#and you were both always going to end up here. a hundred million miles apart even though you can sit across the table at a dinner party

[ari-zonia]

Limbus Company "World of DnD Identities"

More thoughts of this weird AU me and my friends developed after a long discussion of shitposting (aka we were just shooting the shit for a while)

Reference this post for more

Main joke of this AU is all of these guys (Sans Ishmael) are immigrants to the US and live in New York

Yi Sang: Head researcher at a Med-Tech company. He's under 50 thousand NDAs so he's not allowed to talk about work at the table and doesn't feel like it anyway. Often overworked and spends what little time he has off writing poetry. Probably has a pet crow he nursed as a hatchling. Work pays enough he lives on his own, but you wouldn't believe it based on the lack of food at home.

Faust: Freelance worker or high-security tech manufacturer, or both. Shares an apartment with Ishmael and Outis. Whenever pressed about work she ignores the question and elects to remind everyone they're trying to play a board game. Should honestly be a DM but prefers playing characters that know everything so she can be condescendingly coy.

Don Quixote: Theater major who lives in an on-campus apartment with Sinclair. Her classes are super spaced out so she ends up with a lot of free time. Major con nerd and her room is packed with merch she's bought (especially commissions). Has a dedicated sewing room instead of a dining room. How she affords all this is a mystery. Attends a LOT of Broadway shows, and has introduced Rodion to them.

Ryōshū: Traditional art major who lives out of an abandoned warehouse she found and uses as a studio. Actually is constantly skipping classes but somehow hasn't been kicked out yet. Doesn't sell any of her art but that's because everyone's disgusted by it being made out of pig's blood 90% of the time. Where is she getting all this blood? Why pig's blood? She says its because she'd run out of her own. No one knows if she's serious, or needs help. Lots of anecdotes of how Japan is different from the US, especially with holidays or food. Has lots of photos of Halloween costumes she's made for herself. Again, mostly with fake or pig's blood. Something is seriously wrong with her.

Meursault: Works in an international company as a businessman. Lives alone in a small studio to cut company costs during his stay since he doesn't require much room to live in. There was an incident at work so he's not able to go into the office and is constantly in and out of court proceedings. He's not able to discuss what happened, or even if he was involved. Doesn't talk much about himself either. (Everyone swears they don't even know his first name). How he was convinced to come play tabletops is generally a mystery because he's never played before in his life. They think he's enjoying it, because at least he's paying attention.

Hong Lu: He sorta just showed up one day, hanging out with Sinclair. He has a million stories of home, but nothing about the government or anything like that. Lives alone on money from his family but otherwise doesn't work so he ends up just wanting something to do, so he hangs with these guys.

Heathcliff: English in the way that he's from Hong Kong. According to official paperwork, he's not here. Actual story is he was a stowaway on the last vessel Ishmael was on while they were docked in Liverpool. Says he's a government agent, but for who? Also wanted by Interpol and is a bit of a drifter. Legally does not exist because he doesn't have a last name (according to him, wife took it when she died. How much of that statement is true, no one knows). Rooms with Gregor because he can afford it, but only Gregor can sign the paperwork. Always has a new story that invokes more questions of who the hell he even is. Things like "I'm banned from entering Hokkaido", "You know how easy it is to sneak into Switzerland from Lichtenstein?", or the like. Also apparently not to be within a hundred miles of the president. The one friend with a Costco membership, and has bought a lot of weird shit.

Ishmael: Former marine that hated the military life but loves the sea. Often flips between sailing for journalism or marine biology. Not many other qualifications otherwise. Rooms with Faust out of necessity because she's so far away all the time it's hard to keep an apartment by herself. Quite disgruntled she's the reason Heathcliff showed up because she failed the inspection for stowaways, apparently. Only noticed after he drank half the Guinness they picked up. Has a lot of stories from her life on the water. Generally doesn't have a lot of money, so she appreciates how much food gets brought to game night.

Rodion: Absolutely elated with being here. Still working on her accent and figured she'd get better with conversing by playing tabletops. She was wrong, her vernacular is now full of memes. Spends most of her time working casino floors ("professionally"). Basically lives in her hotel room like a princess. Seems to know the most useless of information about her group (Sinclair's shoe size, Faust's bra cup, Hong Lu's inseam length, etc). If asked if she'd ever visit home she vehemently denies it, she's content with all the fun things available to her.

Sinclair: Says he's taking a year or two off school and works part-time. Doesn't seem to need to work, but it gives him something to do apparently. Considering going into school for finance or something ("like my dad was", he often says). Really quiet but appreciates the company. Sometimes gets nagged to translate Faust when she starts talking German with Gregor but he barely understands her sometimes, her accent is different.

Outis: Served her time in the military and is currently retired. Works several odd jobs to keep herself busy rather than make money, at least help Faust and Ish pay rent. Weird old lady of the group, about as mysterious as Meursault and Heathcliff. Most of the work she did is still classified so she's not at liberty to discuss it. Though, she still carries her mannerisms from her active duty.

Gregor: Also served in the military (same deployment as Outis but different unit so they didn't know each other), he was honorably discharged after a massive injury to his right arm. Currently works retail but spends more time on workman's comp than working (something always seems to be happening to his right arm between fractures and other injuries). Eternally grateful to Heathcliff's bank account giving him someplace to live. Usually last pick for food runs because of how often he buys too much deli meat (especially after the 15lbs of brisket incident at Passover).

Dante: New DM that met Vergilius by chance. Don't really know that's going on, has barely played DnD at all and still chose to DM this stupid group. Definitely tries to limit the group to only five active participants a week, but there was an incident where all twelve had open slots for a while. They regretted it highly. Convinced Vergilius to stack the loot table with revival items so the group didn't need to make new characters EVERY session or two. Though, that's come at the price of them losing self-preservation tactics.

Vergilius: Veteran DM that has a frankly insane amount of books (he's been collecting for years) and takes his role very seriously. He was the one to convince Dante to have a maximum of five players a week, until the incident, then he started throwing insane challenges at all of the players to punish them for throwing the game off track so many times. Soft spot only for Charon and allows her to come up with combat encounters (she once suggested three silver dragons)

Charon: Vergilius' daughter. She doesn't play, or even care about DnD. All she does is suggest more and more stupid encounters to kill everyone with because it's funny. All food runs must pay a Charon Tax (aka she gets her own snacks no matter what).

[softnoirr]

bestie you once mentioned offhand an au of pdd where christen sleeps with alex and it has stayed in my head ever since - what would be the context! when! does tobin find out! hit me with your thoughts if you’re into it, I love a rare pair!!

I do vaguely remember saying that but I also cannot find it so everything I'm saying now could totally contradict what I said then but. I think like. if C's relationship to T (not with her but towards her) is based in feelings of grief and anger then her relationship to Alex is much more acidic. They do have a lot of history but most of it is just time spent in the same vicinity of each other, coldly ignoring one another, sharing friends and being jealous. So I feel like them hooking up would be a much more viscous overflow but also much less weighted for them.

Probably it would be one of them getting the role the other wanted in studio company and having sex about it. If it was an ongoing thing I could see it being a moment after a Grand Prix where one of them won and the other messed up—probably with a lot of goading and also I do believe in this AU Alex is the kind of character who would wear her Grand Prix medal while having sex with C in the hotel afterwards. I don’t think it works as well as a dynamic between the two adult versions of the characters but I can still see some level of that bizarre psychosexual staunch avoidance thing they have going on.

Body and your relationship to your body and your connection to other peoples bodies and peoples perceived ownership or entitlement to your body is at the heart of a lot of pdd and because C and Alex have both been basically raised in that environment I think them hooking up would be very much about acting out frustration in a way they both understand. Like; Move like this because you feel this.

Like I sincerely don't mean for sex in this story to be about power. It isn't—even when power is a dynamic within it—but it is kind of about a feeling of being present in your own body for the first time, manipulating your body for someone else’s pleasure while getting to be the object rather than the subject of that pleasure.

I think how Tobin would react to it depends on any number of factors which would change with the context. Like if C and T were sleeping together the way they are in the actual story I think it would probably mean the end of the sexual part of their relationship, at least for a while, because T feels very invested in what she does with C and it would feel cheapened by finding out about Alex. If it was something that happened as teenagers I think she’d be kind of weirded out by it but hey we’ve all had weird overly invested hate sex with christen press so. actually this makes tobin very feel normal and usual and regular and it’s fine.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Friendship Rekindled

Hello, back for Day 10--single parents. This is the second part of a mini series during canon week. this is continuing off from Day 1--desperately in love. there’s going to be two more parts and i cant wait to get them out there!

i think this could be considered a little angsty, given some of the conversation topics that happen.

cw: brief mention of death and blood loss. mention of an abusive parent. (if i miss any, pls dont hesitate to let me know!)

enjoy! :)

2.9k words (my longest fic yet i believe)

It was nice to be finally out of the house, Aelin decided as she walked up to the nursery, her five month old daughter, Olive, strapped to her chest. After being cooped up for what felt like the last five months, Aelin had decided to liven up her apartment with some plants.

Hardy, un-killable plants, that is. Being a single mother didn't leave her much time to look after other things, so she needed some plants that required minimal water, but also had to be pretty to look at.

