#Pink eye transmission

[kakusboyfriend]

I rescued a neglected bootleg perfect cell keychain yesterday also. Like u could tell the poor thing had been sitting there for ages bc the actual key ring bit was horribly rusted and neither of the 2 other frieza ones were in that state. Nobody wanted her. And now she's attached to my phone bc i had little loops to turn her into a phone charm :-) get loved you sick freak

[fishlune]

fuck you *hastily recolors ur zoe*

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow��also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[the-californicationist]

he changes your mind

John Price has been trying his best to convince you to let him give you a baby. After learning about his willingness to make sacrifices for you and your family, you decide to grant his wish.

MDNI/18+

TW: breeding, pregnancy, explicit sex

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51167794

Be sure to stop by my archive for more COD fics and to view my completed Kinktober collection, "Gauntlet".

John Price was smiling again. His cheeks were crushed up underneath his pale blue eyes, full of wonder and searing joy. The creases at the edges of his lashes cut and folded like the beginnings of an origami crane along his temple, and even though they did the same folds every single time, your heart skipped a beat when you saw them. The beard that lay flat and smooth around his mouth stretched with his smile, broad and keen. Sincere. Innocent and pure. And his laugh sent a knife right through your belly, melting down inside of you like coffee too hot, letting you feel your shapes and holes and secrets all the way down until you couldn’t breathe until he laughed again. Desperate for it. You wanted to rip it from him and keep it inside of you instead so you could tap into that bliss like an addict. You wanted a button to push to force it out of him so you could hear the sound in your darkest days, using him to turn on the light. 

To make matters worse, he was holding a baby.

He was making you want one. In fact, he was making you want him to put one inside of you. His baby. One of your very own. One with blue eyes that crinkled at the edges like shining cellophane. 

You resisted the pull like a yearling in a harness. You wanted to buck against it and kick it in the teeth. You didn’t want a child. John was always gone - mission after mission - and you weren’t willing to raise a whole person by yourself. You could do it, but you wouldn’t. That wasn’t fair. A child needs their guardian, and when your guardian was the guardian of the world…how could you come first?

So, you boxed it up and put it away in you with the rest of your ghosts. You haunted yourself with it sometimes. When you scrolled through your online purchases of milk and bread, sometimes it would suggest baby formula to add to your cart, as if, subtly suggesting like a mother-in-law, you were missing something important. But, you kept busy. You worked hard, you traveled, you spent time with friends. You loved John dearly, and you craved him more and more every day. You were happy, as happy as anyone should have the right to be. Why should you be entitled to open a box you had no business opening?

But, there it was, down from the attic of your mind again and cracked open in the foyer of your frontal cortex, waiting for you to pluck from it a warm, writhing little bundle that needed you to hold it and kiss it and tell it how to drive a manual transmission. A Janice or an Eric or a Persephone - someone new for the world to put through its horrors. Someone to catch a cold, to have their heart broken, to lose their job. Someone new to put you and John in matching coffins and lower you down into matching holes where you’d be covered and buried in the same place from whence they’d come. Entropy. 

You watched as John crooked his elbow just so, supportive and careful, his massive form suddenly as agile as an arching ballerina, holding the bottle and the towel and the someone new as gently as a leaf holds the dew in the mornings in the spring.

You were wet. Your heart and your womb were fully committed to the bit. Some ancient bacteria that divided for the first time back when you were just primordial soup had optimized you for just this moment. It was lying in wait for John Price to crane his neck down to leave little chirping kisses on the softest pink cheek and then to smile when it garnered its reaction. That instinctual drive revved inside of you when he wiped away a stray drop of milk from a grinning toothless mouth. A mouth that would learn how to give kisses right back one day and beg you for them. 

The way your hands clenched around your arms was going to leave a bruise. 

-------------------------------

“Such a cute lad, aye?” John commented, driving you down the dark road to your home. 

“Gaz sure has his hands full,” you nodded.

“He’ll make it work. It always works itself out, right?” He was suggestive, and you weren’t about to have that.

“If it did, we wouldn’t need the orphanages.”

He was silent. The battle you had just won meant little to the war that raged on in the silence between you.

“I asked Laswell for the hiatus.”

“What?”

“You said that you needed me here. No more away missions. No more black sites. And you said we’d discuss it.”

“I said we might discuss - ”

“No, you said you needed those to happen, and I made them happen. She wrote up the paperwork. When I sign it, I’m here, for good. I’m a full on intel analyst. And it’s a pay raise,” he raised his volume, and his knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay? What does that mean?”

“It means okay. We can try, okay?”

“Don’t play with me, pumpkin. I can’t - ”

You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed it, giving him a soft smile. 

“I said okay.”

He drove faster. He barely stopped at stop signs. He parked in the gravel instead of pulling under the carport. He opened your door and nearly pulled you out. 

With his hand at the small of your back, he walked you to the front door, keys jangling loudly in his hand, the tip of the key scraping at the edges of the lock like a dog at the door, clamoring to get in. The door cracked. You were inside before you knew it. The keys fell to the floor and the door slammed shut behind you. John scooped you up and kicked in the panel to your bedroom. He fell on top of you, kissing you roughly, like he had mere minutes to spare. Your blood was rushing, pounding in your ears, and you could feel how heavy his breaths were as his chest pushed and pulled inside of himself.

“John. Jo- Hey, John. Wait - ”

John stopped, his hands stuffed under your dress, fingers looped in your panties, frozen in place like you had paused time itself. He didn’t look up at you. His head stayed down, and he waited for you to do something about it. 

You grabbed his cheeks and forced him to meet your eyes,

“What’s wrong?” You asked in a whisper.

“Please, sweetheart,” John’s eyes held within them a fragile prayer, “Let me give you a baby. I want to see you hold her inside, right here,” he kissed your belly as he raised up your dress, “I want to see you in her face when she smiles and laughs.”

You smiled at him, petting his hair, enjoying his kisses,

“How do you know it’ll be a girl?”

He scoffed, kissing you further down, peeling the panties away as he had first intended, 

“Just let me dream, alright? You said you would try.”

His hot mouth covered your clit and suckled against it with a renewed hunger. You tried to respond,

“Mm, I will, John. We’ll try.”

“We’re going to try right now.” 

His fingers spread you apart and he began to fuck you deeply on his hand, licking you apart at the seams, letting your binds and ties melt like sugar on his tongue, freeing you from the confines of the world around you, ripping you from reality and dragging you with him into his primal wonderland. You could feel his fingers stretching up, deeper than he usually did, feeling around for the soft roundness of the entrance to your womb. He found it and circled around it, as if mapping it for himself, visualizing it and teasing himself with all of its possibilities. It made you squirm, and he sucked harder, cowing you into submission with an orgasm, which you gasped out in shock. You’d been struggling to hold it together since Nova’s baby shower, and you were desperate for relief. That relief hit you like a truck, and you came hard enough to see stars in the dim light of your bedroom.

As soon as John felt you clench around his hand, he fucked you harder, adding a finger and curling them into you, stretching you to fit his thickness. He had his length out and ready at your entrance faster than you thought was physically possible, spitting down onto himself and positioning himself inside your folds, ready to commit. 

Then, for all of his anxious hurry, he stopped, as if he was missing something. He looked at you, concerned and needy, still fully clothed and unable to think straight. He looked lost. You held his hips in your hands and coaxed him forward,

“It’s okay, John. C’mon, let’s try.”

You thought he might break down and cry from the relief that washed over him. It was like you’d pulled a burning arrow from his heart. He sank into you like a stone in a lake, quick and sure, wet and eager. 

“Oh, fuuuuuck!” John shouted. It was loud enough that you wondered briefly about your neighbors. 

He fell on top of you, crawling over you with his hulking arms, prowling up to kiss your neck like a horny teenager, full of the same level of vigor. His thrusts were deep - deeper than usual - as if he was searching out that smoothness of your anatomy, looking for his target. You canted your hips downward to help him find it. When he did, you both groaned for each other. 

"That's it, my sweet girl," he rubbed your clit in gentle circles, sending you back into orbit, "I'm so fuckin' ready to see my baby in you. Fuck! I can't wait."

The way his cock throbbed with each of his thrusts was sending you into a sort of trance. Your pussy felt stuffed, like it was struggling around his fat cock, bending and pulling at its walls to allow him to fit. His kisses were formless and weak, but his hips were merciless in their pounding. The two divergent sensations forced a rift in your mind, and your pleasure stretched to meet his fierce and gentle need. You felt the wave-like tingle of your recent orgasm tumbling in the back of your mind, threatening to rise again to crash upon your shore, growing with each pull of his rocking rhythm. 

"Feel so good," he confessed in your ear, "Letting me give this to you, do this for you. Like heaven, love."

You encouraged the motion of his body with your hands, touching the snapping, ferocious muscles of his spread back, digging your nails into his furry skin when he angled himself just so, casting spell after spell to hypnotize you into pliant submission. Then, he quickened, panting, pleading, whispering his pleas over and over to you or to God, you couldn’t tell. He was making you feel like one and the same. His voice cracked,

"Bloody hell, I can't hold it back. Goddamnit. I'm - ahhh!"

When he filled you, and he damn well filled you, he held himself tightly pressed to your womb’s gate like he would be washed away at sea, gripping your body like a lifeline. He reached beside you for his pillow and shoved it under your hips, groaning and panting as he came down from his high, one-track minded. John kept his cock in you like a seal, holding you there much longer than usual. As you regained your senses and your ability to form words, you looked up at him and asked,

“John, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just wait. I want to make sure it’s there. Has to be deep enough for you, love.”

He kissed you again, using his long tongue to lick all the way into your mouth, still desperate and devout. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was weeks away from your ovulation window. Maybe you would just keep that to yourself.

[defectivevillain]

pas de deux

pairing: Sebastian Solace/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously. “Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail.

word count: 2.4k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical injury, violence, and death

author's note: ty anna for the beta <333 @connorhasabigtip any remaining mistakes are mine!

“Any particular reason you’re following me?” You finally ask, stopping in the twentieth room and turning around to stare at Sebastian. The hybrid usually greets you after your death, providing you with research on the creatures that roam the Blacksite. He also sneaks in around level 47 to sell you items. But he’s never actually followed you like this before—appearing at the submarine dock and accompanying you on your exploration. You were under the impression that he was a wanted man—but, then again, he does have that weird transmission jamming device to keep himself undetectable… 

“Just monitoring your progress, is all,” Sebastian shrugs, tapping his fingers restlessly. He’s clearly bored. You haven’t bothered to engage with him until now—instead pretending as if he isn’t following behind you. But you can only pretend for so long. You’ve always performed these expeditions on your own and, despite your annoyance, it’s nice to have some company for once. Even if that company takes the shape of a human hybrid who seems to hate your guts. Sebastian’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Besides, it’s more fun to be up close and personal. Watch your guts spray everywhere and all that.”

You grit your teeth and ignore the macabre remark, instead continuing through the Blacksite and searching for items. Right now, you only have a small handheld flashlight—and the battery’s pretty low. If you want to get to the crystal, you’ll need more materials. Of course, Sebastian could be helping you look. Instead, he’s only hovering behind you ominously. He has virtually no concept of personal space, as he practically breathes down your neck each time you pause to rifle through drawers. 

“You’re even smaller in person, you know,” Sebastian remarks, apropos of nothing. You feel that familiar irritation rising in your chest once more, but you quickly suppress it. He’s just trying to provoke you. 

“You’re ten feet tall,” you remind him. You’re human—of course he’s going to tower over you. 

“And?” Sebastian drawls. You just roll your eyes and keep searching, valiantly pretending you don’t have a relentless annoyance watching your every move. You enter the next room, only to hear the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Shaking your head, you keep exploring—occasionally glancing behind you warily. 

The next hall is dominated by the same sound of rushing water. The lights aren’t flickering, so you think there aren’t any anglerfish. At least, until Sebastian’s voice breaks through the static in your mind. “You’d better hide,” Sebastian suggests with a smirk, his last word drawn out for effect. “Unless you want to be fish food.” 

You freeze and try to listen for a moment, before deciding to trust his advice. You run for a locker and hide in it, just barely making it in time before the pink anglerfish is rushing past. Surprised that Sebastian was actually telling the truth, you wait a few seconds for it to pass before exiting the locker. The hall is dark now, and there’s no sign of Sebastian. Shrugging, you feel your way around in the dark and manage to find the door to the next hall. The metal slides open, only to reveal Sebastian leering down at you. Your heart jumps out of your chest and you can’t hide the surprised gasp that crawls its way out of your throat. 

Sebastian cackles, before moving away from the doorway and allowing you to enter. And to think, you were just about to thank him for saving your life… You shake your head in disbelief. You really don’t understand this guy. 

