#Data Monitoring Switches | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romerona · 2 months ago

Text

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

Tags:

hangmanscoming

leesumii

glowingtree

isla-finke-blog

milkyasteroids

notaceventura

djappleblush

hipsternerd9

impossibleblizzardstudentposts

thesoftdumbass

imineveryfandomever

st4rgirlmar1e

malindacath asked:

lonelysoul50

xozchi

nerdgirljen

kakeurillon

softpia

Please tell me if you want to be tagged.

994 notes · View notes

mrs-elsie-barnes · 1 month ago

Text

5 Times You Are Not Dating Bucky Barnes (and the one time you are) | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 2.6k words |

You're sick of saying it, Bucky is not your boyfriend, you are not dating you're just friends. Until...

Warnings: 18+ for some canon typical violence and for Sam and Joaquin being pains in the arse (affectionate). Friends to lovers vibes, idiots in love, dating but not dating.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes is not your boyfriend.

At least once a day these words come out of your mouth in some form and it's becoming so frequent now that you're considering just recording yourself and playing it back on your phone.

Colleagues, partners in the field, friends.

Not a couple.

Not dating.

"Did you hear that, Wilson? She said —"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky, sighing dramatically in a way that only Sam is really allowed to get away with. Bucky hadn't taken his eyes from your laptop screen or the secure file you were scrolling through.

"Look awful close though."

You looked up this time, the top of your head brushing Bucky's cheek, his breath was warm against your own and the contrast between his exhale and the cold glass of the table gave you goosebumps.

"We're reviewing the data Joaquin sent us, what do you want us to do?" You snapped, scrolling to the next page of mind numbingly boring KPIs and MIs. Just your luck to get the management files and nothing juicy.

"Perhaps you could use the projector?" Sam clicked a button on the table and the details on your screen lit up the plain, white wall of the conference room.

Embarrassed heat flared up your spine and you shivered.

"Not very secure though, is it, Captain?" Bucky picked up the remote and switched the projector off, his eyes on the laptop screen.

The plastic of your chair squeaked as he tightened his hold on it, and the door slammed shut behind Sam.

You followed your nose from the cool darkness of the operations room to the open living area. Tedious as it was to be stationed in the middle of nowhere for recon, you couldn't fault the accommodation, it was almost like being on holiday, apart from the gruelling shifts staring at monitors every day.

Somewhere further along the corridor the sound of good-natured arguing grew louder, Bucky's voice rising above the others and warning them not to disturb you. There was a brief pause before you heard Sam and Joaquin start laughing and Bucky's heavy sigh.

"Morning," you gave a small sleepy smile to the assembled team. Joaquin smiled back, raising his coffee cup in greeting. Sam grinned and you knew instantly that there was something going on. "What now?" You sighed, sending both men in to fits of laughter.

Bucky handed you a cup of tea and bowl of yogurt and granola, a handful of blueberries and raspberries on top.

"Thanks, I'm starving." You bumped his hip as you wandered past to join your teammates at the kitchen island and earned yourself a rare smile.

"What've you got there?" Sam asked, peering into your bowl.

"Usual," you mumbled, sipping your tea. Perfect.

"Uh huh, the usual." He looked up at Bucky, whose face was slowly turning the same colour as the raspberries.

"Can I have some yoghurt, Bucky?" Joaquin asked, innocently.

"Nope." Bucky said, watching you take the first bite and allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in a smile when yours did.

"Oh, did we run out?"

"Nope."

Bucky put the almost full pot back into the fridge, fixed his coffee and sat down too, shuffling his stool a little closer to you. His hair was still a little damp and you could smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his bare arm bumping against yours as he took a sip of coffee.

Sam and Joaquin emptied out the last of their coffees into the sink and slunk away, whispering and laughing conspiratorially about "special treatment for girlfriends."

Bucky was, as usual, ignoring them and flipping through a week old newspaper and sipping his coffee. He caught you watching and gave you a mock glare, nothing like the hard stare he'd given Sam and Joaquín earlier.

Then he turned the pages slightly so you could see and you let your head rest on his shoulder, still sipping your tea.

"I'm sorry, okay, please stop giving me the cold shoulder." Sam followed after you as you picked your way back to the jet, trying to catch up so you could walk together.

"Absolutely not, I want to be angry for at least two more hours." You grouched, squeezing water from your tactical gear.

"C'mon, it's a little funny," Joaquin laughed, taking up space on your other side.

"Fuck off, Torres, if you had fish swimming in your tac suit you'd be mad too. "

Bucky met you at the cargo door, towel in hand and glaring at your team mates.

"Hell happened to you lot? And why are there fish in your suit?" He scanned you all quickly for serious damage, but it was just your ego that was bruised really.

"Someone, told me it was totally safe to cross this rickety fucking bridge back there," you scowled again.

It really wasn't Sam's fault, it looked perfectly safe or you wouldn't have started to cross, but it was clearly rigged to fall and that's exactly what you'd done, straight into the stagnant water below.

In their gear Sam and Joaquin had been fine. You, on the other hand, had been soaked from head to toe.

"Let's get you in something clean and dry," Bucky gently ushered you into the cool darkness of the jet, soothing your embarrassment with his own stories and wiping mud from the back of your neck as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I don't think there's anything left in my locker after we got caught in that storm a few weeks back." Embarrassment made your skin itchy and your blood cold. You had spare underwear, maybe, at best.

"Don't worry," Bucky put his back to the door of the small bathroom while you stripped off your dirty clothes inside, "I've got something."

When you reappeared fifteen minutes later, cleaner, dryer, it was in a pair of Bucky's spare sweat pants and the black t-shirt he'd been wearing.

Joaquin raised his eyes but made the decision not to comment and incur your wrath any further.

Sam, on the other hand, chose to tease Bucky instead, their arguing bouncing around the jet while you tried to get comfy on the thin flight seats.

"Got your territory all marked then, Barnes?" He laughed, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Don't know what you're on about, Wilson." Bucky snapped back.

"She's in your clothes, couldn't find any spares? Nothing of mine of Joaquin's back there? You're getting more possessive." Sam shot you a look, "you need to tell him to fuck off."

"I'm good, Sam, thanks for your concern."

"Ahh so you are —"

"We're not dating!" You shouted in unison.

Which only made Sam and Joaquín laugh harder.

It was okay though, you were safe again now and, snuggling deeper into the body warmth of Bucky's t-shirt and definitely a lot less angry than you had been, you really felt safe too. How could you feel any other kind of way, when you could smell his body wash, when he had dried your face so carefully and helped you into your clean clothes.

He looked over at you, eyes still checking for injuries.

"You okay over there? Warm enough?" You nodded and he nodded back, smiling.

Joaquin woke with a jolt when the plane hit turbulence, there was a crick in his neck and a sore muscle in his back screaming for a soft bed and his favourite pillow. But no such luck, just an army evac in the dead of night.

Beside him Sam had spread out a blanket and his jacket on the floor, using his rucksack as a pillow and snoring soundly. He could always sleep anywhere, you all could, especially after the day you'd had.

Bucky had taken up a spot sat on the floor like Sam, but with his back to the thin benches, his pack holding up his head. In the gloom he could see Bucky's left arm rigidly holding his body up, elbow locked, because on the right you were leaning into him. His arm was around your shoulders and you'd curled your body into his, pressing into his side, face tucked into his neck and hand under his shirt.

The plane rattled again and Bucky blinked one eye open, his body still as he scanned around quickly before locking eyes with Joaquin.

"You two comfy?" Joaquin whispered and Bucky scowled back. He'd expected Bucky to push you away, but instead he tugged you closer.

Joaquin made a tiny heart shape with his fingers and then mimed kissing.

Bucky flicked up his middle finger and then closed his eyes.

"So, Playboy, got any plans tonight," Sam asked, scuffing Joaquin on the back of the head while you pulled your bag out of the gym lockers.

It'd been a long day and you couldn't wait to order a ridiculous amount of food, put your pyjamas on and forget the world existed.

"You know me, Sam. Keepin' my options open." The younger man grinned back.

"Lotta fingers in a lotta pies, have you Torres?" You snickered.

Bucky shut his locker with a slam. "Don't be crude," he grouched, but you saw the way he smiled when he rolled his eyes.

"Something like that," Joaquin shrugged.

"What about you man, hot date?" Joaquin asked,

"Nah," Sam turned away and Joaquin finished towelling his wet hair and started digging his clothes from his bag before wandering off for some privacy.

You slid your trainers back on, tucking your boots in your locker and wondering why they were both suddenly so interested in each other's dating life.

"Not even Leila," you needled, breaking the silence and poking him in the side.

"What's it got to do with you anyway? You seeing anyone tonight?"

"Nope, just me and some Chinese takeout tonight, maybe a little flirt with Netflix," Sam gave you a slightly sad look, but what did you care, it wasn't the only Friday night that would ever happen and you were exhausted.

"I was going to get noodles, do you want to come back to mine, we can split an order?" Bucky asked, fishing his keys from his gym bag and nodding his head towards the door.

"Ohh yes as long as we can get dumplings."

"Obviously we're getting dumplings."

"And maybe fried rice?"

"Rice and noodles?"

"You get one, I'll get the other, we'll split it."

"Fine."

"Shall I follow you —"

"Leave your car by the hanger, I'll drive you back in tomorrow."

"Perfect, let's grab a bottle of wine from the store on the way back."

Bucky groaned, holding the door open for you, "how many times have I said, the only acceptable drink with Chinese takeout is Tsingtao."

The door shut as Joaquin rounded the lockers again, a confused look on his face."Do they know it's Valentines Day?"

Sam laughed, "I don't think so but I can't wait to see their faces tomorrow when they figure it out."

"I've got him, Bucky, you watch the trucks?" You put your sight back to your eye, shuffling your shoulders, settling lower into the ground, you breathed deeply as you prepared to take the shot.

"You'll give away your position, you're too close, fall back." Bucky's voice was surprisingly frantic in your ear.

"Quiet, please. I can do this."

"Leave her, Buck, she's got this."

"Cap's right, gotta have a little faith."

"It's too risky —"

You turned your comm off. You'd been watching this gang for weeks hoping to catch them in the act and you had the perfect chance.

Sam and Joaquin had been leading your infiltration of their den and everything had been going swimmingly — until their leader had walked out and thrown everything into chaos.

You caught the kickback from your rifle with practised ease, your aim perfect, the apparent leader of the group crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his now shattered kneecap. Nothing fatal, you wanted to see him on the stand as did the rest of the team.

