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wraithdance · 1 month ago

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The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use

Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, mention of sick parent (cancer), rich mom trope hehe, no Kyle in this one, but!! we are finally at the precipice of the shenanigans and he will be in every chapter here on! extra long as I am begging for forgiveness :')

Chapter Four (2/2): There's a Conspiracy Afoot

An hour before noon finds you outside of Aimee Montclair’s office shifting your weight from side to side.

Your knees crack a little still from the strain you put on them earlier in the morning. Truthfully, you’d love nothing more than to scuttle away to safety, but Estelle has already threatened to take back her gift to you for your upcoming birthday should your cowardice win out.

If she hadn’t dropped unsubtle hints of there being a slight chance she’d purchased something off your ‘sell your kidney for’ wish-list, you wouldn’t bother.

(The wench knew you hated sensible gifts with a vehemence. No one liked socks or toasters upon becoming a year closer to death, no matter what they say.)

Still, you really hated coming to see Aimee. More than you hated squirrels or little inconveniences like getting crumbs in intimate crevices or staining your brand new white shirt.

(You are unfortunately prone to both.)

The chiffon blouse you wore to work today is no match for the lobby’s frigid temperatures of the top floor space. You’d been standing around for the better part of fifteen minutes just staring at the abstract photos and pristine gray decor, finding yourself slowly slipping into melancholy.

Who would purposely design such a large space to be so depressing?

You’d been thinking to yourself that you were right to change your furniture out, angry doorman be damned. Nothing good came out of monochrome.

Aimee's assistant clicks away at his keyboard, occasionally cutting his eyes at you from behind circular frames that are too small for his angular face. The wire spectacles cut into the bridge of his nose, deepening the lines already present from his scowl.

“You may have a seat, she’ll let me know when she’s ready for you.” The reedy voiced man says drolly.

When you startle at his sudden speech he waves his free hand towards the uninviting bench by Aimee’s office doors. His tone makes you feel like a pest, and there’s nothing more that you hate than feeling like a huge inconvenience for just existing.

When he huffs for the umpteenth time your eye twitches.

In another setting you’d say something vitriolic about his nasty tone, but you do somewhat fear the wrath of your employer. So, you instead shuffle quietly to the pointed out bench with clenched fists at your side.

Several more silent minutes go by when you can’t stand the quiet a second longer, lest you run screaming from the building. Plastering on a smile you shift on the hard chaise, that even the cushion of your ass is no match for, to bend forward and catch the eye of the assistant.

“Has she said anything yet?” you ask hopefully.

He rolls his eyes and gives you a noncommittal answer that mostly sounds like a negative. Unperturbed, you try at least to make conversation.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look like a British Stanley Tucci?”

Aimee’s assistant stops fiddling with his phone to openly glare at you. “What?”

You try to smile wider hoping to disarm him but he glares deep enough for wrinkles to appear on his shiny bald head. Oh dear, he was much too young for that to be happening, maybe you should recommend your dermatologist's number…

“I asked if anyone told you that you look like a British Stanley Tu-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. “Aimee is ready for you now.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. “You just said she wasn’t available yet. Like literally less than 30 seconds ago, you didn’t even check anything, I saw you!”

Aimee’s assistant shrugs and tells you that you can go in before ignoring you for his desktop monitor. You can’t help the sneer that overtakes your face or the audible suck of your teeth.

You had just been lying to be polite!

There was no way Stanley Tucci could ever be compared to such a rude, sniveling little man in an awful tweed vest! With an angry pep to your step you utter out a snide thank you and swing open Aimee’s door with a little more force than necessary.

Aimee looks up from her calendar with pursed lips that freezes you in your steps.

You stare at each other for several moments before Aimee’s thin brow quirks. She sets aside her pen and glasses to lean back in her seat, motioning you closer.

“Close the door and have a seat, please.”

Hesitantly, you do as she asks and inch to the proffered seat, perching as demurely on the edge as you can manage. One never knew when they needed to make a run for it and all. You smile as brightly as you can waiting for her to speak.

Aimee watches you with shrewd eyes and sighs. “I heard from my son regarding your choice to end the engagement.”

Your smile drops immediately and your face contorts into a scowl against your will. Leave it to Hugo Montclair to be such a bloody coward to cheat then lie to his mommy!

“What do you mean by my choice?!” you squawk indignantly.

You’re unable to stop yourself from opening your mouth to say awful things about her pride and joy, but Aimee lifts a hand up to stop you. Your jaw closes with an audible click but you’re sure steam is visibly coming out of your ears.

Forget the doorman or Kyle, your ex fiance would be receiving the punch in the face he deserved, witnesses be damned! (Blue knew the procedures should you end up on the wrong side of the law after all.)

Despite the dark energy you’re channeling, Aimee continues on.

“I’m aware of my son’s… dalliance with the Sinclair girl and I plan to have a discussion with his father to address it.”

“Oh?” Primly you sniff and roll your shoulder’s back as you attempt to hide your smirk.

The Montclair patriarch was a point of contention for Hugo, as his father was immeasurably scarier than his wife and far less doting of Hugo’s… laissez faire lifestyle. You wish you could be a fly on the wall when he learns of his son’s indiscretions, it would probably lead to the elder Frenchman's notorious temper.

You’d been subjected to more than one ruined dinner party eating hor d'oeuvres and watching chaos reign down as the graying man shouted down the rooftops and threw furniture out of dissatisfaction.

You’re snickering under your breath evilly, it’s what the posh little cretin deserved! When Aimee frowns you plaster back on a smile.

“Thank you, Aimee. I was truly heartbroken about Hugo’s decision. It means a lot to me that you’ll speak to him about the harm he caused, truly.” placing a hand over your heart you give her your best doe eyed look.

(it’s one you’d practiced in the mirror a few times to get the cafeteria lady who had a crush on you to give you an extra portion whenever you stopped by to see mum.)

Aimee leans farther back into her chair and taps her finger against the armrest, studying the hand you clasp over your bosom in thought.

“Good, I want you to continue the engagement.”

A record scratches in your mind because surely you’ve misheard. You cock your head in her direction, clasping your hand behind your ear and squint. “Hm, I’m sorry ma’am, what was that?”

Aimee sighs and stands, circling around the ornate desk. You scramble as much as your weight back against the armchair when she stops to lean on her desk in front of you. She clasps her hands in front of her, the tennis bracelet worth more than your flat glints in the natural light.

“I encouraged you to pursue my son for a reason.” She gives you a knowing look that shuts you up before you could mention you had not pursued her son in the least.

Hugo had just been aggressively thrusted onto you at every company party or assignment until you gave in. You hadn’t even been proposed to! Hugo had just shown up to work with an engagement ring the size of your forehead after a year.

You’d been quietly reeling from shock (and some horror) as his mother watched on while he slid the shiny rock over your knuckles. You’d barely gotten your wits about you before she was asking for updates on your latest case.

“I need someone who can keep my son in line and not run this firm into the ground when I step down. Despite your shortcomings and background, I still believe you are the best person for the job.” She waits for your uncontrollable range of expressions to settle before gesturing for you to speak your mind.

“Sorry ma’am, uh a few teensy little questions; Are you saying you plan on me taking over when you leave? Actually, what exactly do you mean despite my shortcomings and background? And honestly it’s probably more important, but did Hugo not tell you that Maddie is pregnant?”

You’re aware you sound a bit belligerent near the end and you know it’s a bit unbecoming but, seriously?

Aimee’s expressions darkens in a way that makes your throat constrict. The older woman’s scowl could rival your mother’s. If she looked down her nose a bit more and started insulting your wardrobe in a thick accent you might curl up into a ball and cry.

“I’m very aware of the girl’s unfortunate condition, I plan to see to it that it’s dealt with. As for your other questions, you've worked for me for the last what? Four years, yes?”

You nod cautiously, still rolling around her comment ‘of dealing with Maddie’s condition.’ You’re concerned and in the midst of questioning her further when she lifts a hand once more with a sharp look.

“Siggy, I am aware you lied on your CV when you interviewed with us. About your attendance at Cambridge.”

A glacial chill dances down your spine like a cold knife, serrated and quick. You're straightening in the chair quickly and putting on your best poker face. “Respectfully ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t lie about attending Cambridge.”

Aimee chuckles, giving you a pitying look that says ‘silly girl.’ Frankly, it makes you a bit murderous.

“I never said that you didn’t attend, I know you did. I spoke to several of your professors before I hired you.” she waves her hand in the air “A Mr. Anyadike had nothing but excellent things to say about you.”

Your jaw clenches tight enough you can feel your molars squeak.

“Yes, he was my ethics and public law professor.” you grind your teeth, “ I’m sorry, he wasn’t on my references, is it usual to personally speak to all of your employees' educators or was that something you just did for me?”

She spears you with an unimpressed look, but you don’t back down, holding your own against her crystalline gaze. Eventually, Aimee sighs deeply, looking off to the floor to ceiling windows catty-corner from where you’re seated.

“I was impressed by your academic resume. Despite growing up in one of the worst council houses in Peckham, you still managed to make quite the name for yourself. I pulled some favors with a colleague and I sat in on a few of your mock trials. I knew you’d be a damn good lawyer with the right tools.” she pauses to look at you, you suppose expecting to see you preening at the compliment.

Maybe if several things about her statement hadn’t made you sick to your stomach, you would have the mind to perk up like a bloody peacock.

You were not ashamed of where you'd grown up, but you’d taken painstaking measures to avoid the added prejudices of being from the ‘wrong’ neighborhood while in Uni. Your parents' split had devastated the already limited finances and for a while your mothers family had refused to provide any support.

It’s why the decision to relocate you and your mother to housing she could maintain on her humble nursing budget was made, while your father went back to America to find guaranteed work.

You’d gone as far as to adopt the accent and speech habits of your upper echelon uni peers, so far from the lilt that gave away your first generation and South London origins. It helped with some of the ostracization in your undergrad and continued to determine the treatment you experienced in and out of court.

But how the hell could Aimee know about any of that?

As if hearing your spiraling thoughts Aimee continues, pacing slowly. “When you interviewed with us you said you’d completed your studies at Cambridge, but that wasn’t exactly true was it?” The question is rhetorical and she doesn’t wait for your reply.

“You took a leave of absence when your mother was diagnosed with cancer. Didn’t complete the degree until months after you started with us.”

She gives you a look, daring you to lie.

Your breathing is stuttered as you try to think straight, chest heaving in mounting panic and palms sweating. She was right. You had frantically taken the final courses needed for your degree well into your employment.

At the time, you’d thought it was a blessing how flexible the hours were for the position. You were ecstatic that you would be able to finish the stupid Master of Law programme online. You’d taken the train back and forth from London for your final mock trials, using the time to study and work on litigation notes.

Aimee’s smug expression tells you she knew that already.

“If you were aware that I didn’t finish the course, why did you hire me?” you ask finally, with a shaky breath. Aimee scoffs.

“Because you desperately needed the income to support the procedures not covered in your mother’s NHS treatment and I needed a protege willing to do whatever it took to win.” She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Like, you were ridiculous to feel blindsided by the fact the career you cried and wrote increasingly desperate manifestations for, happened because you were a means to an end willing to play dirty.

Aimee, the viper she’d shown herself to be, does not seem to care for your emotional spiral though, not in the least bit.

“You’re a slacker, Siggy and needlessly dramatic. But you’re a brilliant lawyer and if you spend the time you use to shirk your duties on important things, you can go far. So yes, to answer your first question, I am thinking of your future here and I’d like it if I could continue to do so. ” Aimee says, pushing the knife in deeper.

For once in your life you're silent.

You realize you’re stuck in place, ripping into the sides of the chair with the sharp tips of your stiletto manicure as the reality of the situation slams into you like heavy pillars. You’d thought you were covering your arse, but that was obviously not the case. You’re scared to know just how much Aimee knew about you and just how she gained the information.