Admittedly, Sebastian’s presence is rather distracting. It’s hard to focus when he’s looming over you menacingly. You try your best not to show your wariness, because you know it’s just what he wants to see. Even so, you’re finding it difficult to focus on your surroundings. And when the lights flicker in warning, you’re too preoccupied with finding a locker to notice the anglerfish is only a mere few rooms away. Before you can hide, you’re promptly attacked and killed. 

As your vision fades to black, you hear Sebastian’s laugh echoing in your mind. When you open your eyes to find yourself sitting at that desk once more, you glare at him. He could’ve warned you about the anglerfish. 

“Hey, I helped you once,” Sebastian shrugs noncommittally. “Besides, I’m not your little buddy.” His voice drips with venom as he slides the anglerfish research document across the desk. There’s nothing new on the document. 

You just sigh, pushing the file away from him and heading back to the submarine. It’s only when you turn the corner and make it to the dock that you realize he’s following behind you. “What are you doing?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail. 

“I thought the novelty had ‘worn off,’” you manage to finally say, once you see that Sebastian is remaining still.

Sebastian just stares at you in an eerie silence. You shake your head and keep quiet as the submarine emerges from the water. Then, you start investigating the nearby drawers and cabinets, before heading through to the first door. 

And so it continues. You open a door, look around in the hall, and enter the next room with Sebastian on your heels. When you hear an anglerfish approaching, you jump in a locker; you remember to routinely look behind you for Wall Dwellers; and you search for resources. But you can only fight off your curiosity for so long. “Why haven’t you been doing this the whole time?” You ask Sebastian. He could’ve been helping you from the beginning. 

A laugh. “Can’t make things too easy for you,” Sebastian answers. “Besides, this is your job, not mine.”

That’s right. Sebastian isn’t helpful. He doesn’t serve anyone except himself. The only reason he’s accompanying you now is because it benefits him in some way. “Right, because your job is just to provide me overpriced weapons and mediocre advice,” you mutter darkly. 

“Easy there, shrimp,” Sebastian says, his eyes flashing in warning. You roll your eyes and keep walking, trying to pretend as if he isn’t there. It’s proving to be an increasingly difficult task, between his towering form and frequent sarcastic comments. 

In the next few rooms, you find a flash beacon. You know it’ll come in handy when you inevitably reach the halls with broken lights. And it doesn’t take long before you find yourself needing to use it. Feeling turned around, you reach down and send a flash across the space. You can just barely register the layout of the space: three halls branching off from one another, each leading to a different door. Then you see Sebastian out of the corner of your eye… he reaches out… and everything goes dark. 

When you find yourself in that ever familiar dark room once more, you can’t contain your annoyance. “What the hell was that for?” You immediately snap. Sebastian just looms over you, looking rather pleased with himself. He just killed you for no reason. 

“I warned you,” he says. 

“No, you didn’t,” you argue. “And I didn’t even flash it in your direction!” Sebastian just shrugs. You sigh heavily and head out of the room, not even waiting for him to place the file down. Somehow, it appears he’s still benefiting from this arrangement—he must be, since he’s still following you into the submarine again. 

You’re quickly growing frustrated and impatient with your companion. Sebastian is constantly talking; he doesn’t seem to know what personal space is; and he enjoys seeing you in pain. You thought it would be nice to have company, but Sebastian is quickly proving to be nothing more than a meddlesome distraction. 

“It’s almost like you don’t want me to get to the crystal,” you mutter darkly, after he attempts to scare you. You concentrate on searching through the remaining three drawers, before moving onto the next room. 

Then you pause in the doorway, understanding crashing down on you. Suddenly everything makes sense: his inexplicable, almost childish behavior; his insistent presence; and his never-ending amusement. “You don’t want me to escape,” you realize aloud. Your blood runs cold and you feel a shiver run down your spine. The fluorescent lighting above hums loudly. 

“Took you long enough.” He remarks. Your back is turned, but you just know Sebastian is smiling. “You’re stupidly trusting. Naive. It’s almost cute… but mostly pathetic.” 

The lights above flicker in warning, but there’s a tense silence descending in the air. You’re still frozen in the doorway, listening for anglerfish. After a few moments, you conclude there aren’t any. Your fists clenched at your sides as you come to terms with Sebastian’s deceit, you try to keep walking—only for his voice to stop you. 

“You forget yourself.” Sebastian whispers, his voice dark and deeply unsettling. You can’t see anything, but you can hear him moving behind you. His tail sounds as if it’s right behind you—like he’s coiling around you, ready to strike. 

You grab your flash beacon in a tight-knuckled grip, ready to throw him off with a bright burst of light. You’re not sure how long you wait, entirely silent, before deciding to take a step forward. You wait a few seconds, then take another step. The room is drenched in darkness, and without the metal paneling on the floor to guide you, you have no idea where to go. 

A whisper of a laugh and the sensation of breath at the back of your neck makes you whip around and fire off your flash beacon. It’s annoyed him in the past—it seems to take him off guard, at the very least. Maybe you can stun him long enough to make an escape. 

The flash is blinding and your eyes water, sending tears down your cheeks. You can barely recognize Sebastian’s silhouette in front of you, and you can only hope that he freezes, or just lashes out at you-

The light fades and you’re left in the dark. You blink neon spots from your eyes, only to find two unmistakable blue orbs in the dark, a mere step away from you. “Did you really expect that to work?” Sebastian laughs cruelly. 

Suddenly the flash beacon is ripped out of your hand and smoothly crushed, crackling in the air. You can hear the moment the fragments hit the ground, the impact echoing throughout the space. Your heart is roaring in your ears. Then, something disrupts the silence: the telltale shift of a door falling open. You turn around to find a green “56” illuminated on the wall. You’re almost paralyzed in fear, torn between making a run for it and staying in Sebastian’s sights. 

He seems to sense your indecision, because he hums thoughtfully. “I’ve decided to be generous.” Sebastian says vaguely. Before you can wonder what that means, he’s continuing. “I’ll give you a twenty second head start.”

Twenty seconds isn’t nearly long enough for you to run away. You stare at his piercing blue eyes in disbelief. 

There’s no way for you to discern the expression on his face in this darkness, but you just know he’s smirking. “Nineteen…” He whispers, sounding dangerously close to your ear. You instinctively bat at the space just next to your face, but there’s nothing. “Eighteen…” 

It’s hopeless. That’s not nearly enough time to put a significant distance between the two of you.  Not to mention, you have no idea what the next rooms contain. If they’re submerged in water, you’re really screwed. 

“Fifteen… fourteen…” Sebastian’s voice jolts you back into reality. Adrenaline running through you, you race towards the next hall. 

It doesn’t matter where you choose to go—you know he’ll find you. And Sebastian knows the futility of your attempted escape, if the malicious laugh echoing down the halls is any indication. 

There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds you. 

…And he will find you. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing and close your eyes, pretending you’re absolutely anywhere else. But you can only stay in the cramped locker for a few moments, before you’re beginning to panic. When you exit the locker, you can hear him in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you decide to just keep running. 

Eyefestation is in the next hall, attempting to drag your attention towards it. You instinctually fight it off, at first, until you come to a realization. 

You don’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of catching you. You don’t want to participate in this perverted game of his. 

And, if you’re going to die anyways… you might as well have some control over it. 

Mind made up, you turn back towards Eyefestation and stare right back at it—until your vision is flooded with blinding green and countless blinking eyes. You fall to the ground, and the last thing you hear before succumbing to darkness is a frustrated scream. 

You wake slowly, as if wading through a thick sludge. When your eyes finally manage to open, you find yourself in the same room as always, sitting in front of Sebastian’s desk. There’s a harsh sound as Sebastian slams his hand on the desk in frustration. He doesn’t even give you the file on Eyefestation, instead glaring at you furiously. His fists are clenched so tightly that it looks as if he’s shaking. Despite the fear coursing through you, you still feel… satisfied. You didn’t allow yourself to be a pawn in his game. 

And he knows it. There’s tension written all across his face. He almost seems to surround the entire space, his tail swishing violently behind him. “Get out.” Sebastian orders, clearly displayed. His voice is raspy and smooth all at once. There’s a dangerous calm in the way his body stills as he locks eyes with you. “Before I rip you limb from limb.”

You’re not sure if that’s an empty threat or a founded one, and you decide you don’t want to find out. You don’t hesitate to get up and run out the door, your heart racing as you sprint to the nearest submarine. Even when you’re enclosed within walls of metal, you can’t get rid of the goosebumps prickling along your skin—and the unquestionable notion that you’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

no part two for this one, unfortunately.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

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[joelalorian]

Wonder in Winterland - Part I

Hallmark!Joel Miller x f!reader | wc: 2790 | masterlist

Summary: You, a city girl on a cross-country road trip a week before Christmas, find yourself stranded in a whimsical Christmas town. You soon discover there is more to life than big city dreams. Based on the Hallmark movie Love You Like Christmas.

Warnings: None (although the rest of this blog is 18+ mdni). This is utter fluff and whimsy. Limited descriptions of reader and no use of y/n. Enjoy it with a cuppa hot cocoa and a warm blankie. Will post on Sundays throughout December.

Dividers courtesy of saradika-graphics. This magical moodboard is all thanks to @brittmb115!

Part I

A thousand miles from nowhere, you grew weary of driving despite the scenic view of snow-dusted evergreens looming like sentinels along the barren stretch of highway. The old pickup your dad left you ate up the miles like an asphalt sandwich, its engine rumbling almost louder than the outdated radio as it struggled to stay tuned to the local stations. The scent of pine mixed with motor oil hung in the cab, a reminder of just how old the truck was and the amount of time you spent trapped in it so far.

If not for the irrational fear of flying, you’d already be in San Francisco, enjoying a cocktail at Pier 39, watching the sea lions as you killed time before your long-time client’s wedding.

Instead, you were twenty-seven hours into the cross-country trek with too many hours left to go and you had to pee so bad you could practically taste it. Shifting uncomfortably, you casted a glance at the towering mountains lining the valley, the sun fighting to peek through the lingering fog as it rose above the peaks. When traffic ground to a halt, a frustrated groan slipped past your lips, and you threw the transmission into park.

Popping the door open with a loud creak, you took the unexpected break as a sign to stretch your legs. The brisk air outside bit at your skin when you stepped out, breath forming small clouds that disappeared into the winter wind. You weaved between cars to the soundtrack of beeping horns and impatient shouts until coming upon the cause of the delay.

A trailer full of Christmas trees sat partially overturned, half its cargo scattered across the highway like some messed up holiday party. Among the chaos stood a man – tall, broad, and clad in a thick, well-worn flannel jacket that looked as rugged as the mountains behind him. The breeze caught his dark curls, tossing them across his forehead as he worked to pile the fallen trees back onto the trailer. Wholly unbothered by the flustered drivers glaring and honking at him, the man worked with steady, unrushed focus.

“Need any help?” you called out, slipping on a pair of leather gloves as you approached.

The man’s head snapped toward you at the sound of your voice, and he paused, brow loosening and a small smile pulling at his lips as warm brown eyes drank you in with a curious, amused glint. “I’d hate to ruin your pretty little outfit, darlin’.”

Your eyebrow arched. A playful smiled tugged at your lips as you stepped closer, snow crunching under your heeled boots. “You think my outfit’s pretty?”

His expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something warmer. “I think you’re pretty. The outfit’s just window dressing.” His grin widened as he added, “I’m Joel, by the way.”

Your laugh bubbled out, light and unexpected, cutting through the cold rhythmically. Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his cheeks tinged pink – not from the chill, but from something else entirely. Just as your gloved hands were about to clasp in a handshake, some asshole laid on his horn with a shout.

“Can you two get a room or something? Some of us have somewhere important to be!”

Turning to glare at the offender, you opened your mouth and the New Jersey in you came flying out. “Can it, dick cheese! Get off your fat ass and help if you’re in that much of a hurry!”

A bark of laughter drew your attention back to Joel as he shook his head in merry disbelief before going back to moving the trees. This time, you didn’t ask if he wanted help and bent to grab one of the smaller trees to lug it toward the trailer. The cold bit at your cheeks, breaking through your coat that was clearly more for style than warmth. The fresh scent of pine filled your lungs, as you hefted the tree back to the trailer.

Joel stood a few paces away with a larger tree slung over his broad shoulder, watching with an amused tilt of his head as you struggled past him.

“Aw come on, doll. You don’t have to do that.” His voice held a soft, almost pleading quality, but hidden behind that was a flicker of admiration as you ignored him and carried on despite the struggle. His expression shifted – half a smirk, half something deeper – as you hefted the tree onto the trailer and turned to fetch yet another one.