You touched your ear piece again ready to gloat about your excellent hit but Bucky's panicked voice found you instead.

"Run, I'm coming but you've gotta run, go —go! Why aren't you going!"

You turned, surrounded by three armed guards, and did the only thing you could do. Fight back.

This wasn't the best time for close quarters combat, but you needed time to reach your handgun or your dagger or something.

Dodging around you gained enough time to slip a knife from your thigh holster.

"I've got it, Buck. Go to Sam."

"No you fucking haven't."

Your arm moved, swiping at your first assailant and leaving a splatter of blood behind. Still low you lurched for the second man's legs, jabbing upwards as he bent down to you. The blade pierced the top of his thigh and blood gushed out as you twisted your wrist and tugged.

"Don't kill anyone." Sam admonished.

But you were too focused to care. The third guard was huge, broad and carrying a knife to match. But it was the gun pointed at your temple that had your heart pounding.

"Put the gun down little lady, we don't want any more messes for you to clean up." The man leered forward, pressing the hot muzzle of the gun into your skin.

"Fuck off." You spat back.

He bent closer, sliding his dagger back into its holster, giving him a free hand to pinch your cheeks. "Such a dirty mouth, what will I do with you."

"She said, fuck off."

The man looked blank, turning his head to find Bucky towering over him gun pressed to his back.

"You okay?" He asked, glancing at you quickly.

"Fine."

"You're a lucky bastard today." Bucky pulled the trigger and you closed your eyes against the spray.

The man shouted, clutching at his shoulder where blood was pouring between his fingers, the wound wider at the front.

"How's that lucky, Bucky?" You chastised, brushing leaves and dirt from your tactical suit and grabbing your rifle.

"If you were hurt, I'd have shot him in the head." He answered, simply, and you felt yourself go hot all over at the thought of what he'd do for you.

Sam and Joaquin landed behind you and rushed forwards.

"We heard more shots, is everyone okay? — What the hell guys I said minimal damage." Sam groaned.

"Would've been easier if someone—" Bucky looked at you, "had left their comms on and run when I'd said."

You rolled your eyes, "I was fine, look." All three patrol guards lay bleeding on the ground.

"That guy had a gun to your head, you were not fine."

"I had him on the ropes." You smiled, but it wavered, you had been scared and your heart had been racing seeing Bucky sneak up on him. "Plus, I've got my knight in shining armour to shoot people for me." You grinned up at Bucky, blood painted on your uniforms and across your cheeks.

"Good thing too." Bucky threaded his fingers through your chest holster and tugged you forwards, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You hummed happily and leant into him before he set you back down

"If you're done, Sam, can we go back to the jet? I've got bad guy blood all over me, yuck." You made a face and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand before strolling off with Bucky, rifles over your shoulders.

"Did they just—" Joaquin looked over at Sam.

"Yeah —"

"How long?"

"No idea."

As you rounded the corner Bucky took your hand again, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your head where the imprint of the gun still lingered.

"Does this finally mean I'm your boyfriend?"

"Because you shot someone for me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, sure." You smiled, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

1K notes · View notes

electronalytics · 2 years ago

Text

AMF Generator Set Controllers Market Overview Outlook, Analysis, Trends, Demand, Opportunity, Forecast by 2032

Market Overview:

The AMF (Auto Mains Failure) generator set controllers market refers to the segment of the power generation industry that deals with controlling and monitoring backup generator sets in the event of a mains power failure. These controllers automatically start and synchronize the generator sets, ensuring a seamless transfer of power during outages.

Key Factors Driving the AMF Generator Set Controllers Market:

1. Growing Need for Reliable Backup Power: The AMF generator set controllers market is primarily driven by the need for continuous power supply across a variety of industries, including commercial, industrial, and residential. When the mains power goes out, these controllers automatically and effectively transfer power, guaranteeing ongoing operations.

2. Expansion of vital Infrastructure: Reliable backup power solutions are necessary for the growth of vital infrastructure, including data centres, hospitals, and telecommunication networks. During power outages, AMF generator set controllers are essential for managing the backup power systems and ensuring smooth power transmission.

3. Severe Regulations on electricity Quality and Reliability: Authorities are enforcing severe regulations on electricity quality and dependability. The provision of AMF generator set controllers aids in upholding the necessary power standards.

4. An increase in the frequency of natural catastrophes: As the frequency of natural disasters like hurricanes, earthquakes, and storms has increased, so has the demand for dependable backup power systems. AMF generator set controllers make sure that backup generators synchronise and start automatically, supplying power right away in emergency situations.

5. Growing Adoption of backup Generators: The need for AMF generator set controllers is being driven by the growing installation of backup generator sets in a variety of industries, including commercial buildings, healthcare facilities, and manufacturing facilities. During power outages, these controls allow standby generators to run without a hitch.

6. Technological Advances in Controller Functionality: Remote monitoring, diagnostics, and predictive maintenance capabilities are just a few of the functional improvements being made to AMF generator set controllers. These characteristics improve the effectiveness and dependability of backup power systems, driving their adoption.

7. Energy Efficiency and Environmental Sustainability are a Priority: Energy efficiency and environmental sustainability are now major factors in the production of electricity. AMF generator set controllers provide functions like load management and optimised power transfer, which save energy and have a smaller negative impact on the environment.

8. Integration with Smart Grid Systems: The AMF generator set controllers' integration with smart grid systems allows for effective load balancing and power management. By ensuring appropriate backup power resource utilisation, this integration also improves the grid's overall stability.

9. There is a rising need for hybrid power systems: which combine backup generators and renewable energy sources like solar and wind. In order to manage the synchronisation and power transfer between various energy sources and create hybrid systems, AMF generator set controllers are crucial.

10. Market expansion for rental electricity: is being driven by demand from building sites, special events, and temporary power requirements. In rental power systems, AMF generator set controllers are essential for automatic power transfer and stable backup power.

Trends :

IoT and cloud computing integration: AMF generator set controllers are being connected with IoT devices and cloud-based platforms to enable remote monitoring, data analytics, and preventative maintenance. This pattern increases operational effectiveness, lowers downtime, and increases system reliability.

Improved User Interface and User Experience: Manufacturers are putting more effort into creating graphical displays, touchscreens, and user-friendly interfaces for AMF generator set controllers. This tendency makes things easier to use and improves the user experience as a whole.

Demand:

Wireless communication in AMF generator set controllers is becoming more and more necessary. Wireless communication makes it possible for controllers, remote monitoring devices, and control centres to exchange data in real-time, increasing system accessibility and flexibility.

Referrals to our Stringent datalytics company, trade journals, and websites that focus on market reports are encouraged. These sources frequently include thorough research, market trends, growth projections, competition analysis, and other insightful information about this market.

You can investigate the availability of particular reports linked to this market by going to our website or getting in touch with us directly. We offer thorough and in-depth information that might be helpful for firms, investors, and individuals interested in this industry, but these reports frequently need to be purchased or subscribed to.

“Remember to look for recent reports to ensure you have the most current and relevant information.”

Click Here, To Get Free Sample Report: https://stringentdatalytics.com/sample-request/amf-generator-set-controllers-market/10332/

Market Segmentations:

Global AMF Generator Set Controllers Market: By Company

• CRE TECHNOLOGY

• Kutai Electronics Industry Co., Ltd.

• S.I.C.E.S.

• bernini design srl

• Emko Elektronik A.Ş.

• Kadimendium

• DATAKOM ELECTRONICS ENGINEERING A.S

• Deep Sea Electronics

• ComAp

Global AMF Generator Set Controllers Market: By Type

• Automatic

• Manual

Global AMF Generator Set Controllers Market: By Application

• Power Industry

• Government and Utilities

Global AMF Generator Set Controllers Market: Regional Analysis

North America: The North America region includes the U.S., Canada, and Mexico. The U.S. is the largest market for Muscle Wire in this region, followed by Canada and Mexico. The market growth in this region is primarily driven by the presence of key market players and the increasing demand for the product.

Europe: The Europe region includes Germany, France, U.K., Russia, Italy, Spain, Turkey, Netherlands, Switzerland, Belgium, and Rest of Europe. Germany is the largest market for Muscle Wire in this region, followed by the U.K. and France. The market growth in this region is driven by the increasing demand for the product in the automotive and aerospace sectors.

Asia-Pacific: The Asia-Pacific region includes Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, Thailand, Indonesia, Philippines, China, Japan, India, South Korea, and Rest of Asia-Pacific. China is the largest market for Muscle Wire in this region, followed by Japan and India. The market growth in this region is driven by the increasing adoption of the product in various end-use industries, such as automotive, aerospace, and construction.

Middle East and Africa: The Middle East and Africa region includes Saudi Arabia, U.A.E, South Africa, Egypt, Israel, and Rest of Middle East and Africa. The market growth in this region is driven by the increasing demand for the product in the aerospace and defense sectors.

South America: The South America region includes Argentina, Brazil, and Rest of South America. Brazil is the largest market for Muscle Wire in this region, followed by Argentina. The market growth in this region is primarily driven by the increasing demand for the product in the automotive sector.

Visit Report Page for More Details: https://stringentdatalytics.com/reports/amf-generator-set-controllers-market/10332/

Reasons to Purchase AMF Generator Set Controllers Market Report:

• To gain insights into market trends and dynamics: this reports provide valuable insights into industry trends and dynamics, including market size, growth rates, and key drivers and challenges.

• To identify key players and competitors: this research reports can help businesses identify key players and competitors in their industry, including their market share, strategies, and strengths and weaknesses.

• To understand consumer behavior: this research reports can provide valuable insights into consumer behavior, including their preferences, purchasing habits, and demographics.

• To evaluate market opportunities: this research reports can help businesses evaluate market opportunities, including potential new products or services, new markets, and emerging trends.

About US:

Stringent Datalytics offers both custom and syndicated market research reports. Custom market research reports are tailored to a specific client's needs and requirements. These reports provide unique insights into a particular industry or market segment and can help businesses make informed decisions about their strategies and operations.

