat clogged, a thickness in his chest tightening his lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe this time. Through the blurriness he could see Leonie's face flicker into confusion then concern, saw Fred reach a hand towards him but not to touch.

"I'm sorry," Nicky said, forcing the words out in German with a hint of solemn respect as he took a step backwards. He raised a hand to scrub at his eyes but it did little good in relieving him of his tears. "I'm really tired. S-sorry. This is all just a little…"

"Overwhelming?"

Through his fingers, Nicky turned towards the third member of his host family's party. He'd barely noticed the other man – the other boy, even, for he couldn't be much older than Nicky himself. Blinking rapidly, Nicky got an impression of tallness, of dark hair and a crooked smile, before the boy was at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It must be overwhelming," the boy said, his English just as accented as Leonie's and Fred's. "You're very brave to have come out here all by yourself, you know."

Nicky couldn't really see the other boy. He didn't know who he was, even if he could suspect, hadn't seen a picture of him and didn't even know his name. But at that moment, with the weight of a new country, a kindly family, and a gentle stranger heaped upon him, the few seams that still held him together dissolved.

How Nicky ended up sobbing helplessly in the boy's arms he didn't know. Why that boy didn't withdraw, didn't stiffen and flinch as Nicky dropped his forehead onto his shoulder, he didn't know either. The boy seemed instead inclined towards quite the opposite: a patting hand became a half embrace that all but held Nicky up as he sagged against him.

It was embarrassing. Terribly embarrassing, or it would have been if Nicky cared to acknowledge and feel the passing thought. It was also terribly wrong and would draw eyes and suspicion in the worst way possible. Another passing thought shivered to consider what his father would say, how his mother would shrivel at the sight, because God, if he was ever seen to do such a thing – but no. The larger part of Nicky could barely even consider his sinful actions as anything but the desperate clinging that they were.

"Hey, hey, you're alright, Nicholas," the boy said, rhythmically rubbing at his back with his gentle hands. "It's alright. You're alright."

Blubbering as he was, his eyes overflowing and chest hitching, it was all Nicky could do to utter a mumbled, "It's Nicky."

"Nicky," the boy echoed, and Nicky felt rather than saw him nod. "Okay. Hello, Nicky. My name is Erik. It's wonderful to meet you."

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face. He wasn't quite sure what was so wonderful about it all, but he supposed this boy – this Erik – might be right. If only for the moment, leaning against someone who seemed more than capable of holding him up for as long as he needed felt pretty damn good.

***

"Calling all passengers to Flight 432 to Stockholm, that's all passengers on Flight 432 to Stockholm. Boarding will begin…"

Nicky barely heard the overhead voice in its cool, clinical tone as it echoed overhead. He barely heard the hubbub of voices that surrounded him either – the bubbly chatter of a young family, the crisp words of a man on his phone, or the burst of laughter from a woman as she hastened through the arrivals gate with her arm raised in a wave.

Nicky didn't hear and barely saw any of it. Hands gripping the strap of his backpack and luggage handle respectively, he hastened with as much speed as he could from the gate of his incoming flight. There were people everywhere, ducking and weaving past and around him, and Nicky found himself dodging with every ounce of the skill he'd gained from years on an exy court.

When the foyer opened into the wide, cavernous room of pick-ups, he increased his speed further. The echoing voices changed in tone, rising into the air like hot steam to weave between the beams of sunlight raining through the windows lining the roof. That light scattered spotlights in golden yellow onto the heads below and cast beaming faces and excited greetings into stark relief.

Nicky didn't really see any of that either - or he did, but only in the one instance that it mattered. Only of the one face that mattered.

"Erik!"

Abandoning his luggage, backpack slipping from his shoulders, Nicky bolted through the last of the sea of people. He all but flew the final steps, sweeping around a woman as she crossed before him, and leaped at Erik with arms wide.