The pair of you continued working, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you now and then, lingering a little longer than they should. Around you, the chaos of impatient honking and shouts became nothing more than white noise.

A few others – including the mouthy asshole from earlier – seemed to get the hint that the roadway would clear quicker if they helped and within ten minutes, two of the travel lines were clear and traffic started to flow once again.

“Thanks for your help. You should probably get going, you look like you’re freezing,” Joel said as the last tree landed on the trailer and he pulled the tie down straps taut. “I’m gonna be here a while waiting for the tow truck. Can’t fix the trailer without some equipment.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Joel.” You shook Joel’s hand again, the heat from him worming its way through the material of your gloves, curling around you like the heat from a distant fire.

“You, too, darlin’.”

You hesitated, staring at each other for several long moments, not wanting to leave but you didn’t have a good enough excuse to stay. Flashing one last charming smile, you waved and sauntered back to your truck, which sat alone in the still blocked third lane.

The moment your truck refused to start, panic set in, swirling like winter wind in your chest. You hopped out again, popping the hood with more frustration than sense. Steam wafted from the still warm engine in thin, mocking wisps as you stared at the confusing labyrinth of parts comprising the engine compartment, entirely clueless. The frigid air nipped at your fingers and numbed your toes – why didn’t you dress appropriately knowing you’d be driving through a winter wonderland for half the journey.

The crunch of boots over the mix of ice and gravel sounded behind you, causing a shiver to wander down your spine. “I believe it’s my turn to offer a hand,” Joel said, his voice a deep rumble, sending a ripple of something straight to your core. When you turned, he was closer than you expected, his warm brown eyes softening as he took in your helpless shrug. “Let me take a look.”

He leaned over the engine, his broad and calloused hands moving deftly as though coaxing the old truck into cooperation. You caught yourself staring at the way his jaw clenched in concentration, the salt and pepper scruff along his jaw catching the light when he titled his head. Each frustrated grunt from him made your stomach flip, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while. Your thoughts began wandering in a certain direction as you eyed the breadth of him…

After a few fruitless minutes, Joel straightened, wiping his palms along the dark denim covering his legs before running one hand through his dark curls. The movement left his hair deliciously mussed, and you ached to run your own fingers through it.

“Can’t do much out here in the cold. Jimmy’s got the tools and parts we’d need back at his garage. Lemme just call him to give ‘em the heads up he’ll need to tow it back.”

As he spoke into his phone, explaining your plight to Jimmy, you realized how much you appreciated the way he said your name, drawing it out like something worth savoring. The way he stood close, his shoulders hunched slightly, broad body breaking the wind to protect you from the cold as much as he could, didn’t go unnoticed either.

“He’ll be here in a few,” Joel said once the call ended. “You can wait in my truck if you’re cold. I’ll give you a lift into town after.” Joel led you toward the shiny black four by four parked half on the shoulder, opening the door for you like a true country gentleman. Holding out a hand, he helped you climb up into the passenger seat as the sound of large tires on the rumble strip sounded behind you. “Up you get. That’ll be Jimmy. Feel free to start ‘er up and put the heat on. We’ll be done in no time.”

Your hands grasped the ring of keys and immediately stuck the right one into the ignition. The truck growled to life with a simple turn of your wrist and heat poured from the vents, carrying the heady scent of fresh-cut trees and sandalwood through the cab – his scent, you realized, and it was unexpectedly comforting. You adjusted in the seat, your fingers brushing over the fabric of a thick Carhart jacket slung over the headrest, as the warmth of the truck seemed to seep into your very core.

You had just pulled the jacket off the seat to wrap around yourself when Joel opened the driver-side door and climbed in, his movements fluid and unhurried. He glanced your way as he settled into the seat, the corners of his lips twitching upward when he noticed you bobbing your head along to Bing Crosby crooning over the radio.

“That was quick!” you exclaimed.

Joel’s chuckle was low and intimate. “Just needed the right leverage,” he said, resting his hands briefly on the heated steering wheel. His large, strong fingers flexed as though testing their strength after the labor. “Jimmy’s hooking up your truck now. He’ll be right behind us.”

You nodded, gaze drifting to his profile to drink in the sharp lines of his jaw and the pink tinge on his cheeks. Snow started falling outside as Joel shifted the truck into gear and began driving. As he steered the large truck down the highway, you caught a faint, amused glint in his eyes when he asked, “So, road-tripping for the holidays?”

The pair of you made easy conversation as he drove. You told him about your travel plans, and he told you about his farm. The miles passed in a blur before he signaled to take the next exit.

“Winterland?” you whispered upon seeing the welcome sign indicating the town’s name, the word slipping past your lips in wonder.

The small town of Winterland was like stepping into a Christmas card come to life. Lights twinkled on every storefront, reflections dancing off the snow-covered sidewalks. Wreaths adorned old gas-style lampposts, and the faint sound of holiday music drifted through the air from scattered outdoor speakers. Joel slowed the truck as he drove down Main Street, and you leaned closer to the window, the scene outside stealing your breath.

Joel glanced at you, warmth lighting his expression as he watched your awe unfold. “It grows on you,” he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the hum of the engine.

“You have got to be kidding me!” The urge to stomp your foot like a child nearly impossible to fight, you settled for a frustrated huff instead. “Nearly a week? Really?”

Jimmy the tow truck driver slash mechanic slash owner of the only gas station in town shrugged regretfully, one hand placed on the paunch pulling taut on his coveralls, the other stuck in his pocket. “Between the holidays and the weather, that’s the best my supplier could do. Parts for old trucks like that aren’t common, hon.”

“Can’t you order the parts from Amazon or something? They have two-day delivery!”

“Sorry, ma’am. I checked already and they’d have the same problems delivering the parts. That’s the downfall of small mountain towns, unfortunately, and it doesn’t get much smaller than Winterland.” Jimmy tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace on his grizzled face.

“Damn. Thanks for trying, Jimmy. I know you’re doing your best and I appreciate it.” Bumping your fist against the counter twice, you spun on your heels to leave only to turn back around. “Uh, is there like an inn or hotel or something nearby? I’m going to need a place to stay if the truck is going to take a week to fix.”

“That we do. The Millers run a small bed and breakfast down the road. It’s the only one in town. I’ll give you a ride in a minute.”

You waved him off. “That’s ok, I’ll just walk. It’ll give me the chance to take in the town.”

Jimmy eyed you doubtfully, questioning your clothing and footwear, which were clearly not suitable for the winter weather in the mountains. “If you say so, doll. You know it’s still snowing out, right?”

Five minutes later, you regretted brushing off Jimmy’s offer of a ride. Between the salt on the sidewalks, the falling snow, and the biting gusts of wind, dragging your rolling suitcase while trying to keep warm was a huge pain in the ass. That and you swore your toes were nothing more than little ice cubes attached to your feet.

When you finally reached the bed and breakfast, cleverly named the Evergreen House at Winterland, the scent of cinnamon and fresh-cut pine greeted you like an old friend. The cozy warmth of the lobby wrapped around you, the crackling fire in the hearth casting dancing shadows on the walls that mesmerized you.

Everything about this town, including its buildings and people, reminded you of Christmas. What was it like in the summer, you wondered.

“Hi there,” a friendly voice greeted you from down the hall and you glanced up to find a beautiful, dark-skinned woman walking toward you. Dressed in well-worn jeans and a thick ivory sweater, feet clad in fuzzy slippers, your own chilled, damp body quaked with jealousy over how comfortable and warm she looked. “You must be the new guest Jimmy told me to expect. I’m Maria.”

Replying with your name and a smile, you added, “I hope you have a room for me? I’m at a loss for where else to look if not.”

“Of course! We have the best room for you and plenty of food and drink to keep you sustained for as long as you need. What brings you to town?”

Maria led you up the rounded stairway as you shared the story of driving across the country and the old truck refusing to start after a delay on the highway. You spared her the details, though. She stopped in front of dark wooden door, a hand-carved sign on it reading “Blue Spruce”, and opened it to reveal a cozy sitting area and a large bed. “This is your room. We named all the rooms after Christmas trees. It was my husband’s idea – his brother owns the tree farm on the outskirts of town.”

Putting the pieces together, you asked, “Your husband is Joel’s brother?”

“You know Joel?” Maria inquired, brows arching curiously. She seemed delighted by that fact, judging by the smile slowly spreading across her lips.

“Well, yeah, I met him out on the highway. He’s the reason for the traffic jam and why I ended up here in Winterland rather than stranded somewhere else along the road.”

“Well, isn’t that serendipitous!” Maria replied with a clap of her hands. “Joel and Sarah are coming for dinner tonight. You’ll join us, of course.”

Maria’s excitement was infectious, and you smiled in return. You couldn’t help but wonder who Sarah was – a girlfriend or wife, probably, as your luck tended to go – and if Joel’s reaction to your unexpected reunion would be as enthusiastic as hers. Maria left you to get settled in and rest for a bit before dinner. You changed into something more comfortable for napping and barely laid down before something scratched at the door with a low whine.

“What in the world?” you murmured as you shuffled toward the door. A golden retriever sat waiting for you, tongue lolling and a Santa-themed bandana around its neck. “Well, hello there. Who might you be?”

The dog trotted right past you like he owned the place, and you spotted the name Barkley printed on the bandana as he went by. “Barkley, huh? The Miller family really went all in on the Christmas tree charm, didn’t they?”

Barkley jumped on the bed and whined, clearly begging you to let him nap there. Giggling softly, you shut the door and climbed back under the covers, falling asleep with Barkley snuggled right up to your side like your own personal radiator.

tbc

[foreverdolly]

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 |80's mechanic!austin x best friend!reader

summary: it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

pairings: 80s mechanic! austin x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 4.8k

notes/warnings: SMUT! in part two, virgin!austin. . . need i say more?, i love pining and this fic is testament to that, shaky/hurried hands, who doesn't love a good best friends to lovers fic, he has a deep southern accent, austin is the small town's metalhead and he's swelteringly hot without even trying. (this is going to have to be two parts because it turned out too long after editing. the smut alone is like. . . five pages on google docs.)

The incessant metallic clinging and loud mechanic whirs echoed against the cement flooring of the auto body garage. The sun was peeking just over the trees right outside the open garage doors, the spring sky slowly burning gold and pink. Most of the men were rushing to finish up with the vehicles that they were working on, eager to get home to their families after a long day of work. There was one mechanic though -who might be young, but made up for it with skill- was still elbow deep under the car’s hood, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. He’d only been looking at the car for five minutes and knew exactly what was wrong with it. The elderly woman had gotten her car towed all the way to Travis’ shop after the damn thing stalled out in the middle of the Winn-Dixie parking lot. The young mechanic could see her through the lobby’s windows watching him, her tiny wrinkly hands balled up into nervous fists.

“Aye- Austin?” Travis jogged right up to Austin, placing his hand down on one of the side mirrors as he waited for the diagnosis. 

“It’s not the engine. The transmission,” He pointed towards the old hunk of junk, leaning his head back under the hood to show his boss. “It’s completely shot. She said it will jerk when she accelerates and the wheel will sometimes shake when she’s goin’ fast enough. What’s happening is that it’s slippin’. The damn thing won’t stay in gear. This car is ten years out of date- I mean. . . It's a ‘74. So even if we order the parts-” 

“It’s gonna cost more to fix than it would be for her to just buy a whole new one.” The boss finished for him, sighing when he saw Austin nod his head in agreement. 

The long haired blonde blinked his eyes against the burning sunset, shooing a gnat away from his face as he leaned his hip against the car. He crossed one booted foot over the other as he waited patiently for the man to make a decision. While Travis enjoyed making money, Austin knew that the bastard was above stealing it from little old ladies. With a small huff of defeat the middle aged man began walking back in the direction of the lobby, most likely to break the bad news. He stopped just before he opened the door, pointing a quick finger-gun in Austin’s direction. 

“Are you comin’ over to Mark’s cookout tonight? You can bring your girl.” He called out over the loud noise. 

Austin shook his head before flashing the man a little face of distaste. 

“I’ve gotta go to my dad’s house to grab some of my old shit. Besides- I don’t have a girl to bring.” 

Travis shot him “a face” right back, but one of disbelief. “Yeah, right. A girl doesn’t just bring her friend a hand packed lunch every other day unless she was hopin’ for somethin’ to happen between them..” And before Austin could even defend himself the man was gone, sauntering solemnly over to the corner where the elderly woman was sitting. 

You weren’t the one that was hoping for a chance at romance, but Austin was. He’d rather die than admit it, but his co-workers' words lit a small fire in his chest; a hopeful pyre that didn’t dim. 