Syndicated market research reports, on the other hand, are pre-existing reports that are available for purchase by multiple clients. These reports are often produced on a regular basis, such as annually or quarterly, and cover a broad range of industries and market segments. Syndicated reports provide clients with insights into industry trends, market sizes, and competitive landscapes. By offering both custom and syndicated reports, Stringent Datalytics can provide clients with a range of market research solutions that can be customized to their specific needs

Stringent Datalytics

Contact No - +1 346 666 6655

Email Id - [email protected]

Web - https://stringentdatalytics.com/

#AMF Generator Set Controllers Market #Generation #Load Management #Power Resilience #Remote Monitoring #Generator Control Systems #Power Distribution #Emergency Power #Uninterrupted Power Supply #Power Outage Protection #Energy Security #Data Center Backup #Industrial Backup Power #Commercial Backup Solutions #Smart Control Systems #ATS (Automatic Transfer Switch) Integration #Grid Connectivity #Reliable Power Solutions #Backup Power Management.

1 note · View note

p-seduonym · 1 month ago

Text

Switched At Birth (Part Eight)

A/N: I'm alive! I swear. I was just sick for a bit. Also, I had writer's block so I'm not really happy with this. Regardless, hope you like it! Also, if you're new, hi and welcome! I got this idea from @luludeluluramblings's Switched at Birth Au. Check it out and give them some love!

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh. @tsuniio, @fantasyhopperhea, @type-ink, @dirtydiavolo, @colorfulgardenerduck, @seemeee3, @ironsaladwitch, @yumeravenclaw, @jjsmeowthie, @snowy-violet, @wizzerreblogs, @ratterpatter, @gremlin-dumpster-fire-art, @anonymoustext, @a-heavenly-hell, @holderoflostmemories, @ilovecoffe0

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

It was rare for Tim to not know something.

From the mundane to the extraordinary, he always had to be the first to know.

So Melissa’s recent escapades didn’t slip under his radar, even if they registered less than a ping.

As the rows of monitors blinked with surveillance feeds, data scans, and live social media aggregators, Tim considered the grainy photos halfheartedly. Barbara sat at her command chair, typing rapidly as he sipped his mug of coffee behind her.

Leaning back, Barbara pointed out with an arched eyebrow, “See this one? Melissa Wayne spotted riding through Crime Alley on a bicycle. With some girl in cat socks. Whole city’s losing its mind.”

Tim took another sip from his mug. “Yeah. I clocked it about thirty minutes ago. Midtown cameras picked them up—she’s been with the same girl a few times now. Thrift shop, old diner, now the conservatory.”

“And? Not even remotely curious?” Barbara joked with a smirk.

“Please,” He scoffed, “Gotham latches onto any Wayne with a pulse and a hobby. It’s a media Rorschach test. People are just projecting”

“Yeah, but this is Melissa we’re talking about. No offense, but she's not exactly popular. Specially in the media”

“It’s noise, Babs. A bored city sees a couple photos and gets excited. Unless she suddenly manifests laser eyes or starts dating a Falcone, it’s not mission-critical.”

Barbara, still typing, narrows her eyes slightly at the screen, “Uh huh. And what if it is something? That building they went into tonight—zoning says it hasn’t been structurally sound in over a decade. Can’t imagine any reason they’d go there”

He sighs and sets down his mug before inquiring “What? You think it’s a hidden op or something?”

“I think Melissa has never done anything unpredictable in her life–until now. And it might be because of that girl”

She paused suddenly. This didn’t go unnoticed by Tim, as he watched her pull up the footage of a Midtown surveillance camera. The screen displayed a paused image: Melissa on the back of a bike, smiling. It was a soft sort of smile, one that Tim couldn’t remember off the top of his head and that left him somewhat uneasy. The girl pedaling throws a glance over her shoulder, eyes sharp, grin crooked.

“...She looked at the camera,” Tim frowned slightly.

“Now you’re curious?” Barbara chuckled.

“Curious, maybe, but not concerned”

When Melissa gently eased herself through the crack of the front door, she paused for a moment and looked back over her shoulder. Even from the distance covering the front gate of Wayne Estate and the front porch, she could see you pedaling down the paved path.

A small childish part of her wanted to call out to you, but she bit her tongue. Instead she pacified herself with the promise you made:

“I’m gonna be honest with you Mel, it’ll probably take a bit before I’m “gala-ready”. But I swear I will be before we go, alright?”

The gala was still weeks away, but you looked so sincere that Melissa couldn’t do anything but believe you.

So, still wind tousled, Melissa turned back to enter the manor. A small smile, secretive yet content graced her face. Her fingertips gently brushed the scrunchie tied snuggly around her wrist.

That is until she saw Damian, seated at the base of the grand staircase, arms folded, shadowed by the low amber light of the chandelier. His posture was still, but coiled. Watching.

Melissa felt her smile drop.

“You’re late” He said it like she was inconveniencing him.

She blinked slowly at him which only made him grow more exasperated.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me” She answered cautiously but truthfully, slinking closer as if not to startle him.

Damian rolled his eyes, “It’s not normal for you to be out this late. Or to be that close to Crime Alley”

Her eyes widened, “How did–”

“Please, did you think your little escapades went without notice? Those morons in the media are fixated on the two of you.”

She recoiled at his mention of you. You weren’t supposed to be in their sights.

Not yet, anyway.

Melissa fidgeted under his gaze, idly twisting the hair tie on her wrist.

“I didn’t think it’d upset you that much”

“I’m not upset. I’m alert.”

A pause grew between the two siblings before she sighed. It was that typical pitiful sigh, like she bore all the weight of the world’s brudens.

That same annoying sigh.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” She said it in such a rehearsed way, “I just went out with…with a friend”

“I wasn’t worried,” He stressed. “I was concerned for the Wayne name and how your actions would affect it.”

Melissa nodded as if she understood, but he knew she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were glazed over and stared at him as if he was a clueless child. It irked him even more.

“You. You’re hiding something”

That seemed to grab her attention. Her eyes flicked to meet his, even if they still looked forlorn.

“...isn’t everyone?” She acquiesced, in a hushed voice.

Another pause followed before he stood and pivoted in place. As he ascended the stairs, Damian stated flatly.

“Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. Don’t be a nuisance”

While he climbed, he added.

“To us, or her”

Watching him walk off, Melissa’s face remained fixed.

Her thoughts, however, quickly curdled.

“Damn brat” Hissed in the back of her head when she reached her room.

It was rather simple to play the pitiful, hopeless forgotten daughter. It made her unassuming. No one would think twice about what she did. However, that paranoid cretin seemed hellbent on ruining that. Melissa knew her ploy never worked on him, yet she could not drop it. Out of habit or pride, she continued the charade around him.

But, still, Damian didn’t think much of her. Even now, he likely saw her acting out as a sort of rebellious phase.

That could work.

“A quiet, rebellious girl keeping odd company”, was something that she could play.

Just until she could hit them where it hurt.

A/N: I am legit so tired. If this wasn't that good, I'm not in a great headspace rn. I just wanted to post something for yall this week.

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere core #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere oc #original character #platonic yandere #familial yandere #romantic yandere #just let me ramble

567 notes · View notes

demilypyro · 2 months ago

Text

Your monitor's my destination

Attention seeking, online bitch

Endless data propagation

Plug in the wire, throw the switch

Can't see you from inside the screen

Are you watching, is this thing on

I'm the ghost in the machine

My own digital panopticon

#lyrics that don't exist

426 notes · View notes

luv4arinn · 3 months ago

Text

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

280 notes · View notes

valeisaslut · 4 months ago

Text

Undercover desire Pt.2 - mdni (+18)

clic to read pt.1!

⚢ pairing: Secret agent!Ellie Williams x Secret agent!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: You and Ellie were here to complete the job—not to get tangled up in each other. But after barely managing to escape, the tension ignites into something far more dangerous. The real threat isn’t the mission anymore… it’s what happens if you give in. Either way, it’s going to explode. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 5.7k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: enemies tu lovers, smut!!, dom!Ellie, sub/switch!reader, scissoring, fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), cum eating, hair pulling, pet names, VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LMAO, lots of cursing, blood, bombs, use of firearms, violence, helicopter?? . MINORS AND MEN DNI!!! 𖥔 ݁ ˖

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ Heyyyy! Sorry to keep ya'll waiting but pt.2 is here and is here for GOOD, i got a little excited with the plot and felt i was in a movie, so sorry if it a little very unrealistic. English isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The narrow hallway led to a larger room, dimly lit by a soft emergency light. The walls were lined with metal panels, covered in pinned-up documents, while monitors flickered with data in Russian. In the center, a table overflowed with files.

Your heart pounded.

This is it.

This was the information you had been chasing. The secret experiment that justified every bullet dodged, every high-speed chase, and every dangerously close call with Ellie. This was the mission’s objective.

You rushed forward, grabbing one of the files just as she did the same on the other side of the table. The words Проект кордицепс (Project Cordyceps) were printed on the first page.

"This is even bigger than we thought" you murmured, flipping through the documents.

“Since when do you speak Russian?” Ellie asked, watching you read through the files with ease.

“Looks like someone didn't finish reading my file and skipped the mandatory Russian course.”

“Sorry, know-it-all. I just kept reading until the part where it said your specialty was firearms.” She said, but now looking up at you with a serious expression. “...So, what is it about?”

“Bioweapon experiments with something called Cordyceps. Looks like they’re testing this kind of fungus on human subjects, and it causes them brain infection." you said grimly. "This isn’t just research… it’s fucking extermination."

A noise in the hallway made you freeze. They were footsteps, and they were coming towards you quickly. You locked eyes with Ellie, and just as you turned to the exit, the door bursted open. In seconds, she grabbed the documents and stuffed them inside her jacket.

Before you could react, a guard stormed in, gun raised. A shot rang out.

But it wasn’t aimed at either of you.

The bullet struck a security pipe above your heads, releasing an unknown gas into the room.

Your lungs burned instantly. With blurry, stinging eyes, you barely managed to see that the only exit was blocked. No time. No options. The gas overwhelmed you in seconds, dragging you under. The last thing you heard was the dull thud of your own body collapsing on the floor.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your consciousness returned in waves, like a distant echo filtering through the pain and confusion. Your head throbbed with a dull, pounding buzz, and when you tried to move, a harsh tug at your wrists made you groan. Tied.

The material was thick, rough against your skin. Rope or some kind of industrial binding—tight enough to cut off your circulation if you struggled too hard. Your wrists were secured firmly to a pipe along the wall.

You opened your eyes, quickly scanning the room. A single flickering light in the corner barely illuminated the space. The concrete walls were bare except for a single metal door. No furniture, no windows, nothing that hinted an easy escape.

Great. You ended up in a damn makeshift cell.

The cold from the floor seeped through your clothes, but then you noticed a warm pressure against your back. A musky forest-like scent seeped into your nose, surrounding you.