Somehow through it all you can’t help but think this was all fucking Hugo’s fault.

While you sit stunned there’s a knock on Aimee’s door. She voices out a blase call to enter. Her assistant pops his head in letting her know her next appointment was waiting. Aimee nods and turns to you considering your stone form. She pats the fleshy upper portion of your arm and makes her way back behind her desk.

“You may leave.” she looks up, “Think about what I said, Hugo and the girl should not be an issue for much longer and I can guarantee continuing the engagement will be worth your while.”

You don’t reply, instead rising on wobbling legs. Numbly you shuffle to the door, barely cognizant of your surroundings, much less focused on the irritating look on Aimee’s assistant's face. Aimee calls your name and you turn.

“Keep what we talked about under wraps, will you? I expect to hear an answer from you soon.”

Her lithe form standing like a sentry behind her desk in her white pantsuit is the last thing you see before the door is closed in your face.

Le Misa’s is far less crowded than you expected it to be on a sunny afternoon.

If you weren’t still reeling from your conversation with Aimee you think you’d be a little more concerned. You’re absently stirring the straw in your water cup waiting for Estelle to arrive after her meeting.

Your eye had twitched earlier reading the odd text Vi sent you, vaguely stating she couldn’t make yet another hen session. You were a bit worried about her so you make a mental note to check in later.

Under your lashes you observe the woman across the table from you. Blue had arrived promptly at the time you’d discussed and had been peeved per usual at your tardiness (which really could exactly three minutes late count towards tardiness?)

She’d grumbled about having time to grade papers that you teased her for. Blue had still been incensed and taken up scrolling on her phone, ignoring you petulantly.

With a sigh you try your best to capture her attention. “Blue dear, am I dramatic?”

She doesn’t look up. “Yes.”

Your mouth twists into a firm line unamused by the quick response from the younger south asian woman.

“Rude! Why are you saying yes so quickly?”

Blue’s eyes meet yours across your usual table at Le Misa’s. She takes one long look at you and snorts before continuing to tap her straw against her water glass like a drum. You kick her under the table which earns you a dark scowl. You return it with one of your own, using your best friends forever telepathy to threaten her if she refused to answer you.

Blue rolls her eyes.

“I said yes because you are dramatic, my beautifully dramatic friend.”

The gasp of offense you let out is on the theatrical side. Blue still seems perfectly content to ignore you though, continuing to tap away as if she were performing one handed.

You kiss your teeth. What a rude little thing!

Lying in wait you snatch her impromptu drum stick with lightning quick reflexes. When she moves to take it back you twist to the side to keep it out of reach, close to your bosom. Blue looks considerate like she may very well attempt to wrestle you for it before she seems to change her mind.

She mumbles something about needing to burn her hands if she accidentally copped a feel that makes you frown.

“What kind of friend are you, you were supposed to say no! Take it back.”

The criminally well dressed woman flaps her hands your way perusing whatever thing has her attention on her phone. “Well I didn’t and I don’t think you’re allowed to force my hand like that to change my mind.”

You stick your tongue at her childishly and she returns the gesture with equal amounts of flare.

“Take it back, there’s no way I’m dramatic!”

Blue sighs and uncrosses her legs to shift her form towards you. With softened eyes she reaches across the table to grasp your hands in hers. Then pinches the backs of them hard enough to make you yelp aloud, the sound garners the attention of the tables around you.

“Siggy, my love I’ve known you since I was five. You are so needlessly dramatic and always have been. Do you not remember that time you asked me to give you your last rites because you thought you were dying of cholera?”

Still rubbing the flesh of your aching hands you hiss at her. “Yes you ninny! Because you didn’t tell me Micah Elliot's disgusting dog drank out of my fizzy drink when I wasn’t looking!”

Blue looks like she wants to argue but shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘touche’.

“Fine, I’ll give you that, but you are still dramatic! I mean you’re hellbent on having a child because your mother wants one from you. If that’s not dramatic, I don't know what is.”

“Blue,” you start carefully, “I’m going to stab you with this fork, I said that out of a moment of frustration why would you bring that up!”

Blue gives you a look down her nose that you loathe because she’s not even wearing glasses so the effect isn’t the same, it’s just judgmental!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that you traitor, you’re being very cruel in my time of need.”

“Says the dramatic.” Blue mumbles under her breath.

You are about to boo the sister of your heart, (or commit a petty act of retaliation) when Estelle shows up harried and knocking into things with her gargantuan tote.

You wait for the chronically ultra late girl (and whatever body she carts around in her bag) to settle and give Blue a cheery greeting before asking her the same question.

“Stells,” you start with a saccharine smile, “am I dramatic?”

“Am I French?” She says dryly in return. Blue outright bursts into chuckles that she tries to cover with her hand.

You frown in confusion, “What? Yes you’re French what does-“

Estelle pretends to be preoccupied with the menu avoiding your eyes. It clicks only seconds after.

“Estelle! Don’t be rude, you know I’m terrible at discerning sarcasm!”

Much like Blue, Estelle gives you a shrug in return and instead preoccupies herself with picking imperceptible lint off her blouse.

You clear your throat loudly, forcing the attention of your traitorous friends back on you with irritation.

“If I were to die you both would be very sorry for being cruel to me, you know.”

Your heartless friends groan in unison that starts you all bickering. Having enough of the teasing from the clucking hens you call your friends, you rap the table quickly to interrupt. You get accusations of being a rude harlot but at least they take the hint and quiet down some.

“Enough, let’s get this show on the road. I need to tell you what happened with Hugo. I swear the universe has it out for me!”

Blue huffs and quirks her mouth in disgust in the familiar way that's always made you a bit envious, you’ve yet to master the gesture, only managing to look like you were having a stroke.

“You mean the chihuahua?” Blue scoffs, “I’m dying to hear more about this farce of a wedding you insist on putting on. Have you even tried to get out of this like you said you would?”

You give her your best deadpan expression, whilst Estelle looks off like she’s thinking of floating away into the clouds to avoid the impeding argument.

“You haven’t been listening to the messages I sent in the group-chat have you?”

Blue doesn’t look even a little contrite. “Of course not, Siggy. You send multiple texts a day when I'm with students. I figured you’d tell me the next time you came over. What?”

Blue looks at the face you make and Estelle’s sinking into her chair.

“Hugo and I are not together any longer,” you drawl out flatly “and I think his mother just threatened my career to be honest.”

That gets a jolt of shock out of both ladies and normally you would feel like a queen holding court as you presented the shocking escapades of your life over tea.

But instead as you detail what was the last four days of your life and the questionable meeting from this morning you feel a bit ill.

Blue had threatened to slap Maddie for you which you thought was very kind considering she was such a goodie two shoes, but she'd gone quiet when you told her of Maddie's pregnancy.

Then quieter when you'd recapped the visit with your mother and Aimee's revelation. Estelle is the first to break her silence when you’ve finally finished recapping the entire bloody scenario.

“Babe, are you serious? Did she really say she’d fire you if you didn’t get back on with Hugo?”

Your snort is unladylike and whip quick, “She of course didn’t outright say it but she might as well have slapped down a marriage certificate for me to sign in her office. She told me not to say a single word but you know…”

“You’re terrible with secrets.” Estelle nods in understanding.

You scowl at her because yes, but that wasn’t what you were going to say. Blue understands what you mean to say and sits back in her chair with crossed arms and eyes closed nearly in slits.

“It’s against your nature to be bullied or quiet about unfairness. What do you plan to do?”

The air goes out of you as you sigh and glance around. You really needed a sweet before you even thought about considering your very limited options. Showing how well she knows you, Blue hums and stands from the table.

“I’m going to pop into the inside to see if we can get some service.”

Estelle blinks and looks around the space, before checking her watch with a furrowed brow. “You know what, it’s odd, they're usually on top of things whenever we pop by. We’ve been sitting here for at least twenty minutes.”

That gets your own lips pursed. It was actually very, very odd.

You take another look at the outdoor dining area and notice that there really was an unusually small amount of patrons for a day like today. The flowers within the trellis separating the outdoor seating from the street look limp and the complimentary pot of tea had been lukewarm when you received it earlier.

You hadn’t realized when you sat down but the cute swan shaped napkin that normally sat in the middle of your saucer was not present. It was easily the one feature of Le Misa’s that had given you constant entertainment over the many years, yet?

The napkin was just… flat. Not even stark white per the norm.

Estelle and Blue seem to take note of the same as you and wear similar expressions of concern. Blue excuses herself to go inside, skirting past empty tables and chairs.

Estelle hums and reaches for her menu. “Siggy, have you figured out what you want to do for your birthday?”

The groan you let out requires you to throw your head back to the sky and stamp your feet under the table in order to fully articulate the actual frustration you have. Estelle of course pays you no mind besides laughing at your distress.

“No, I haven’t thought any more about it. Hugo, curses to his name may he be plagued by locusts and what now, promised me tickets to a lounge show or a trip but we see how that’s gone.”

Estelle reaches over and squeezes your hand in support. “Don’t worry if you can’t think of anything we can always move up our annual hen night.”

That’s honestly what you were afraid of. You didn’t want to spend the day where you officially failed the checklist for your life by daring to grow older than the age deadline set since, to get uncomfortably sloshed. You knew yourself well enough to know a public crying fit would be inevitable. So giving Estelle a tight smile you are planning to frantically come up with some plans in the next three weeks before your birthday, that are hopefully not nearly as sad.

You’re about to thank her for her offer when Estelle’s surprised curse fills the air.

“What Stells, what is it? Did you forget to blink again? I think I have eye drops in my purse, one second.” Estelle shoots you a venomous look and swats at your hand when you reach for your bag.

“No, that only happened one time!” she spits out a command for you to ‘laisse tomber’ when you go to remind her that it was at least three times. (Usually when she was ogling some future romantic prey she’s planning to sink her teeth into.)

Estelle shoves her menu into your face, “Look at the menu you absolute broomstick. They’ve crossed out the crepes!”

Your eyes cross a bit trying to see what she shows you, eventually you shove the laminated sheet away from you and pick up your own menu and squint.

You’re trailing your eyes across the brunch options to see that Estelle is right, the crepes and several other options are now crossed off. You’re flipping the menu to the back for the desserts to confirm the worst.

“Estelle darling, I think I’m going to scream they-”

“They’ve discontinued the lavender cakes.” Blue appears to stand behind her chair with the disposition of a doctor with terrible news. Or the Grim Reaper.

“What?!” Your gasp of horror sucks out all of the breath available in your lung capacity. When you choke on your breath Estelle has to pat your back.

“Careful Siggy, you know you’re not good at breathing and talking.” Blue snarks pettily, earning a glare from you and a muffled laugh from Estelle.

“Lucky you, I’m too preoccupied to dignify that with a response, you terror. Take a look at your menu, not only have half the cakes gone missing, so have at least a majority of the specials! It’s just like I said, someone in the universe wants me dead!”

Blue frowns too caught up in her own confusion to tell you not to be facetious. “We’ve been coming here since we were in secondary, the menu hasn’t changed once. Plus, I asked and we now have to go in for service because they’re short staffed apparently.”

Estelle tuts uninterestedly, “To be honest I didn’t really like the cakes very much and I guess it’s fine about the crepes, I’m always here for the bread-” Estelle cuts herself off when she squints at the menu once more.

It’s not long before she’s cursing and flapping the menu in the air as if it were the throat of the culprit responsible.

You cross your arms across your chest and narrow your eyes in thought.

“Exactly my French friend, there is a conspiracy afoot and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

*laisse tomber - drop it/leave it alone

A/N: I have no excuse for the tardiness, the brain just was not braining sorry lmao. nonetheless next chapter we are finally in the thick of it. I'm so excited to hear the yelling and see the pitchforks! remember to feed your local pterodactyl by sharing your thoughts and reblogging on the reblog website!