The wooden stairs were old and weather worn, the nails rusted with age. Austin always felt a sense of dread when he heard the familiar creaking under his feet, and the fact that he could hear the television droning on from inside of the trailer didn’t make it any better. It meant that he was home, and the blonde knew what that meant. A fight was sure to ensue, and after the shitty day that he had at work, that was the last thing that he wanted to endure. He found that the door was unlocked, per usual. The inhabitant of the rickety death trap didn’t have anything worth stealing. 

“Why are you here?” The middle aged man looked terrible for his age, though Austin blamed that on the endless supply of alcohol and drugs that ran through the man’s system. 

Austin cleared his throat, closing the door behind him with a grimace. He didn’t want to be here, but there were still a few boxes back in his old room that he needed to grab. After that he’d be gone for good, or at least that’s what he told himself anyway. His no-good father was used to relying on other people to save the day, one of those people being his own son. 

He blamed his strong sense of duties on the fact that he was raised in the deep south. “Being a man” was hammered into his skull from the moment of his very conception. Taking care of your family, especially when they are unable to do it for themselves, was considered a must. Austin had always hated his father. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he had felt gratitude or love in any magnitude towards his father. Still, he was a man and needed to provide for his family. . . right? He didn’t want anyone to think less of him for abandoning his father. More than anything, he didn’t want the wrong kind of gossip ending up in the wrong people’s ears.

What was important to him now was getting the hell away from his abusive father. He was old enough to start thinking about what he wanted for himself in the future. He’d always craved companionship with a certain person. . . children were on his radar too. The last thing he wanted was for his druggie father to be in his own kid’s lives. 

The lanky man didn’t fit in the small home anymore, and he hadn’t for years. Both physically and emotionally, he had outgrown his prison many moons ago. He took a few seconds to look around the living room. Now that he wasn’t there to clean up after the grotesque man, the house smelled absolutely putrid. Austin’s nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes dancing along the empty beer cans and overflowing sink. 

“Jus’ gettin’ the last of my stuff.” Austin grumbled, his bulky black boots sticking to the dirty linoleum floors as he tried his best to breeze past the older man’s old recliner. 

A hand reached out, gripping at his wrist to stop him. Austin looked down, the muscles in his sharp jaw clicking as he held back the urge to rip himself out of the man’s reach. He knew that he was too big for the man to intimidate now, but his body still remembered the pain his father had put him through as a kid. 

“Ya talkin’ bout that toolbox?” The man’s voice was gravely, all thanks to the menthols he religiously smoked. Austin could smell the Miller Light and smoke coming off of him now. It was nauseating. 

The blonde ripped his eyes off of the man’s face, peeking off down the hall to see his old bedroom door wide open. He had locked it from the inside and crawled out the window the last time that he was here, taking the spare key with him. It was still tucked away safely in his wallet. His breathing stuttered when he realized that the doorknob had been taken off completely. 

“I need it for work. What did you do with it?” Austin tried to school the deep southern accent out of his voice. He got into the habit of doing that around his father from a young age, desperately wanting to seem as different from the old man as possible. 

“If that’s what yer here for, don’ bother. I sold it.” The young adult’s heart sank to his ass, and this time he didn’t hesitate in ripping his wrist out of the man’s hand. 

“To who? Where is it?” Austin questioned heatedly, staring daggers into the old man’s face. 

The sandy haired man was staring back at the television now, watching old reruns of some shitty old Western movie that must have come out in the sixties. He didn’t answer Austin, too drunk to care and too high to listen. 

“Dad!” Austin’s deep voice boomed, echoing around the filthy trailer. “Where the fuck did you take it? The pawn shop off’a Assembly Street?” That was where his father often sold stolen shit for a few extra bucks. 

That got the other man’s attention. He didn’t take kindly to being yelled and cursed at, especially not by his son. He could always deal it out, but refused to take it. Ray Butler had stopped beating on his son during his Junior year in highschool though, realizing that the boy was now bigger than him. Out of a cowardly fear for his own safety, he stuck to the emotional abuse instead, which only got worse once he didn’t have a true outlet for his frustrations. Austin bristled as he watched the old man glare up at him, taking a long swig from his beer before answering. 

“I took it to Keith’s. If ya needed it so bad, why the hell didn’t you take it with ya in the first place? It’s in my house, so I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” It was surprising how coherent the man was, especially since he must have been drinking all day long. 

Austin’s father hadn’t had a job in the last seven years, but still managed to scrape by somehow. He was a petty thief whose criminal record stretched all the way back into his boyhood. He had raised the blonde to be the exact same way, but the only thing Austin had truly adopted from his “teachings” was a shared hatred for cops and a scrappy sort of resourcefulness. The other kids that he was forced to interact with at school were the ones that taught him how to fight. They enjoyed taking turns trying to beat the shit out of the town’s poor kid, but once he finally hit his growth spurt in the summer after sixth grade the roles were largely reversed. Nobody messed with him by the time that he had entered high school. He was feared by his peers and just as hated. 

The negative image that he had created served him well though. Not only had he made a name for himself, he had also gained the ability to protect his best friend, which was the only thing he really cared about. Getting the dog shit knocked out of him was one thing, but seeing boys and girls teasing her was a different story. He remembered storming into the girl’s bathroom during his junior year very vividly, yanking up one of popular blonde’s by the back of her shirt. 

“I’m a Butler, so don’t think that I’m above hittin’ a girl.” 

He’d constantly ask you if the bullying persisted even after that, but you always went out of your way to tell him that they had stopped their teasing. Austin was made fun of because he lived in a trailer that should have been condemned long since they originally moved in and barely had enough money to get school supplies every year, but you were picked on because you were perfect. It didn’t make any sense to him, but girls are strange creatures. You made good grades, was the nicest person he had ever met without even trying, and your natural good looks made matters even worse for you. Getting the mean girls to steer clear of you wasn’t the hard part, but keeping the male pervert’s away was an entirely different story. 

It didn’t help that after a long day of putting up with the constant glares, rumors, and telling boys to back off, he’d be forced to come home to incessant tongue lashings. He barely had time to study after taking care of the forty year old drunkard, hence his rotten grades in school. You could only do his homework for him so many times, but hey- you tried. He graduated because of you, at the very least. 

He had landed a job as a mechanic straight out of high school, having been skilled for his age. Who knew that driving a shitty lemon of a car that he constantly had to fix up would lead to a career? He had gotten lucky, which was a rarity in his life. 

Getting his own place was one hell of an achievement, but his past always found a way to come back and haunt him. 

Austin stormed through the connected kitchen and down the hall, sucking in a deep breath before he entered the room. All of the boxes that he had stacked in the corner had been ransacked and picked clean. It was Austin’s fault for thinking that a simple locked door would keep his father out. The blonde could scream over his stolen Iron Maiden and Dio tapes later, for now he needed to focus on the important thing: his tools. 

“You sold them to your crackhead dealer? For what? A bag, right? That was over a hundred dollars worth’a tools!” He screamed from the backroom, kicking an old wooden chair that had been junking up his old room for ages. The thing went flying, hitting the opposite wall with a resounding cracking noise. 

Austin was covered in car oil, smelled like gasoline and sweat after a long day of work, and all he had wanted was to slip in the trailer undetected and grab his things. He had hoped that his father would have been passed out in his room by now so that he could have been in and out without being forced to converse. Nothing ever seemed to go his way. The blonde reached for the metal baseball bat that he still had stuffed under his childhood bed, knocking it against his boot a few times before storming out of the room, pushing past his father and heading straight for the front door. 

“Austin, wait,” The male knew what was coming. The only time his father ever referred to him by his name was when he wanted something. “Can you give me twenty dollars? I need’a pay the power.” 

The baseball bat felt heavy in his hand. He balanced the weight for a second, his jaw clicking as he imagined just how good it would feel to bring it down on top of the other man’s head. If Ray ended up dead, he was sure that he could blame it on a handful of people who he had stolen from or cheated. Austin didn’t need that on his conscience though. So instead of barking back a reply or even pulling out his wallet, he yanked his hand away with a grunt, storming out the door. 

“Jus’ use the money that you got from sellin’ all’a my shit.” He called out before slamming the door behind him, the small and dingy diamond shaped window vibrating with the force of his anger. 

“Is your mama home? If not then I’m gonna use your shower.” Austin gently pushed his way into the house, kicking off his dirty work boots before bounding up the familiar carpeted stairs. 

You blinked in the entryway, slowly closing the front door before turning around to watch him go, the chain from his wallet jingling with his movement. With a small sigh you locked it behind you, following up after him. 

“Well hello to you too.” You teased, watching him open up the linen closet so that he could grab a towel. He was caked with grease, his sun kissed cheeks speckled with black and gray. His black work shirt fit snugly on his form, having shrunk in the wash. At his hip, swinging around with every step that he took, was his black handkerchief. It was also wrecked with engine grease, having been used to clean his hands one too many times that day. He looked devilishly handsome, but he always did. Nothing new. 

“Sorry. Really bad day. Just got back from Keith’s place- he had some of the shit that I left at my dad’s.” He left the bathroom door open as he slipped off his socks, then hurriedly took his shirt off and threw that into the dirty clothes hamper. His small apartment didn’t have a washer and dryer hookup, so he had been doing his laundry at your place for the last two months. 

You didn’t mind, and your mother and father hadn’t noticed either. You sucked at your teeth, turning around to give him privacy. You heard the shower turn on, then the familiar clanking of his chain wallet hitting the side of the sink. Once you heard the shower curtain open and close you turned around, seeing the room empty, his dirty clothes piled neatly in the hamper. You closed the bathroom door behind you as you stepped inside, jumping up on the counter so that you could swing your legs back and forth as you spoke. He seemed frustrated, and you could tell that he needed to talk about it. 

Growing up in a tragically tiny town meant that everybody was always in each other’s business. From preschool to your senior year in high school, every moment was spent with the same exact children. You could count the newer families to move into the small community over the last five years on one hand. Life was slow moving in the old south, and things were horrifically monotonous. You and the blonde had been stuck together like glue ever since primary school, and you didn’t see it changing in the future. 

To say that you knew Austin like the back of your hand was an understatement. Every flaw, quirk and triumph had either been discovered by you, with you at his side, or involved you in some way. In a town filled with mostly elderly folks, kids often found a group of likeminded people and stuck with them for the entirety of their lives. It was horribly predictable of the two of you, yet here you two were, connected at the hip. The bond between you and Austin went above just being best friends. It was something tied to your soul. It wasn’t just hard to imagine a life without him in it, rather it was impossible. 

He didn’t have to tell you that he was angry for you to know that he was beyond aggravated. The restlessness was plain to see. Whether he would be upfront and tell you about the reason or not, you could tell that he needed someone to just sit and listen. Austin wasn’t the kind of person to talk in depth about the things that really upset him. He was more of the “suffer in silence until I inevitably blow up” type. You, on the other hand, weren’t afraid to whine and cry to him about even the slightest of inconveniences. The two of you were polar opposites, and yet it just worked. 

“Keith let you in the house?” You asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you watched the steam beginning to curl up and over the curtain. 

Austin let out a humorless laugh, and you could imagine him shaking his head back and forth. You smiled despite the situation, bringing your hand up to your mouth so that you could bite down on your thumb nail. You instantly regretted it, pulling away to see that you had already chipped your freshly painted fingers. 

“A’course he didn’t. I broke into the fucker’s place. Got my tool box back, but the damn thing had been ransacked already. The bones picked clean. I’m out over fifty dollars in tools- checked it once I got back into the car.” 

“Jesus- did he see you? That guy is absolutely insane.” Thankfully, you’d only met the man in passing a handful of times. He was the crazy townee that everybody knew and feared. Keith was the kind of person that you point out to your developing teens to scare them away from drugs and alcohol. “If you don’t want to end up like Ole’ Keith, you better not touch that stuff.” He had a bunch of handmade signs outside of his house with bible scriptures on them, meanwhile the man was dealing meth and coke to make a living. As was the deep south, filled to the brim with religious and moral hypocrisies. 

Either you were a devout Christian or just another local crackhead. Thankfully, you and Austin didn’t fall into either of those categories. You seemed to have made one of your own over the years. 

“He wasn’t home. His truck was gone. The dude left his bedroom window unlocked, so I just ripped the screen off.” 

You used to worry for Austin on a daily basis. The burns and bruises he’d come to school with broke your heart, but no matter how many times you begged your parents to let the blonde come and live with you, they always let you down. You were happy that he finally had somewhere safe to lay his head at night, though he still hadn’t broken the habit of spending most of his down time with you (and you prayed he wouldn’t ever grow out of that habit). As soon as he got off work he was making his way up to your bedroom, often dead tired down to his bones or pissed off. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway though. Your father was a hotshot business man who was away for work most of the time, and your mother insisted on following along with him after the “incident” that happened when you were twelve.