It was also a plus that there was a cafe attached to the nursery, and she heard that they served the best scones with homemade strawberry jam and cream in Orynth. All her life she had never come here, but she needed somewhere new to visit. And to reacquaint herself with her home town. Not long after Rowan and Lyria's wedding, Aelin had transferred to Rifthold for work, and had used the miles apart to quietly disappear from their lives.

That was four years ago now, and come back home to be closer to her parents. Aelin had never known her grandparents, and Aelin didn't want to deny her parents the privilege of knowing Olive, so she had transferred back just before she went on maternity leave. Aelin was happy to be back, especially since she hadn't seen Rowan or Lyria. The last she heard was from Elide, who got it from Lorcan, that a year after marriage, they were expecting. She was happy for them, she truly was, but that didn't stop the stab of pain she felt when she heard the news. She had dreamt of her being in Lyria's position for a few weeks after she heard the news, but forced herself to stop. To move on.

Aelin had, in a way. She would always love Rowan, but she needed to move on. It was wrong to consider her daughter a distraction, but she did provide the perfect one. Aelin briefly removed her lemon printed bucket-hat (Aelin wore a matching one) to kiss her head, her golden hair sparse, laughing her perfect baby laugh.

Aelin finally entered the nursery, tugging her nappy bag higher on her shoulder as she took in the hundreds of plants. She had no idea where to start, but started her browse. She slowly walked through the fern section, stopping every now and then to let Olive touch one, making the cute hand grabbing motion when she saw one she liked.

Aelin heard the laughter of a young child behind her, and then a deep and familiar one accompany it.

Aelin froze. It couldn't be. Surely the Gods weren't that cruel. Months she had been here, for the first time in ages she had decided to do something for herself, only to be met by that damned laughter.

Slowly she turned, her sandals making the gravel underneath crunch. She saw a flash of silver and a broad body.

Turning around had been a mistake, because when she did, so did the silver-haired man.

And for the first time in four years, turquoise eyes landed on pine-green ones.

Rowan blinked, and then blinked again as he took her in. His eyes widened as he noticed Olive strapped to her body, her face on display as she took in her surroundings. Her baby had the chocolate brown eyes of her father, but it was clear to anyone that knew Aelin that Olive was hers. Her daughter had Aelin's nose and hair colour, and would likely grow to have more of Aelin's features as the years went by.

Behind Rowan, his cousin Enda was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy. It was difficult to tell his exact age, but he looked to be about three. If Rowan was here with his son, then it was a good chance that Lyria would be here, too. The woman was a flower enthusiast, and was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to flowers. Any questions anyone had, they went to Lyria.

Aelin really did not want to be here. Did not want to have that conversation of why the hell she had left and dropped all communication with them after the wedding.

Aelin hated it, but she adverted her gaze and started to leave. She would have to come here another day—maybe after she called the office to make sure that there was no silver-haired man in attendance.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, his voice raspy from surprise. Gods, she missed his deep voice and the rolling purr of his accent.

Aelin pretended that she didn't hear and made a beeline for the exit. Rowan called her again, and then a third time. Just as she reached the gate, his warm hand landed on her shoulder gently. His hands were still calloused, his hands always doing some type of manual labour work. She wondered briefly if he was still an auto mechanic.

Turning around, Aelin noted the shock in his dark eyes. She gave him a weak smile, not sure what to say.

“What are you—I mean, how are you? Where have you been?”

“I'm good,” Aelin answered after a moment, not really sure how else to respond. “I've been around. What about you?” Somehow, these questions didn't feel like the right ones to ask. Before Rowan could say anything, Olive made herself known, making grunting sounds that meant she wanted attention, so Aelin kissed her hand and said to Rowan, “This is Olive.”

Rowan's eyes dropped down to Olive. “Is she yours?”

Aelin snorted, a sound she hadn't made in so long. It was something she often did around Rowan—or used to, that is. “No, I bought her from the store. Yes, she's mine.”

Rowan's eyes dropped lower, to her ring finger—her empty ring finger. There had never been a ring there. Aelin's traitorous eyes drifted to Rowan's and her heart stopped when she noticed that his ring finger was bare as well—that there was no tan line to suggest that he had only recently removed it.

“I'm doing this on my own,” Aelin found herself saying after a moment.

“As am I,” Rowan said. Aelin cocked her head to the side, annoyed at herself for being curious. “Lyria...Lyria passed away three years ago.”

Aelin's heart shot up to her throat, choking her. Years ago, Aelin had horribly wished that the ring Rowan had purchased was secretly for her and was heartbroken when it wasn't.  In her loneliest moments, she had wished that Rowan and Lyria would break up and somehow find his way to her in Rifthold; but never, never-ever in a million years would she ever have wanted this to happen.

Why the hell hadn't Elide told her? Or anyone else for that matter?

Aelin found her voice after long minutes of just staring at him, processing his words. “Rowan, I am so rutting sorry. I had no idea. Are you...are you okay?”

“I have my good and bad days”. He pointed to the brown-haired boy with Enda, who were both busy inspecting each leaf and flower petal in front of them. “That's Egan, he's a plant lover like his mother.”

Aelin couldn't really see him, but she still said, “He's adorable.”

“He is, and a little terror,” Rowan said, a small smile on his tanned face. After a moment, he turned back to her, and asked, “Are you...doing anything? I'd like to talk, it's been a long time since we have.”

She should say no, but she ended up saying yes.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Rowan back inside the nursery and to the cafe.

X X X X X X

It was turning out to be an ordinary Saturday when Rowan had needed to get out of the house, so he asked Egan if he wanted to go to the nursery and his son had enthusiastically agreed, asking if Uncle Enda could join them. Thankfully, his cousin was free and more than happy to spend time with his nephew.

Never in a million years did he think he would run into Aelin. He had heard the rumours that she transferred back to the publishing house and that was it; there was no mention of her being pregnant. But when Rowan looked up and spotted Aelin, and his eyes immediately dropped to the baby strapped to her chest, his heart had stopped.

He had once wished to have that life with Aelin, exploring the world with their child, one that had Aelin's hair and his eyes; but Rowan never told Aelin how he felt because he knew how badly her last relationship ended, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her if she didn't feel the same way. Didn't want there to be any chance to ruin their friendship.

And so, he had moved on. Had started dating Lyria and came to love her, but not the same way as he loved Aelin. And when Rowan proposed, he had only done it because his parents were getting older and wanted him to get married, wanted him to have a grandchild.

It was cruel irony that they had both died before Lyria had even given birth.

He was bastard, and he hated himself. Lyria was kind, sweet and gentle—and deserved someone better than him, should have been with a man that truly wanted to marry her for her and not because of family pressures. But he never stopped himself from their relationship moving forward.

But he was doing better, thanks to therapy, because while he may have been a bastard, he didn't want his son to know that. Maybe it made him a bastard to hide this part of himself to his son, but his son was gentle like his mother and Rowan loathed the idea of Egan growing up to hate him.

And as Rowan asked Enda to take Egan home, Rowan could see that Enda thought that this lunch was a bad idea—Rowan had confessed his secrets to his cousin long ago, how he loved Aelin even when he was married to Lyria. How he had wanted that life with her instead.

Rowan knew that he was going to be on the end of a scolding conversation when he got back to his house, but he told Enda that it was going to be okay and that he was fine and could handle this.

Enda sighed heavily through his nose and muttered a 'good luck' under his breath. Rowan planted a kiss of Egan's head and told him that he would be home soon. His son was too excited to spend time with his Uncle to really notice.

When Rowan returned to Aelin's side, they soon found a nice spot in the cafe that was away from others.

It was...painfully awkward for a good while. They only spoke to order their food—scones with jam and cream with a side dish of seasonal fruits for Aelin, and a steak sandwich with fries for Rowan—and then lapsed back into silence.

They ate in silence, too, and Rowan wondered if maybe this was a tremendously bad idea when Aelin said, softly but not weakly, “What happened to Lyria?”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan swirled his fries in the mustard on his plate. He hated this part. “She passed away not long after giving birth. She hemorrhaged and bleed out too quickly for anything to be done. Egan never really got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” Aelin said, doing her best to speak over the lump in her throat, “that's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Years later and Rowan still never really knew what to say to that. Needing to distract himself, he asked, “So, what's your story?”

Before she could say anything, Olive started crying, and without a seconds hesitation, Aelin started feeding her. Some people stared in disapproval and Aelin stared right back, unflinching. He knew that if someone said something, she would spit back. It never made sense to Rowan how people frowned upon breastfeeding. A small smile made its way to Rowan's mouth at the steely look in her stunning eyes. That was the Aelin he knew and loved.

When the strangers turned back around, Aelin looked back at him, the steel in her eyes softening. “I briefly dated my high school boyfriend, Sam, for a while back in Rifthold, and well...the condom broke and Olive made her appearance.” Not the most elegant way to describe the situation, but Aelin figured she had years to think of a better way to explain Olive's appearance if her daughter ever asked.

“And he wants no part of it?” He had no right to ask, but the question left his mouth before he could stop it.