Ellie.

As if this couldn’t get any worse.

Your breathing was shallow as you tried to ignore the way your legs were tangled with hers, the way your heartbeat—fast, intense—drummed against your chest.

"Look who finally decided to wake up." Ellie's voice was a rough whisper, hoarse from dryness.

Even tied up in a cell, with her wrists bound, she still manages to sound smug.

You clicked your tongue, the metallic taste of blood lingering on your lips.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me." you muttered.

You tried moving your arms, but the rope only tightened against your skin. Worse, it pulled you even closer to Ellie.

"Stop moving." she grumbled, barely hiding her exasperation.

"Stop breathing in my ear" you shot back, feeling heat creeping up your neck.

"Kinda hard when you’re practically on top of me." There was an unmistakable hint of amusement in her voice, which only made your irritation spike.

"This is so stupid." you sighed.

After a few minutes of silence in which you continued trying to think of every single way to escape, you heard her teasing voice again.

"You know," Ellie mused, her soft laugh vibrating against your chest. "When I imagined you being tied up with me, I didn't exactly imagine it like this."

A smirk curled on her lips. "But hey, I’ll take what I can get."

"Can you stop being annoying for just one damn second?" you hissed in a low, threatening whisper, tugging hard against the rope.

Yours and Ellie's wrists were bound separately, and that didn’t make things any easier. You tried pulling once again, but all it did was tangle your legs with hers even more.

"Yep, that’s not getting you anywhere." she said, obvious amusement in her tone.

You shot her a glare.

"Got any better ideas, genius?"

She leaned in just enough for her lips to graze the edge of your jaw. A shiver ran down your spine.

"You sure you wanna hear 'em?" she murmured, her warm breath ghosting over your skin.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you, racing under her touch. You knew exactly what she was doing—getting a kick out of watching you lose control. Like always.

The door creaked open, halting whatever the hell was going on between you two. Heavy boots echoed against the concrete, followed by a second pair—lighter, but just as menacing.

The first man to step inside was tall, dressed in a black jacket buttoned up to his neck, a thin scar cutting across his left cheek. His sharp, dark eyes swept over you both with the cold precision of a predator sizing up its prey.

The other man, shorter but with the rigid stance of a trained soldier, lingered near the door, a gun resting against his thigh.

The taller stopped barely a foot away, his presence dominating the room with an eerie kind of calm—more unsettling than any threat or outburst could ever be.

"Two foreign spies in my base? Now that’s unexpected." he muttered, his deep voice laced with sarcasm and a thick Russian accent.

Your jaw tightened. You tried shifting forward, but the rope bit into your wrists.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

The man let out a dry, humorless chuckle, like he’d just heard the worst joke of his life.

"I'm curious..." he said, crouching slightly and resting his hands on his knees as he studied you both with the slow amusement of someone who enjoyed crushing things under his boot.

"What is so interesting about our project that you both walked straight into your own deaths?"

Your mind raced, searching for an escape, a distraction—anything that could give you an advantage. Before you could come up with a response, Ellie spoke in that deadly, indifferent tone of hers.

"If we told you, you’d have to kill us."

The leader’s dark eyes settled on Ellie, a slow, twisted smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Ah… such a mouthy little bitch. Don’t get your hopes up—I’m going to kill you both anyway."

The air in the cell grew even heavier, thick with the weight of his threat. The flickering light above casted long, trembling shadows on the concrete walls, twisting his silhouette into something monstrous-like.

Ellie sighed, tilting her head like she was about to yawn.

"What a pity. I was hoping you’d at least offer us something more interesting."

"There is no deal. You rats stepped into the wrong place. And now, you pay the price." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Tell me—who sent you? Who else knows you're here?"

You rolled your eyes.

"You really think we’re gonna tell you?"

The man sighed, straightening up as he gave a small nod to one of the guards. The soldier obeyed, pulling a knife from his belt and stepping forward.

"I wanted to do this the easy way... but you didn't give me much of a choice."

Ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eye, something dangerous sparking behind her gaze. Then, she smirked. A small, deliberate gesture. She gave you a subtle nod, waiting for your signal.

Without hesitation, you nodded back.

Screw the "trust no one" rule.

In a blur, Ellie lurched forward. The movement almost looked choreographed—she caught the knife between her boots before the guard even had a chance to react, locking the blade between her feet with lethal precision.

"What the—?!"

The scream barely left his lips before Ellie twisted sharply, driving the knife deep into the man's flesh. A howl of pain filled the cell as he stumbled back, clutching his wounded leg, blood spilling onto the concrete.

She used the chaos to her advantage, yanking the rope she was tied up with brutal force. It snapped, finally freeing her. With animal precision, she slammed her forehead against the leader’s face in a vicious headbutt. A sickening crack echoed through the room, followed by a muffled grunt.

In less than two minutes, she had taken them both down.

And you thought she couldn't get more attractive.

"You still got the files?" you panted. There was no way you were leaving empty-handed.

Ellie sliced the last of the rope on her wrists, then slipped a hand into the inner pocket of her jacket with infuriating calm. She pulled out just the corner of the gray file, smirking at your expression.

"Those idiots were dumb enough not to check me properly." Her voice was mocking, but her eyes gleamed with sharp satisfaction.

After a few seconds under her piercing gaze, your expression shifted to a clear Well? What are you waiting for?. It was obvious—you expected her next move to be untying you.

"You know…" she murmured suddenly, mischief curling at the edge of her lips, "You look pretty good all tied up. Maybe I should just leave you like this."

You rolled your eyes.

"No time for jokes, Williams. Cut them. Now."

Ellie tilted her head slightly, lips curving into a half-smile.

"I love it when you get all bossy."

With a quick flick of the knife, she sliced through the ropes in one smooth motion and helped you get back to your feet.

The wounded guard had just enough strength left to throw a clumsy punch in your direction, but you were already waiting for it. You dodged easily, shifting to the side before driving your elbow straight into his jaw. Out cold in one strike. Without hesitation, you grabbed the gun from his belt and leveled it at him.

"Damn, princess." Ellie muttered, genuinely impressed.

The wounded leader managed to get back to his feet, blood dripping from his nose, but his expression remained eerily composed. Then, without a word, he reached out and slammed his palm against a button on the wall before you could stop him.

The deafening blare of an alarm tore through the air like a blade. In the distance, the echo of hurried footsteps pounded through the hallways.

Reinforcements. You cursed under your breath.

“Fuck! we need to get out of here!”

“Yeah, and fast.” Ellie replied, starting to run with you.

The lights flickered violently, casting erratic flashes against the concrete walls as you sprinted at full speed. Behind you, the shouts of injured guards mixed with the thunder of boots closing in. The blaring alarms drowned out everything else, turning your escape into an unbearable countdown.

“Ellie, the door!” you shouted, pointing at the hatch at the end of the hallway.

She didn’t hesitate, bolting towards the exit. You pushed yourself to follow, but not before raising the gun and firing straight at the control panel on the wall. Sparks erupted in a bright burst before everything plunged into complete obscurity.

The darkness was your salvation.

Chaos turned into confusion. Amidst the yelling and stomping of boots, you both ran blindly, guided only by instinct. The emergency doors bursted open with a loud clang, and a rush of freezing air slammed against your faces.

And then, you saw it. The heliport, glowing under the blinking tower lights. And more soldiers waiting for you.

Ellie skidded to a stop, panting.

“Tell me you’ve got a plan.”

You grinned.

“It really shows you didn’t finish reading my file.”

Reaching into your jacket, you pulled out a small metal cylinder. One last explosive. Without a second thought, you hurled it straight at a fuel tank.

A sharp whistle. A flicker of fire.

And then—the explosion.

Flames roared in a blinding flash, consuming the platform in a wild dance of destruction. The shockwave rocked the ground beneath you, and the screams of soldiers were drowned out by the deafening blast.

But there was no time to worry about the damage. You grabbed Ellie by the wrist and shoved her towards the helicopter waiting at the edge, it's engine roaring defiantly against the chaos.

“Get in!”

Ellie moved quickly to the control panel, starting to pilot with remarkable expertise. The helicopter lurched into the air, wobbling like a wounded animal before steadying. Below, the enemy base shrank into a mess of lights and tiny silhouettes, their shouts drowned out by the deafening whirl of the rotors.

The helicopter managed to elevate high enough to start the getaway, speeding as fast as posible away from the base. Taking a deep breath, you slumped back against the seat, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

But the victory only lasted a few minutes.

A gunshot slammed into the side of the chopper, metal groaning under the impact. The entire structure shuddered violently.

“Shit!” Ellie cursed, gripping the controls as the helicopter rocked dangerously. "They hit us!"

Another shot. A deafening bang.

An after that, the sickening feeling of freefall.

The alarms shrieked in a piercing wail as the tail rotor burst into a storm of sparks and fire. The horizon tilted, the world spinning into a blur of flashing lights and black smoke. The helicopter spiraled out of control, a flaming projectile plummeting toward nothingness.

Gravity yanked at you both like an impatient executioner.

Ellie snapped her head towards you, her mind quickly flashing the only possible way of surviving.

“There's parachutes!” she barked, yanking hers from under the seat and tossing you another one without hesitation.

Flames clawed through the cabin, devouring every last breath of oxygen.

“Move!” you growled, fighting against the wind as you made you way to the open door.

With trembling hands, you strapped on the parachute, the searing heat creeping up your back. Ellie was already at the edge, short hair whipping wildly, her lips curling into that adrenaline-fueled smirk as she briefly winked at you.

“See you down there.”

And she jumped.

There was no more time to think.

You sucked in a breath and jumped after her, just as the helicopter erupted into an inferno of fire and twisted metal.

The shockwave hit you like a punch, sending you spinning wildly through the void. The roar of the explosion faded behind you, replaced by the deafening buzzing of the wind tearing your ears. The night stretched below—an endless, dark smear of unknown terrain.

A few hundred meters from the ground, you yanked the parachute cord. A violent jolt ripping through your body as the canopy snapped open, slowing your descent in an abrupt, stomach-turning tug. The air rushed past you, the world tilting as you spiraled downward.

Somewhere in the shadows under you, Ellie was falling too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You hit the snow with a heavy thud, the impact rattling through your entire body. A shiver ran down your spine as the freezing air bit through your soaked clothes. You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to calm the adrenaline still surging through your veins.

You were alive.