Men who spend most days without their wives and children breathing down their neck usually take advantage of the opportunity. Your father was no different. He was no saint. Then again, neither was your mother. She took most of her frustration out on you after that, and though you knew that her outbursts weren’t a direct cause of anything that you had personally done, that didn’t make it any better. 

Austin was just as much your therapist as you were his. Maybe that was the cause for your codependency. . . either way, neither of you regretted it. It only strengthened the bond, really. 

After Austin was showered and dressed in an outfit that he had left at your house some weeks ago, the two of you found yourselves sprawled out on your bed. You were busy finishing up some homework for one of your classes, and he was reading one of your magazines. He had his head hanging off the side of the mattress, ankles crossed up on one of your pillows. His wet hair was dripping onto your floor. The constant droplets hitting your outdated shag carpet lulled the two of you into a comfortable silence. The two of you didn’t need to talk 

“Where’s a newer one? This one’s a year old.” He suddenly dropped what he was reading onto the floor next to his head, sitting up so that he could face you again. 

You scrunched up your nose, dropping your psychology textbook beside you. 

“That is the newer one.” You told him, to which he scooped it up and off of the floor, turning it over and pointing at the date. 

He was right. It was old. 

It was the June twenty-first issue, the date clear to see on the front: nineteen eighty-four. Bob Dylan was posed on the front in all of his tambourine-man glory. 

“Shit. Sorry, Aus. I thought I handed you the Beatles Anniversary edition.” You started to stand up, but he waved you off. 

“I should probably get going anyway. I have to try to cook myself something. If I don’t eat now then I’ll jus’ go to bed hungry.” 

You had hoped that the two of you could order pizza tonight, but you kept your mouth shut. Lately you found yourself clinging to him a little bit harder than usual. Maybe it was the stress of your sophomore year in college, but you couldn’t be certain. You tried to school the disappointment off of your face as you nodded, standing up to walk him back to the front door. 

“Are we still driving down to see Dave’s show? His band sucks, but he’ll be disappointed if we miss it.” He asked you at the front door, shoving his sock clad feet into his work boots and tying them up haphazardly. 

You slapped your forehead with the palm of your hand, eyes wide. You’d completely forgotten about your friend’s show tomorrow. You’d planned to stay after class and study in the library, but you didn’t mind cramming for next week's test. Austin laughed, the sound causing you to smile to yourself. His laugh was deep, rich and completely contagious. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?” He leaned down so that he was at your height, his smile practically blinding. 

You sucked in a breath, but nodded your head anyway. It was hard not to notice his beauty in moments like this. He’d always been handsome, but lately you’d been looking a little too closely at that. A sick twinge of guilt soured your stomach, a feeling of what could only be categorized as “betrayal” causing your face to flush. He was your best friend, and if he knew that you were looking at him like that he would probably be disgusted with you. Hell, you were horrified by your own thoughts recently. You tried to blame the odd feelings on your long-standing lack of romance, but you were starting to believe that was just an excuse.

“I completely forgot.” And you felt bad about it. You’d been so busy with your school work, the recent fight that you had with your mother and. . . well. . . Austin. You cleared your throat softly, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the tiled floor to try and distract yourself. 

Austin seemed to notice the change in attitude and put his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in the way that he knew you despised. He chuckled when you slapped his hand away, instead moving his hand to the base of your neck so that he could pull your much smaller form against his in a tight hug. He’d always been lean and tall, but his physically demanding job had caused his muscles to fill out. He felt warm and strong, smelling of your shampoo. 

“I’ll drive us tomorrow, alright? Maybe you can get some studying done in the car.” And with that he removed his arms from around you. 

You felt the loss of his warmth like a slap in the face. You let him go though, watching as he bounded down the steps towards his van, his keys jingling in his hand with the movement. He was in higher spirits after spending a few hours in your presence. He felt lighter, like some of the crushing weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You leaned against the doorframe, peeking your head out just to watch him. 

“I love you! Drive home safe, alright?” You called out. 

Austin couldn’t fight off the blush that raised to his ears, but he turned around and quickly returned the sentiment. You had told him that you loved him every day, but his heart still pounded like it had the very first time. Only these days he wished that you really meant it. 

That you loved him the same way that he loved you. 

[misscammiedawn]

On a TV Glow kick so tried to read the episode 601 synopsis.

Here's the best I could get:

Page 1:

[…] Mr Melancholy has escaped his ancient prison trapped inside the dark side of the moon [..] Moon Men's lunar forces have finally […] weird teenagers. Now there's no moon. We see […]

[…] last the end of last season Mr. Melancholy finally tricked […] began back at their old sleepaway camp […] nightmarish hellscape the likes of which they aren't […] deep underground, hugged only by the […] place where they first laid eyes […]

Page 2:

[…] Mr. Melancholy's awful reign has officially begun. Someone get her a tissue.

Things have never been worse. A country-wide mandate passed by Senator Spr[..] never ending math class. A new dress code restricts any citizen in the entire country from […] music the college radio station now only plays […] Double Lunch has been transformed from the coolest club in town into Mr. Melancholy's […] where Marco and Polo are keeping all four members of the [Arcade Laser Brigade?] planning to kill them anytime soon. He's just planning to feed endlessly on their weirdness, […] everything beautiful about their souls into stinky star fuel.

So where is Isabel? Where is Tara? […] are our heroes […] somewhere very far away… in a town reminscient of the real world they need to […] but different in so many subtle, insidious […] ways. But the thing is for sure, this town is bled of magic and wonder.

It's all […] place our young heroes no longer even remember they are The Pink Opaque. Here they [..] like heroes anymore. Here every battle fought, every secret they ever shared […] heartstopping […] the pages of this very episode guide […] real, but instead in this world all this was just the weekly transmissions of a dumb TV show. Absurd, right? Who would fall for such a […] Isabel and Tara. At least at first…

Can Isabel and Tara find each other again on the hazy shores of the psychic plane? Can it […] destroy as it glows dimly? The Luna Juice and soil is caught […] I have much time. But then again, time might not exactly [?] think it does. […] right now, aren't I? But you're also reading it right now. Strange…

Tara is the first one to realize something is very wrong […] this "home" where she's been placed is little more than a prison […]

-

I love the authentic conversational tone of the era and would love to know what exactly the "you're reading it right now. Strange..." part elaborates as.

It seems to be inspired by the Season 6 episode of Buffy "Normal Again" (itself a reference to a Star Trek episode "Frame of Mind") and confirms that Double Lunch is a location in the fiction of the show as well as within the suburb that the movie takes place. It makes sense why Tara would want to take Isabel there.

Given the climax of The Pink Opaque is said to be a reaction to Twin Peaks' season 2 finale (Director Jane Schoenbrun referring to the ending as an act of violence towards anyone who had love for the show and its world/characters) I chose to take the Double Lunch sequence to harken to the Pink Room sequence from the Twin Peaks movie, an middle ground between extremes of reality and the metaphysical.

Anyway. TV Glow is amazing.

If anyone can get a better screenshot and make out better detail I'd love to read.

[in1-nutshell]

Moon streaker snapping and now everythings on fire

I have been waiting for this moment!

I have had several scenarios for this and just had to randomly pick one because I wanted to write them all.

Hope you enjoy!

Moonstreaker snaps

SFW, Platonic, Hinted Romance, Angst, Familial, Mention of injuries, Cybertronain reader

MTMTE

Moonstreaker was at Swerve’s talking to the bartender when the alarms sounded.

The alarm for an alien invasion.

As much as she wanted to stay with Swerve, she knew she was needed elsewhere on the ship.

Giving Swerve one last look and a reassuring smile, Moonstreaker ran out of the bar with a couple of bots behind her ready to go.

Getting used as hostage was something that she wasn’t too familiar with. Usually, she was the one who was doing the rescuing, not the other way around.

Even more embarrassing, she was tricked into coming on board the opposite ship after hearing cries for help, only to get knocked out with a pip to the helm.

The space pirates were now back on the ship and actively flying away from the Lost Light.

Moonstreaker glared at each one of the pirates as they spat and slapped her across the face.

The space captain walks in front of Moonstreaker and yanks her up by her chains.

The Bot can only glare at the captain.

“Aw, what’s with the glare little Autobot?”--Captain

She doesn’t respond.

“Fine, be that way. Soon we’ll be rolling in thousands of shanix after we get that transmission working. And, well, we’d defiantly get a lot more if you start pleading for your life.”--Captain

Moonstreaker spits some of the energon from her mouth into his face.

The captain throws her back into the ground and steps on her chassis.

Moonstreaker grunts at the sudden weight before getting kicked into some of the crewmate’s arms.

Wiping his face, the captain turns to the crew.

“Keep an eye on her. The little toaster is a feisty one she is.”--Captain

Meanwhile the captain was setting up the transmission, some of the pirates began talking about pillaging and getting rid of some of the bots on board.

One of them mentioned the captain of the ship.

She tensed hearing some of the details.

Her frame started feeling warmer than usual, but she brushed it off as her system being out of whack after all the beating to the helm.

Unfortunately, they noticed.

The nearest guard grabbed Moonstreaker by the back of her helm.

“Oh? Did we strike a nerve, you overgrown toaster? What? You didn’t like what we were saying? Huh? HUH!”—Crewmate 1

The guard slams her helm repeatedly into the wall next to her.

One of the guards stops him.

“Careful you dummy! You’re gonna damage the fuel tank with another hit like that.”—Crewmate 2

The guard holding her helm dropped her in front of the fuel tank in a crumpled heap.

Part of Moonstreaker’s helm was thoroughly soaked with energon.

Part of her vision color pink and the other is seeing double the amount of guards than before.

“Yeah, but that’s nothing compared to what I’M gonna do to the pipsqueak who shot my knee!”—Crewmate 1

The guard shows the bandaged knee to his friends.

“I swear, when I get my hands on that little red bot I’m gonna—”—Crewmate 1

“You…”--Moonstreaker

The guards turn back to Moonstreaker, who was shakingly trying to sit back up.

“Will Not…”--Moonstreaker

She nearly falls again but leans more against the fuel tank’s wall.

“Touch…”--Moonstreaker

She is now sitting on her knees, optics blazing with anger.

“Him… or anyone on that ship… that… I promise.”--Moonstreaker

Meanwhile on the Lost Light…

The pirate’s transmission had just been connected.

Rodimus glares daggers at the smug face of the captain.

“Why, hello—”--Captain

“Where’s Moonstreaker!”--Rodimus

“Rodimus, please, calm down.”--Magnus

Rodimus shoots daggers at Magnus.

“Roddy, you’re going to set something on fire if you don’t calm down.”--Drift

Rodimus looks down at his literal smoldering servos and tries to calm down.

“Where’s our crewmate?”--Megatron

The captain was about to talk when it was interrupted by screaming.

“What in the—”--Captain

“Admiral! What in the blazes is—”--Captain

“FIRE! FIRE NEAR THE FUEL TANKS! FIRE NEAR THE—”--Crewmate

BOO—BBBBBEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPP!

Magnus and Megatron had never seen the look of horror that fell across Rodimus’s face when the transmission abruptly ended.

Drift had to drag him back to his chair before he fell to the ground and called Ratchet in.

The Co-captain hadn’t made any movement or sound.

Just clutching his chassis with a shaking servo.

Magnus and Megatron took charge while Ratchet were checking on Rodimus.

It didn’t take long for the Lost Light to find the pirate’s ship.

Not when they could see where the fiery blast came from.

The ship makes it to the location in record time.

Except there was no ship.

Or one intact at least.

It was just burnt pieces of wreckage and parts floating around.

And one Autobot’s frame floating limply amongst it.

A team was sent out to get Moonstreaker’s body.

Rodimus wanted to go but was ruled out when he nearly collapsed again trying to stand up.

Ratchet ran to the med bay hearing over the coms that Moonstreaker was still alive.

Rodimus nearly bursted out of the room if Drift hadn’t talked him into waiting.

What good was he in the medbay if she was in critical condition?

The news of Moonstreaker’s return to the Lost Light quickly spread like wildfire.

More specifically, to a red minibot how looked like he was going to cry at any moment.

Swerve cursed and cursed for being small and having the others hold him back from running to the med bay.

He already felt awful for not doing more in the invasion and then hearing that Moonstreaker had been kidnapped by them.

Skids and some of the others helped close the bar early for Swerve.

The moment that Ratchet had given the clear for visitors after getting her stable, Rodimus and Swerve were one in line.

Swerve was in the room when Moonstreaker woke up.

Moonstreaker slowly opens her optics to see a surprised Swerve.