Aelin sighed, and finished feeding Olive and cleaning themselves up before responding. “It's complicated...Sam's father, Arobynn, is a cruel man. He's manipulative and sadistic, but knows how to turn on the charm when it suits him. Sam has been scared of him his entire life, and didn't want Olive to know the fear that he did. So, every month Sam sends money, but he's not on the birth certificate—he doesn't want there to be any paper trails leading to Olive's existence. I had to convince him that it was safer to transfer me the money than to send it through the mail. I send him pictures from time to time, but whether he saves them, I have no idea.” Not to mention the miserable length of the conversation of sending money electronically. Sam was so damned paranoid that Arobynn checked his accounts that Aelin had almost told him not to bother to send anything when he relented. Aelin could provide Olive well enough on her own, but it was helpful to have that extra bit of cash—baby things were expensive as hell.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn't meant to divulge that much, no one knew that, not even her best friends,  but she didn't regret it. It felt...like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“That's awful, Aelin, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I just...” She probably shouldn't ask, but out of everyone she knew, none of them were single parents. “Has Egan ever asked about his mother? What do you say to that?”

“He's asked a few times, and I've told him that she passed away when he was little, but I don't think he fully understands what I'm talking about.” Those conversations were the hardest that he ever had to go through, and he knew it would be worst when Egan grew and fully understood what death meant.

“I have no idea what I'll tell Olive when she's older and asks about her dad,” Aelin admitted. “It's not like he's gone, but he is absent and I just...what if she grows up to think he hates her? I think that would kill me if she ever thought that.”

Without thinking, Rowan reached over and too her hand in his. Her hand was soft in his, and he swiped his thumb against her knuckles. “You have a good few years to worry about that. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Sam will be able to get out from his father's shadows and you three can be a family.”

A small smile made its way to Aelin's face. She was more beautiful then he remembered, and he wasn't sure if he should feel guilty for thinking that.

“I like the sound of that, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'd like to think that I can do this on my own.”

“You can, but if you'd like...if you ever need help with something, if you need someone to look after Olive, I could do that for you.”

Silver lined Aelin's eyes as she watched him. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“That's what friends are for, aren't they? To help?” And as a single parent himself, he knew how hard it could be raising a child in this hectic world.

Aelin's smile grew. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. And if we're friends, could you help me find some plants? I'm sick of looking at my boring walls.”

“Okay, I know the perfect ones for you to get—ones that are practically impossible to kill.”

“I'm going to ignore that implication that I can't look after a plant.” Although it was true.

Rowan snorted. “Because you can't. I remember that poor aloe Vera plant that you slaughtered.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, but he could see just a hint of mirth behind the glare. “I did not slaughter that plant, it just didn't like me!”

Rowan laughed and it was the most freeing sound he made in a long time. After he calmed down, he said, “Come on, let's finish here and I'll help you to liven up your place.”

“Fine, but I better not hear anything about my poor gardening skills or I'll let down your tires.” And she would, he knew, but Rowan just smiled even more.

“It's a deal.”

The conversation moved much more smoothly and Rowan realised how much he missed her. And Aelin realised how much she missed him, too.

Maybe things wouldn't be too bad after-all. It would be nice to have Rowan in her life again, even as a friend, even if she still loved him and knew it could never be, not after everything.

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

[kaistarus]

The Only Exception

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Nishinoya was genuinely happy with his life. He’d gotten used to being by himself and had accepted the fact that that was how it was supposed to be. Until you came along and threw everything he thought made sense out the window.

A/N: I really like this fic. It’s one of my favorites Nishinoya ones so far just because it’s his pov and timeskip and the amount of love feels makes me happy. i got a lot of serotonin while writing it :D

Masterlist

Nishinoya had never been someone’s first choice.

He knew that sounded dramatic, but it was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, Tanaka could chug three-fourths gallon of milk before vomiting, and Nishinoya was never anyone’s preferred option--which never bothered him so keep the pity to yourself.

He learned to accept this when he never got scouted for the All-Japan Youth Camp and after the only person Nishinoya ever even kind of loved ended up loving his best friend. It taught him to keep his expectations low and to focus on things he could control, which was what led him to solo-traveling Japan and then the world. He realized things might be better on his own, and with the constant itch that he was missing out on something bigger traveling alone just made sense.

But then you came and ruined everything.

Hold on. That came off way more aggressive than Nishinoya wanted. He meant there was a perfect vision for how his life would go-pyramids in Egypt, Hollywood sign in Los Angeles, deep sea fishing in Italy-until he toppled over you in the streets of Italy. He’d been sprinting toward the docks when you stepped out of a marketplace and he collided into you, knocking you flat on your butt and sending your groceries all over the sidewalk. Nishinoya fumbled through his best apology in broken Italian while shoving produce into your paper bag, but froze in surprise when you snorted rather than began an enraged lecture.

He swore his heart actually stopped when your eyes met. You were clearly amused by his flustered behavior and when his heart started back up it was abnormally fast. Not once had he understood what Tanaka meant when he explained the first time he’d seen Kiyoko, but the first time Nishinoya saw you everything Tanaka said clicked. If Nishinoya had been fifteen he probably would’ve proposed to you on the spot.

But he wasn’t, so instead he shakily handed you your groceries with furiously red cheeks.

“Come ti chiami?” You asked with a raised brow.

Nishinoya blinked several times. He racked his brain for what he’d been taught on his last fishing trip, but it was mostly curses and inappropriate sayings he should probably avoid using. He was pretty sure Duolingo mentioned ‘chiamo’ as name though.

“Nishinoya?” He answered like a question and felt relief wash over him when you nodded.

“What are you doing this weekend, Nishinoya?”

He stared blankly before pointing at you with wide eyes, “I understood that.”

“Well you obviously don’t know Italian,” you rolled your eyes and he pouted at the incredibly accurate jab, “so, are you free?”

He looked around the empty street before pointing to himself. “Are you still talking to me?”

“Is there another Nishinoya around here?”

“I mean, there could be.” He looked up thoughtfully. “The odds would be crazy though.”

You laughed lightly which made a warmth creep up his neck. “I’m talking to you. I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“You’re attractive and you seem nice,” you cocked your head to the side. “Is that not a good reason?”

He stared at the ground intensely. “I guess… It is?” Then his original reason for being there struck him and his eyes widened. “Oh shit. I have to go,” he started leaving before quickly coming back. “Wait, I, uh, yes. Yes to the date thing.”

You chuckled, pulling a cellphone from your pocket to let him hurriedly create his contact before continuing his sprint to the docks-with a teasing recommendation not to knock anyone else over. That literal run in was the moment his entire world view became out of whack.

It wasn’t that he thought he was immune to liking someone-high school Nishinoya fell for any breathing human that gave him attention-he just lost the ability to imagine someone liking him. Maybe he’d been by himself too long or maybe that was just another fact he’d grown used to. He didn’t know anymore.

He did know that when he showed up at the restaurant thirty minutes early-there’s only so much pacing someone can do before they go insane-he hadn’t expected to see you. Just sitting on a bench beside the main entrance, looking too perfect while bouncing a knee and nibbling on your thumb nail as if you were nervous to be there.

Except it was only him, so that wouldn’t make sense.

“Hey,” you said when you spotted him standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“You’re here,” he raised a brow. You took it as the time, but he meant it in a general sense. He truly hadn’t expected you to show up.

“Oh,” you chuckled awkwardly, twisting the material of your clothes. “Yeah, I was kind of nervous.”

He mulled that over for admittedly too long, but it just seemed like such a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t that you looked stupid, but that’s what made it so confusing.

“You’re also early.” You pointed out when the silence became awkwardly long.

“I was nervous.” He said like it should have been obvious.

“At least we’re starting on equal ground,” you said with a shaky breath.

Equal ground? He wasn’t sure his brain was cut out for this type of critical thinking. He’d even spent the past few days planning for every scenario-even you sneaking out the bathroom like in the movies-but he never pictured you being nervous.

“Uh, yeah,” he tapped against his leg while glancing through the window at the half-filled dining area, “we can probably go inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you gave him a quick finger gun before whipping around with shoulders to your ears.

Nishinoya blinked several times before looking back down the street. A part of him thought about running, saving you both from the shitty date to come filled with awful conversation starters he’d pulled from an online article for high schoolers. However his fate was sealed the moment you sent a gentle smile over your shoulder and his feet began following you through the door without his permission.

Ever since that day he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since you giggled behind your hand instead of wincing at the terrible jokes he regretted the moment they left his mouth; ever since you weren’t burdened by the need to translate for him the whole night; and ever since you were amused rather than annoyed at his nervous rambling and awkward icebreakers.

It was just too good to be true.

Like the first time you came over and teased him for the cheesy dialogue in his favorite action movies. How his chest ached when your head rested in his lap and you gazed at him with overwhelming amounts of affection. He’d never dreamed he’d have this-couldn’t have if he tried. Sharing his favorite things with someone while they traced designs against his palm and occasionally sealing them with featherlight kisses. The fire it sent up his arm was too much and not enough and he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this.

It was a little scary how much Nishinoya didn’t want to lose it.

And that thought started keeping him up at night. Nishinoya was never really scared of anything-it was kind of what he was known for everywhere he traveled. If anyone needed something done they asked the foreigner with a death wish. So, the idea that you had that effect on him was, again, terrifying.