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#kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x black reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #the five year plan #baby face #idk I'll tag other stuff later lmao

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year ago

Note

You mentioned being thinking a lot about Error these days, can you give us some headcanons you have about him? It can be any type of headcanons (how he passes his time, fluff or angst times with reader... you name it)

HOHO

I love Error. I am obsessed with Error. I headcanon me and him having a love-hate relationship because all I do is make crackhead AUs nonstop and there's nothing he can do about it. Here's headcanons for my personal Error.

He's a jealous manbaby. Of course.

Possessive, too- desperate for your affection, but absolutely unwilling to admit it, if you laugh at someone else's joke or smile at them too long it puts him in fits of irritation that make him constantly try to one-up whoever is 'stealing' your time.

Regularly flexes his power. It comes across as childish or self-absorbed, but it's actually in a misguided attempt to impress you.

(He's always trying to impress you)

No sense of boundaries. Will come in and out of your home like a stray cat, regardless of how often you tell him not to.

Error is allergic to just asking for attention. He's not used to wanting to touch anyone, so when he does suddenly get the urge to touch you, he's completely unable to stop himself. He has a terrible habit of snatching you over to him with his string, for reasons as simple as 'i don't like how far away you're standing, stand closer to me'.

Sometimes, if he's in a particularly awful mood, he'll just take you to the anti-void and string you up near him so you can't leave while he seethes. Sucks for you in that moment, but it's much better alternative to what he used to do when he was in a bad mood.

Desperate to cuddle- but can't bring himself to say so. He drops unsubtle hints like "you look cold" in the hopes that you'll ask first.

If he likes you, he'll bring you things from other multiverses, like an overzealous magpie decorating a nest. But if he really likes you he'll knit/crochet you things. It's one of the few times he seems genuinely proud of himself.

You'll know he feels comfortable around you when you start seeing him wearing his glasses.

Talk to him about shows you like! He enjoys hearing you talk. He might find you a multiverse where that show's events are actually happening.

If he likes you enough to crochet you stuff, he 100% has a doll of you somewhere. He absolutely talks to it. If you find it, try not to mention it, there'll never be a more awkward conversation

... It's no surprise that his jealousy and anger issues come from deep rooted fear. He doesn't know who he is. He feels untouchable, but equally unlovable, a stranger on the outside of a multiverse where everyone else seems to have someone. It's why his affection is that bizarre mix of desperation but trepidation.

Reaching out means feeling again- under all the power, he's an insecure and terrified kid.

With time, and reciprocated affection, he can definitely chill out. Learn to reign in his jealousy, just because you found someone's pun funny doesn't mean you're going to abandon him. He'll start acting less like Error, and... more like Sans.

#llamagines #btw if youre starving for error content. PLEASE check out aka-indulgence's error fic #i dont do recommendations very often but gotdamn #im already loving the characterisation

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fadingplaidlibrary · 6 months ago

Note

ohh hmm... do you think you could do some rasmodius (the wizard) x farmer thoughts? or is it only for the vanilla marriageables?

helloooo my darling anon, this was a fun one! the farmer and the wizard, just for you <3

an unusual neighbor

rasmodius is a careful man. he lives a quiet, anonymous life in the valley, focusing on his studies and mostly staying away from the townsfolk. fraternizing leads to too much chaos and pain, in his limited experience, so he just keeps to himself

but one day as he’s meditating in the secret woods, he catches a glimpse of an unfamiliar face. he had heard that someone new was coming to the valley, both from linus and from his more magical neighbors. he knows immediately that the farmer is different somehow. rasmodius resolves to ignore them, brushing off the strange hints tugging at his intuition, and mind his own business as he always does

the unusual farmer brings unusual magic with them, although they don’t seem to notice it at first. the quiet valley begins to stir, and the forest hums with a new energy. it’s all impossible for the wizard to ignore. it can’t hurt to keep an eye on this stranger — at least that’s what he tells himself as he spends more and more time studying the farmer from a distance

rasmodius has been unlucky in love. his first love was now his ex-wife, and his second love was… well, she was (and still is) someone else’s wife. when linus, ever the optimist, drops unsubtle hints that their new neighbor is single, rasmodius pretends not to notice. but in his tower that night he finds himself tidying up the overgrown steps leading up to the tower — just in case

when the farmer finally does come to visit, rasmodius wears his very best robes. he had spent hours tidying up his dusty, lonely tower before he sent out that invitation to his new neighbor, and now there they are, standing on the tower steps and curiously peeking up at the stone spire. for the first time in ages, rasmodius feels nervous

it takes a while, but the farmer and the wizard eventually develop a sort of camaraderie. rasmodius, ever cautious, tried to keep them at arm’s length. after all, this strange mundane who wields magic so easily could be dangerous. but the farmer seems so genuine, so curious, and so dedicated to rebuilding their life on the old farm, that the wizard eventually softens

the first time the farmer brings rasmodius a gift — a small bundle of blue jazz flowers — he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. he had offhandedly mentioned weeks ago that he liked blue jazz, that he preferred them to the fairy rose for certain types of spells, but he hadn’t expected the farmer to remember or care. and how long had it been since anyone cared? he wonders if the farmer ever gets lonely on that farm. rasmodius decides to return the kindness

the farmer, as it turns outs, is fascinated by the mines. rasmodius doesn’t try to dissuade them from going down there. he respects the farmer’s curiosity and courage too much to do that. instead he uses his magic to help the farmer stay safe. he enchants their tools to never break, enchants their keys to stay close at hand, enchants their boots to stay comfortable and sturdy — really he’ll enchant anything the farmer asks him to, as long as he gets to enjoy their company

the farmer and the wizard become part of each other’s routine, trading gifts and stories. rasmodius isn’t entirely out of touch with the mundane world, and he isn’t entirely out of touch with his own heart either. one gentle day the farmer breezes into his tower holding an entire bouquet of blue jazz (“just something small from the last harvest, momo, i thought of you!”) and, well… the wizard falls

there’s not a single spell in the wizard’s library that can quell an unrequited love. he checked. twice. he’s sure the farmer would never want someone like him — an anxious, bookish recluse, a romantically-challenged hermit whose ex regularly curses the farmer’s crops, a wizard who can’t even manage to make a tasty forest-speak brew! rasmodius is so tangled up in his own agonies, he doesn’t notice the farmer’s feelings bubbling to the surface. linus notices his oldest friend and his newest friend growing fond of each other, but he keeps his observations to himself

one day a small note arrives at the door of the tower, delivered by a very sweet (and very nosy) junimo. “for you, momo~,” the little creature giggles before bouncing away. the note simply reads [I have a surprise. Come over?] in the farmer’s unmistakable handwriting. rasmodius prepares his robes

when the wizard lands on the farm that night, he finds his neighbor standing on the porch, as if they expected him. the farm has grown tremendously — and so have the poor wizard’s feelings. with a shy smile, the farmer leads him to the renovated greenhouse. when rasmodius steps inside, he can hardly believe his eyes. rows and rows of brilliant blue jazz fill the room, the fragrant little flowers blossoming madly in the greenhouse’s artificial spring. the farmer and the wizard lock eyes

“i-i thought of you.” “you thought of… me?” “i’m always thinking of you.”

that night, for the first time in a long time, the wizard throws caution to the wind — and the farmer finally, finally gets to kiss their favorite neighbor

#stardew valley #sdv wizard #sdv rasmodius #sdv wizard x farmer #sdv rasmodius x farmer #i had SO much fun with this one!! :} <3 #ven be writing #ven answers anons

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polyklok · 2 years ago

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When they’re down bad

Dethklok and their massive, throbbing crush. You can interpret this as and xReader, xOC, or even towards each other idk I don’t make the rules.

Nathan Explosion

Unlike the other members, Nathan has had experience with actual girlfriends (rather than just flings) before, and so can identify the difference between attraction and actual romantic interest pretty quickly.

But he’s still a total idiot about it. He basically hasn’t developed his flirting style since high school; he hasn’t needed to. He’s famous! So, he just sorta forces himself into their attention all the time. He purposely bumps into them, asks to borrow random things, always stands or sits next to them. He just wants to constantly be around them.

He tries to start conversations too but, my god, he’s so awkward! They’ll be sitting in silence together and he just shouts “MAN, THIS WEATHER IS CRAZY.” While it’s been perfectly sunny for three days straight. BTW, he’s always yelling around his crush. It’s partly because he’s nervous, partly because he’s trying to assert his “dominance” (he doesn’t have any)

He tries to drop not-so-subtle hints about his feelings. Like, there will be a couple in public, clearly on a very romantic, cheesy date and he’ll be like “THAT LOOKS FUN, WE SHOULD DO THAT SOMETIME” to his crush. Or if there’s a kissing scene in a movie, he squeezes their hand or something. Just, out of the blue.

In general, he’s pretty obvious and is sort of a disaster, but it’s cute and oddly charming. 7/10 because I suddenly decided I’m ranking them

Pickles The Drummer

If Nathan was a disaster, he’s the end of the world

He desperately tries to play himself up in front of his crush, specifically trying to seem more classy and sophisticated, which are two things Pickles is not. He’s the kind of guy to try to be suave and lean up against a wall and then immediately eat shit, falling to the floor.

He likes to talk around his crush but never to his crush, ya’know? Like, if they are in a room, he’ll speak all loudly to a group about how cool he is and all the things he’s done. But in a one-on-one convo, he’s literally shaking and sweating and nodding along like his brain isn’t in full panic mode (it is). Because he physically can stand how gorgeous his crush is and how obsessed he is with them.

He’ll probably try to drink more than usual to calm his nerves, but it really makes it worse. Cause now he’s a bumbling idiot who’s only talking about how ‘damn pretty’ they are and threatening to get into a fight with the bartender.

Eventually, he does calm down. And he gets to be his natural, funny and relaxed self around them. His heart still flutters, but the anxiety doesn’t consume him like it used to and he has a real conversation with his crush and it feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

Like in most situations, Pickles is kinda a wreck. But he needs time and the right amount of booze to be a pretty great guy, 6/10

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Sound the fucking alarms because this Swedish whore has himself a crush. Seriously though, the realization hits him like a fucking truck. He’s just like, wow this person is hot and I like spending time with them and they have a great personality and they’re funny and they make me feel nice and HOLY FUCK

He gets so pissed. Like, genuine anger at himself and them and everyone else in the world because something is wrong. He can’t bring himself to take it out on them, so he just always scoffs and ignores them for weeks on end. But the whole time, they’re in his head. He feels all warm and fuzzy in more places than just his dick for once.

Eventually, he stops being just a baby and gives them a weird, half-assed apology his ego is still fragile, ok?! And starts flirting. Hard. Constantly praising their body and making unsubtle sexual innuendos, it’s the only thing he really knows how to do in this situation. God forbid they giggle or flirt back, because his face is gonna turn completely red and he’ll need to excuse himself for a 10-minute freak out.

Skwisgaar just feels so many strong emotions, and these new, affectionate ones are just kicking his ass. There’s a good chance that he gives up because he just can’t handle it. But, he might just persist and slowly open up and let them in.

He’s pretty much a noob for these sorts of things. He’s a sex god, not a Prince Charming. 3/10

Toki Wartooth

Toki is actually more passive when it comes to romantic feelings than you would expect; he can accept potential love interests as friends very easily. But once someone has embedded themselves in his brain as more than just a groupie or a good friend, my man is COMPLETELY ride or die

Doesn’t make any effort to hide it either. He gets all giggly around them, biting his lip, twirling his hair, kicking his feet. He’s seriously smitten and everyone can tell, including the crush. He won’t deny it either, “Of course I’s likes them! Who wouldn’ts?”