A few meters away, you saw Ellie under the faint glow of the moon. She unfastened her parachute with precise movements, her boots sinking into the snow as she pushed herself up. With an annoyed grunt, she brushed the snow off her pants.

"I’m never getting in a chopper with you again." she muttered, not even bothering to look at you.

"Oh thank you, I’m glad you’re alive too." You rolled your eyes, fingers numb as you struggled with your harness. "Where the hell are we?"

Ellie glanced up, scanning the landscape with a serious expression. Despite the darkness, the silhouette of distant mountains loomed against the cloudy sky, surrounded by an endless stretch of snow covered pines. No signs of civilization. No lights. No roads.

"Screwed." she declared, hands shoved into her pockets like she had seen worse.

You sighed, rubbing your arms in a useless attempt to warm up.

"We have to find shelter before we freeze out here."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After what felt like hours trudging through the snow, you both stumbled upon an abandoned cabin on the edge of the forest. The place was barely standing—shattered windows, a sagging roof—but the walls were intact, and there was enough scattered wood inside to build a decent fire.

The flames casted a flickering orange glow, sending shadows dancing across the worn out wooden walls. As the fire grew, the warmth slowly eased the tension in your muscles.

"We don’t have enough supplies, but we should stay here for the night." Ellie murmured, her voice low beneath the crackling fire. "In the morning, we’ll look for signal and call the agency for rescue."

"Sounds like a plan." you said, letting silence settle between you.

Then, her voice cut through it.

"C'mere."

You eyed her warily.

"Why?"

"You're freezing." She shrugged, her expression unreadable, patting the floor beside her like she didn’t care whether you accepted or not.

You hesitated. But in the end, you moved closer.

The heat of her body was immediate, wrapping around you. As soon as you sat beside her, Ellie draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in until there was barely any space left between you.

"Don’t get any ideas" you muttered, but the frantic beat of your heart betrayed you.

Ellie let out a low, lazy chuckle.

"Too late"

The air between you shifted. It wasn’t just the cold, or the exhaustion, or the comforting warmth of the fire. It was something else. Something dense, something dangerous.

Ellie turned her head just slightly, close enough to study you up close, her green eyes tracing your features in silence. When her gaze lingered on your lips, the air suddenly felt heavier.

Your breaths mingled in the sliver of space between you. The fire crackled, casting golden light across her freckled skin.

How can someone look this damn good after nearly dying fifty times?

"You're still shaking."

Ellie’s voice was a low whisper, rough around the edges, laced with something that felt like a challenge.

"It’s the cold."

Not even you believed that.

She smirked, that infuriating curve of her lips that somehow made you want to strangle her and kiss her at the same time.

"Liar." she murmured, her gaze not wavering in the slightest.

Then, without warning, her fingers brushed against your cheek, agonizingly slow. At first, her touch was cold, but as her fingertips traced the line of your jaw, her skin grew warm against yours. Every movement was deliberate, as if she was committing every inch of your face to memory.

"I can think 'bout other ways to warm me up tho." you murmured, voice laced with defiance.

Ellie’s eyes darkened, her brow lifting ever so slightly before she moved.

"Oh yeah?" her low voice vibrated against your skin.

Before you could react, she had you pinned against the wooden floor, effortlessly trapping you beneath her. Her fingers ghosted over the fabric of your shirt, tracing a slow, deliberate path to your waist.

Your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of her jacket, trailing along her back. Without realizing it, you’d drawn her even closer. Too close.

Your internal thoughts started shouting you to stop this. That it was highly prohibited.

You are an agent. She's an agent. You are obliged to be strictly coworkers through the entire mission. Nothing more.

"This is against the rules, Ellie..." you whispered against her lips, feeling the warmth of her breath mix with yours. "The agency doesn’t allow—"

"Fuck the agency."

Not even a second after saying that, she closed the mere inches of distance between you.

The world shrank to the feeling of her mouth on yours. There was no rush in her kiss—just a slow-burning intensity, a calculated game where every movement seemed to study you, test you. A declaration of war and surrender all at once.

You stopped caring at all. The inner thoughts suddenly ceased and faded away like they never existed.

Your hands slid down her back as you melted into the kiss, feeling her tense muscles beneath the fabric of her clothes. You sighed into her mouth, fingers gripping her jacket and taking it off without hesitation, pulling her down until she got fully on top of you.

Tilting your head slightly, you caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting down with teasing softness.

Ellie let out a low, dark laugh—almost predatory.

"You’re a damn problem, you know that?" she murmured against your neck, her voice deeper than usual, laced with that mix of amusement and danger that drove you insane.

"And you're an even bigger one." you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips before kissing her again. You both knew you were crossing a line that had been threatening to break for far too long.

It had already been broken.

Now, all that was left was to enjoy it for as long as you could.

Her lips left yours only to travel along your jaw, trailing downwards with a softness that made you hold your breath—like she was claiming every inch of you without even taking your clothes off.

Your hands moved desperately along her back, taking off her shirt until it hit the floor with a dull thud. You couldn't help the soft gasp that left your lips when you saw her naked chest– freckled, pale, and absolutely breathtaking.

Ellie’s hand shamelessly slipped under your shirt, her cold fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, moving agonizingly slow before gripping your waist with enough force to make you arch into her. Her other hand found your thigh, gripping it firmly as she shifted to wrap your legs around her hips.

"You’re way more fun when you’re not fighting back." She muttered against your skin.

"Shut up."

"Make me." she challenged with a fiery look before biting down and sucking the curve of your neck.

Before you could respond, she lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. You couldn’t have cared less where it landed. A slow, deep sigh escaped her lips as her gaze roamed over your bare torso, lingering on the thin barrier of your red bra.

Her hand slid went slowly down your back, already working to take off your bra as well. She lifted her gaze, silently asking for permission. The moment she caught your slight nod she unclasped it in one swift, fluid motion. The garment slid down your shoulders, and you moved your arms to let it fall completely.

"You’re fucking perfect." She bit her lip in anticipation before lowering her mouth back to you.

Her lips latched onto your breasts immediately, her tongue circling one of your hardened nipples slowly. With your hand tangled in her hair, you pulled at it roughly, making her groan against your skin.

While her mouth stayed busy, her hands slipped inside your pants, forcing your legs to part even wider for her. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a gasp when her fingers brushed against your clit through your panties.

As her lips moved back up to meet your pulse point, a broken moan escaped your lips as she sucked harshly on the sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver.

"No marks…" you murmured shakily, feeling Ellie huff against your neck in annoyance.

Logic spoke for you in that moment, but if you'd listened to your desires, you would’ve let her mark your neck with hickeys until it was completely purple.

"Why not?" She pressed another hot kiss against your pulse. She almost sounded like a pouty kid being told she couldn’t have what she wanted.

"Isn’t it obvious?" you whispered. "I can’t just walk into the office covered in hickeys right after a mission with you. It would give us away."

"Jesus, just let go for once…" she murmured, brushing her nose against yours. "Stop worrying so much, those dumbasses won't even notice."

Any response died on your tongue when Ellie kissed you with a burning intensity, the pressure of her lips turning into slow, teasing strokes of her tongue against yours. Her knee slipped between your thighs. You gasped, and she only deepened the kiss, as if she’d been craving this for years.

And before you could notice, her hand pinned your wrists above your head.

"Now, you gonna stop telling me what to do?"

The sound of your zipper opening made your breath hitch. Your back arched, and partly to give her more access, partly because this felt so damn good that you needed more. More of this, more of her.

And when Ellie yanked your pants off and tossed them aside without even glancing at them, a wave of heat shot straight through you.

The look in her eyes was completely predatory.

You were wearing red lace panties, and they matched the bra.

And only now you realized how obvious you must look.

"Ah… you knew this was gonna happen" Ellie accuses, taking them off quickly and giving your wrists a slight squeeze. "Fantasizing about your mission partner, huh? Such a dirty little thing..."

"I'm sure I'm not the only one here that has." you said, fighting back, but not denying it. There was no point in doing so.

She released your wrists and grabbed a fistful of your hair in her hand, tilting your face up to meet hers and giving it a slight pull.

"On that we agree…" she says in a husky voice.

"' 'Cause you don't know how much I fantasized 'bout fucking you, beautiful."

Jesus. fucking. CHRIST.

You let out a shuddering gasp as a shiver went through you like thunder, and the ache in your core became even more unbearable.

"Be a darling and spread your legs." She says as she releases your hair. You comply without complaint, your thighs spreading quickly.

"Atta girl... just like that..."

You don't have to see Ellie's face to feel the smug pride radiating from her as she sees how wet you are.

"Fuck, baby... you're soaked..." She says lowly as presses her finger on your swollen clit, delighting at the strangled gasp you let out.

Her gaze intertwines with yours, and in just a second, she slips two of her fingers inside you, causing you to let out a loud surprised gasp. She starts slowly, but before a few moments she increases the speed.

"Oh God! Ells-" you moan as she bends her fingers upwards to reach that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you in pure pleasure.

She moves her mouth down your body, leaving a wet path in her wake until she stops between your legs. She kisses your inner thighs teasingly, and when you let out a needy moan, her lips wrap around your aching bud and suck. Her tongue caresses your sensitive nerves as her fingers continue ravishing you.

You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately covering your mouth with one hand to muffle the high-pitched noises. Ellie doesn't cease her relentless stimulation, and it is not long before you bite down on your palm, coming undone around her fingers.

She helps you through it, letting your hips buck against her mouth as your orgasm courses through your body, before gently withdrawing her fingers. Trembling, you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Ellie, with a dark look in her eyes, watches you from between your thighs. Her lips curl into that arrogant fucking smirk that you want to punch out of her face and drives you insane at the same time.

She lifted her fingers, glistening with your arousal, and slowly slipped them into her mouth. Your lips parted as you watched her through your lashes, your eyes dark with lust.

"You taste so goddamn good..." She murmured lowly. Her gaze didn't drift once from your eyes as she sucked every drop, leaving them completely clean.

You could come again right now just because of that.

"This doesn't end here, doll" Ellie murmurs as she moves up your body again to kiss you. You moaned against her lips when you savored your own taste in the kiss.

"I never said I wanted that..." You whisper against her lips, reaching up to pull her hips down to meet yours.

Ellie hisses, moving to remove her pants and grey boxers before pressing her soaking wet center against yours. She moaned as her clit made contact with yours and it wasn't more than a minute before she pressed herself against you and began to grind her hips.

"Fuck, Ellie!" you moaned, closing your eyes in pure ecstasy, the sensation of your center grinding against hers and your clits clashing together making your eyes roll back. It was so good you felt like you were losing your mind.