“’werve?”—Moonstreaker

The minibot gasps and the tears start rolling down his face.

“Moonie!”--Swerve

She winces at the sudden noise.

“Oh, Primus sorry!”--Swerve

Moonstreaker smiles at him, tears and all.

She carefully wipes them.

Swerve cries even harder holding both of his servos on the servo on his cheek.

“How? Where is—”—Moonstreaker

Harsh pede steps start getting louder.

Swerve instinctively holds her servo tighter.

“Rodimus calm down!”--Velocity

BANG!

Rodimus suddenly appears in front of the pair looking just as shocked Swerve had been.

Swerve slowly puts her servo back down, much to the pairs want.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Nice to see you online and all Moonie.”--Swerve

Moonstreaker has her servo extended a bit longer as Swerve leaves the med bay.

Rodimus takes her servo and lets out a vent of relief before the tears start prickling.

She squeezes her brother’s servo in comfort.

“Hey Roddy.”--Moonstreaker

He smiles letting a couple of stray tears fall.

“Hey Moonie.”--Rodimus

[dreamofhircine]

A lucky hit, impossible odds with how fast the mech was dodging, diving, sliding around the battlefield. A clean entry straight through a sensor pod and down into the armor beneath it at such a perfect angle it takes you a precious second to realize that it it didn't ricochet away and that you aren't dead to counter-fire yet.

A miraculous penetration into the cockpit but not back out. Bouncing around inside and shredding whatever wicked thing is in there you hope, pray, beg. The way the mech lurches unsteadily forward is promising, the way it zeroes in on your totally outclassed walker-frame is terrifying.

It never manages to close the distance, though you're tensed so hard you'll feel the muscle cramps for days after. The tension releases like a spring, violent relief as the slender mech in front of you twitches, stumbles, swings weapons mounts in wild firing arcs as it hits the dirt like a puppet with the strings cut.

You consider approaching it, just for a moment, before training your weapon back on it. There's a lot of fluid leaking from the puncture point, something pink and vital looking spurting from the entry wound where a digital eye had been. Anti-g fluid, immersion cockpit liquid, the reason it can pack so much thrust onto such a light frame without the pilot blacking out during the ride.

The wreck hisses loud enough to make you flinch in your walker, enough for you to be visibly afraid if there was anything left alive around you to notice. More of the liquid floods out, dirt turning to mud around the mech as part of the cockpit pops open and something small and unsteady slides out.

A pilot. An enemy pilot. Head to toe in black interface suit, shiny with the immersion fluid, face obscured by a cold featureless helmet and frame weighed down by trailing twisted cables still linking it to the chaotic sensory feed of the dead hulk behind it. It's clutching at one coming out of a port where it's mouth is, pulling at it even as it scrambles in the mud in a pained panic, all wounded animal response now.

The probe-cable slides free with a gush of fluid, the helmet slips off and your weapon automatically tracks the pilot to the ground as it falls to its hands and knees and starts to wretch up more of the immersion fluid, heaving as it tries desperately to clear out its lungs. You think some of it might be blood, too. Too much of it.

The pilot thing, dying worm in the dirt, is beautiful and ugly. Starvation-slender, pale as death, red-dyed hair longer than you'd have expected from a military pilot, face dotted with shiny piercings and a few neural interface studs. It passes out and collapses before it even registers you watching.

You make a note to save a picture of it, like this, zoomed in through your sight-pods when you review the guncam later. You give yourself a second more to watch it twitch and try to breath then finally pull the trigger. Again. Again. Again.

You report back to command site sanitized, enemy wreck secure, an urgent request for reinforcement tacked on to the end of the transmission.

You hope it was alone.

[tekumaniac311]

Rider Rescue: Briefing.

This chapter takes place right where the Prologue left off, After Dogday and his entire Space Rider squadron had been captured by the cult.

At a different Space Rider ship, black and red in colour. In the mess hall eight Riders were having supper together, like Dogdays squad, this one consisted of four males and four females.

A large brown mammoth was conversing with a small, brown furred, ring tailed lemur. The little lemur was trying not to laugh at whatever the huge mammoth was saying, sitting also nearby was a brown wolverine eating..rather crudely. Nearby also was a hybrid fox with indigo fur, finishing her supper with a simple drink of soda.

On the other side of the table was a white, rather attractive looking secretary bird with violet feathers, makeup and a mole under her left eye, she was finishing calmly eating her food. Alongside was an pink furred snow leopard sipping her soda, she looked eager to get to training or playing a game after eating. Then calmly slurping a bowl of nicely cooked noodles was a black dragon with a silver ponytail hairstyle, his tail and wings settled calmly. Finally was a dog with colors similar to Dogdays but darker, he even looked younger and finished eating his supper.

"Masterpiece as always, Mammoth." The dog spoke. The mammoth gave a gesture, "I always aim to please, Captain." She chuckled.

Before any further word could be spoke, Poppy's hologram appeared, she looked serious and stern after what had happened just a few minutes ago.

"Poppy!" Prettybird spoke smiling. "How are you?"

"Not too well, Pretty." Poppy explained before turning to the captain of the team, Dogbite. "Pop, what can we do for you?" He spoke with a smirk.

"Well, ahem. Dogbite, you and your team have been activated for a most urgent rescue mission." She said sternly. "Rescue mission? What happened?" Drago spoke sternly.

Here goes...Poppy thought. "Just a few minutes ago, Captain Dogday Solaris and his entire squadron have been captured and their ship hijacked by the cult."

Dogbite's eyes widened when he heard the name, a huge smug smile crept onto his lips "Pop! I wanna thank you personally for lending us with this job! This is great! If you weren't an android or a hologram, I'd kiss ya!" Drago meanwhile facepalmed, his captains cockiness was definitely peaking with this news.

"Well..you and your crew were the closest from Dogdays at this moment. THAT'S pretty much why I'm giving you folks the mission." The android explained. "He's your big brother, right?" Lean Lemur piped in.

"Correct, Lemur." Dogbite spoke "I've been dying to see what he's been doing lately, and I wonder what kind of crew he's got."

Drago Kitano stood up from the chair and glared "We'd better get to finding them fast, for each second their in the cults clutches, there is no telling what'll be happening." Poppy nodded, relieved that at least this crew was serious about the situation, save for their own CAPTAIN. "I've already updated your ships computer with the coordinates to Dogday's ship so finding where their landing won't be hard, rescue Dogday and his squad, do whatever it takes." She finished, ending the transmission.

"Let's roll!" Leopardaisy piped in, the team nodded and headed for the bridge, as Dogbite got into the pilot seat, he smirked to himself.

"Okay big bro, i'm on my way. Mammoth! You tracking their ship?" He asked. The large brown mammoth nodded, interfacing with the ships radar systems "Got a signal, tracked it to a planet called Xuacury." She told Dogbite.

"Anything to note?" Dogbite asked as he set course. "Relatively low cult activity, but i've tracked the ship to an abandoned town in the planet's desert."

"Sounds just like their style." Drago said crossing his arms. "Been aching to smash a few more cultists up." Berserkerine said, cracking his neck to the side.

Meanwhile, on Xuacury.

Dogday woke up blinking his eyes, it was too dark to see anything. All he could feel was that his arms were strung up high and far apart like a cross. "G..guys..Guys!" He tried to move but he couldn’t, the straps holding his arms up were too strong.

“Cap? What’s going on?!” Squeaked Piggy as she struggled, she along with the other 6 riders were tied up and hanging from the ceiling like Dodgday was, but with their arms tied around their backs instead. And for Crafty, her legs were also tied up! “Can anyone move??” Bubba asked, each rider replied with one word: “No.”

“Hmm? Oh! They are awake! If some of you would be so kind to remove their masks, please.” Said a sinister voice. A few cultists walked up and remove the masks covering each of the Riders faces, Dogday shook his head and looked around, it looked like he and his squad were in some abandoned building. The riders looked at each other and then looked ahead.

“Welcome, Space Riders! To your inevitable ritual of JOY!!” Boomed the high priest, flourishing his arms wide as the crowd of cultists behind him laughed and cheered maniacally.

“……We’re in trouble.” Bobby said with a sarcastic smile.

TO BE CONTINUED

Space Riders belong to @onyxonline

Rider OCS by me.

[rikaklassen]

Viral transmission through eyes is confirmed

So, not only dairy workers are coming down with severe conjunctivitis (pink eye), the ferret study confirms ocular transmission.

Better stock up on prescription snorkeling goggles (if you need glasses and cannot wear contact lenses) and firefighting goggles for smoke jumpers.

If you want to help me buy equipment to keep bestie safe from COVID, climate-induced wildfires and the bird flu, here is her PayPal: paypal.me/bglamours.

[candywife333]

King Squishy

{TEASER}

SLATED TO RELEASE IN DECEMBER

alien king (jabba the hutt looking) yoongi x chubby secretary reader

She stared at the screen, squinting her eyes, completely tired from the strain of focusing on the screen in front of her. King Squishy, his ugly blob Majesty, trudged over to her. She had been recruited by the planet, Xalaxia, to manage their secretarial works requiring communications with earth. Since she knew the Xalaxian dialect and English with fluency, she had been the perfect gal for the job.

Y/N wouldn't have minded working on the lush green planet with pink golden sunsets, if not for her treacherously annoying and strict boss. The king of the planet himself. King Yoongi. Or as she liked to refer to him as, the bane of her existence. He would always harp on her to finish the work quickly even when she was ahead of schedule. And he would unscrupulously watch over her every move ,as though she were committing a crime by working diligently on behalf of his stale, rank pumpernickel ass.

He wasn't fluent in English, so he relied on her a lot for even diplomatic efforts of his planet. Here he came, entering the room with an infuriated face, waddling his squishy amber, amorphous ass resembling jelly like a duck. All the people on this planet had two forms, one that resembled something more similar to humans--average heights reaching up to 6 feet and up. The other form most of them carried was that of a a normal human face on top of what could not be described in any other words other than a goopy blob that would shapeshift to form humongous tentacles. The black appendages would sometimes drip inky obsidian fluids as they walked, leaving what Y/N called , a "xalaxian trail".

Y/N tiredly drawled out as she typed a document without moving her eyes off the screen, "What service would you like to procure from me today your Majesty"?

Yoongi snarled as he threw a bunch of papers onto her desk, "Is this what you call a complete financial report of the trade embargo we have between Earth? It has a bunch of typos, even I would be able to tell!!!! Why are you so incompetent, you lazy woman"?

I bristled, alive with fury as I attempted to calm down, staring at the document he threw at me. I felt like laughing when I figured out what his problem was. "Ummm, Sir, you do know that these type of letters require more official language ,right? The spellings are all correct. Whatever you have marked in red ink is just the past tense of regular English verbs. We don't say ever say the word "thinked", we say "thought", to express past tense".

His entire face blanched as he started sputtering in a fury, "F-f-fix it then, you human imbecile"!

And he immediately scurried away, his prominent trail viscously dripping after him. I had to not choke on my own laughter, as I stared at a human blob try to run away from me. His magestically goopy form, was trying to get away, but the massive size of his tush was not letting him, making him look like he was twerking and wiggling his butt as he tried to abscond.

Xalaxians did not wear robes or any clothing for that matter in their blob-like forms, they only wore them when they were humanoid in shape.

Y/N sighed, the days on Xalaxia were becoming monotonous, as she felt encumbered with all the excess transmissions to be translated. She was leaving late nowadays from her work station, dropping down on her bed exhausted, instantaneously falling asleep. It had been exciting in the beginning, with all the cuisines, colorful people, and beautiful outdoor environment. But with the way she had been transferred from working with the kind council member Taehyung to becoming the king's secretary, it had been a less than pleasant transition, putting it very lightly.

She pondered with her hands holding up her chin, maybe she should apply for the yearly mating banquet. Humans were allowed to participate. It was quite simply put, a banquet where people found mates (permanent mates, not casual ones). Y/N had not participated in the last two years she had been on Xalaxia. But even she was feeling a bit lonely from time to time. Maybe a mate would help curb that. She wasn't getting any younger.

Xalaxians mated for life, and since their life span of 1000 years instantaneously conferred upon their partner once a mating bond was formed, it was a very big deal who your partner was. Y/N dreamily imagined finding a kind Xalaxian who would treat her right and give her children, something she had always wanted. They would live in a gorgeous garden estate and relax, sharing a marriage bed. She felt like blushing at the mere thought.

She typed up and submitted the application form on her bed. A tinkling sound came from her lap top indicating that the form had been submitted. Before Y/N could even process the happiness and possibility that would come of starting the search for a mate, she got a phone call.