But what was Nishinoya supposed to do when you press your forehead against his in the middle of the night? Running your fingers through his hair and paying special attention to the blonde strands he’d always been secretly self-conscious of, whispering low how they were one of your favorite things in the world. How could he regret anything when you rubbed your nose lazily against his and kissed him softer than he ever deserved? He didn’t give a shit how scared he was if it meant he could stay like this, with you, for as long as you’d let him.

Because his heart raced a million miles a second when you mindlessly held his hand under a table or leaned against him just to be close. Because for some reason he was the first person you called when you were excited or when you needed comfort. Because when he rambled too long about spearfishing or an old friend’s volleyball game your eyes lit with genuine interest rather than annoyance. And because he was in love with you.

Which he both wasn’t prepared for and had known was inevitable. Falling for you had been like getting hit by a semi-truck he’d seen coming for miles.

It probably happened sooner than socially acceptable, but that didn’t surprise him given his all or nothing nature. This outcome was decided the moment Nishinoya knew he’d be fine with you breaking his heart a hundred times if it meant he could keep waking up next to you cascaded by the rising sun because he was still too lazy to invest in curtains. Just you cuddling closer to him for warmth in your sleep would make every ounce of pain worth it.

Once Nishinoya’d acknowledged his feelings it was nearly impossible keeping them down. With every breathtaking smile, or brush of your hand against his, or bubble of laughter that rang throughout his apartment it nearly spilled from his lips like a breath. It took all self-restraint he had to hold it back. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know because you deserved this piece of him-every piece of him.

He just wasn’t sure you’d want it.

His resolve lasted nearly a month-a month longer than he thought he was capable-before the feeling was too intense for him to keep down. And it wasn’t anything drastic that made him break. No, it was something so absurdly casual that he was almost pissed at himself when the words flowed from his mouth.

It had been a completely average morning, nothing crazy, the weather was actually gross with rain pounding against the windows and the sky a depressing shade of grey. But then you stepped out of his bathroom while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, giving him a lopsided smile before slurring a soft request for breakfast. It was like time froze and he was in a stupid romcom except you were there so it was actually an oscar nominated masterpiece.

Your head lolled to the side, half-lidded eyes filling with concern at his silence. “We can cook together. I didn’t mean it like-”

“I love you.”

That seemed to wake you up. Your body straightened while your mouth hung open in stunned silence. Nishinoya had expected this kind of reaction, so he clenched his fists tight in preparation for the worst.

“Are you sure?” You asked, barely above a whisper. “That’s a pretty serious word, Noya.”

He knew that. Nishinoya had spent too many nights losing sleep over that.

“You scare me,” he confessed, deciding if he was going to dig his grave he might as well make it deep. “I’ve never really been the one someone chooses. More like deal or settle with.” He grimaced when his heart squeezed painfully in his chest, “but I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone and that scares me. You make me feel wanted and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Because I do want you.” You whispered and his stare locked on yours so quickly, meeting your loving gaze while his heart started racing. “And everyone you know must be really stupid because I feel lucky I got to choose you. I get to love you.”

He stared at you wide-eyed while his chest swelled with so much emotion he was surprised he hadn’t passed out.

“Sorry, that sounded really lame.” You placed a hand against your forehead and Nishinoya shook his head vigorously.

“I think that was the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You stepped closer and cradled his face, gently brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. If he wasn’t so manly and awesome he may have teared up, but he definitely didn’t. Which was why you obviously weren’t wiping any water off his cheeks before pulling his lips against yours.

Nishinoya set a languid pace that turned desperate when you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled you as close as he could, which was never enough, snaking an arm around your middle and sliding one to cradle the back of your head. 

When it got heated enough that he decided he’d very much like to move it to his bedroom Nishinoya’s stomach growled and you snorted against his lips. Nishinoya pouted, whining when you pulled away with a playful smirk.

“Later,” you said, pinching his cheeks and waving his head around. “Food first. We’re both hungry.”

He did love food.

He disrespectfully watched you leave him in favor of searching the fridge for food that could be thrown together for breakfast. A dopey smile covered his lips because he loved you. He was lucky enough to get to love you. And for some ridiculous fucking reason you were dumb enough to love him.

He would do whatever he could to keep it this way. For now, that was helping you cook breakfast. Tomorrow, who knows? But whatever it was you would be there, so it would be pretty god damn amazing.

[psychedellic-phase]

Perfect

A/N: this is a request that i got forever ago!! so sorry that it took me so long:(

ReidxFem!BAU!Reader

word count: 2.2k

tw: SMUT (unprotected sex, oral (road head, male recieving) , degradation, slight exhibitionism, all around rough sexy vibes plus a sweet ending)

Masterlist :)

The roads were always empty when you’d finally leave work. Your job was never nine to five; it was more like nine to midnight. Not that you minded; the company was always good.

The company was always Spencer. When everyone else would finally give up and go home for the night, he’s the one who always stayed. And once you started your torrid love affair with him, you stayed too. Most nights he’d take you in an empty conference room, or a bathroom stall. Everyone wondered why you two always seemed to have so much paperwork to do, when in actuality it wasn’t about the paperwork, it was about each other.

It started out how most friends-with-benefits situations do. You were both stressed, full of pent up frustrations and sexual energy with no outlet. It started after a case, him showing up at your door unannounced and practically jumping on you the second you let him in. That night ended with two earth-shattering orgasms, and sleeping next to your coworker.

You both swore it would just be that once.

“A moment of weakness,” you had told your girlfriends, but soon that moment of weakness turned into days, turned into months, turned into nearly a year of weakness. Nearly a year of janitors-closet hookups and concealer-caked hickies. Nearly a year of sexting and countless trips to the mile-high club.

It had been nearly a year, and even though you swore it was nothing, it was definitely something. Sure it was sex, but it was also the way he looked at you and the way he’d take care of you afterwards. It was the way he’d burn toast in the morning and kiss your cheek when you woke up. It was more than what either of you had bargained for, but neither one of you had gathered up the nerve to admit it.

You were hopelessly, desperately in love with each other, and neither of you even knew it.

“Staying late again?” You asked him, half sitting on his desk.

His eyes trailed up your legs, admiring how your skirt slid up. He cleared his throat, “Actually, I’m going home.”

You were taken aback. The matching bra and underwear under your clothes were counting on being taken off by him tonight.

“Oh, well, okay then.”

He smiled at you, that awkward smile he always does that you insist looks like a frog.

You made your way to your desk, embarrassed and red, wondering if he was suddenly tired of you. God, you hoped he wasn’t.

The two of you entered the elevator together, the air thick and awkward. Usually, you would’ve been halfway naked, doing god knows what right now, but instead you were standing three feet apart and wishing the elevator would fall through the floor.

When the doors opened, you exited simultaneously.

“Let me drive you home,” He said, delicately grabbing your wrist.

Your interest was piqued, “Oh?”

He pulled you a little closer to him, but not so close that security would see what he was trying to do, “I have plans for you.”

You giggled, “I like the sound of that.”

He pulled you to his car. The old, yellow thing must have been from 1926 and you were amazed it even functioned.

You followed him eagerly, dipping into the passenger seat with ease. He started the car, looking over at you with a gleam in his eyes that you swore was more than just the moonlight.

“So, what’s the plan, Reid?” You asked as he pulled out of the parking garage.

His hand met your thigh, stroking small circles on your bare skin, dangerously close to where you were already throbbing.

“I was thinking, maybe you could do something for me. I mean, since I am driving you home and all,” He looked over at you, devilish grin.

You bit your lip, “And what would that something be, Dr. Reid?”

He took his bottom lip into his mouth, “Surprise me.”

You took that as your opportunity to reach over, glide your hands up the inside seam of his pants and palm him. He was already rock hard, you could see the pants straining to contain him. You deftly moved your hand up, the same way you had a hundred times, and unbuckled his belt. Then you pulled down his zipper at a ridiculously slow rate.

“C’mon baby, the ride’s only so long,” He said, his voice strained and his breath already heavy.

“Then take the scenic route,” You whispered, biting at his neck as you dipped your hand into his boxers and pulled him out.

The moonlight allowed you to see the gleaming tip, mouth watering as you twisted your body so you could bend over. He tugged his pants down slightly and moved the seat back to give you more space and access.

Your tongue teased the tip first, swirling around the head and dipping into the slit. He tasted musky and salty, the same way he always did. You quickly used your lips to take the entire head into your mouth, sucking hard while your tongue touched anything it could reach.

The sounds coming out of his throat were animalistic, “God, stop teasing.”

He used one hand to gather up your hair and tugged on it gently, your mouth opening up wider. You hit a bump in the road, his cock forcing itself up into your throat and causing you to gag. You kept him there, as far in your throat as he could go. Your hand found whatever your mouth couldn’t reach and moved in the same rhythm as you did. You nipped and sucked at him, tongue drawing broad stripes up and down and up and down.

You removed your mouth for a moment, your hand smearing your saliva and his precum around as you jerked him. Your tongue found his balls sucking and squeezing each of them between your lips.

He bucked up into you, the car jerking.

You giggled, tongue still poking out to lick at him, “Watch the road, Reid.”

He groaned as your mouth and hands switched places, hands toying with him while you bobbed your head up and down. He thought he was going to explode.

“Get off,” he ordered, yanking your hair again, this time pulling you off.