Nothing mattered anymore. Fuck the agency. Fuck the rescue. Fuck the whole thing.

You wanted to stay inside that haze of pleasure for the rest of your life if possible, here, tangled up with her.

Next to the same infuriating agent you couldn't stand from the start, but now had you right where she wanted—legs open and moaning like her bitch.

The twists and turns of life.

"Shit, shit, please Ellie… I'm gonna…”

You moaned as you pulled away a little to catch your breath. You both were a panting mess, grinding against each other harder and harder.

"Let go f'me…. I'm 'bout to cum too… "

You moved your hips against Ellie, both movements losing rhythm and becoming erratic. The knot in your stomach tightened, and in less than a second, everything went white around you as you let out a strangled moan.

She let out a choked gasp and squinted her eyes tightly, being completely washed over by the orgasm and burying her face in your neck. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, grabbing you before you fell to the ground and hurt yourself.

"Shhh… I've got you…"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Several minutes later, the fire was slowly dying down, leaving the cabin wrapped in a warm dimness. Your breathing was still uneven, but the silence between you remained thick— and neither of you dared to break it.

Ellie still hadn't moved away completely. Her fingers lingered on your skin, tracing lazy patterns along your waist, as if her body refused to accept that the moment was over.

“That was…” You tried to say something, but the words died in your throat.

You felt the cold creeping back in, dragging reality along with it.

“Don’t overthink it. Just go to sleep” Ellie cut in. Her expression was serious, but her eyes were a whole different story, a glisten in them that you never saw before.

She pulled away slowly, but not entirely. Like a part of her didn’t want to. Like she wanted to stay right there, where the warmth was still bearable and the distance minimum.

But in the end, she did. She rolled onto her side, her back facing you, her body stiff, tense.

The cabin fell into complete silence, except for the occasional crackling of the fire. The air was still heavy, thick, as if the moment hadn't really ended.

Ellie turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her expression neutral. You kept staring at her, and the way her chest rose and fell a little too quickly gave her away.

“You’re not gonna sleep, are you?”

She let out a quiet, amused laugh, still not looking at you.

“I don't know. Maybe I’ll stay up until you say you regret it.”

“And what if I don’t regret it?”

This time, she did turn her head. Her eyes studied you in the dim light, as if trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, in a quiet murmur, she spoke again.

“Then we’re screwed.”

“Yeah. We definitely are.”

Ellie smiled. Just a small curve of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. She didn’t say anything else, just shifted and reached out for you. She slipped her fingers between yours, entwining them with an ease that proved this wasn’t just the adrenaline, or a escape from the cold, or lust. It was something more.

“…Do you regret it?” you whispered softly, not daring to look at her.

Ellie was quiet for a second before answering.

“You want me to be honest? …No. Not at all.” She lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I’d do it all over again—every second of it, exactly the way it happened.”

A brief silence hung between you as her words sank in, then a soft, amused laugh escaped your lips.

“Did I just hear you say something sweet? Where’s Ellie and what have you done with her?”

The teasing was nothing but a flimsy shield, barely covering the overwhelming relief that washed over you at her answer.

"Aaaand you just had to ruin the moment." she grumbled, giving your hand a light squeeze. "Now shut up and sleep, princess."

She didn’t say anything else—just sighed and reached out, pulling you against her, her hand firm on the curve of your waist. You closed your eyes as your mind raced, unsure what to think.

You knew this changed everything—made it messier, riskier. That it would put your jobs, your dynamic, everything on the line.

But when you opened your eyes again, hers were already on you, gleaming in the darkness. And for just one damn second, something unspoken burned there. Something that made the fall inevitable.

Something that told you this was far from over.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo

(if you wanna be added to my permanent tag list, comment or dm me and i'll add you!!!)

OHHH MY FUCKING GOD NOW THATS SOMETHING I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING.

Hope ya'll enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistake)

#lesbian #lesbian pride #lgbtq #ellie williams imagine #lesbian shot #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #the last of us 2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou #shappic #wlw smut #wlw ns/fw

283 notes · View notes

mossyscavern · 9 days ago

Text

Not everything, can be buried forever.

_____________________

“Anything?”

“Nothing, not even a fragment signature nor any decepticon activity either.” Optimus said, looking through teletran’s monitor.

“Bulkhead, prime.. it’s in the middle of the night. You both should be recharging.” Ratchet warns, earning a sorry from bulkhead before taking his leave to recharge. “Prime. Shut that off and go. To. Sleep.”

Ratchet warns, going back to his office, making Optimus roll his optics with a smirk. ‘Hypocrite.’ He thought, closing out of the scan area turned and was about to step away from the console.

But then he tripped, catching himself before falling helm first, breathing a sigh of relief clutching his chassis-. “--So, we moved--.” Optimus blinks, turning his helm to the monitor.

He saw that It’s bumblebee, but… more younger than the currant bumblebee they’re all used to, bee’s optics are brighter, even looks smaller than their current bee too.

“--Grand-sire says the building isn’t ‘pretty’ enough--.” He air quotes. “--But I think it’s because there’s a better hospital for carrier near by--.”

Optimus stood straight, staring back at the screen in front of him with a raised optic ridge. “--Cause let’s be honest, this place ain’t prettier than. klo--.”

The video of bumblebee then switched, still revealing the same very young bumblebee… except his optics looks dim, looking more depressing than the first video. “--I think this might be the worst astral week ever--.”

Optimus stared at the screen sadly, watching the coolant drip down bee’s faceplate as the bot wipes his optics. “--But carrier left me this data pad… I can’t wait to read it--.”

The video switched again, this time he has his signature bright optics and wide smile, holding out the data pad with the titled ‘rise and fall, the glory to all.’ A discontinued archive about battle and finding love in odd places.

“--I loved it! I loved it so much! Aaahaha--.” Bee squeals jumping up and down with the data pad in his servos. Same ol’ bee different contrast to the bumblebee the crew knew.

“--Look what I got at boot camp. Haha--!” He says, swinging a sword like a warrior, looking fierce. “--I’m gonna go train with it--!” He says excitedly.

‘Not a good idea bee.’ Optimus thought before it switched. This time to a panicked bumblebee with energon gushing out the palm of his servo, a couple of dents and scratches on his plating.

“--ahh! That was a bad idea--!” He says waving his other servo in worry, running off camera. That made Optimus chuckle, smiling at the screen before it switched to bumblebee from 50 stellar cycles ago.. before the crash.

“--Bossbot saw my report. ‘Bumblebee, if you’d just apply to yourself.’ But I am applying myself--!” He told, walking to the camera, putting his data report down before bringing up a welded together sheet of metal in view.

“--These welds are so small they’re practically invisible! And I can read and write cybertronian in 5 different dialects--!” That one impressed Optimus, reading a bit of the data bumblebee held up, seeing how well thought out the dialects are. ‘How did bumblebee find the time?’

The prime wonders to himself. “--Also! I can sit so perfectly still for about 10 kliks that floating orbs of this planet come and float around me--!”

Bee ran out of frame before spinning in the spinning chair, sitting still for 10 kliks a few orbs appeared floating around him.

“--But I guess that’s never gonna matter on the repair progress report--.” he says sadly, the orbs disappeared when bee turns around.

“--It’s been really rough on the crew ever since our last comm call, so I’m gonna wow my prime’s faceplate off, when he sees this bridge report! Bossbot, you won’t have to worry about us ever again--!”

Optimus stared sadly, guilt washes over like a fright train, about to press the button to switch teletran off… when another video played.

“--Bossbot says I should fix things--.” He hears bee say, watching as bumblebee, held that same data pad close to his chassis. “--So after we find all the shards, I’m quitting the autobot program--.” Bee looks away, coolant building up, before he wipes it away.

“--As much as I want to be in the elite guard… they’re not exactly fair--.” Video bee sighs, gently putting down a different data pad.

“--I’ll take on a different career, maybe be a farmbot like mom-.. like carrier was back in klo. Sorry, i’ve been using human terms more often recently--.” Bumblebee chuckled awkwardly his expression shifted into a sad smile.

“--I’m gonna miss being apart of this team, I really am. I’m gonna miss bulkhead, prowl admittedly, ratchet… even bossbot--.” Bumblebee admits.

“--It might sound a little weird but, his writing and mannerism is so much like my sire--.” Bee confesses, his optics dimmed in deep thought.

“-- maybe… he could be d-16…? Nah, that’s not possible. I should study up on farming then, in case our search ends sooner than later--.” Bee shrugs, picking up his data pad. “Which me luck!” He says, finally shutting off the recording.

Optimus’ optics are wide.. servo covering his intake at the end of that. ‘He… really sees me like that?’ Optimus wonders… then his optics dimmed in ridges furrowed. ‘My designation wasn’t d-16 though..’ he thinks again… thinking it over.

‘D-16… d-16, d-16…. Where have I heard that designation before?’

_____________________

Woo! I did a thing!

Ok, so… context, this is a concept idea of what I think might be part of bumblebee’s past might be… I could be wrong.

After watching some owl house scenes… I noticed a resemblance in personality traits between bumblebee and luz noceda. Both happy go lucky people who are actually apart of a Greek tragedy of a sad past that involved a death of a family member.

(TFA: Bumblebee’s is still a maybe in that one…)

Sooo I used one of the scenes from TOH to showcase bumblebee’s character in how he is in TFA… I hope this made sense and that it’s not at all too confusing.

———

If ya’ll are wondering where bumblebee and prowl are… remember the episode where they’re camping with sari? That is where they are.

#transformers side of the cavern #transformers animated #transformers #tf animated #tfa #tfa bumblebee #sparkling bumblebee #tfa optimus prime #tfa ratchet #tfa bulkhead #d-16 being mentioned

37 notes · View notes

ravencincaide · 2 years ago

Text

When you assume you make an ‘ass’ out of me and you

Summary: Finding out you’re pregnant, you decide to end things over text. Too bad Chuuya and Dazai were NOT buying your poor excuses. Or the time you made them very happy.