His wooing methods are completely cheesy as well. Like, leaving a large, lovey-dovey gift basket on their doorstep or writing awful poetry for them completely in Norwegian. In fact, he’s pretty much always getting them little gifts and they’re all genuine, even the stereotypical ones.

He also gets very, very touchy. Greeting them with hugs and holding hands and even little surprise kisses. He knows that they’re not technically dating, but he still sees them as his one and only, so he already begins cementing himself as their partner.

Although, if they don’t show any interest back, he’ll stop after a week or so simply because he gets bored easily. I’m not gonna sit her and act like he doesn’t have the patience of a four-year-old.

Man goes all in with his flirting but it fizzes out very quickly. 7/10

William Murderface

I was wrong about Pickles; THIS is the ultimate disaster. Poor guy really can’t take it, he’s so flustered and anxious and a bit furious at the whole situation. William is so fueled by hatred and hostility that he can’t fathom the fact that he genuinely likes someone and craves their love. For him, it feels like he’s gonna die without them and yet he refuses to go within a foot of them.

Most of the time, he just stares at them with his angry look on his face. If they ask what’s wrong, he just mumbles and walks away. But really, he gets so excited that they talked to him, even though he immediately fucked it up.

Maybe with some time, he can find a slightly better way to deal with his intense feelings. He mostly just needs to learn to relax and have some confidence, but those are both things he has never been good at. But, if he does manage do to so and have a conversation with them…it’s still pretty bad. He’ll stutter and stumble, walking on eggshells because he knows that he has a tendency to say stupid shit.

Even if the relationship doesn’t ever go anywhere, there’s a very good chance he’ll be this nervous around them for months, possibly years. If his crush manages to get the message and starts encouraging his ‘advances’, it’ll still be a while until he’s anything less than a wreck.

Someone please help Murderface, he’s dying out here. 2/10

Btw I wrote this last night and am posting it without much proofreading so sorry if it’s awful

#dethklok #metalocalypse #polyklok is real #william murderface #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #nathan explosion #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #skwisgaar skwigelf #dethklok x reader #metalocalypse x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

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Will I be the asshole if i speak truthfully for once?

I made a friend a couple of months ago. They're honestly amazing. We have a lot in common, plus we have had some very touching moments together. I feel like they're my platonic soulmate.

The main issue I have with them is that they have a crush on me. It's not like I hate the fact that they do, it's that I hate the way they choose to show it. They keep making remarks and dropping unsubtle hints, telling people in their social circle that we're together, treating me like I'm just in denial of my feelings while I straight up have a crush on someone else (and they're aware of that. I have told them many times). I am positive the person I like likes me back, and I'm currently summoning my courage to ask them out. But I keep thinking I'll be betraying my friend in a way, that's why I won't be able to confess nor be in a relationship if I won't talk to them first.

I have repeatedly tried to address the elephant in the room, but they keep changing the subject of the conversation. There's no way to talk about it without being impolite anymore, but I'm scared of risking our friendship. In addition, my friend's gone through hard times and I'd never forgive myself if I became the reason they returned to their unhealthy coping mechanisms. However, I feel like I'm never going to be heard if I don't make some noise. Will I be the asshole if I finally snap?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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crownedtargaryen · 2 years ago

Text

Modern!Bran Stark Headcanons

A/N: honestly, this is just to give context to the one shot I’m writing and I made these in my class. A lot are of him being a silly little Twitch streamer. So, enjoy!! There aren’t a lot of NSFW ones, but shrugs or whatever.

ALL NOTES ARE APPRECIATED! (REBLOGS, LIKES, COMMENTS)

CW: Semi-Publicized Sex, Slurp Slurp Under Da Desk

NSFW 18+ HEADCANONS ARE IN THIS!

Pronouns: She/Her

SFW

He’s a huge gamer, 100%. The average League and Clash Royale player. He’s a variety twitch streamer in his spare time, honestly having a large following!

He works a lot on his upper body strength, keeping himself lean but not buff. He has a tendency to overexert himself a because he’s insecure about his wheelchair, trying to prove he can still be just as strong as his brothers.

Bran is a MASSIVE nerd, holy crap. He has limited edition collectibles and loves to show you them. At cons, he will buy insanely expensive merchandise and you stand there in shock at how much money he throws into those passions of his.

To be honest, he probably wouldn’t have been your friend if you weren’t friends with his siblings. Plus, you grew up with him which is a bonus. You helped him through the emotional distress he felt being now stuck in a wheelchair, encouraging him that you’ll do anything to help him learn to walk again. A naive child, which he constantly teases you for now. When people ask why you’re friends with him, you respond “I find him endearing is all!”

He’s had the biggest crush on you since kindergarten and has dedicated his entire love life to pursuing you. But, he has terrible rejection anxiety and so he hesitates to confess his feelings.

His love languages are as follows; Giving - Gift Giving and Semi-Physical Touch ,, Receiving - Physical Touch and Quality Time

He doesn’t show it nor admit it, but he’s SUPER protective of you and sends Jock!Robb and Jock!Jon to beat the crap out of people for you.

His siblings and parents LOVVVE embarrassing him in-front of you. They’ll tell you stupid stories that you weren’t there for, unflattering pictures they take of him they’ll text you, abut what REALLY gets him all flustered and pulling you away to his room to hide is when they drop unsubtle hints about his deep rooted feelings for you

Bran has really gotten used to swallowing down his emotions and hiding them from everyone. You’d have to know everything going on in his life to know how he truly feels.

He definitely went through a cringey stage in middle school, it’s haunted him since. He may need therapy.

Uses the words Pog, Pogchamp, Rizz, Bruh, Moist, and Holly Molay ironically, and repeats them regularly. He won’t stop. Help.

Can and WILL tell you the entire FNAF lore.

Always urging you into his interests and rambles for hours in what he loves. He’ll GLADLY indulge in your likings as well.

He’s on the neurodivergent spectrum. As someone on that spectrum, he totally is. He has special interests and will never stop talking about them while laying in bed with you.

He absolutely ADORES when upon send him videos and pictures you find on Pinterest or TikTok and say “us”

When you aren’t at his house he BEGS you to call him to merely feel your presence. He has insane insomnia when you aren’t with him and needs to call you to sleep.

On ALL his socials other than his Twitch, you’re his pfp. The thing is, he doesn’t pick flattering pictures of you. No. He picks the most meme worthy goofy photos of you and him, just LOVING it. He’s VERY public about your romance.

His stream LOOOVES you and constantly begs him to have you on. He acts like it’s bothersome but he secretly adores the excuse to invite you over. Of course, there are some of his fans that ignore your existence or don’t like you, which you come to realize is because they’re romantically attracted to him and feel you are an obstacle, so they find it better to be harsh or just ignore you all together.

He’ll do a karaoke stream with you and I love to imagine it’s like this video

NSFW

He loves when his family is out and he tells them he’s streaming so you can come over and just ride the fuck out of him in the living room.

He’s a pervy mf, eyeing you up and down always and getting hard-ons CONSTANTLY when he looks at you. It makes you so flustered noticing the huge cock in his pants rock hard and insanely visible due to his size.

Sometimes he’ll plead you to suck him off when he’s streaming, tying to keep himself together as he talks to his chat. He’ll let out soft whimpers and moans, but play them off as frustration. You’re surprised no one has caught on as he pushes your head down and swallows hard to stifle himself.

He’ll suck on your tits randomly. You’ll be cuddling and he’ll move under your shirt, whining softly and peeking through the top of your shirt. You look down at him and laugh, then give him verbal consent to continue. He’ll greedily lap over the buds, feeling up your sides and slowly grinding against your leg like the wolf he is.

He suggests an OnlyFans a few times and a NSFW Twitter, jokingly at first but then genuinely growing interested in the idea. You think it’s just for money, but he wants to show everyone who he belongs to and who belongs to him.

He loves nothing more than thigh fucking you, moaning into your ear and burying his face in your neck as he marks you up.

He has a private Twitter where he posts (with your consent) photos of him with the messiest hickeys on his neck and the scratches on his back after you and him fuck around. His captions are always goofy like “Just got mauled 🤭😏”

He loves when you ride him while he plays games, moaning softly into the mic and gripping your ass, unable to focus as he messes up and swears under his breath, burying his face between your breasts to comfort himself from the frustration.

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shaunashipman · 7 months ago

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For the hc thing (is basically a ff idea but English is not my first language and I’m not skilled enough to actually write it): they both fall hard and fast, but they are scared to admit it. At some point -I’d like to say a few years, but with 911 you never know lol- they both decide they want to propose, so they both buy a ring without telling anyone (Tommy would like to tell Eddie or Maddie, but at the same time he is terrified by the thought that one of them is going to tell him that this is moving too fast, that Buck isn’t actually so invested in their relationship and such). And the problem is… they do romantic things all the time. Tommy gives him “flying lessons” on regular basis, they go to the beach to watch the sunset and so on. So they both have no idea how to actually ask and tbh they are both scared because yes, they live together and they say “I love you”, but what if…?

Until one night Tommy comes back from a shift and it was a long one and he is exhausted and he just want to sleep and cuddle the love of his life and Buck is not even looking at him, but he greets him with his soft voice and he is cooking dinner and Tommy can see that there are fresh flowers on the table and he can’t have another minute without being engaged to this man.

So he falls on his knees and Buck turns around and he poops the question right here and Buck looks at him panicked and just screams “No!”

Tommy looks at him and gets up and Buck can see the way his heart broke and he leaves the room without a word and Tommy doesn’t even know what’s going on, just that his heart is scattered in a million pieces.

Until Buck comes back in a hurry and falls on his knees (on his bad knee, for the love of god) and shows him the ring and asks him the question right the back.

In the end, they’re idiots and they love each other very much, thank u bye

(Really hope it makes sense in a way, these two live in mind rent free😭)

yessss double proposal, that video of the two girls was so cute 🥰

all the comedy, they can't figure out how to propose, and then whenever one of them comes up with something it somehow gets interrupted, like eddie runs into them and accidentally starts 3rd wheeling it, not getting any of the unsubtle hints, or some emergency happens right there and they have to jump into first responder mode

i wouldn't want buck to just leave him immediately to run get the ring, that just feels a little too hurtful even if it's only for a second.

i'm picturing: buck turns around and sees tommy on his knees about to pop the question, blurts out "wait, wait!!" and tommy freezes, not sure if that's in response to him or if something else just happened, not helped by buck rushing past him out of the kitchen, running back in to kiss him hard on the mouth and running back out again, confusing the fuck out of tommy, then finally runs back in an drops to his knees (fuck his bad knee, his fiancé can help him massage it out later) and they're both laughing and crying, trying to say the words at the same time, fumbling to slip the rings onto each other's fingers

then they fuck over the kitchen counter so they can link their left hands together and stare at their rings

(p.s your english is great, this made perfect sense)

#cleo gets mail #anonymous #911 #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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mybullshitsensesaretingling · 1 year ago

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Optimistic

Request:

hi hi!!! i've been reading through some of your stuff and its all just ahh<3 anywho I was wondering if you could write some AOS!Chekov x reader maybe? somethin with either a doctor reader working under Bones or an enemies-to-lovers type? of course you don't have to if you don't want I just though i'd ask

ok love ya bye

A/N: I got this request in 2021. Anon, if you're still out there, I am so sorry. What's worse is that I genuinely wrote most of this soon after getting the request and then just... got distracted. I went with the doctor reader request but tried to put in some enemies-to-lovers vibes. Its more annoyances-to-partners, but I hope you still like it. It's a different side of Chekov than I normally write too. Hopefully y'all enjoy exploring that side as much as I did

ok love ya too bye

“Yes, thank you so much for explaining my job to me,” you said through a forced smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you really must be going.”

“I must be going? Is it not-” Chekov started.

“No, you must be going.” You stood in front of the sickbay doors so they slid open. “Goodbye.” He opened his mouth to speak again but you had no intention of letting him and quickly repeated, “Goodbye.”