You were confused, mascara under your eyes, cheeks puffy and hair a mess, “But—“

Spencer pulled off the side of the quiet road, “You’re going to go bend over the back seat.”

You wriggled in your seat, “But I want to—“

“You heard me. Back. Now.”

You got up on shaky legs, your neck aching slightly from the angle of the road head.

You opened the door, and bent over, allowing your skirt to ride up.

You felt Spencer behind you, his large hands warm on your thighs as he trailed his hands under your skirt, finding your panties and yanking them off. The air was cold against your wetness but you didn’t feel it for long. His hand traced the curve of your butt before grabbing at it roughly.

“You’re so desperate, pretty girl,” He whispered, sliding the tip between your folds, “You’ll let me fuck you here, in public, for anyone to see.”

You couldn’t do much but whimper. The way he could use his words to build you up and simultaneously tear you down was enough to make you push towards him.

He roughly grabbed your butt again, “Oh, very desperate today, aren’t we pretty girl?”

You nodded, but he couldn’t see.

“I said, aren’t we, pretty girl?”

“Yes!” You yelped, “Yes! Please, please, I need you.”

He pushed into you then, leaving no time for adjustment. His hands fit in the dips where your hips met your waist. He started at a brutal pace, your knees rocking back and forth against the rough seats, destined to be cut and bruised tomorrow. You didn’t mind it.

He grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back so he could look at you, “You like that, don’t you? For such a pretty girl, you’re so dirty.”

You nodded, “Only for you.”

The words meant more than you intended them to, but he didn’t notice, too busy palming your ass and muttering insults at you.

You could feel him in your stomach with every thrust, your wetness spreading around, no doubt dripping onto his seats.

“You’re really just a whore, aren’t you? A pretty little whore, but still a whore.”

Your arms were growing weak, unable to hold you up anymore. You slid down onto your elbows from your hands, arching your back as high as you could.

He yanked your hair, the pain melting into pleasure that flooded down your body, “Look at me while I fuck you.”

You turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him. He was sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead and beads dripping down his face. His shirt was half unbuttoned, a peek of skin poking out, tie undone lying across his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the veins that line his arms and hands.

He looked like a God.

You turned back around, not able to handle the feeling in your chest in conjunction with the feeling in your lower belly.

“I’m close,” You muttered between groans, Spencer taking his fingers to your puffy clit and drawing fast figure eights.

“Cum all over me like a good whore. My good whore.”

That was enough to push you over the edge, pulsing and groaning beneath him. With a few extra sloppy thrusts, he was pulling out and cumming all over your ass.

You sighed, feeling the high that always came with him, but the low that always came the second he left.

You didn’t move. He was opening the glove box in search of tissues, wiping himself and you off before fixing your skirt.

He helped you up, knowing that your knees and elbows would be sore from holding yourself up. When you stood, he grabbed your hands to steady you and ran his hands through your hair. You saw that same thing in his eyes again, a lightness that could easily be mistaken for love.

“You know, you really are a pretty girl,” he said, his hand tracing from where he tucked your hair behind your ear to your chin. There he cupped the side of your face softly, pulling you into him for a kiss.

You’d kissed him a million times before, but they were different. They were always hot and heavy and frustrated and passionate. This kiss was light, sweet, kind. The kind that could be mistaken for love.

When he pulled away, you smiled at him.

“I-“ you started, before cutting yourself off. This wasn’t healthy, but if this was what you got, you’d take it. Any time with him was valuable time.

“What? What is it?” His voice was low, the moon above his head.

You blushed, realizing just how close he was to you. You wondered how you’d slept with him many times and this somehow felt more intimate than all of those experiences combined.

“I-we should get home.”

He smiled, “Right.”

When you got in the car, you turned away, knees facing the door. He instinctively put his hand out to find your thigh, but found nothing.

He sighs, “Did I go too far? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so so sorry. I thought you liked–“

You laughed, voice only cracking slightly, “No, you were perfect.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He asked, voice high and nervous, nasally and wary.

“That is the problem,” You sighed, turning to look over at him. Even driving, he was somehow the most beautiful thing to ever grace this earth, “You’re perfect.”

He chuckled lightly, “Far from it.”

You reached out for where his hand was on the stick shift, placing your fingers over his, “Perfect.”

He looked over at you for a moment too long, car swerving as he did so.

You smiled, “Watch the road, Reid.”

He glanced between where his eyes should’ve been and where they wanted to be, “It’s hard to pay attention to the road with you here.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You said, sliding effortlessly back into the usual flirty banter. But the words left unsaid were on the tip of your tongue.

“Because I love you.”

He said it easily, honestly, more like a promise than a proclamation.

You squeezed his hand, the words falling over just as easily, “I love you too.”

He grinned, looking over at you once more, “I mean it. I don’t know when or where or how, but I fell in love with you, pretty girl.”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek, “I don’t know when or where or how, but I fell in love with you too, pretty boy.”

——————

Taglist:)

@slutforthegubes @safertokiss @tomorrowmeansoportunities @fullwattpadmusictree @helloniallslovelies @patronising-raven  @anthoqhila @chocolateflowerzipperbear @imjusthereformggcontent​ @haliekayy​ @drspencerreidscum @youre-a-wallflower-charlie​ @blameitonthenight21​

[wild-aloof-rebel]

Some Favorite Fics from 2020

Like last year, I want to end 2020 by highlighting some fics that have become favorites over the last twelve months. Before I dive into it though, I just want to take a minute to send some love to all of the authors writing in this fandom.

As of the end of 2019, there were about 8.8 million words of fic on AO3 for this fandom. This year, more than 450 authors have added another 15 million more. That’s so incredibly impressive, especially in a year this difficult. Thank you, thank you, thank you to every single person who contributed to that, whether you wrote one fic or a hundred, a drabble or a novel. Thank you for giving this fandom the gift of your creativity and voice. Your work is so, so appreciated, and you’ve helped to create joy in a year where it was often in short supply. 💗💗💗

*

Okay, on to the fics. I’ve limited myself to no more than one work for any individual author to spread the love around as much as possible, and I’ve bumped up the number to 25 this time around because there was just too much fic this year for me to cut it down any further. 

So here we go. These are 25 fics I loved this year, and what I love about them...

Your heart is keeping time with me by yourbuttervoicedbeau • rated E • 33k+ confession before i start: i’ve never actually seen 50 first dates. but i thought this AU based on it was delightful. patrick’s love for david is so big, right from the start, and i love seeing david lean into trusting himself (and patrick) over and over again

will this ever get old? by startswithhope • rated T • <1k i just like seeing them domestic and soft and happy, okay? and while most of dee’s fics are like that, this particular one is a fave because of them thinking about their future and how they’ll change over the years but love each other right on through

Just to Hold the Hands I Love by DesignatedGrape • rated T • 20k+ it’s like a warm christmas hug, full of musical trolling, gentle pining, domestic nights in, and careful attention to fashion details, which are all absolutely the kinds of things i appreciate

A Case of You by DoubleL27 • rated T • 6k+ patrick is an absolute menace in exactly the way you would expect every valentine’s day. it’s funny and sweet and ends with them in exactly the kind of future we all want for them

Dulce by another_Hero • rated T • 1k+ original characters can be hard to do right. they have to be compelling enough to fit in with these characters we already know so well, and dulce is the kind of character who grabs you from the start. the whole series is lovely, but this first interaction with ronnie is my favorite of them

Tea-Kettle Love by ArabellaStrange • rated G • 5k+ even though this coda to “the pitch” isn’t technically canon compliant now, it still feels a lot like it is. it’s about the sacrifices we are and aren’t willing to make for the people we love, taking the new york discussion into more depth than we get in the show and still arriving in largely the same place

Vanquished by Codswallop • rated G • 3k+ if you’re looking for soft, fluffy sickfic, this is not it, lol. patrick is sick here but won’t let anyone take care of him. he’s stubborn and basically minor chaos ensues. it’s funny and sweet but not schmaltzy. the characterization is 👌, and it feels like the kind of thing that fits perfectly into the world of the show

To Come Out the Other Side by unfolded73 • rated T • 4k+ • warning for major character death i don’t want to read sad things about david and patrick very often, but sometimes the mood strikes. this one is definitely sad right from the start, but there’s hope and resilience through grief, and i think this year especially, there’s something to be said for stories that can make you feel like there is still good to be found after the bad

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by moodlighting • rated T • 21k+ i never would have thought that a fic would make me WANT to be trapped in an airport, but it’s 2020 and anything is possible, lol. this is what meet cute dreams are made of

Your mother keeps a spreadsheet by upbeat • rated G • 3k+ obviously i love a good spreadsheet, so this one was up my alley from the start, lol. but really it’s moira and patrick bonding through the cataloguing of her wigs (and all the stories that go with them) that makes this one an easy favorite

keep me in the pulses, keep me in the sound by dinnfameron • rated G • 2k+ this sweet little slice of a summer vacation made me ache to be with friends. plus, sometimes you just need some overwhelmingly happy david rose. he deserves it, and so do we

eggs and the flour, no higher power by withkissesfour • rated T • 1k+ i’m pretty sure this fic is the definition of sweet, in more ways than one. it’s a short piece, but the writing is lush and indulgent in all the right places, just like the cakes being described

sustineo by rockinhamburger • rated E • 10k+ before i was even done reading this fic, i wanted another 50k words set in this universe. the conversation between david and patrick is sharp in all the right ways, and because this david has such a hard shell to crack after being hurt in such a horrible and heartbreaking way, it’s that much more satisfying watching patrick break through it