Pairing: preg! Reader x Dazai x Chuuya

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 5: Embracing

Warnings: pregnancy, cursing, hint at (kinky) intimacy,

Enjoy ~

______________________________________________________________

You were feeling like shit. And that was a huge statement considering that you had only ever taken a handful of sick days; turning up to work despite broken bones, staples keeping your skin somewhat together and internal bleeding. Cold was a minor inconvenience and sprained muscles could be forced to function. Ear inflammation was harder but still doable. After all, your job wasn’t all about active field work. A lot of it was information checking online, monitoring people or groups activities through other teams reports or keeping an eye on bank data so your team was within its budget for missions, leisure or other necessities. Damn, it was a miracle how you managed to fix it the last budging year when you had two subordinates who were the definition of shooting maniacs, one chronic alcoholic, and an illiterate clutz who could never find receipts or who somehow switched up numbers in their reports to the point of giving you a heart attack.

Thereby being away even for a day not only risked your office becoming a shooting range, no work being done, missions delayed however, most importantly, your steady tower of paperwork growing into an unmanageable city. You were on your second week away from the office, with no real prognosis for when you’d feel well enough to be back. And you were dreading going back.

Your boss has turned up a few days prior, had taken a thirty second look at you before you ran to the bathroom throwing up and had essentially three things to say to you while you were hugging the porcelain pony:

“ If it’s a stomach bug, get it cured before you even think about entering the office. If you’re pregnant-” the words had made your head snap up in total shock at a possibility you hadn’t even considered. Seeing as your boss brought it up, clearly she thought that you might be. Maybe not that shocking given that you were fucking more than average “ and want an abortion then hurry up and get it done before its too late. And see you in the office at the end of the month.” You could practically feel the warning look from your boss through the heavy wooden door, threatening you not to sweep this issue under the carpet and to keep her updated. “ If you intend to keep it then get your prenatals in order and see you in three years.” With those words she, being the ever caring friend she was, dropped two packets of pregnancy tests on your desk before leaving you alone.

When the results came back positive it was not necessarily a shocker. What surprised you more was that the nauseous feeling came as spontaneously as it did and how tired you felt most days. How exhausted thinking, or in your case overthinking, made you. It felt as if that little test, or five, somehow made you grow up overnight. From a carefree young adult doing whatever you wanted, missions, drinking or wild kinky sex you were suddenly expected within the next nine months to become a mother. A responsible and caring adult that would make yourself, your children and your own parents proud. You didn’t know if you were going to succeed with that but you were damn determined to give your baby the best childhood and care you could. And step one in that equation was to remove people out of your life who did not want a serious relationship with you or were interested in raising a baby together. You did not need forced commitment or alimony; what you needed was a partner and a father to your child. And since you were certain your lovers were not up to the role, you were certain you’d do a much better job alone by yourself- as always!

Still you never expected you would become the kind of trashy person who’d end things over text. You couldn’t understand how people could do it; either talk to the person you want to break up with or do a Dazai and just ghost. This felt too much like attachment issues wrapped in apology for you. Knowing you were already gonna earn a place in hell for it, you typed up a message that you were certain they’d hate you for. Which was perfect in your mind, if you were shooting yourself in the foot by breaking up with two executives who outranked you and your boss by a mile then the least you could do was make sure they wouldn’t unnecessarily seek you out. You’d deal with their revenge on you when you got back from parental leave.

Thus when the sound of pounding on your door came many hours later you were certain it was your boss again. Either to scold you for the extra workload she got from her bosses thanks to yours truly or to kidnap you to the hospital. Dragging yourself out of bed with a groan you quickly ran a brush through your hair for a more presentable appearance. Giving up on changing out of the t-shirt and shorts you headed for the door, opening it absentmindedly. Too late you realized you should have checked who it was.

“ What the hell are you two doing here?” You asked, making your meanest look as you crossed your arms over your chest. You were certain it looked more like a chihuahua barking at a rottweiler than anything threatening.

“ Checking if it’s a hostage situation, Bella” You gaped as Chuuya and Dazai brushed past you. Your dark haired ex-lover making his way to your bedroom, hand on the hilt of his gun. Before you could stop him, Chuuya, who was still lingering in the doorway, forced your attention by sticking his phone into your face with your textmessage pulled up on the screen.

Thank you for this time, I’ve found a better dick. No hard feelings.

“ What is this damned thing?” He asked, his voice far above the usual caring and loving tone he’d use with you.

“ What does it look like?” You raised your hand and studied the chipped manicure on your nails no longer able to stand the angry and hurt expression on his face. “ I’m breaking up with you, duh.”

“ Heeh what the hell do you mean by that Y/N? Better dick?” He took a step closer to you, his expression growing darker by the second “ We all know you’re a slut for us, ready to let us do whatever we want to you so stop lying and spit out what’s really going on.” he was gripping your arms tightly. When you refused to look at him he gave you a rough shake in warning.

“ What the hell-” you caught your exclamation that ‘it hurts’ knowing that it was exactly what he was going for at that moment. “ It’s as I said, I found someone new”

“ How long?!” he didn’t yell but somehow that made it even worse. When you didn’t reply immediately he shook you again “ And what’s so great about this supposed new person.”

You felt your eyes sting and closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. Your next sentence was a hit below the belt; “ They’re actually sweet and caring towards me. Not just after sex.”

“ Sweetheart-” the look on Chuuya’s face was as if you had slapped him, the arguments caught in his throat.

You looked away from him, shaking his hands off your shoulders. Your heart was tearing itself in your ribcage, Begging you to stop this nonsense. But you wouldn’t- you couldn’t. You needed to protect the child in your tummy, to shelter them from the constant fighting, every other week visitation, jealousy and screaming. You needed to prevent them from becoming a pawn in a game called ‘hurt the other parent more’.

“ Sweetheart, do you really believe that-?” Chuuya asked carefully.

“ -Or is it just that you are pregnant Y/N?” Dazai’s question made you jump, your head snapping in his direction. You could see him leaning against the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. Damn you hated it when he did that.

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about '' you lied, back to crossing your arms over your chest. “ I’m done with this conversation so please get out.”

“ Come on Y/N the cats out of the bag now” Dazai looked almost too pleased with himself as he held up the pregnancy test he had fished out of the trashcan.

You felt the colour drain from your face. Your mouth opening and closing as your mind raced between forcing them out of your apartment and lying about it, again.

“ Is it a false positive?” Chuuya asked cautiously, eyeing the brunette.

“ There are five more in there,” Dazai shrugged, silently telling him to draw his own conclusions, as he took a step towards you. You cursed yourself for not taking the trash out sooner.

“ Is it ours?” The question made you hang your head in defeat. “ Belladonna is it-” Dazai growled in warning.

“ Yes” you breathed. You could feel them sharing a look of utter confusion between each other over your head.

“ Darlin, then why the charades?”

“ Because you wouldn’t want it!” you screamed at the top of your lungs “ and I- we don’t need a partner out of obligation.” ��

Silence lingered in your apartment for a few long moments. You wrapped your arms around yourself. You just wanted them to stop making this harder on you than it already was. Now that they knew the reason for all this, you prayed they wouldn’t cause any more hassle and just silently walk out of the apartment. That they’d walk out of your life and leave you alone. Without any fighting, pity or compromises. Just go, you pleaded silently, before you’d find yourself regretting your decision.

“ You assumed we wouldn’t want it,” Chuuya corrected you. You raised your head finally facing your lover, ready to scream at him- them to get out. The scream never made it past your lips, his expressing killing any arguments you had left; you had expected distress or anger on his face, maybe sadness or guilt but all you could see was a bright happy smile. “ And when you assume something you make an ‘ass’ out of me and you. Now come here my sweetheart” he spread his arms out beckoning you for a hug.

You had never seen that expression on Chuuya’s face. It was as if you had gifted him the sun and moon on a silver platter. You felt all fight fading out of your body, leaving behind just tiredness and longing for his warm embrace.Cautiously you came up to him, breathing a sigh of relief as he hugged you close yet gently to his body, burying his face in your shoulder. “ Oh sweets you’re gonna be a mother- I’m gonna be a father!”

“ Or uncle” Dazai added unable to stop himself from pushing Chuuya’s buttons“ You’re so cute Chuuya ready to be a dad to my kids”

“ Shut it mackerel” Chuuya muttered “ You’re just jealous she’s hugging me.”

“ And you’re just denying the undeniable”

Chuuya growled in reply before biting back the anger, turning his attention towards you instead. The smile never once leaving his face “ So don’t you dare try and break up with us over this again, ‘kay?” Chuuya moved back and pressed a kiss to your forehead before brushing your hair out of your eyes “- or you’re welcome to break up with bandages over there” he teased, making you smile slightly as Dazai let out an annoyed ‘ you dog’.

Surprisingly the argument didn’t go any further than that. Instead Dazai’s attention was shifting between you in Chuuya’s arms and the little white test still clutched between his fingers before he finally broke the silence:“ By the way Belladonna have you had your doctors visit yet? To ensure the little one is fine.”

You sighed, shaking your head a no. “ I haven’t really got around to it yet”

“ That won’t do!” Chuuya cried pulling back from you instantly, his hand already dialing his subordinates, while he was walking towards the door then turning around and pacing back into your room“ Yes I need you to find the best prenatal care doctor in Yokohoma- yes directly I don’t care how much they charge- Sweetheart where is your insurance and identification card?”

You blinked as he stopped in front of you, blue eyes staring at you intensely “ umm In the kitchen, furthest cupboard to the right- top draw. Should be under the travel pamphlet.” Before you could finish your sentence he was already out of the room going to hunt for your documents.

Still you could hear him talking on the phone, beginning to list a bunch of things he wanted delivered to your place within the next fifteen minutes; childcare books, research on food that was safe to eat during pregnancy, alcohol- he was clear to specify it was for himself- and some safe alcohol free options.

“ - and prepare statistics on best child care facilities in Yokohama, and broker offers for all the housing around those areas -and–”

“ Chuuya don't just start randomly buying things” you yelled, staring to follow behind him pausing only when a very gentle hand wrapped itself around your wrist. In fact you were half way pulling out of the touch before your mind registered it. The unusual softness surprised you. Usually Dazai was unapologetically rough during sex; unafraid to slap, hit or even whip you and it was Chuuya who showed you in butterfly touches, kisses over bruised skin and soft embraces.

“ Let him be Y/N” Dazai stated, his voice sounding strange in your ears. His hand falling away from your wrist the instant you turned to face him. You could see that his head was bowed, his hair covering his eyes from you. Sometime during your and Chuuya’s embrace he had moved to sit down on a nearby chair. Wordlessly he patted his lap, silently asking you to sit down instead of the usual act of just pulling you into it. You looked at him skeptically as you took your place on his lap. The moment you did he buried his face in your shoulder, his arms pausing inches above your skin as if you’d shatter in his arms if he touched you..