Finally, he took the completely unsubtle hint and left through the doors.

You let out a sigh of relief and let your muscles relax to the point of slouching.

“That kid drives me nuts.” You crossed the near-silent sickbay to Bones' desk in a few strides.

“‘Kid’,” he repeated with a half-laugh. “You’re practically the same age.”

“Maybe he should act a little more like it.” You dropped into a chair across from him and stretched out a kink in your neck. A knot started to form anytime you had to deal with a bright, shiny cadet or ensign. It formed twice as fast when that bright, shiny ensign was Chekov. He was hyper and chatty and over eager. It made your muscles tighten. You were sure that it was all an act to cover up his true self. A self you had convinced yourself you saw peaking out on the edges when the two of you argued or when he got a little two confident.

“He does act like it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You act like a 75-year-old cynic who's been hardened by a lifetime of troubles,” he informed you, barely glancing up from his computer.

“That’s why you love me.” You leaned into the back of the chair, letting the sharp smell of antiseptic and tritanium sooth you after your long shift.

“It could be good for you to spend time with people your own age. Maybe make some friends.”

“You’re my friend.”

He grabbed a PADD and scanned the information. “I’m your senior officer.”

“Are you saying we’re not friends?” You picked up the PADD when he set it down, scanning it yourself.

“I’m saying it would be beneficial for your emotional wellbeing for you to form bonds with other members of the crew whom you share cultural touchstones with.”

You raised your eyes to his but they were still focused on his work. “And that’s Ensign Chekov?”

“It could be.”

You put the PADD back on his desk. “The only thing we share is a location.”

“If you say so.”

You watched him for a second longer, before letting out a sigh and going to prepare for your next scheduled appointment.

His knowing look that followed you to a biobed made you want to press him, but something told you that was not a path of conversation you wanted to go down. You hoped by dropping the conversation, he wouldn’t push the issue, but that was naive and you knew it. All you were doing was biding your time.

And you had less of it than you thought.

A week later when you asked him what he wanted for lunch, Bones had informed you that you weren’t to eat in the sickbay. You didn’t have to go to the mess hall and socialize but he recommended it and was more likely to let you be if you did. The man was like a dog with a bone when he got it in his head that he was doing something good for his crew mates and you would do anything to get him off your back when he did. So reluctantly you went to the mess hall and grabbed a tray.

You stood by the replicator, scanning the room and weighing your options. Taking a deep breath and gripping your tray a little tighter, you decided that if you were going to do this you might as well go all in and started moving towards the tables that a group of ensigns had pushed together.

As you got closer, one of them quickly moved his bowl away from the empty seat to give you more room at the table. You gave him a grateful smile as you sat down. He graced you with a smile of his own before turning his attention back to the conversation. For a brief moment, you forgot why you ate with Bones or in your quarters. The crew was so kind and inviting. Then you realized what the conversation was about and you remembered.

“Did you really get to be part of the landing party to Markoddia?” an eager ensign asked.

“Yes,” Chekov answered from the end of the table.

“What was it like?”

Half the group leaned forward to better hear his retelling. He glanced up from his soup to check that he had their attention before starting.

“It was a standard assignment.” A few people leaned back in disappointment and the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Until it wasn’t.”

He regaled them with the story that you were sure was at least partially exaggerated. Ensigns who got to work with the senior staff were treated like minor celebrities by certain members of the lower decks. Over the years Chekov had learned to love the attention and even occasionally, on slow weeks, play to it. His definition of a slow week was expanding and the mess hall was starting to become his own personal stage.

You didn’t have much interest in the landing party play by plays when it didn’t have anything to do with your job or furthering medical knowledge. You had even less interest people twisting the truth so they could play the hero.

“You were attacked by a Markoffian sea lizard?” someone gasped.

“I could have died!” Chekov answered.

“Not from that,” you scoffed into your food. You thought that the comment would have gone unheard in all the commotion of the mess hall but when you lifted your gaze you found a dozen pairs of eyes on you. “You barely had a scratch on you,” you clarified a little louder.

“Maybe I fought them off.”

“Or maybe they’re herbivores,” you countered.

“Markaffian sea lizards are omnivores.” He pointed his spoon at you, clearly thinking he had got you.

“Maybe they just don’t have a taste for show off navigators. I don’t know. I’m not an exozoologist. But I do know that you were not anywhere close to dying.”

“How would you know?” one of his peers asked.

“I was in that landing party.”

“On the other side of the city,” Chekov added.

“Yeah, treating the President, who happened to have a sea lizard as a pet. His two year old daughter was hand feeding it insects.” You raised your brows at him. “Are you saying you were almost killed by the same thing that a toddler was playing with?”

“What about the pollen from the carnivorous flowers?” he asked. “Even you said it was incredibly toxic.”

“Okay, sure,” you conceded. “You were almost killed by some flowers. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes.”

You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your lunch.

“My throat was closing up!” he started again, a dramatic hand clutching at his neck. “Neither I nor the Lieutenant could breath. I thought it was the end, but luckily the doctor here was quick at finding an anti-toxin.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at you. It seemed like he was throwing you a bone but it felt like he was dragging you into something you didn’t want to be a part of.

***

“Bones, Stapes,” Kirk greeted as he entered the sickbay. “Slow day?”

“Not at all,” you answered before turning to Bones and lowering your voice. “If I had known that this job came with a demeaning nickname I wouldn’t have taken it.”

“It grows on you,” he responded in the same low volume.

“Like a cyst?” You glanced up at him. “That’s disgusting.”

Bones shook his head and looked back at the captain. “What can we do for you, Jim?”

“We received a distress call from a nearby planet.” He handed Bones a PADD and you leaned over to look at it with him. “Looks like they could use a doctor.”

“Seems simple enough.” Bones handed the PADD to you. “(Y/L/N) will take this.”

The captain turned to you. “Report to the transporter in fifteen, Doctor.”

“Aye, Captain.” Your attention dropped to the PADD as he left. Anxiety bubbled up inside you, mixing with your excitement. “Are you sure?”

“You can treat Chamberlin virus in your sleep,” Bones said without looking at you.

“You’ve never let me go with a landing party without an attending.”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No!” You said quickly, starting to read the report to prepare yourself. You swallowed thickly and lowered your eyebrows when you got to the short list of officers that would be on this mission. Just two.

Your head snapped back to Bones. “I want you to change your mind.”

“Too late.” He handed you a medkit. “Have a safe trip.”

You shot him a glare before giving him a reluctant “Aye, sir.”

“Have fun.”

“Is that an order?” you asked.

“No.”

“Then I won’t.” You started towards the door.

“I know. Just do your job,” he said after you.

“Of course, sir,” you said with an eye roll so strong you were sure he could hear it in your voice as you entered the hall.

You never worried too much about maintaining a perfectly respectful attitude with Bones despite him being your CO. Your eye rolls and complaints and casual demeanor didn’t come from a place of disrespect, but a place of familiarity. It came from the comfort of looking into your mentor and seeing yourself reflected there. He had looked into the same mirror when you were in the academy and took you under his wing. He guided you through your time there and your time serving as a cadet on another ship. Your similarities to Bones had earned you a place on the Enterprise and the nickname Stapes. As the smallest bone in the body, the captain saw it as a natural progression from his original nickname for you, Little Bones. You saw it as silly and a little demeaning, not that you would say that to his face.

You knew that the reflection of Bones’ cynical but driven personality that shined through you was why he pushed you out of your comfort zone. He didn’t just want you to be the best doctor you could be, but a better person than he could be. But that didn’t mean you didn’t occasionally fight against it.

You wanted to fight against this, but you didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity even if it meant-

The transporter doors opened to curly hair and bright eyes.

-having to work with him.

“Where is Doctor McCoy?” Chekov asked.

“Sickbay.” You stepped up on the transporter. “He’s not coming. I’m coming.”

You had hoped that arriving five minutes early would make you the first to arrive. You wanted some time to prepare yourself, both for your partner for this assignment and for the assignment itself. You knew that Bones was right and you were ready for this, but you hadn’t fully convinced that insistent little voice in your head of that fact. But of course Chekov had to get here even earlier. He always had to out do you just a little bit.

“Oh. Is this your first time on a solo mission?” he asked, joining you on the transporter.

You adjusted your grip on your kit, watching the hands of the engineer at the terminal. “Yes.”

“Are you nervous?”

You snapped your attention up to him. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t.” There was that twinkle in his eyes. It was like he was playing a game you didn’t have the rule book for.

You narrowed your eyes but decided to let the slight slide.

“Energize,” you ordered the chief at the controls.

Within fifteen minutes of landing in the colony, you had set up a make-shift examination room in a small lab and had over a dozen people waiting to see you. You had quietly bickered with Chekov the whole while. Even your tones contradicted each other. His comments were bright and confident, mixing off-handed insults with what appeared to be genuine attempts at helpfulness. Your own words remained on the icy side of sarcasm, giving the impression that you were only partially tuned into your conversation with him. You just wanted to focus on your work.

Thankfully when you started seeing patients he stopped talking to you. Unthankfully, he started talking to the waiting patients. At first, you figured your irritation over it was due solely to your usual level of pettiness when it came to him. You set equipment down louder than necessary when his voice got louder, causing him to look at you. He would give you a smile but wouldn’t miss a beat in the conversation. When you had finally managed to tune him out mostly, you overheard him explaining that this was your first time working alone so they needed to be extra patient with you. It was amazing the amount of condescension he could fit into innocuous phrases.

You tried to grit your teeth and focus on your work but a few minutes later his laugh made something rise up inside you. You found yourself unable to focus. You must have read over the readings on your tricorder three times before you gave up.

“Ensign, if you insist on being this loud, could you at least take the chit-chat elsewhere?”

He smiled up at you from the seat next to a few patients. “Yes, unlike some people, I can be charming anywhere.”

“How special for you. Please take your charm into the hall.”

He did as you asked and you were finally able to work in peace. Without Chekov constantly drawing your attention you were able to get through the rest of the patients fairly quickly. It wasn’t until after the last one left the lab that you realized how draining that had been. Bones was right, you could treat Chamberlin virus in your sleep, but the pressure of doing it alone was greater than you had expected and you had never treated this many patients in such a short time. They just kept coming. You must have seen most of the colony.

You dropped into a chair, letting your head lull back and your eyes slip shut. Your feet ached from standing. Your face hurt from smiling. The mere thought of moving or talking to someone almost brought tears to your eyes.

The door to the lab swished open and you jumped to your feet, praying you hadn’t missed someone. You were grateful to see that it was only the mayor and Chekov.

“Doctor,” the mayor greeted, taking one of your hands in both of his. “Thank you. Your help means more than I could communicate.”

You felt Chekov’s eyes on you while you mustered up what you hoped to be your last smile of the day, “Your people should be free of the virus now, but I have provided the updated vaccine recipe. Everyone who hasn’t been sick in the last nine days should receive it.” You handed him a PADD and he thanked you.

The rest of the pleasantries washed over you. You knew you participated in them, but if you were asked to recount what you had said you wouldn’t be able to. For the first time, you were actually glad that Chekov was with you. He carried the weight of the conversation and handled correspondence with the ship. As much as you hated to admit it, he was charming.

When you had made it back to the ship. You let out a sigh and took your time stepping off the pad and into the hall, but Chekov remained behind you. You stopped when you came to the lift, trying to decide if you should go back to sickbay or your quarters.

“Good work down there,” Chekov said, stepping up beside you.

You eyed him for a moment, before responding, “Yeah, you too.”

***

After your first solo mission it seemed to have been decided, much to your chagrin, that you and Chekov worked well together. After the third time you were paired up together in a single month, you stopped fighting it, but you still dragged your feet. Now, as your shuttle shook and the lights turned red, you wished you had fought it harder.