All-Natural Care, Locally Sourced by Siria • rated T • 2k+ siria’s fics are always funny, with banter that’s so perfectly on point, and that’s certainly true here. but there are also care packages and photos and just so much love. it’s a perfect balance, just like the show

hold on to me as you go by helvetica_upstart • rated T • 3k+ i love a good look at just how long patrick has been head over heels in love with david and how much he was in this for life all along. this fic does just that through the framework of times that they saw their new house before they bought it, and it’s everything that you would want that concept to be and more

Exposed Brick by swat117 • rated M • 9k+ this is such a lovely look at david and patrick a few years into their marriage, steady in all the right ways, even when old fears try to rise up between them. it gives david a chance to be the solid and supportive one in the relationship, something i never get tired of reading

We Could Turn the World to Gold by middyblue • rated T • 27k+ as someone who also did c25k at one point, i def empathize with david’s plight in this fic, lol. as much fun as that part of the story is, it’s really the house and everything related to that part of the story that makes this a favorite in my book. this was posted very early in s6, so it’s not the house from canon, but it’s beautiful either way to see them so excited about building their future together there

Waiting on the Day by High-Seas-Swan • rated E • 22k+ this is another fic that makes me absolutely ache for things i couldn’t have this year, namely my favorite local brewery and all the nights spent there with friends. beyond that, it’s just a very sweet AU, and the scene with their first kiss and the rest of that night live in my head rent free

Pot o’ Gold by ahurston • rated E • 22k+ where is the leprechaun/love of my life who’s gonna take me out to eat all of the best foods that my city has to offer? this one is a slow burn but their relationship is so much fun to read right from the start that you definitely don’t mind taking your time getting there. also, the palm reading scene. good grief.

there is no design by the_hodag • rated T • 12k+ this fic gives us a look at some of david’s art, and all the loneliness and love that inspires it. it’s poignant and painful and hopeful and sweet in turn, and i think it does a marvelous job of capturing so many of the facets of david’s past that have made him who he is

A Little Broken, A Little New by nameless_bliss • rated G • 3k+ i’ve read this fic several times now, and david and johnny having a conversation about their own relationship through the guise of talking about patrick and his parents never fails to make me cry

Une très bonne table dans sa catégorie by cromarty • rated T • 23k+ just the concept of this one alone would have sold me on it—like, hello? michelin reviewer and chef? sign me the fuck up—but it’s written with the kind of attention to detail i always expect from claire’s writing, and the fact that it practically starts with a first kiss but then pulls back makes for a delicious dynamic as they build a friendship over that foundational attraction, both tempering and intensifying the wait for them to find their way back into each others’ arms

happy golden days of yore by blueink3 • rated E • 17k+ i literally stopped in the middle of this fic, sat down on my kitchen floor, and had a good cry. i hate thinking about them ending up divorced in the first place, but even as exes, they’re so careful and gentle with one another and so, so clearly still in a forever kind of love. that makes it bearable to see them apart because even if it weren’t tagged for a happy ending, there’s such a feeling of inevitability to it, you know exactly how it’s going to end and just get to enjoy the devastating ride it takes to get there

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman • rated M • 30k+ this is one of those fics where everything comes together just right and achieves a perfect balance of introspection and action, courage and fear, despair and hope, forthright honesty and cautious reservation... MoreHuman makes it all look easy, which says so much about all the care that had to have gone into the planning and writing. this fic does everything well, and it’s an absolute pleasure to read from start to end

840 Havenwood Road E by Distractivate • rated E • 10k+ we barely see david and patrick’s new house in the show, so it shouldn’t be possible for me to be as emotional about it as this fic makes me, every single time i read it. but it’s the home they chose, the place they decided to build a life together, and getting to see flashes of that life through the years and how much love they clearly had for each other within those four walls just makes me cry again and again

[persephones-wren]

Two Slow Dancers (Marius von Hagen x Reader)

Wrote this for a friend yesterday night, they’re on vacation and had a long night of driving, but I thought I’d post it here because why not :) I’m going to try and get into writing Tears of Themis, so feel free to request anything!

Warnings: none that I can think of

Genre: angst, slight fluff? (songfic, Two Slow Dancers by Mitski)

Word Count: 1159

It’s your last dance of the night, together, at his house, right before you both head out to university.

Does it smell like a school gymnasium in here?

You laugh at the opening line, but tears still blur your eyes as you look up at him, his one hand on your waist and the other interlocked with your hand. You both twirl slowly, and he can only watch helplessly as you wipe your tears away, before joining your hands together again.

It’s funny how they’re all the same

It’s funny how you always remember

And we’ve both done it all a hundred times before

It’s funny how I forgot

Funny how you had forgotten how painful loving and leaving was going to be.

He’s wealthy, you aren’t. He’s going to be leaving for Florence, and you’re going to stay in Stellis, hoping to be whatever you can make of yourself. He’s going to leave you for his business, for Pax, for the public eye, and you’re going to stay hidden in the shadows, just another high-school love long forgotten.

The song continues, and you can hear him singing quietly along to the song. You join in, and occasionally your voice breaks, but you manage to continue on with him. His eyes are piercing, and you don’t dare to see if he’s crying with you.

You don’t think your heart could take it.

It would be a hundred times easier

If we were young again

It would be easier to enjoy his presence when you were both younger, shared kisses under the moonlight, toys won at the arcade, but he’s leaving you, this is your last time together. If only you were young again. You’d cherish every little moment just a tiny bit more.

But as it is, and it is

We’re just two slow dancers, last ones out

We’re two slow dancers, last ones out

The song ends.

You’re both standing there, unsure what to say.

Your eyes are both wet. You’re both quiet. You both don’t want to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Me too. But it’s okay,” you whisper back.

It's not okay. You’re both not going to be okay. An unspoken I love you is shared, and a brief kiss.

It feels cold. It feels like goodbye.

It is goodbye.

…

Your heart may be shattering as you see him across the room.

It was a work party, a party to celebrate the five year anniversary of Themis Law Firm. You had only been working there around two years, but you didn’t know that he was going to attend. Why would he attend?

Your coworker, you realize, bashing yourself for not realizing sooner. Rosa Hua. She had helped defend him in a case. He’s here to celebrate her success.

You turn away and try to hide somewhere else, try to surround yourself with people to ignore the pounding in your heart. Does he know you’re here? Has he seen the guest list? Does he want to talk to you? Does he want nothing to do with you? He had the perfect opportunity with Rosa, and he hadn’t noticed you yet. You could slip away, find somewhere to calm your racing heart, find somewhere else to reflect on your relationship with Marius.

His eyes catch yours across the room, and you can see the same look of surprise before you’re turning and almost running in your heels to talk to Celestine, eagerly muttering some excuse about how you needed to go and that you felt sick. She gave you a questioning, but sympathetic look, and then you’re out the door and into the garden of the building.

The night is cold, and it helps clear your mind from whatever leftover feelings you still had for him. Your feet are aching from heels and you’re thinking of a way to approach him, but you're now worlds apart. He is Marius von Hagen of Pax. You are Y/N L/N of Themis Law Firm. There is no other reason for you to know each other, besides Rosa.

Perhaps a new introduction is needed. You’ve both changed. Maybe- you’re both different people now, too.

Footsteps from dress shoes click behind you, and you speak before you turn around to face your other boss.

“Mr. Wing, I’m sorry, I-”

“I’m not Artem.”

His voice. Oh god, it’s him. Of course he’d notice that you’d run out. Of course he would.

You’re frozen in place. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to see him, don’t want to talk to him like your past never existed.

Still, you force yourself to pretend anyway.

You plaster a business smile to your face and look at him up and down. “Hi, I’m Y/N L/N from Themis Law Firm. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“It is you,” he muttered to himself slowly. A smile breaks over his face. “How have you-”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

And the ground has been slowly pulling us back down

You see it on both our skin

We get a few years and then it wants us back

Together, now you’re both standing still, eyes on each other, once again unsure what to do. You both feel rooted in place. You want to take back what you said, you know him, but do you? Does he still know you? You’re feet away, yet millions of miles apart. His genuine smile falters, and then it’s a grin, back to the playboy style the magazines swooned over.

“Right. Sorry. I’m Marius von Hagen from Pax. I’d like to request that we have a dance. Just one.” Like we were in highschool, the words go unspoken, but you can hear them anyway.

“I don’t think I can do that,” you smile apologetically. You can’t handle your heart being broken again. You can’t be together. You can’t do this.

“Please?”

You can’t refuse.

“Just one.”

It would be a hundred times easier

If we were young again

But as it is

And it is

His hands easily find your waist and your other hand, just as they used to. There’s no music, but again, he’s humming softly again, the moon hanging over both of you. You’re spinning and twirling quietly, and now you’re both humming, small, solemn smiles painting your faces.

“Do you remember this song?” he asks, as he dips you down. “Yeah, I do,” you answer quietly.