“ Are you okay?” You asked as you urged him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Taking it as permission he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you carefully to his chest, burying his face in your hair. He held you like that for a few moments, totally silent but for an almost unnoticeable shake of his shoulders “ Dazai, are you crying?”

His response was to bring you even closer

“ Dazai, are you okay?” You asked again with more worry in your voice. He hushed you, stroking your hair. You were starting to panic at his reaction, your mind racing so much that you almost missed his answer to your previous question;

“ I’m more ‘okay’ than ever, Y/N”

#chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #sweetober #pregnant #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #pregnancy announcement #breaking up over text

641 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 2 months ago

Text

It’s April, and the US is experiencing a self-inflicted trade war and a constitutional crisis over immigration. It’s a lot. It’s even enough to make you forget about Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency for a while. You shouldn’t.

To state the obvious: DOGE is still out there, chipping away at the foundations of government infrastructure. Slightly less obvious, maybe, is that the DOGE project has recently entered a new phase. The culling of federal workers and contracts will continue, where there’s anything left to cull. But from here on out, it’s all about the data.

Few if any entities in the world have as much access to as much sensitive data as the United States. From the start, DOGE has wanted as much of it as it could grab, and through a series of resignations, firings, and court cases, has mostly gotten its way.

In many cases it’s still unclear what exactly DOGE engineers have done or intend to do with that data. Despite Elon Musk’s protestations to the contrary, DOGE is as opaque as Vantablack. But recent reporting from WIRED and elsewhere begins to fill in the picture: For DOGE, data is a tool. It’s also a weapon.

Start with the Internal Revenue Service, where DOGE associates put the agency’s best and brightest career engineers in a room with Palantir folks for a few days last week. Their mission, as WIRED previously reported, was to build a “mega API” that would make it easier to view previously compartmentalized data from across the IRS in one place.

In isolation that may not sound so alarming. But in theory, an API for all IRS data would make it possible for any agency—or any outside party with the right permissions, for that matter—to access the most personal, and valuable, data the US government holds about its citizens. The blurriness of DOGE’s mission begins to gain focus. Even more, since we know that the IRS is already sharing its data in unprecedented ways: A deal the agency recently signed with the Department of Homeland Security provides sensitive information about undocumented immigrants.

It’s black-mirror corporate synergy, putting taxpayer data in the service of President Donald Trump’s deportation crusade.

It also extends beyond the IRS. The Washington Post reported this week that DOGE representatives across government agencies—from the Department of Housing and Urban Development to the Social Security Administration—are putting data that is normally cordoned off in service of identifying undocumented immigrants. At the Department of Labor, as WIRED reported Friday, DOGE has gained access to sensitive data about immigrants and farm workers.

And that’s just the data that stays within the government itself. This week NPR reported that a whistleblower at the National Labor Relations Board claims that staffers observed spikes in data leaving the agency after DOGE got access to its systems, with destinations unknown. The whistleblower further claims that DOGE agents appeared to take steps to “cover their tracks,” switching off or evading the monitoring tools that keep tabs on who’s doing what inside computer systems. (An NLRB spokesperson denied to NPR that DOGE had access to the agency’s systems.)

What could that data be used for? Anything. Everything. A company facing a union complaint at the NLRB could, as NPR notes, get access to “damaging testimony, union leadership, legal strategies and internal data on competitors.” There’s no confirmation that it’s been used for those things—but more to the point, there’s also currently no way to know either way.

That’s true also of DOGE’s data aims more broadly. Right now, the target is immigration. But it has hooks into so many systems, access to so much data, interests so varied both within and without government, there are very few limits to how or where it might next be deployed.

The spotlight shines a little less brightly on Elon Musk these days, as more urgent calamities take the stage. But DOGE continues to work in the wings. It has tapped into the most valuable data in the world. The real work starts when it puts that to use.

42 notes · View notes

aldryrththerainbowheart · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 1: Ghost In the Machine

The hum of the fluorescent lights in "Byte Me" IT Solutions was a monotonous drone against the backdrop of Gotham's usual cacophony. Rain lashed against the grimy window, each drop a tiny percussionist drumming out a rhythm of misery. Inside, however, misery was a bit more… organized.

I sighed, wrestling with a particularly stubborn strain of ransomware. "CryptoLocker v. 7.3," the diagnostic screen read. A digital venereal disease, if you asked me. Another day, another infected grandma's laptop filled with pictures of her grandkids and a crippling fear that hackers were going to steal her identity.

"Still at it?" My coworker, Mark, sidled over, clutching a lukewarm mug of something vaguely resembling coffee. Mark was a good guy, perpetually optimistic despite working in one of Gotham's less-than-glamorous neighborhoods. Bless his heart.

"You know it," I replied, jabbing at the keyboard. "Think I've finally managed to corner the bastard. Just gotta… there!" The screen flashed a success message. "One less victim of the digital plague."

Mark nodded, then his eyes drifted to the hulking metal beast in the corner, a Frankensteinian creation of salvaged parts and mismatched wiring. "How's the behemoth coming along?"

I followed his gaze. My pet project. My escape. "Slowly but surely. Got the cooling system optimized today. Almost ready to fire it up."

"Planning anything special with it?" Mark asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "You've been collecting scraps for months. It's gotta be more than just a souped-up gaming rig."

I shrugged, a deliberately vague gesture. "You could say I'm planning something… big. Something Byte Me isn't equipped to handle."

Mark chuckled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll make it sing. You've got a knack for that sort of thing." He wandered off, whistling a jaunty tune that died a slow, agonizing death against the backdrop of the Gotham rain.

He had no idea just how much of a knack.

Mark bid me one final goodbye before pulling out an umbrella and disappearing into the night. No doubt he stops at Nero’s pizzeria before going home to his wife and kids. You watched through the shop window before he disappeared around the corner. Then, you locked the door and reached for the light switch. The fluorescent lights flickered a final, dying gasp before plunging the shop into darkness. I waited a beat, the city's distant sirens a mournful choir. Then, I flipped the hidden switch behind the breaker box, illuminating a small, secluded corner of the shop.

Rain hammered against the grimy windowpanes of my "office," a repurposed storage room tucked away in the forgotten bowels of the shop. The rhythmic drumming was almost hypnotic, a bleak lullaby for a city perpetually on the verge of collapse. I ignored it, fingers flying across the keyboard, the green glow of the monitor painting my face in an unsettling light. Outside, the city's distant sirens formed a mournful choir. Here, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

"Almost there," I muttered, the words barely audible above the whirring of the ancient server rack humming in the corner. It was a Frankensteinian creation, cobbled together from spare parts and salvaged tech, but it packed enough processing power to crack even the most stubborn encryption algorithms. Laptops with custom OSes, encrypted hard drives, and a tangle of wires snaked across the desk. This was Ghostwire Solutions, my little side hustle. My… outlet.

Tonight's victim, or client – depending on how you looked at it – was a low-level goon. One was a two-bit thug named "Knuckles" Malone; the other, a twitchy character smelling of desperation, Frankie "Fingers" Falcone. Malone's burner phone, or Falcone's data chip containing an encrypted message, was now on the screen in front of me, a jumble of characters that would make most people's eyes glaze over. For me, it was a puzzle. A challenging, if morally questionable, puzzle.

My service, "Ghostwire Solutions," was discreet, to say the least. No flashy neon signs, no online presence, just word-of-mouth referrals whispered in dimly lit back alleys. I was a ghost, a digital shadow flitting through the city's underbelly, connecting people. That's how I liked to justify it anyway. I cracked my knuckles and went to work. My fingers danced across the keyboard, feeding the encrypted text into a series of custom-built algorithms, each designed to exploit a specific vulnerability. Hours melted away, marked only by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of the custom-built rig in the corner, its processing power gnawing away at the digital lock.

The encryption finally buckled. A cascade of decrypted data flooded the screen. I scanned through it, a jumbled mess of texts, voicemails, location data, or a simple message detailing a meeting point and time. Mostly dull stuff about late payments and turf wars, the mundane reality of Gotham's criminal element. I extracted the relevant information.

"Alright, Frankie," I muttered to myself, copying the decrypted message onto a clean file. "Just connecting people. That's all I'm doing."

I packaged the data into a neat little file, added a hefty markup to my initial quote, and sent it off via an encrypted channel. Within minutes, the agreed-upon sum, a few hundred cold, hard dollars, landed in my untraceable digital wallet. I saved the file to a new data chip and packaged it up. Another job done. Another night closer to sanity's breaking point.

"Just connecting people," I repeated, the phrase tasting like ash in my mouth. The lie tasted even worse. I knew what I was doing. I was enabling crime. I was greasing the wheels of Gotham's underbelly. But bills had to be paid. It was a convenient lie, a way to sleep at night knowing I was profiting from the chaos. But tonight, it felt particularly hollow. And honestly, did it really matter? Gotham was already drowning in darkness. What was one more drop?

Gotham was a broken city, a machine grinding down its inhabitants. The system was rigged, the rich got richer, and the poor fought over scraps. I wasn't exactly helping to fix things. But I wasn't making it worse, right? I was just a cog in the machine, a necessary evil. I was good at what I did, damn good. I could see patterns where others saw chaos. I could exploit vulnerabilities, both in code and in the systems of power that held Gotham hostage. It was a skill, a talent, and in this city, unique talents were currency. I was efficient and discreet. But every decrypted message, every bypassed firewall, chipped away at something inside me. It hollowed me out, leaving me a ghost in my own life, a wire connecting the darkness.

I leaned back in my creaky chair, the rain still pounding against the window. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and melancholy. Another night, another decryption, another small victory against the futility of existence in Gotham. The flicker of conscience, that annoying little spark that refused to be extinguished, flared again. Was I really making a difference? Or was I just another parasite feeding off the city's decay?

I closed my eyes, trying to silence the questions. Tomorrow, there would be another encryption to crack, another connection to make. And I would be ready, Ghostwire ready to disappear into the digital ether, another ghost in the machine, until the next signal came. As I waited for the morning, for the return of the fluorescent lights and the mundane reality of "Byte Me" IT Solutions, I wondered if one day, the darkness I trafficked in would finally claim me completely. Because in Gotham, survival was a code all its own, and I was fluent in its language. And frankly, some days, that didn't seem like such a bad deal. For now, that was enough.

#gotham knights #gotham knights fanfic #gotham knights jason todd #gk jason todd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #hacker!reader #dc

40 notes · View notes