“What’s happening?” you shouted, gripping on to your arm rests for dear life.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t-” A squealing sound interrupted Chekov’s panicked yelling. He scanned the readouts in front of him before looking over his shoulder at the source of the noise and then at you. “You need to fly.”

“What? I’m a doctor not a pilot! I haven’t flown anything since the academy and you want me to fly us out of planetary rings while we're being shot at? I’ll get us killed.”

“How long has it been since you have done environmental engineering?”

You blinked at him then turned to the control panel. “Okay, I’ll fly.”

The shuttle rocked as you took over, causing Chekov to stumble on his way to the back.

“Sorry!” you shouted.

Your hands trembled as you tried to remember the flight training you had done five years ago. It felt more like a dream than a memory and you couldn’t recall any of the specifics.

As you got deeper into the rings the dust filled your view screen and you were forced to operate using the sensors alone. Sweat began to bead on your forehead and your stomach twisted from the jerky movements the craft made while you tried to dodge large chunks of ice and phaser cannon blasts from the assailant ship. Every sway and jolt made your thoughts swim and your heart hammer against your chest a little harder. Behind you Chekov let out a string of stressed noises.

“What? What’s happening?” you asked without really wanting to know. The view screen started to clear as you flew through the last of the rings.

“The shields are down and the nacelles are down and-”

“We only have axillary engines?” You had to force yourself to keep your attention locked on the controls instead of swinging back to the ensign.

The shuttle rocked again as it was hit. You gripped the terminal to keep yourself steady. The lights dimmed and everything came to a standstill.

“No, we had axillary engines. Now we have nothing.”

“Did you fix the environmental controls?”

“Yes, but we can not fly out of here and emergency power is declining fast.” His anxiety was making his accent thicker and his words stick together.

“I got us out of orbit, and,” you leaned forward, watching the other ship pass you by, “they seem to think we're dead in the water. They’re leaving. How much time do we have?”

“Twenty hours.”

You slumped down. “Not even a day.”

“No.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you found him bent over a tricorder. He started to bounce nervously. Watching him made you feel even queasier.

“There’s nothing you can do?”

He responded with a series of unintelligible Russian sounds as he started digging through the compartments of the shuttle. He must not have found what he was looking for because he dropped to the floor with a defeated huff.

“No.”

In all the assignments you had had with Chekov over the last several months he had only ever been stubbornly optimistic. Even when he was overcome with stress or complaining he still acted with a firm belief that what you were doing was important and you would make it out alive with a job well done. Not once had you seen him even consider giving up. You had not so secretly been waiting to see his optimism falter, to see what lay beneath his showy exuberance, but it wasn’t the slip of the mask or the peak behind the curtain you’d thought it would be. This defeat wasn’t revealing something about him, it was taking something from him.

You got to your feet slowly, gripping the back of your seat and closing your eyes as a wave of dizziness passed over you. You didn’t do well in a shuttle on a good day. After being rocked around my phaser fire and ring debris and having to pilot yourself you weren’t sure your stomach would ever settle down.

You were glad to see that Chekov was staring down at his tricorder and seemed completely unaware of your momentary weakness.

“Come on. Where’s that trademark pep and sense of adventure?” You sat down on the bench next to him. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally met a mission you can’t glorify into heroic splendor.”

He looked up at you through narrowed eyes. The corners of his mouth were drawn down further than you thought was possible. Was he actually about to start pouting? Was it actually endearing?

“Aw.” You puffed out your lip in a pout that was both sympathetic and mocking of his. “What happened to Ensign Chekov, hopeful hero of the lower decks?”

“He went down with the shields and the nacelles.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you grabbed your medpack and pulled out your tricorder. You pointed it at him without bothering to actually look at the readings.

“Huh,” you said in faux contemplation. “This says that he’s still operational, he's just offline.”

He looked up at you. The twinkle in his eye was starting to return, clearly delighted that you of all people were willing to play this game. “How do you suggest we bring him back online, Doctor?”

“Oh these things tend to work themselves out.” You replaced your tricorder and leaned back. “When would we be back, if we hadn’t gotten in that chase?”

He barely had to think about it. “Four to five hours.”

“How long does it normally take them to suspect a mission has gone awry?”

Chekov spent considerably more time with the majority of the senior staff. He knew their usual patterns. You spent most of your time with the Chief Medical Officer, who tended to assume a mission went awry the moment they left the ship. He was right more often than he was wrong.

“Between two hours and one week.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Can you narrow down that estimate for me?”

“In this situation, I would suspect it would not take longer than a day.”

You didn’t have a day.

“Doctor McCoy usually pays more attention to missions that have medical staff on them. Something about not wanting us to die because he hates paperwork,” you told him. “And he almost always assumes the worst. That should bring your estimate down by a few hours.”

The navigator suddenly jumped to his feet and sprinted to the controls.

“If I could get a message to them, they might get here in time!”

You rested your forearms on your knees both to steady yourself and to more easily watch him. “Are we close enough for that? I thought shuttles didn’t have subspace communication capabilities.”

“They do not, but…” he faded off as he fiddled with the screen. His movements had regained that jerky, impatient quality they often had, like his hands couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with his brain. He let out a triumphant sound and spun to face you.

“If I send out a distress beacon and put all remaining power into transmitting a signal they could find us faster. If I divert all emergency power not needed to keep us alive, I could keep it running for the full 20 hours and the beacon would increase our range by 35%!” He quickly dropped into the pilot's chair and got to work.

You smiled despite yourself at his returning optimism and moved to the environmental controls he had been working on earlier. Most of the readings were all but nonsense to you, but you had a decent understanding of the most essential functions and an even better understanding of the math needed to calculate how much time you had left.

“What are you doing?” Checkov turned in his chair.

You kept your eyes on the screen as you spoke, “Say we ran into some minor difficulties on the planet and/or the mission took longer to complete than we thought, then maybe it would take us another eight hours to get back to Enterprise.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly, trying to figure out where this was going.

“Given that this was a fairly straightforward assignment and we both have a reputation for working efficiently, those eight hours would already make the more observant members of the crew suspicious.”

“If there is not another crisis happening on the ship.”

“That is a major if, but we’re trying to be optimistic here.”

“We are?” he asked in an almost teasing tone, just as surprised as you were that you were abandoning your cynical ways.

“Yes.” You pulled up the oxygen output. “Dr. McCoy will definitely assume something had happened if I don’t show up for my shift tomorrow at 0800.”

“That’s almost eighteen hours away. It would take them three hours to get here unless they’re at top speeds.” He seemed to remember that you were being optimistic and asked, “Could you sedate us?”

“I could but then there would be no one to respond if we were hailed and no one to deal with the next crisis. Besides, we’d only use about 6% less oxygen, but we could survive with 20% less.” You started messing with oxygen controls.

“That would give us four more hours.”

“I could push it to 25% to give them even more wiggle room, but we would start experiencing symptoms of hypoxia.”

“Will it kill us?”

“No more than doing nothing will.”

He made a noise and you turned to face him. “We’ll get sick. Headache, confusion, difficulty breathing, anxiety, tachycardia. But if they find us we’ll recover quickly. And if they don’t find us,” you lowered the oxygen output, “we’ll die either way.”

“They’ll find us,” he assured you, before turning back to the terminal. “I wish there was more we could do than wait.”

The temperature dropped quickly as the power that normally went into keeping the shuttle comfortable went to keeping the distress signal broadcasting. It wasn’t cold enough to cause any health risk but it would be soon enough. You wonder what would hit you first: hypothermia or hypoxia.

You pulled open one of the storage compartments and grabbed two dark gray blankets. They were perfectly folded and soft to the touch. They probably hadn’t ever been used before.

Chekov was watching you as you placed one blanket on the bench you had been sitting on and held the other out to him.

“We do what we can to stay alive.”

He took it and sat down on the other bench. You followed suit, wrapping yourself in your blanket, leaning your head back, and shutting your eyes against a fresh wave of nausea.

“Doctor, are you okay?”

Distantly it occurred to you that normally you would have responded to the question with brusk sarcasm or at the very least the truth forced through tight lips. But in that moment you didn’t feel the need to push him away or put on a brave face, and you told the truth freely.

“Just a little nauseous from the flight. It’ll pass.” It was already starting to pass now that things were calming down. The waves were gentler and no longer crashed down on top of you.

“You get space sickness?”

You peaked your eyes open at him. “Yeah, why do you think I didn’t want to come on this mission?”

He shrugged. “Because you don’t like me.”

“I can have more than one reason.” You adjusted the blanket around your shoulder and shifted around on the seat a bit. The benches may have been designed to double as beds for long journeys, but that didn’t mean they were exactly comfortable.

“You can.” Even though he fell silent, you could tell from his clipped tone that he was biting something back and history had taught you he wouldn’t for long. “But why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like me.”

“Not everyone’s gonna like you, Chekov.”

“Yes, but why do you not?”

“It’s not like you like me either.”

This gave him pause. Just when you had thought he was dropping the subject he responded, “I do not dislike you.”

“But you don’t like me.”

Again he hesitated. “I did not.”

You opened your eyes fully and sat up a little straighter. “Did?”

“What?”

The blanket slipped from one of your shoulders as you leaned towards him. “You said ‘did’. Past tense. Implying that now you do.”

“You have grown on me.”

“Like a cyst.”

He considered that for a moment before shaking his head. “Like moss.”

You looked away to try to conceal the smile you were struggling to fight back and a realization settled in your chest. It fell slow and heavy like snow piling up on a roof in the middle of winter.

You couldn’t have beared being stuck in this shuttle alone. You would have died trying to get off world. Even if you hadn’t, this quiet waiting with nothing to do would have driven you insane. But sitting here, across from the man you had fought so hard to never share a space with, it was bearable. Everything was more bearable with Chekov. He was the otherside of a very high strung coin. You weren’t just growing on him, you were growing to rely on him.

The temperature fell further and you shivered, pulling your feet up onto the bench to curl in on yourself more.

“Are you cold?”

The exasperated look that took over your expression couldn’t be helped. “Yes, Chekov, I’m cold.” You took in the blanket he had draped only across his lap and his comfortable posture. “How are you not?”

“Russian winters are much colder than this.”

You chuckled. By the end of your time serving aboard the Enterprise you would be able to write a history book on Russia just from the facts Checkov shared at any given opportunity.

As long as that time didn’t end tonight.

Your breath caught in your throat at the thought. You slipped sideways down the wall until your head hit the bench, but you kept your eyes on him the whole way down.

“Tell me about it.”

His grin was brighter than the stars outside and took over his whole face, scrunching up his cheeks and eyes. He launched into a story from his youth that rolled easily into another. His descriptions made the Russian winter sound like a magical fairy land. Again you were sure it was exaggerated. You knew how many people had died from that cold. You knew that it was a dangerous and vicious winter. But you didn’t care anymore. You let yourself enjoy his version of reality.

When he had to pause to catch his breath and cover himself more with the blanket, you took a turn at storytelling. Your voice was thin and breathless as you told him about the winters of your childhood and some of the nastier cases of frostbite you had treated. Your chest started to burn for more air and your fingers started to ache, growing stiff in the cold.

The pauses between your stories became longer and longer and your voices morphed into barely audible murmurs until you started to drift into a restless sleep. You knew you shouldn’t sleep and kept trying to claw your way back to consciousness, but you kept sinking deeper and deeper. Until a choking sound came from the otherside of the shuttle.

You sat up, trying to place your surroundings. The soft hum of the dying shuttle sounded so unfamiliar to you. The deep aching cold sinking into your bones and the harsh roughness that screamed in your throat and lungs every time you took a breath felt all encompassing. Your heart raised and your head pounded as you glanced around.