Erik caught him. In a grasp as strong and tight as Nicky's own, he caught and held him against himself in a fierce embrace. Nicky's Erik, his shining, vibrant boyfriend, the one person who could have stood out like a beacon in the tumultuous mix of people clogging the airport. Nicky would swear that, like a lodestone, he could have felt Erik wherever he was and become magnetised with fierce compulsion. It was impossible to resist.

Clinging to him, Nicky pressed his face briefly into Erik's shoulder, arms squeezing around his neck to hold him just a little closer. It had been months. Months. Why in God's name had he left it so long? How could anything – exy, his studies, even his family – be more important than this? In that moment, Nicky couldn't fathom it, and when he drew away from Erik slightly, just enough to catch his eye and the spread of his beautiful smile, every possible reason and excuse dissolved into pointlessness.

Nicky caught Erik's face in his hands and captured his lips in a kiss. One kiss, then another one, because one simply wasn't enough. Erik's arms tightened around him and held him close, so close it was almost hard to breathe, and Nicky didn't think he'd ever felt happier to give up his breath in his life.

"Welcome back," Erik managed in the split second that Nicky released his lips before stealing them again.

"Mm."

"I missed you," Erik murmured against his lips.

Nicky squeezed his eyes closed briefly. "Mm-hm. Me too." He punctuated it with another kiss.

"How was the flight?"

"Long."

"How's your cousins?"

"Crazy as ever."

"And how are you?"

Nicky opened his eyes. As close as he was he could make out the fragments of green in Erik's eyes, the hair-thin lines around them that stood as testament to his loveable smiles and incessant good humour. Nicky drew his thumbs across them briefly as he cradled Erik's face. When he smiled, Erik met his joy with his own smile just as wide, and those little lines crinkled into wonderful delight.

"Right now, I'm absolutely perfect," Nicky said, and released Erik's face only long enough to crush him in an embrace once more. Erik tightened his arms around him in return, all but lifting Nicky off his feet. Though for a moment Nicky really couldn't breathe, he didn't want to be let go for an instant. Not even a little.

He would have to get his luggage before it got lost somewhere, but that could wait. They would be visiting Leonie and Fred that day, but that was later and could wait too. Nicky would have to call home, call Aaron and send an acknowledging text that he was still alive to Andrew, but all of that, every one of his duties, could wait.

Later. Later and after… this. Cradled against Erik, exactly where he would always want to be, Nicky couldn't bring himself to care about anything else in the world.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading. Nicky is such a sweetheart who’s been through so much and I wish more was written about him and Erik. I’d love to hear your thoughts if you have a second on my AO3 post!

#aftg #the foxhole court #fanfiction #nicky hemmick #erik klose #pre-canon #canon-compliant #hurt/comfort #internalised homophobia #mentions of emotional abuse

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Post War, Rent Boy!Draco, Down-And-Out!Draco, Grimmauld Place, House magic, Portraits, First Times, Antagonism, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Out, Pining, Angst, UST, Kissing, Frotting, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Intergluteal Sex, Anal Sex, Homophobic Slurs And Attitudes, Internalised Homophobia, Derogatory Attitudes To Sex Workers, Some Mentions Of Sadistic Violence, Brief Thoughts Of Sexual Activity With A Sleeping Partner, Rough Sex, Brief Mention Of Harry With A Woman (Past Relationship), Mentions Of Dubious Consent In Connection With Sex Work, Community: hd_erised, Inexperienced Harry, Top Harry Potter, House Elves, Masturbation Summary:

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Excerpt:

It wasn't too late to turn this around. “I know what you’re thinking,” Harry said. He couldn’t look Malfoy in the eye and lie to him, so he looked at the ground. “But I just didn’t want you to go with that man. He’s a sleazy bastard.”

 He glanced up at Malfoy’s face and said quickly, “I’ll pay you, of course. Whatever he was going to pay. I’ll pay double – just don’t go with him. Not now, or in the future.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened and he spoke low and dangerous. “This shit? Again? I’ve told you, I’ll never take your money unless I can give you something in return. You’ve rescued me enough times.”