As she picked up the call from an unknown number, she heard a screeching voice, "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??? HOW COULD YOU SUBMIT A MATE FORM WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, WHEN YOU ARE MY SECRETARY? I FORBID YOU Y/N, I FORBID YOU FROM LOOKING FOR A MATE"!

Y/N's indignance peaked, who the hell did this king think he was? Forbidding her from finding a mate, something that was mandated by law as a privilege allowed to every resident of Xalaxia. Y/n calmly replied, "And I fail to see how that is my problem, you rank ass goop ball. Don't test me, sire. If you infringe upon my rights, I shall merely quit the job. What exactly is your problem anyway"?

He yodeled back, exasperated, "YOU. YOU. It's always fucking YOU". Y/N felt so irritated and frustrated at his vague proclamations. "And what do you even mean by that, Sire"?

He sobbed , clearly inebriated from drinking, as he would never show such expressions of emotion otherwise. "You wouldn't work for me anymore, if you found a mate".

Y/N sniped back, rather confused at his intent, "And how is that supposed to be my concern"?

[impossibleprincess35]

Asphodel | ch 40

[Excerpt:]

Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs. 

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, sadly, at the memory of his fallen master’s advice, and then he turned to the bed where he began to strip from his clothes. They were the same ones he had worn in battle before he had made the order to abandon the Negotiator. The scent of blaster fire and ozone was still thick in the fabric of his tunics, and as he began to peel them off, he tossed them into the hamper in the floor of his tiny closet.

Reaching for his wrist to remove his chrono and his comlink, the comlink device buzzed.

He was startled for a second and then he smiled.

He knew this transmission ID.

With the press of a button, a tiny blue hologram appeared before him, levitating from the surface of the comlink face, and on the other end was the Duchess of Mandalore. A headdress of stained glass, like wings upon a Gorsian dragonfly, framed her ethereal hair, and she was the picture of formality on the other end.

“Hello there,” he crooned. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Satine smiled graciously and then blinked. “You’re half dressed, cyare. Have I reached you at a bad time?”

Obi-Wan mounted the comlink device to a stand where she could see him in return, and raised an eyebrow as a sly look spread across his face. “How ironic, I was going to ask how you always have the most impeccable timing.”

She rolled her eyes, though one side of her mouth began to tick upward into a smirk. “I happened to hear about the destruction of your ship, and while I am never sad to hear of star destroyers being put out of commission, this is not the method of decommissioning I would choose.” A playful glimmer sparkled in her eyes, and then she cleared her throat and continued, “Is the 7th Sky Corps all in one piece? Are you all in one piece?”

The Jedi was in such a good mood that he decided to toy with her. He lifted his arms up over his head and feigned a stretch, then gently scratched at the flat plane of his lower abdomen where a trail of auburn hair led to the waistband of his trousers. The bacta she had diligently applied to his wounds had helped them fade into soft, off-pink marks that weren’t easily noticeable now, but he was certain that she could see all of them vividly in her memories as she watched him.

“Oh yes,” he replied with a smug look, “I don’t fall apart nearly as easily as a Venator- class ship, it seems.”

The Duchess of Mandalore bit her lower lip as she gave him a gratuitous glance up and down, and then she raised her finger to her mouth and pressed it against her lip as she murmured, “Be careful and don’t tempt fate with claims like that, would you? I quite like you in one piece.”

--

Chapter 40 is up.

Huge thanks to the super awesome @mercysong-tardis for this hilarious and adorable art. I adore you. You are just so freakin' cool.

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Four

Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Four: Missing Brain

Summary: The Enterprise is attacked and takes a very strange item from one crew member.

            Captain’s Log: During the Enterprise’s travels, we’ve encountered a strange ship. We are on Red Alert, unsure if it is friend or foe as it refuses to answer any of our transmissions.

            “Phaser banks standing by, sir,” reported Sulu. “Range 43,000 and closing.”

            “What do you read, Mr. Spock?” asked Kirk.

            “Configuration unidentified,” said Spock. “Ion propulsion, high velocity, though of unique configuration.”

            “(L/N)?” asked Kirk.

            “No contact, sir,” reported (Y/N). “Hailing on all frequencies and languages but no response. Now using standard interstellar symbols.”

            “Keep trying,” said Kirk. “Magnification ten, Mr. Chekov.”

            “Aye, sir,” said Chekov.

            “13,000 and closing,” warned Sulu.

            “Well, Scotty?” asked Kirk.

            “It beats me, but isn’t she a beauty?” remarked Scotty, gazing at the ship with admiration.

            “Interesting design,” said Kirk.

            “I’ve never seen anything like her, and ion propulsion at that! Ah, they could teach us a thing or two,” said Scotty.

            “Life-forms, Mr. Spock?” asked Kirk.

            “One: humanoid or similar,” said Spock. “Low level of activity. Life support systems functioning. Interior atmosphere: conventional nitrogen-oxygen. Instruments indicate a transferal beam emanating from the area of the humanoid life-form.”

            “Directed at what?” asked Kirk, on guard.

            “Directed at the guard of the Enterprise, Captain,” said Spock, eyes hardening warily.

            “Security guard,” called Kirk. “Security guard to the Bridge.” He froze as a beam appeared on the Bridge, and a woman materialized.

            The Bridge crew stared at her in lilac and pink heels and a dress. She smiled as her eyes landed on Spock, who raised an eyebrow.

            (Y/N) cocked their head as very calm, pleasant emotions emanated from the woman. However, the emotions were…simple, like there wasn’t much going through her mind.

            “I’m Captain James Kirk,” said Kirk. “This is the Starship Enterprise.”

            The security guard rushed in, phasers drawn, but the woman calmly lifts a device on her wrist and a low tone hummed. Instantly, (Y/N) felt a force inside their head, and they seized up. Around them, their fellow crew members froze before collapsing unconscious. The last thought (Y/N) had as they collapsed was how Spock stumbled and reached out for them.

            Spock…

l

            (Y/N) jerked awake, and while Kirk turned to monitor the Enterprise, but their first thought was Spock. He was gone from his post.

            “Spock!” breathed (Y/N), and their stomach dropped. Something was very wrong.

            “(L/N)? Do you know where Spock went?” asked Kirk worriedly.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “He was gone when I woke up.”

            “Jim! (Y/N)!” Bones’s urgent voice came over the intercom. “You’d better come down to Sickbay right now.”

            (Y/N) was out the door before Kirk could even answer Bones.

l

            (Y/N) flew through Sickbay doors with Scotty and Kirk behind them. Their eyes widened as they saw what Bones had been so worried about.

            Spock lay underneath life-support systems, and a gold cloth was wrapped around his head. (Y/N) was by his side in an instant, holding his hand worriedly. They couldn’t feel his emotions, which was normal, but he felt…emptier.

            “I found him on the table,” said Bones.

            “Like this…?” asked (Y/N).

            “No, not like this,” said Bones.

            “What happened?” (Y/N)’s golden eyes were filled with concern as they looked at Bones.

            “I don’t know,” said Bones.

            “Why is he on complete life support?” asked (Y/N), holding Spock’s hand tighter. “Was he…?”

            “He was worse than that,” said Bones.

            “What does that mean?” questioned (Y/N).

            “(Y/N)…” Bones had a soft spot for the Celian, they were like a little sibling to him, and he was hesitant to tell them that something had happened to Spock.

            “Bones, I can tell it’s bad,” said (Y/N), watching Bones’s fear and worry swirl around him.

            “…His brain is gone,” said Bones. “It’s been removed surgically.”

            (Y/N) looked down at Spock as their heart ached. His brain? Spock’s brain? The very thing that made him Spock? “How…how could he survive?” If he was alive, there was hope.

            “It’s the greatest technical job I’ve ever seen. Every nerve ending of the brain must’ve been neatly sealed. Nothing ripped, nothing torn, no bleeding,” said Bones. “It’s a medical miracle.”

            “But if he’s missing his brain…he’s dying,” said (Y/N).

            “No. That incredible Vulcan physique hung on till life support took over,” said Bones. “His body lives.” He looked at (Y/N). “We’ve still got him, don’t worry. The autonomic functions continue…but there is no mind.”

            (Y/N) could feel the sympathy of all their friends, but they could only focus on Spock. They had to bring him back. They had to. They couldn’t leave him like this.

            “That woman…” said Kirk.

            “Aye,” said Scotty.

            “What woman?” asked Bones.

            “From the ship,” said (Y/N). “She beamed aboard and used a device to send us unconscious.”

            “She took it,” said Kirk decisively. “I don’t know why, or where, but she must have taken it.” He looked at Bones. “Bones, how long can you keep him functioning?”

            “I can’t give you any guarantee,” said Bones.

            “Please, Bones,” said (Y/N).

            “If it happened to a human, I’d say indefinitely, but Vulcan physiology mixing with human limits what I can do,” said Bones. “Spock’s body is much more reliant upon that tremendous brain for life support.”

            “Then we’ll have to take him with us,” decided Kirk.

            “Take him?” asked (Y/N) in confusion.

            “Take him where?” questioned Bones.

            “In search of his brain, Doctor,” said Kirk. “From what you say, the moment we find it, we must restore it to his body, or…we lose him.” He looked at (Y/N) in sympathy.

            (Y/N) steeled themself. They had to do something. They refused to just leave Spock like this. They wouldn’t give up on the man they loved.

            “Jim…where are you going to look in this whole galaxy?” asked Bones. “Where are you going to look for Spock’s brain? How are you going to find it?”

            “We’ll find it,” said (Y/N), and all eyes turned on them. “We’ll find it.”

            “Even if you do, I can’t restore it,” said Bones. “I don’t have the medical technique.” He was harsh, but it was his own way of showing worry that swept over (Y/N).

            “If it was taken out, it can be put back in,” said (Y/N). “That’s logic.”

            “But I don’t know how!” Bones’s words were angry, but his emotions read of guilt and frustration. He wasn’t sure how to help Spock, and for all their arguments, he liked the Vulcan and was his friend. He didn’t want to lose him.

            “Whoever took it has the knowledge. We’ll get her to tell us,” said (Y/N) in determination.

            “We need to find it in twenty-four hours,” said Bones.

            (Y/N)’s hand curled into a fist of determination. Kirk put a hand on their shoulder and faced Bones. “You and Scotty have Spock ready. We’ll find out where that woman went.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “We’ll find him.” We’re coming, Spock.

l

            “I’ve got it again, sir—an ion trail,” said Sulu. He had been working hard to get a track on the ship that had taken Spock. “It’s from that ship of hers alright.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Thank you, Sulu.”

            “Where does it lead, Mr. Chekov?” asked Kirk.

            “System Sigma Draconis,” said Chekov.

            “Lock on, Mr. Sulu,” said Kirk. “Maximum speed.” He looked at (Y/N). “We’re going to get him back, (L/N).”

            “Of course we are,” said (Y/N). “I won’t leave him like this.”

            Kirk looked at them and nodded. (Y/N) loved Spock, and Kirk had seen many times how far (Y/N) went for the people they cared about. If anyone would make sure Spock was saved, it would be (Y/N).

l

            Fifteen anxiety-inducing hours had passed. Nine hours remained to save Spock. (Y/N) and everyone on the Bridge’s emotions had been a swirl of concern as they single-mindedly focused on staying on the tail of the ship that had taken him.

            (Y/N) wanted to dive into the work, too, but Uhura was quick to make sure they rested since she knew (Y/N) would drive themself into the ground before even getting to Spock if given the chance.

            “Captain, I’ve lost the trail!” said Sulu.

            (Y/N) tensed, and Kirk jumped up. “All scanners, extreme sweep.”

            (Y/N) moved to their station, but Uhura batted their hands away. “Rest, (Y/N). You’ll need your energy when you find Spock.”

            “Well?” asked Kirk.

            “Nothing, sir, nothing at all,” said Sulu.

            “It’s gone, sir, a sudden deaction shift,” said Uhura.

            “We’ve lost her trail, but she went into that system,” said Sulu.

            “Mr. Chekov, put a schematic of Sigma Draconis on the screen,” ordered Kirk.

            “Aye, Captain,” said Chekov. A diagram appeared.

            “Redout, Mr. Chekov,” said Kirk.

            “Sun: spectral type, Gamma IX. Nine planets, three of them Class M, possessing sapient life according to reports and long-range scanning,” said Chekov.

            “She was breathing our air,” said (Y/N). “So a Class-M planet has to be her home.”

            Kirk nodded. “Show us the M-Class planets, Mr. Chekov.”

            “The one on the left, number three, rates Letter B on the industrial scale. Earth equivalent approximately…1485,” said Chekov. “Second planet, Class-M, number four, rates Letter G. The year 2030.”

            “But that ship, Captain, either it was many years ahead of us, or it was the most incredible design fluke in history,” said Sulu.