Chekov slept across from you. You called out to him as a series of coughs and wheezes racked his body. His face was twisted with pain but he didn’t open his eyes. You wrapped your blanket tightly around yourself and moved to hover over him. Shaking his shoulder gently had no greater effect than calling his name. His coughing got worse and then it stopped. He went still. You shook him harder. His name turned to a wheeze in your mouth. His eyes fluttered but he couldn’t keep them open. You tried to force him into a seated position but he was a dead weight that your freezing arms struggled to manipulate.

You dropped to your knees, brushing a hand against his face. It was so pale it looked almost gray.

“Please, Chekov. Just take a breath. Just a small one.” Your hand dropped back to his shoulder and his hand found it. His purple lips parted to let in a shaky breath. It left him in a cough, but it was enough to give you hope.

You pushed his shoulders up and wriggled underneath them. His eyebrows furrowed and you did your best to pull him up to rest against you. With his lungs more up right, he was able to take a few shallow breaths.

“Good. That’s good. Just a little longer. Keep breathing a little longer.” You turned your head away from him as a coughing fit hit you. When your breathing evened out, you leaned your cheek against his curls. “The hero of the lower decks doesn’t die like this.” The sentence barely made it out of you before you were drifting off again. A pressure on your hand kept you from drifting entirely.

“Stapes neither.”

A smile tried to work its way onto your face. You had no idea he even knew the nickname.

His hand fell from yours, but not all the way. The tips of his cold fingers remained on the side of your hand, holding you there with him. You would keep breathing as long as he did. It was a silent promise you made. Your old need to out do him mingling with a new need to stay with him.

Sleep found you again, dragging you down to a quiet but panicked place. An insistent beeping filled your head, but the harder you tried to wake, to identify the noise, the tighter sleep’s grip on you became.

You had no idea how much time had passed before its grip finally loosened and you swam your way back to consciousness. Your body no longer ached or burned. Your heart was calm, almost still. The panic had faded. For a brief moment you thought you weren’t waking up. You were dying and it was peaceful. But then you sucked in a breath. It was deep and cleansing and filled your lungs with ease and without pain. It smelled like that beautiful mixture of antiseptic and tritanium that meant you were home. You were safe.

You bolted upright.

“Chekov.” Your voice was rough and desperate. The bright light above you kept your eyes from adjusting. You looked around trying to find the golden uniform through the speckled static filling your vision.

Then the light was pushed aside and Bones came into view. His warm hand landed on your shoulder.

“He’s okay. He’s still asleep. The two a’you had a rough night.” He searched your face. “How are you feeling?”

“What? I’m- I’m fine.” Your brain was working overtime trying to catch up to now while still piecing together the memories from the shuttle. “Are you sure he’s- because he was-”

“Chekov is in perfect health,” he told you gently.

Relief filled you and passed through you in a sigh. Your shoulders slumped and you rested your arms on your legs. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until that moment.

“Heard you were down right cuddlin’ the boy.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he stepped behind you to get a better look at the biobed readings.

“I was keeping liquids from pooling in his throat and blocking his airways.”

“I bet you were.”

“I’m his doctor. It’s my job to keep him alive,” you pointed out.

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Never had to cuddle one of my patients.”

“Well, I’m more hands on than you.”

He stepped back so he was facing you again. “You did good, kid.” His hand fell to your shoulder again, squeezing softly like he was making sure you heard him. “I’m giving you a clean bill of health. Go get some rest.”

You got to your feet and headed towards the door, but you only made it a few steps. Something held you back, rooting you to the spot.

“Unless…”

You looked to Bones. Your eyes felt raw with exhaustion, but you didn’t want to close them again. Not yet.

“You want to stay until he wakes up.”

“He is my patient. I should make sure he’s okay,” you told him.

Bones just gave you one of his knowing smiles and pointed you towards Chekov’s bed. You followed his direction and found Chekov laying still in the corner. The blue tinge to his skin was gone, replaced with a slight roseiness. You watched his chest rise and fall, listened to the smoothness of his breathing, and resisted the urge to slip your hand into his. You wanted to touch him, to confirm that he was real and alive and safe, but instead you wrapped your arms around yourself and stood by the end of his bed.

He moaned softly, turning over. His eyes opened slowly, looking out across the sickbay.

“We made it. I am alive,” he said to himself like he needed to hear it outloud to be sure.

“Yes,” you answered.

He scrambled into a seated position at the sound of your voice. A smile lit up his face when he saw you. His right hand lifted off the bed for only a moment, reaching for you on instinct before his conscious thought took control of it again.

“You are alive.”

“It would appear so.” You walked to the head of the bed to check his vitals. You could feel his eyes on you as you tripled checked them, still trying to convince yourself that he was okay and wanting a reason to stay by his side for a moment longer.

“Do you still hate going on missions with me?”

“Yes.” Your answer came quick, but it was followed by a smile.

You turned to leave, satisfied that he was indeed in perfect health. He let out a breathy laugh and you stopped at the end of the bed and looked over your shoulder at him.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to be on that mission with anyone else though.”

#chekov imagine #chekov imagines #chekov x reader #pavel chekov x reader #pavel chekov imagine #star trek imagine #star trek imagines

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professionalchaoticdumbass · 3 months ago

Note

i think one of my friends is either deliberately dropping hints about being trans, or questioning and hoping someone will notice, or something along those lines

i won’t elaborate on that because they also use tumblr, but it’s pretty unsubtle

what am i supposed to do here? even if i’m right, what if piercing the thin veil of plausible deniability does more harm than good? i live too far away to offer any real tangible support to this friend (different continent) & that worries me for a number of reasons

all I can really offer is that you should make it clear youre gonna be supportive? like, be explicitly pro-trans, call transphobic stuff bullshit, etc.

also there are better places to ask than my ask box tbh, I am but one girl and there are dedicated subreddits and forums etc

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urprinceoflove · 1 year ago

Text

Catching a Feeling

Pairing: Ralph Dibny x GN!Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: would you mind writing “You’re being very unsubtle with your heart eyes for them.” A member of team flash (idk Harry, Cisco, anyone really) says the prompt to Ralph because he sometimes can't help himself from not so subtley lovingly staring at a totally oblivious reader

Warnings: Fluff, clueless reader, and a grumpy Harry

Word Count: 1,064

A/N: this was fun to write! i totally needed this myself as well. i have missed writing 🥲 (yes i am a dork)

The Flash Master List | Full Master List

—

“You’re being very unsubtle with your heart eyes for them.” Harry grumbled from behind Ralph. The man was debating on strangling the stringy-man.

Ralph barely even flinched. “Oh hey, Harry! What was that?”

Harry’s face was as grumpy as it always was. He could have his face frozen in a frown and nobody would tell the difference.

“I have seen you staring at Y/N. It’s not even close to subtle. Everyone on the team knows about your thing for them.” Harry looked Ralph up and down before crossing his arms over his chest.

Ralph chuckled a bit. “Look, your whole… detective act is great and all, but shouldn’t you leave that to Sherloque? The man is a great detective and–”

“I don’t associate myself with those idiots!” Harry spat. He came up right in front of Ralph, pointing a finger at his chest. “I know what you’re up to Dibny and I’m not quite sure I like it…”

Ralph looked down at Harry’s finger before looking back up at the man. “Has anyone ever compared you to grumpy cat before? You know the meme? You look just like him.”

Harry didn’t bother to say another word, instead he turned around and left the room with annoyed mumbling.

“What was that all about?” You asked, standing right next to Ralph. Ralph jumped this time.

“Y-Y/N! I didn’t notice you there… uh– when did you enter the room? Did you hear that whole thing?”

“Calm down, Ralph…” You giggled. You always had the man rambling for some reason. “I just walked in not too long ago. So?” You were hinting at the conversation.

“Oh okay. Oh! That whole thing?” Ralph pointed behind him with his thumb. He leaned over the main console of the Cortex. He scoffed playfully, “Oh you know… Harry being Harry. You can’t help that he’s such a grump. Doesn’t he remind you of the grumpy cat meme?”

You giggled again. Ralph Dibny was still rambling.

“What?” He defended. “Isn’t it not true?” Ralph shifted in his spot and caused an alarm to start blaring in the Cortex and around the whole laboratories. “Shit!”

Ralph did his best to start pushing all the buttons in the Cortex’s console to get the alarm to shut up. In the process he just activated almost every defense mechanism known to Team Flash.

You just shook your head and rolled your eyes. All you had to do was press one singular button for the alarms to stop.

Ralph let out a nervous laugh. “I knew that was there… see I was testing you! You are a great fit for Team Flash.”

“Sure, sure.” You smiled at the man.

It wasn’t long before Barry, Cisco, and Harry all entered the room. Barry and Cisco were in more of a panic than Harry, Harry was simply annoyed.

“What’s going on?” Barry asked.

Cisco looked around the Cortex’s control system. “Ralph, did you sound all the alarms again?”

“W-What? No way!” He defended himself.

“He pressed just a few buttons and it all just went off.” You snitched. Ralph looked at you with his jaw dropped.

You just smiled at him.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked out of the Cortex without a second thought.

“Well, I am glad everything is okay here.” Barry nodded.

Cisco came up next to Ralph and raised his eyebrows up and down. “Sooo, Ralph. What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Ralph said plainly while Cisco was circling him like a vulture about to pounce on his already dead prey.

You raised an eyebrow at the small engineer. When you looked to the side of you Barry was busy smiling in the corner, but… what was going on? You didn’t quite understand what was so funny about the situation.

“You know what I mean.” Cisco hinted. He then abruptly turned to you. “You know too don’t you, Y/N?”

You shook your head. “I honestly have no clue what’s going on right now.”

“Just tell them, Ralph!” Barry suggested.

Ralph was being pressured by both his friends, Cisco and Barry, he hadn’t even thought over his words. The man opened his mouth to speak, but shut it immediately. “Uh–” He looked back and forth between his friends and you, debating if the time was right. Well… if Harry caught him then wouldn’t it be inevitable that you were to catch him as well? Ralph took a deep breath. He mumbled something.

“What?” You asked, trying to point your ear more towards him to hear.

“I like you. I like you as… more than a friend, Y/N.” He finally admitted.

Cisco pulled out a party popper from his pocket and popped it. You and Ralph flinched as confetti from the air started to land on the ground. “Congratulations!”

“Cisco!” Barry called. Cisco turned towards Barry. “Give them some space.” Cisco groaned and walked with Barry out of the Cortex. Cisco had one last peak before fully exiting the room.

When both the men were gone, you turned back to Ralph. Ralph sat in the chair that was pulled up behind him. He was messing with his hands and his leg was bouncing up and down.

“You do?” You asked.

“Yeah… if you don't like me back that’s fine I just–”

“Ralph.”

“It was all sudden and I played the hints all right I think… but I know it’s hard for you to see the signs, but then again you are just so beautiful and I can’t help myself sometimes.”

“Ralph…”

Ralph looked up as your voice was closer than before. He hadn’t even realized that you were standing in front of him now. The two of you stared into each other's eyes for a moment before Ralph’s eyes flicked to your lips. Ralph parted his lips a bit. You smiled and you leaned in to him for a kiss. He let you. As your lips collided you already felt Ralph’s hand at your waist. It was only a simple kiss and you both pulled away shortly after.

“Woah,” was all the man could mutter. Luck enough for him you heard him.

“You’re a dork.” You said, shaking your head. You turned away from Ralph and began walking out of the Cortex, your face was warm and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Ralph just shrugged. “Hey, wait, can I get another kiss!?”

#the flash #ralph dibny #ralph dibny x reader

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voca-smut-drabbles · 2 years ago

Text

Basic nsfw hcs about the cryptonloids made in hopes I get an actual audience

Miku:

- I believe Miku to be a bit on the bratty side when bottoming tbh

- She's a sweetheart, yeah, but she'll still reject a blowjob with a little “hmph!” just to egg her partner on.