“It feels like worlds ago.”

It’s nostalgic, and the memory of your last dance still resurfaces painfully, but there’s something new about the way he’s dancing with you. It’s not goodbye anymore. Is it possible to start anew? Together?

“To think that we could stay the same,” he sings quietly.

“To think that we could stay the same,” you sing back.

To think that we could stay the same

But we’re two slow dancers, last ones out

We’re two slow dancers, last one out

Two slow dancers, last ones out

[moonofthenight]

Everything must come to an end

Umm okay, so here is the fic posted the moodboard to a few days ago. This is two thousand words of pure angst, like really really angsty so if you decide to read it, please be aware of that. Also, I kind of want to leave it like it is, I don’t really want to write a part two to it.

Oh and this is probably not the most realistic scenario but I loved to explore it anyways.

*

I’m sorry @lumosinlove but thank you for letting me use your amazing characters

*

CW for mentions of food, lots of crying, bad mental health for some time and a general very sad atmosphere

A happy ending is never a promise, it’s a wish and ever since Leo was little, he wished for it more than anything.

The rain softly pattered against the window, waking the blonde one up, who let out a content sigh. Contrary to popular believe, Leo loved rainy days. There was nothing better than waking up in the warmth of the bed with his boys next to him, holding them safely in his arms. He already could imagine today, Finn sitting on the couch with his glasses and the nose in a book, Logan cuddling Finn to oblivion, while he made them something to eat. But if he only knew…

He felt Finn’s hand moving in his, a sign that he was waking up too. Leo pushed himself up with one arm, careful not to wake Logan up, reaching over to brush Finn’s hair from his forehead.

“Good morning sweetheart.”

“Mhh good morning Le.”

Finn stretched his back, his head sleepily falling down onto the pillow, making Leo chuckle.

“Wake Lo up, would you love? I will go down and make some breakfast for us.”, Leo said while getting up.

Finn nodded in response, blowing Leo a kiss, to which he leaned down and planted a real kiss on his lips in return. Finn made a soft sound, his hand finding the back of Leo’s head, pulling him closer. They parted eventually and Leo gave Finn a last kiss on the cheek before he made his way into the kitchen.

He started to prepare the bowls, humming softly while he mixed everything together. Leo flinched at the loud ringtone of his phone. It laid on the kitchen counter, exactly where he left it last night after their weekly date night.

Coach is calling…

“Good morning coach, what’s up?”

“Leo…”

His heart dropped at the tone of Arthur’s voice.

“Leo, I am so sorry but you have been traded. Come over soon so we can talk about the paperwork please.”

Leo didn’t remember what he said, he ended the call and starred at the phone in his hands. He felt… numb, as if he was stuck in one of those horrid dreams where you keep running and running and running but you never reach any end. He managed to put the phone back down but when he looked up, all he could do was to stare blankly at the wall. He didn’t cry, it still felt too surreal.

Leo could faintly discern Logan and Finn moving towards the kitchen, their laughter echoing from the walls right into his heart. The happy sound stopped the moment the two entered the kitchen, seeing Leo standing there. Both of them knew something was wrong.

“I got traded.”

It was simple as that and now it was finally sinking in. He got traded, he got-

“No please tell me this is some sick joke", a bitter laugh escaped Logan’s mouth, both him and Finn stopping dead in their tracks.

“It’s not”, his voice broke and he looked towards them, the tears already running down his face.

Logan immediately started sobbing, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness. At the same time, Finn moved to pull Leo into a hug, his wet cheek pressing against Leo’s collarbone. All of them were crying by now, it was an ugly picture but so was the situation.  

“This doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t even been playing long with us”, Finn muttered against Leo’s skin.

“We can’t let them take you away from us. What are we without you by our side?”

“We can do it. We have to”, Logan said through his tears, his hand reaching out to wipe away Leo’s tears.

Leo didn’t answer.

Can we?

“I think I need some time for myself, okay?”, he said and leaned into Logan’s touch for a second before removing himself out of the hug.

He walked out of the kitchen but as he turned around again, Logan and Finn were already in each other’s arms, rocking from side to side. He could hear a faint “It’s going to be alright.” But it cut off with his door falling shut.

He walked towards his bed, falling down face first and just laid there. He gave himself a few minutes to breathe, his mind was blank. He was so so scared. He couldn’t do anything. He didn’t know how and if this was going to work out, hearts are going to break either way.

He lifted his head a bit, reaching out for the phone he carelessly threw onto the bed.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up

“Lupin?”

“Cap? Did I call the wrong number?”

“No, you didn’t. Is everything alright? You sound a bit off.”

“No, yes. Can you just pass the phone to Remus please?”, his voice sounded so small but he heard shuffling and some swearing before the other Lupin was on the phone.

“Knutty, what’s up?”

“Re…”, Leo let out a shaky breath. Remus didn’t say anything else, he just waited, which is why he called him in the first place. Remus always knew what’s best.

“If- let’s say for some reason you need to move to another city on the other end of the country and Sirius is in no way able to come with you, what would you do?”

“Leo, what is going on?”

“You’ll probably find out soon enough, just answer my question please.”

“I mean. I would try to do a long distance but it’s a tough decision to make. Long distances aren’t easy. Leo, whatever is going on, try to do what you think will be best for you and listen to you heart. Love you.”

“Love you too, Re. Thank you.”

He threw his phone back into the pillows and thought about what his teammate said. The problem was, Leo’s heart was broken and what use was it to listen to a broken heart?

Maybe it would be better to call it quit. I can’t manage a long-distance relationship. I can’t.

He pushed himself off the bed, finding his way to the living room, trying not to think too much about what he was going to do to them, what he was going to do to himself. Logan and Finn were curled up together on the sofa, not crying anymore but not talking either. Leo cleared his throat, both boys looked up to him, slowly sitting up properly.

“We need to talk.”

Leo rounded the couch, sitting down between them, his heart heavy. He didn’t say anything right away but breathed, trying to stop the tears from falling again but he was failing.

“I think- I know I won’t be able to keep a long-distance relationship up. I think I need to cut myself out of this. I’m sorry.”

Leo didn’t talk around it or tried to talk it better because it wouldn’t make a thing better. This was the most painful experience and he knew he was the reason for it.

Said two froze, the comforting hand that was on his back a second ago fell down on the couch. It was dead silent. Then Logan started sobbing, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“What?”

Finn’s voice was nothing but a whisper, his eyes red and shiny.

“Leo no. No please, don’t do this to us. You can’t- we are a team, we are supposed to stay together, we-we are supposed to marry in the future, Leo-“, Logan broke down into sobs again, his face in his hands. It broke Leo’s heart into a million pieces.

Leo looked over to Finn, tears silently rushing down over his beautiful freckles, his eyes were filled with pain but also understanding.

“I’m sorry,” said Leo, his voice breaking “but I made my decision.”

He stood up, not being able to stay another second longer in the mess he made, walking into his bedroom, the lump in his throat growing.

Fuck

----

The farewell party was spot on terrible. The team gathered together at Dumo’s, trying to make the best out of the situation but there wasn’t a single thing that cheered Leo up. He was on the verge of tears the moment he stepped into the house because it just reminded him of the things, he won’t be able to see on a daily basis anymore.

Now, a few hours later, his bags were packed, the taxi was waiting downstairs. Logan and Finn stood there, right in front of him, tears in their beautiful eyes.

He gave them a small, tight smile.

“I love you,” Leo said through his tears before he looked at them one last time and closed the door behind him. The moment the door clicked shut he broke down sobbing.

Little did he know that on the other side of the door, Finn was sliding down against it, his mind trying to wrap around the things that happened, pulling Logan against his chest, trying to ease the pain they were feeling.

---

They were falling apart, slowly but surely.

The first week was okay, given the circumstances, they tried to comfort each other and there was a lot of crying. But eventually, Logan couldn’t sleep in Finn’s bed anymore, it didn’t feel right and there were too many memories connected to it. The dark spots under their eyes grew from day to day.

The team was worried but they brushed it off every time someone tied to talk to them or to get them to open up.

The problem was, it’s human nature to search for anything to blame something on. But there was no one. It wasn’t Logan’s fault, it wasn’t Finn’s, it wasn’t Leo’s, it wasn’t Arthur’s.

By the end of week two, Finn and Logan barley talked to each other and the flat was a real mess. Pizza boxes over pizza boxes, the dishes still in the sink, the windows weren’t opened for days but neither had the strength to do something about it. How could they? Everyday was a fight, going on the ice wasn’t what it was before.

But the season moved on and they had to function. Logan getting more and more aggressive on the ice, searching for something to deal with his emotions.

A few hundred miles away, Leo was watching the game in his hotel room, starring at the screen.

It had been three weeks by now and he hadn’t really talked to anyone yet.

The new team was amazing honestly, they were trying to include him and welcoming him into their circle but he couldn’t bring himself to engage with them, his walls were up again.

This wasn’t family dinner at Dumo’s, this wasn’t being chirped by Pot’s at morning practice, this wasn’t Cap threatening him with drills if he didn’t concentrate, this wasn’t screaming to Taylor Swift songs with Kasey, this wasn’t waking up with Finn and Logan next to him. He was a fucking Lion and this was not right.