            “Third Class-M planet, Mr. Chekov?” asked Kirk.

            “Number six, no sign of industrial development,” said Chekov. “At last report, in a glacial age. Sapient life plentiful, but on a most primitive level.”

            Kirk considered. “Now, as I understand you, Mr. Chekov, there are three M-Class planets. Not one of which is capable of launching an interstellar flight.”

            “No, sir,” said Chekov.

            “And yet one of them accomplished it?” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Chekov.

            “Thank you, Mr. Chekov,” sighed Kirk.

            “Captain, I’m picking up high energy generation on planet six,” said Uhura.

            “That’s the primitive glacial planet,” said Kirk in confusion.

            “Uhura, what’s the source?” asked (Y/N).

            “It could be natural: volcanic activity, steam, any number of causes, but it’s very regular,” said Uhura.

            “What do your surface readings show, Mr. Chekov?” asked Kirk.

            “No sign of organized civilization,” said Chekov. “Primitive humanoids picked up at irregular intervals.”

            “With regular pulsations of generated energy?” questioned Kirk.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. That didn’t make sense; it was a paradox.

            “I can’t explain, sir,” said Chekov.

            “I cannot afford to guess wrong,” said Kirk. “We’ve got to choose the right planet, get there, find Spock’s brain in…eight hours and thirty-five minutes. Recommendations, Mr. Chekov?”

            “Sigma Draconis III,” said Chekov. “It’s closest. Heaviest population.”

            “But a technological rating of only three,” said Sulu. “They couldn’t possibly have put that ship we saw into space.”

            “We’ve seen stranger things,” remarked (Y/N).

            “I’d still say planet four,” said Sulu. “At least planet four is ahead of three technologically.”

            “But advanced ion propulsion is beyond even our capabilities,” said Kirk. “It’d be a miracle if they had developed it.”

            “But what does anyone want with Spock’s brain?” said (Y/N), shifting uncomfortably.

            “Yes, why would they want it?” wondered Kirk. “Eight hours and thirty-four minutes.” Time was ticking away. “Planet six is glaciated, you say?”

            “Several thousand years at least,” confirmed Chekov. “Only the tropical zone is ice-free.”

            “But the energy…regular,” murmured (Y/N). “That’s there and real.”

            “Yes,” said Uhura. “It doesn’t make sense, but it’s there.”

            “Have the Transporter Room stand by,” decided Kirk. “I’m taking a landing party down to planet six.”

            “Aye, aye, sir,” said Uhura, getting up. She squeezed (Y/N)’s shoulder reassuringly before alerting the Transporter Room.

            “A hunch, Captain?” asked Sulu.

            “A hunch, Mr. Sulu,” said Kirk.

            “…And if we guess wrong, Spock is dead,” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow and swallowing hard. “So we can’t be wrong.”

l

            Scotty, Chekov, Kirk, (Y/N), and two security officers arrived on Sigma Draconis VI. The primitive glaciated planet loomed with mountains over them. Eight hours and twenty-nine minutes remained.

            “Life form readings, Mr. Spock—Uh, Mr. Scott.” Kirk had to correct himself due to the strange disappearance of his First Officer.

            “Scattered,” said Scotty. “Widely spaced. Humanoid all right. On the large side.”

            “We better watch out,” said Kirk. “We know they aren’t as developed yet.”

            “Aye,” said Scotty.

            “Readout, Mr. Chekov,” said Kirk.

            “No structures, Captain,” said Chekov. “No mechanized objects that I can read. No surface consumption, no generation of energy. Atmosphere is perfectly alright, of course. Temperature, a high maximum of forty. Livable.”

            “Captain,” said (Y/N). “I can feel erratic emotions. Out in the rocks. There are a couple of people approaching.”

            “Phasers on stun,” commanded Kirk. “I want them conscious.”

            Carefully, the landing party approached where (Y/N) sensed emotions, and Scotty scanned for precise locations. A moment later, men with scraggly bears wearing pelts through rocks and sticks at the group. The Starfleet officers scattered behind rocks as they were bombarded. Kirk reached up and stunned one. The rest of the humanoid group stared at their fallen friend. Fear shot through them, and they ran for their own lives, thinking their friend dead.

            Kirk, Scotty, and (Y/N) approached the fallen man as he groaned. Fear spiked in him, and it prickled (Y/N)’s skin.

            “We mean you no harm,” they assured him. They touched his arm for a moment and let their calm emotions flood him with the knowledge they had no ill intentions. “We’re not your enemies. We just want to talk.”

            “You are not the others?” murmured the man.

            “No. We come from another place,” said (Y/N).

            “You are smaller…like the others,” said the man warily.

            “Who are the others?” asked Kirk.

            “The givers of pain…and delight,” said the man.

            “Do they live here with you?” said (Y/N).

            “No. They come. They give pain and delight.”

            “Do they come from the sky like us?” asked Kirk.

            “They are here. You will see,” said the man. “The others will come for you. They come from all like you and me.”

            They come for men? wondered (Y/N), exchanging a worried look with Kirk. “Do they come for your women as well?”

            “Women?” repeated the man in confusion as if the word held no meaning.

            “The typical female of your kind,” said Kirk in a brief explanation.

            “Your words…say nothing.”

            “Don’t you and your kind have mates or partner?” asked Kirk. The man stared in confusion, and Kirk pursed his lips.

            “Can you take us to find the others?” (Y/N) needed to see if these people had taken Spock. This was proving to be a suspicious planet, and with their luck, Spock would be at the middle of a planet-wide issue.

            “No one wants to find them!” said the man, panicking slightly.

            “We do,” said (Y/N), trying to calm him again but remaining firm.

            “Take us there, and we’ll let you go,” said Kirk.

            “Captain!” alerted Chekov. “Five hundred meters in that direction, there’s a foundation under the surface. A huge one! Registrations all over the place.”

            “Buildings?” asked Kirk.

            “Yes, sir. Immensely old, completely buried, but they were here once,” said Chekov.

            “That could imply some technological advancements hidden from the surface,” said (Y/N). That could be a clue to Spock.

            “Somewhere down there is where the others live,” said the man.

            (Y/N) and Kirk exchanged a look. That was where they had to go.

            “Scotty, see if you can find a way down,” said Kirk hurriedly.

            “Aye, sir!” said Scotty.

            “No! No!” The man got up and panicked. Kirk tried to grab him, but the man was quite strong. “No! Do not go there!” He pushed Kirk back and ran.

            “It’s alright,” said Kirk as a security officer tried to run after the man. “Let him go.”

            “What could the others do to cause such terror?” asked Chekov.

            “What was it he said, pain and delight?” remarked Kirk.

            “Peculiar mixture,” said Chekov.

            “A dead and buried city on a planet in the glacial age,” reviewed (Y/N). “The male humanoid doesn’t know what a female is and neither what it means to have a partner.” They frowned. How were there adults?

            “Captain! (L/N)!” called Scotty. “Over here, sir!”

            Chekov, (Y/N), and Kirk ran over to a cave opening Scotty had found.

            “There’s food in there,” said Scotty. “And a whole pile of other stuff.”

            “A storehouse for the men?” offered Chekov.

            “I don’t think so,” said Kirk. He pointed to the stack of tools and light in the corner. “Metal. Forged. Tempered. Our apish friends didn’t make these.”

            “What do you think?” said (Y/N), looking at Scotty.

            “It could be a warning device to keep the men away from the food,” said Scotty.

            “Or the food could be a lure, set by the ‘others’ to bring the men in here,” said (Y/N). “In that case, the beam would be a signal.”

            “And this cave, a trap,” said Kirk.

            “If it will trap the men for the others, Captain, won’t it trap us, too?” said Chekov.

            “Good point,” said (Y/N), leading the way out.

            “Kirk to Enterprise,” radioed Kirk once they were out.

            “Enterprise, Uhura here,” said Uhura.

            “Have Dr. McCoy beam down immediately,” said Kirk.

            “Aye, aye, sir,” said Uhura.

            “Mr. Chekov, you and the security team will remain here at the entrance,” said Kirk. “We’ll be in constant contact with you.”

            “Aye, sir,” said Chekov.

            The golden glow of the Transporter appeared, and Bones and another figure formed on the planet. (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            Spock’s body stood straight with a device in his head.

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@a-ofzest

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@groovy-lady

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@unending-screaming

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@ilyatan

[simslegacy5083]

Not So Berry (Straud Descendants) Gen 9

Today's (9/12/2024) Episode: Vive la Resistance!

Luigi and Noemi were up late and took their time rising the following morning. After enjoying a delicious breakfast in bed, they strolled back to the Resistance camp section of the park to meet their next quest giver.

Thew, a bright pink Twilek “basecamp engineer”, asked them to disrupt First Order transmissions, providing the critical distraction his team needed to mount a rescue operation. It would be “very dangerous” but if they succeeded, they would win the gratitude of Vi Moradi, leader of the rebel outpost.

As they made their way back to the teleporter Luigi suddenly pulled Noemi into the shade of some tall vegetation. “You know” he whispered “Thew did say that this next mission was very risky. It would be awful for us to meet our end, never having tried “that” thing we’ve always talked about…”

Noemi grinned, immediately picking up on what her husband was suggesting. “Well…” she said “if it might be our last day in this world, I think we owe it to ourselves. Then as I’m being dragged to my death, I’ll have that memory to hold onto.”

Luigi didn’t wait for her to say anymore. Without further adieu he jumped into the bush with Noemi close behind, and they proceeded to make passionate woohoo as if they might never have another chance in this life.

 A little while later the flushed and slightly sticky pair of lovebirds snuck into the Cantina to meet their Scoundrel contact.

Noemi continued to push herself socially, volunteering to handle locating and talking to the other sim to obtain the data spike they would need to complete their quest while Luigi kept an eye out for any “suspicious characters” who might be looking to cause them trouble.

She stumbled a bit over her words, clearly nervous, but the scoundrel actor was as patient as Luigi had promised. With a little subtle prompting she successfully “negotiated” ownership of a “contraband data spike that will get you a date with an interrogator droid if they catch ya with it!”

As they tried to stroll nonchalantly out of the bar a booming voice called out: “Luigi Lawbourne, as I live and breathe!”

Noemi rolled her eyes as the pair turned towards the distraction, sure that one of her husband’s many fans had tracked him down, until she realized the figure headed their way was decked out in the vibrant costume of the “main character” of this particular theme park faction.

Luigi greeted the newcomer enthusiastically “Eugene, I mean, Hondo my man! It’s been to long.” A fellow fan of Sims Forever, Luigi and “Hondo” had spent many a pleasant evening playing sabbac and talking about their favorite videogame franchise after their shifts were over (and sometimes before).

“I heard you were here” Hondo said, “but legitimate business was booming yesterday, and I missed you. If you’ve got a few minutes I’d love to catch up over a hand of Sabbac. You can tell me about this Sims knockoff you’re making, and maybe I can win back some of my credits from you or the lady.”

Feeling inspired by the actor’s roguish air, Noemi counteroffered: “If you’re hunting for juicy details, then you should know that “the lady” is lead architect for Project Daisy, and she’s willing to dish on all sorts of secrets… as long as you’re letting her win.”

Luigi laughed as Eugene quickly produced an oddly shaped deck of cards and temporized: “Why, what do a few credits matter compared to the joy of sharing a relaxing evening with old – and new - friends!” He waved them towards a table in a quiet corner of The Cantina and managed to alternately beg off or find coverage from other employees for several hours as they chatted.

It grew late before Hondo could put off his duties no longer and had to leave. “Be safe you two, and if you get tired of the Resistance, remember that I’m always looking for trustworthy sims to help me with my completely legal enterprise.” he said with a wink, hurrying out the door.

Data spike in hand, the couple snuck back into the First Order district to complete their mission of sabotage.

Sticking to the route they’d used successfully the day before they made their way to a partially concealed control panel. Even after Luigi assured her that “I’ll protect you with my life!” Noemi still looked around carefully before starting her task. Once she began, she became hyperfocused on the work, a tricky puzzle customized based on her datapad settings to challenge someone with her high-level programming skill.

When, some minutes later, Luigi heard her softly cry “Yes!” he turned around, a big smile on his face to see her so elated at her success.

The sun had set by the time they returned to the bubblegum colored Thew at the rebel base with the “vital access codes” they’d obtained.

“Fantastic!” the actor exclaimed “You’ve proven yourself to be a true ally to our cause. Now, if you’re interested in helping us out with something even more sensitive, Vi is working on her X-wing right over that hill and she’ll be taking you on your next, and most dangerous, mission so far.”

Luigi and Noemi grinned at each other. Finally, they would meet the infamous Vi Moradi and get to play a key role in freeing the galaxy!

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here