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Malfoy put a hand up. “Stay away from me, Potter,” he hissed. “If you don’t want what I have to offer…” His face twisted in an expression that looked painful. “Well, plenty of other people do.” He spat the words out viciously as he turned to go back into the bar. “Don’t worry, I can easily find those two again and tell them that you changed your mind.”

Harry’s hand shot out before he was aware of what he was doing, and connected with Malfoy’s wrist. “No.” He held Malfoy there, feeling him struggle, the knobs of bone at Malfoy’s wrist shifting under his fingers. Harry didn’t let go, and after a bit Malfoy stopped trying to pull away.

Part of him still knew it was wrong, but it was hopeless trying to resist. Harry couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control this need for Malfoy, so deep and fierce that he felt it in his bones. He did want it, more than he would have believed possible. He wanted it so much he ached for it, every nerve in his body singing the same desperate note of longing.

“OK,” Harry said, and it felt like a dive into madness, but there was nothing he could do. It had been inevitable from the moment Harry had seen him standing on Duke Street.

Malfoy’s face was still hard and closed. “OK what, Potter? OK, I go back to the club, find those wizards and let them fuck me every which way?”

“No,” Harry said firmly. He was still clutching Malfoy by the wrist, and they were both breathing hard. “No. I want you,” Harry told him, and now he had said it the first time, it felt like he might not be able to stop saying it. “I want you so fucking much,” he said, and Malfoy just looked at him, with an expression Harry couldn’t fathom. He stared at Harry, his features especially haughty in the washed out light, and Harry still holding onto Malfoy like he might get away. Then Malfoy grabbed Harry by the back of the neck with his free hand and kissed him, so deep, so demanding, that it felt almost savage.

Harry closed his eyes and gave way to the overpowering need pounding in his blood. The last ragged shreds of his scruples fell away, and he let them go without hesitation. He was going to do this. That’s all there was to it, and nothing was going to stop him.

“If you want me,” Malfoy said, breaking away for a moment, and Harry gave a short nod. “You’d better take me home and have me.”

Harry’s head was so full of Malfoy’s lush taste, the wiry strength of his body, he didn’t know how he found any space in there to focus on Apparating, but he managed to Side-Along the two of them to the hallway of Grimmauld Place, where the house greeted them with wild eruptions of flowers bursting forth from the ceiling.

They moved towards the stairs, Harry still trying to kiss Malfoy as he worked to remove Malfoy’s jacket and his own shoes. They stumbled at the bottom of the stairs and ended up half-sitting, half-lying across them, with Harry on top of Malfoy, tugging at Malfoy’s shirt and moaning at the expanse of smooth warm skin he found beneath. Luxurious, thick carpet sprang up beneath them, cushioning the treads of the stairs, and a riot of hothouse perfume drifted down from the flowered ceiling.

“Wow. Your house really wants us to fuck,” Malfoy panted, sliding his palms over the muscles of Harry’s thighs. Harry couldn’t even get Malfoy’s jacket off and he wanted – needed – to feel Malfoy pressed beneath him like this with nothing in the way.

“Uhhh,” Harry groaned, getting unsteadily to his feet and pulling Malfoy up the stairs. “Want you.” They reached the first floor.

“Too many stairs,” Malfoy said.

“I know,” Harry tried to kiss him again, greedy and desperate, but this time it was Malfoy who yanked Harry towards the stairs. “Bed. This way.”

“Uh– it’s been raining in my room recently,” Harry told him as they reached the second floor landing. “Keep going.”

“Shit,” Malfoy pushed Harry up against the wall and worked open a couple of buttons on his shirt, his fingers smooth and sure against Harry’s skin. “Can’t wait.” Petals fluttered down on their heads from above, Malfoy’s breath hot on Harry’s jaw. “We could do it here,” Malfoy told him.

“Oh hell, yes,” Harry said, as Malfoy undid another button, and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s collarbone which pulled a breathless sound from Harry. “Oh fuck, yes, Draco.”