- When she's on top however, she goes all out on making them feel good.

- A vocaloid’s voice is almost always their pride and joy, but to her? Her partner's voice is the best of all, especially when they're crying out her name.

- Bottom line? She's sweet, but spicy, and not afraid to show it.

Rin:

- Where do I begin?

- For starters she gets VERY loud

- Poor girl is way too sensitive for her own good, but luckily I think she’d DEFINITELY be into overstimulation

- She's also got a massive praise kink

- The thought of her partner holding her close and telling her what a good girl she is while simultaneously fucking her senseless?

- That alone is enough to get her wanting them to just have their way with her already.

Len:

- Two words, power bottom.

- He's more than willing to top, but where he really shines is showing his partner who's boss while simultaneously enjoying himself.

- But as much as he likes being in charge, he's also got a thing for getting the tables turned on him

- And his beet-red face when you pin him down is definitely a sight to behold.

- He’s also loud when he’s getting fucked, every little thrust causing him to cry out in pleasure

Kaito:

- If Len’s a power bottom, Kaito is definitely a service top

- His partner’s pleasure is his main priority, and he'll do anything to make sure they're having fun

- On the off chance he does bottom, he’ll try to stifle his moans whenever he can, but he always ends up a complete mess in the end.

- He’ll probably fuss a bit if he doesn't get to make you feel good.

- He’s just a pure boi who wants to make you happy, is really it too much for him to ask?

Meiko:

- This bitch does NOT do submission, and if she does she's bratty as all hell

- She’s definitely kinky in some way shape or form, pegging, roleplay, vibrators, you name it, chances are she's willing to give it a shot.

- More than willing to drop some unsubtle hints whenever she's in the mood

- And when she finally gets her partner to take the bait, you know DAMN well she's gonna enjoy herself.

- She LIVES for every little moan of her sub while she toys with them, and she isn't afraid to show them that they're making her feel good too

- If you’ve got a praise kink, Meiko will DEFINITELY indulge you on that.

- TL;DR, Meiko’s a kinky soft femdom and we stan her for it.

Luka:

- Luka is both a massive sub and a massive dom, I can't see her any other way.

- She’d relish every noise she gets out of her sub, and if she's the bottom you best believe she's gonna be noisy herself.

- Whenever she tops, she's absolutely BRUTAL.

- Teasing, orgasm denial, you name it, she'll use it, and she'll make sure to get her partner to scream in pleasure, no matter what it takes.

- When she subs, however…

- She’d absolutely melt if you used a vibrator on her. The feeling of being forced to endure a pleasure so strong it's almost painful? Hope you like ahegao.

#vocaloid #vocaloid smut #vocaloid headcanons #smut headcanons #smut imagine #smut #vocaloid smut headcanons

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lucagray813 · 2 months ago

Text

Food & Family

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1,993

Characters: MK, Pigsy

Relationships: MK & Pigsy

Summary: MK and Pigsy spend an evening reminiscing over a very important bowl of noodles.

Additional Tags: Family fluff & feels

CW: Very mild spoilers for S5E1

Link to AO3 Version

----

Short of a world ending event getting in the way, every week MK and Pigsy were determined to spend at least one evening together. They would cook dinner and then they would spend the rest of the night doing whatever they felt like. Maybe they'd watch a movie, or play video games, or do some arts and crafts. Honestly, what the activity was didn't matter.

The whole point was to spend time with each other but MK would be lying if he said that making food together wasn't what he looked forward to most. He had come to crave the proud look on Pigsy's face whenever he successfully produced something edible under his guidance.

Most of the time, their father-son bonding time fell on the one day a week that MK "helped out" at the restaurant. In reality, he was sort of the special on sale that day - he drew in crowds of people clambering for a signature or a photo. Which he would have handed out for free had Pigsy, Mei and Mr. Tang not been so adamantly against it and when those three were in agreement he knew better than to argue.

So, he didn't do much actual work while the restaurant was open but he put his all into helping clean up once the closed sign was flipped on the door. Because the faster they finished up, the faster Pigsy would say-

"Alright, kid. What we making?"

There was a childish glee as he all but ran to the family cookbook and flipped through it to find the recipe they'd make that night. They never usually made the same thing twice, as he liked to find the most obscure recipes he could, excited to try something new. Nowhere near as excited as Mr. Tang was to try the leftovers the next day but it was crazy just how many recipes this book contained.

And almost all of them had a story to go with them, or at the very least invoked stories of the time. Some of the recipes had been on the restaurant menu at one point or another and it was nice to reminisce about what had been going on at that point in their lives.

It was especially nice to remember his great grandma. She had been a constant presence in his life as a child and he hadn't realised how much he had been starting to forget about her. On days he was feeling particularly hopeful for stories about her he would scour the cookbook for recipes with her name.

The most coveted stories however were the ones that took place before he'd joined the family because for his whole life Pigsy had been incredibly tight lipped about what life was like before him, dodging questions and getting upset if the topic wasn't dropped. His great grandma had occasionally slipped him little tidbits of what his grandparents had been like but she had sworn him to secrecy.

But for whatever reason, Pigsy seemed to have had a change of heart and was willing to open up a little bit about the family MK had never known - dead long before he'd been born. He didn't like to push his luck and ask too many questions though, because Pigsy could get real melancholy about it, but it was nice.

He wasn't looking for anything particular today but a recipe attributed to a name he didn't recognise caught his eye, "Hey, Pigsy? Who's Méigui?"

"Hm? Oh, that's your great grandma's mother."

So his great-great grandma? He did some quick maths on his fingers... That meant there were at least four generations worth of recipes here!

One day it could even be five generations if he gave into Pigsy's increasingly unsubtle hints to add a recipe of his own. As if he knew how to make anything even halfway decent on his own though! No way that was happening anytime soon - he couldn't soil this priceless family heirloom with his shoddy attempt!

But that was a worry for another day and he brought the cookbook over to Pigsy, "Can we make this?"

Pigsy looked a little taken aback at the sight of the recipe but his expression softened into something much more nostalgic as he took the book and brought a hand to the page, "Now there's a throwback. This used to be your favourite when you were a kid."

He leaned over Pigsy's shoulder to look at it again, "Really? I don't think I remember it?"

"Yeah, you used to eat this by the pot load - you'd eat so much of it you'd immediately pass out afterwards. Heh, it used to be my secret weapon in getting you to go to sleep. I don't remember when or why I stopped making it for you..."

He looked a little sad for a moment but the expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared as he placed the book down to start finding ingredients, "You probably just grew out of it, or maybe I couldn't get a hold of one of the ingredients for a bit? I've told you about the tragedy that was the-"

"Great ginger shortage of fifty-five?" He rolled his eyes good naturedly, "Yeah, never heard of it. Not like you mention it every time we get anywhere close to running out of ginger."

"MK, you cannot comprehend how devastating a time that was. And not just for me! You ask anyone and they'll tell you that food wasn't even worth cooking, let alone eating!"

He'd heard it all before but he fell into the familiar banter as they worked together to bring the meal to life. Pigsy knew very little about Méigui, having never met her himself. All he could really comment on was her recipes - apparently she was a big fan of tofu, and he swore by her recipe for mapo tofu.

Pigsy tasted the broth and hummed thoughtfully, "It's missing something." He then shot him an expectant grin, "But what?"

MK wasn't convinced that Pigsy didn't deliberately "forget" to add an ingredient just to test him. Which felt super unfair since he didn't know how most of these dishes were supposed to taste. But if he got it right Pigsy practically glowed with pride and wanting nothing more, he took a taste himself and really mulled over the flavour.

It definitely was missing something and he pulled up every scrap of cooking knowledge he had to figure it out. With a triumphant, "Ah-ha!" He swiped up the bottle of oyster sauce from the counter and confidently added it to the soup.

It was moments like this where he wondered if Pigsy's obsession with cooking was finally rubbing off on him because he swore as soon as he added that missing ingredient the whole pot seemed to glow resplendently.

He was given no time to worry about it though because with a pleased laugh, Pigsy ruffled his hair, "Thata boy! We'll make a chef out of you yet!"

He was grinning so widely his cheeks hurt as plated up two bowls - Pigsy's good natured ribbing about his presentation skills only adding to his delight.

The two of them were sat side by side at the bar when they finally tucked in and he found himself frozen after a single bite. Oblivious, Pigsy sighed happily, "Ah, just like I remember. What good taste you used to... Kid?"

His eyes had started watering against his will, a hand coming up to his mouth as he lowered the chopsticks back to the bowl as he asked, "This is... Is this what you made for me? The night I..."

The night he wandered into Pigsy's life and turned it on it's head. He couldn't explain it but the second the taste had touched his tongue, he'd been five years old again and he was finding it difficult not to be overwhelmed by the feeling.

Pigsy huffed a small laugh, "Sure was. I didn't think you would be able to remember that. You were so young... Just goes to show you the power of good food!"

MK laughed a little wetly - of course that's what he would say. But he couldn't really argue with him - that one bite had tasted like home. He stared into the broth for a long moment, very faintly able to see his face reflected in it. So much had changed since then...

Pigsy's voice was a little gruff as he nudged him, "Hey, don't go getting in tears in your soup - you'll ruin the taste."

He laughed again as he wiped at his face before picking up his chopsticks again. He savoured every bite as his mind filled with half forgotten memories of a life well spent within these walls.

The atmosphere was nostalgic and fond as they both shared any early memories they had of each other and the restaurant. Little moments that would have meant nothing to anybody else but meant the world to them.

Like the day MK had decided to draw all over every menu in the building right before they opened for the day or the time Pigsy accidentally added chilli oil to both their lunches instead of just his own and had reduced his seven year old self to tears.

It was as they were cleaning up that he quietly admitted, "I'm so glad it was you that found me."

Pigsy turned to him, voice a little wobbly, "You're the one that found me, kid." His eyes shone as he rested a hand on MK's face, "I don't know how or why you did... but I couldn't be more grateful to have you for a son."

He couldn't say something like that and not expect him to fall apart. He all but tackled Pigsy as he cried on his shoulder but he was held back just as tightly.

Long before he had ever picked up Monkey King's staff, there had always been this fear deep down that he didn't belong here, that at any moment he was going to be ripped away from his home and his family, but it had gotten so much worse after the Lady Bone Demon and then worse again after Azure.

There was now this persistent sense that he was something else, something terrible and dangerous, and that it was only a matter of time before Pigsy realised it and sent him away.

But it hadn't happened, with every difficult or painful thing they experienced Pigsy only ever seemed to double down. Going out of his way to make sure he knew he always had a place here, that he had a family that loved him no matter what.

In between incoherent blubbering he managed to get out, "You're the best dad I could have ever asked for."

Pigsy scoffed as he pulled back from the hug, "Now, we both know that's not true. But... I must have done something right for you to have ended up like this."

Apparently unable to handle the touching atmosphere a moment longer, Pigsy tacked on, "Or something terribly wrong because heaven knows how I raised a kid that hates scallions."

It wasn't enough to fully dispel the mushy feelings in his chest but it gave him enough of a reprieve to wipe at his face with his sleeve as he defended himself, "They just don't taste good!"

Pigsy tsked, "It's probably Tang's fault - must have dropped you on your head or something when I wasn't looking."

He rolled his eyes, "You always think everything is Mr. Tang's fault."

He listened fondly as Pigsy explained to him why everything always was Mr. Tang's fault but his attempts to make the mood a lighter did nothing to detract from how glad he was to be here now, how lucky he was to have had Pigsy's Noodles as his home.

And how grateful he was that it always would be.

--End--

LMK Fanfic Masterlist

#lmk #lmk fanfiction #my fanfiction #lmk mk #lmk pigsy #oneshot #complete fic #originally posted on ao3 #tumblr fic #dadsy #family feels #family fluff #au: dadsy

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