Malfoy obliged, snicking another button free. “You’re going to come so hard,” he told Harry, then he palmed the bulge of Harry’s cock, slow and dirty, and Harry let out a sound he had never heard himself make before, a groan of longing and desperation, mixed with amazement.

“Oh, god,” he gasped out, but before Malfoy could do it again, a blood-curdling sound came from above.

“Filth!” it shrieked.

“No,” Harry moaned. “Not now.” Not now, when Malfoy’s hands were working at Harry’s belt, and Harry’s fingers were sliding over the warm skin of Malfoy’s back. But it was too late. They had woken Walburga.

“Degenerate acts!” she screeched from the fourth floor. “Foul debauchery!”

#You open always (petal by petal) #Author: birdsofshore #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #Fir rec #drarry fanfiction #drarry smut #drarry squad #Draco Malfoy #Rentboy!Draco #Harry Potter #Ao3 bookmark fic rec no 189 #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks #My recs

[carryonbazpitch]

Autoboyography

My replies aren’t working very well so I’m going to reply using a post if that’s alright @yuzuling:  “How is the bi rep in this book? I'm really interested because i'm pan and ex-mormon but i read a review on goodreads that said the bi rep was pretty crap and never addressed. That even his boyfriend just assumes he's gay the whole time. What were your feelings?” As somebody who identifies as sexually fluid and has struggled between the labels bisexual and pansexual, my opinion of the representation in this book is overwhelmingly that it was done accurately and respectfully. They actually use the word bisexual, instead of shying away from it like a lot of media outlets tend to do. And, at one point, when a friend of the protagonist call’s him gay, he corrects them by saying “bi.” I definitely can’t speak for how others feel on the representation, but not gonna lie, I felt pretty represented. Tanner, the protagonist, spoke about relationships he’s had with both men and women, and the book doesn’t shy away from topics like sex. His boyfriend knew he was bisexual, 100% has been told multiple times and if you would like I can even quote the first time it’s mentioned to him. Trust me when I say when Tanner comes out to people he lets them know that he’s bisexual. He even addresses bi-erasure in the book which was mind-blowing to see. I just want to put it out there that I felt heard and represented, that I think this book did an amazing job. Can I speak for the Mormon representation? No. I’m not Mormon and I don’t know anybody who is. So my understanding going into the book was very limited to begin with. I actually learnt a lot whilst reading Autoboyography, it definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things that I never knew about. I’ve read reviews that say the Mormon aspect was pretty accurate, and that the details of the religion were also accurate. I also want to put out there that the Mormon religion isn’t demonised in this book. Unlike so many religious-based LGBTQIA+ books, Autoboyography actually highlights the good that can come from the church, and all the good things that can come from religion. Yes you do see the side that somewhat mocks the religion and is anti-Mormon, but thats largely on Tanner’s side, and he comes to realise that his bias clouds his judgement greatly. It was amazing to see him learn and grow and develop his opinions around his experiences throughout the book. I can speak for the honest depiction of internalised-homophobia though as an extension of religious teachings. The struggles and internal hardships that Sebastian had to go through was difficult to read but entirely necessary. Were there plot points that could’ve been avoided? Probably, it’s YA, there’s always going to be stereotypes and unnecessary scenes. But I honestly do believe that this book could save lives. There’s a point in this book where you can step back and think “this is just another love story” except that its not, except I’ve never read anything like this before. I could gush about this book forever and will probably end up making a lot of posts about it, but I hope that I got my feelings across correctly. I also hope that if you do pick this book up, it represents you like it represented me.   Note: Everything stated in here is my own opinion. If anyone would like to message me regarding any of this and would like to share their own opinions, you’re more than welcome :) I love hearing multiple perspectives and this book definitely doesn’t shy away from difficult topics. 

#autoboyography #long post #bisexuality #bisexual #lgbtqia+ #lgbt+ #my opinion #maddy rambles