So, he made a decision, maybe this time, the right one.

---

Finn was currently sitting on the couch, searching for something to watch when he heard the doorbell. He debated if it was worth it to stand up but he managed to drag himself towards the door. He nearly fainted when he saw who was standing there. He starred dumbly at his face, blue eyes starring right back at him.

“We need to talk and sort this shit out.”

[akaashisupremacy]

Spring Beginnings

Summary: On a beautiful spring evening, Kuroo confesses his feelings for you. Are you willing to dive into new beginnings with him?

Notes: Next to Tsukishima, Kuroo is probably my other favorite character to write for. There’ll be another fic for his bday so stay tuned and check out my Masterlist. 

Kuroo  x manager!reader

genre: fluff (1.1k)

“I’m not ready to go home just yet.” says Kuroo, halting just before the end of the park.

“Same, but the team has had a long day.”  you sigh in explanation, “They’ve had lots of drills and conditioning so they need their rest, y’know.”

After dissuading Yamamoto to forgo his nightly jog, you wave to the lowerclassmen who are headed to the station. Being the team manager for Nekoma’s Volleyball club meant an automatic invite to all their team outings, even to the ones with the alumni. Tonight’s meet-up was Kuroo, Kai and Yaku. The team hit up Ueno Park to see the sakura in full bloom after their Saturday training.

Lately, you’ve been very busy with schoolwork and the team. It’s nice to get away from your responsibilities. You haven’t seen Kuroo in a while. After he graduated last spring, you were worried that you would grow apart but the texting and Nekoma meet-ups proved that he is still the same Kuroo Tetsuro you know and love.

“Do you wanna walk around? I’m heading to the nearby river. They light up the entire street with lanterns so it’s pretty during the night.” he suggests, “We can wander, just the two of us like we always do.”

You’re quick to agree. Whenever you two felt like the night had ended too early, you could always count on Kuroo to explore Tokyo with you. These walks was your favorite part about spending time with him.

He leads you into a bridge over a stream, completely lit by pink lanterns under the shade of cherry blossom trees. The street is aglow as the sakura petals gently cascades.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” he gestures. You gasp in amazement.

Your smile reaches your ears.  It feels like a scene from a movie. You have seen many springs filled with sakura, but this tops them all. You’re both quiet as you walk upstream.

“Do you come here often?” you ask, your eyes fixated on the lanterns.

“Not anymore. I used to pass by here when I was in elementary though”. he shakes his head, “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Thanks for bringing me here.” you say in a hush, still at lost at how gorgeous the street is. It’s times like this that you feel like you are dating Kuroo.

“I really like it when we walk around like this…” Kuroo stops. He leans with his back against the bridge. You sit on a bench not too far from him.

“Yeah, me too! Spring is great for this kind of loitering isn’t it?” you chuckle. He stands so close to you, you feel the heat of his body.

Kuroo mumbles, “I mean we should spend more time like this.”

“What? You have more spots like this?” you’re not totally sure you heard him right.

“Yes and no. I meant more time alone with you…” he stutters. There was no going around you, he has to be more direct.

“Would you go out with me if I asked?” He clears his throat, “I wish we didn’t have to escape the rest of the team to be able to spend time…alone.”

Kuroo is usually outwardly cool and confident, but as the question slips from his mouth, his heart is beating a hundred miles per second. He can almost feel himself sweat with anxiety despite the cool spring night.

“I’ve been wanting to ask out for a while now and I’ve been putting it off because I didn’t want to affect the team dynamic or put pressure on you to accept because I was technically still your captain.” he explains, kicking loose stones on the ground.

You’re a little stunned. It takes you a while to reply, “Kuroo, I…really do like you, but I…”

Your head is swirling. Did you really hear him correctly? But just as you want to throw yourself at him, your anxiety kicks in. You’re sort of overwhelmed with school and your managerial duties as is. You’d have to specifically carve out time for him. Could you really handle that?

Reality dawns on you. Your mouth suddenly feels parched and your facial expression changes. Kuroo’s face immediately starts to fall.

“I’m not sure it’s smart that we date. You’re in college and I’m…finishing up my last year in Nekoma. We’re in a lot of transitions right now…” you carefully choose your words, “We don’t have everyday like we used to.”

You see hurt crawl into his eyes. You had your entrance exams to study for and Kuroo is the latest recruit for his university’s varsity team. Surely he understands, right?

“Besides, there are a lot of girls in college. I’m sure you’d want to explore that.” You add and quickly look away. Your face feels hot after admitting your biggest insecurity.

Kuroo was tall, good-looking, smart and athletic. It would be easy for him to get a girl. Why would he want someone still in high school?

“You know I only have eyes for you.” He catches you off guard. Despite the intense anxiety pounding in your chest, you want to swoon.

You recover quickly, “I’m not really sure if it’s gonna work. Could you have handled a relationship in your last year?” you sigh doubtfully. A gust of wind blows by.

He pauses for a moment before his reply.

“I don’t know.” he admits.

You walk the remaining stretch of the road in silence.

A million thoughts race through your head. Could you not try? Your favorite team captain just confessed to you and you turned him down. You want to give in, but part of you fear what may happen if you aren’t able to balance Kuroo with your load. You make up your mind to stick to your guns. The consequences outweigh the risk.

“Let’s just walk home,” you pull up your coat when you hit the end of the street.

When you arrive at the train station, Kuroo audibly sighs. This is obviously not the outcome he is hoping for.

In a last attempt, he turns to you, “We don’t have to figure it all out right now, you know? Even if it does feel scary.”

The busy shuffling of commuters fills the silence between the two of you. Tokyo is the city for the restless.

“I just don’t want things to fail. Not with you.” you  blurt out. You’re taken by surprise and his face softens.

“We won’t always have a lot of time for each other and that’s ok,” he nods, “but it’s a lot better than just giving up before it begins. We’ll figure it out. I’ve waited this long. I’ll do everything I can to make this work.”

A smile forms on your lips and you tentatively nod. Spring is the best time for new beginnings.

“I want to make this work too.”

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

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi 

[hermannsthumb]

Hermann preparing for date night with Newt by selecting where to eat solely by what he has a coupon for. Or, ya know, frugal connoisseur Hermann. <3 ksci

inspired by a convo re: the fact that ksci @k-sci-janitor likes to make fun of me for never letting a coupon go to waste even if it means walking like 2 miles in the cold to use it :/ like im gonna NOT get a free Baja blast. (there is one small little allusion to some M rated stuff towards the end in this)

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

It’s not a rare occurrence that Hermann will treat Newt to dinner when the mood of dining out strikes them, but the point is that he’s doing it in a way that’s supremely…shifty tonight. Well, maybe not shifty. Weird? For one thing, he didn’t tell Newt where they were going until they were already on the bus headed there, for another, it’s their sharing-a-lab-anniversary, which tradition dictates they evenly split a bill (even if the origins have more to do with both trying to show up the other and take advantage and order the most expensive shit on the menu). The weirdest thing is definitely that, when Hermann got up to pay the bill five minutes ago—a small, folded piece of paper clutched in his hand—he left his wallet laying next to his wine glass on the table.

Newt stirs his straw around in his cup of soda, clinking ice cubes against the sides, and squints at the wallet. Did Hermann bring cash to pay with? He could’ve stuck some in his pockets without Newt seeing, or his bank card, even, which would explain the forlorn wallet. Or maybe forgetting the wallet was totally an accident, and he’ll be back in a few seconds to pick it up and pay for real when he realizes. That’s probably it.

When Hermann comes back to their table, though, he doesn’t bother with his wallet—he takes his seat, picks up his wine glass, and tips it at Newt. “That was quite lovely, wasn’t it?”

Newt hums. “It was.”

“I quite liked the fish I got,” Hermann says.

“I loved my noodles,” Newt says. “We should try to copy the recipe back at the base.” He sets his straw delicately on the table. “How’d you pay without your wallet?”

“My wallet?” Hermann says. He makes a show of catching sight of the wallet, arches his eyebrows in mock surprise, and picks it up. Here we go. “Oh, goodness. Did I forget this? Well—it’s not as if I needed it…” He tucks it neatly into his inner jacket pocket.

“Hermann,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “What’d you do, get a hundred-percent discount by reminding them we saved the world a few months ago?” Hermann shakes his head, and takes a long sip of his wine. “Did you write a check? Did you pretend we got food poisoning or something?” Hermann shakes his head again, and this time, his mouth begins to creep up into a smug smile. Newt remembers the piece of paper. “Dude. You got us a fucking Groupon. No wonder you were being so weird about what I was ordering!”

(“I think we ought to stick with the entrees labelled B, Newton,” Hermann had said, flipping a page forward in Newt’s menu. “They look—er—far better.”

“More expensive,” Newt had said.

“What’s it matter? I’m paying.” Hermann had pointed at the noodle dish Newt had ended up getting. “Look, I reckon you’d like that.”)

Hermann finally grins triumphantly. “I did—and saved us quite a decent from our ‘date night’ fund. Pity it didn’t extend to dessert, I suppose, but we could always find some ice cream at the commissary later.”

Newt can’t even pretend to be exasperated. The noodles rocked. And they would’ve rocked even more if he knew that Hermann was saving them a few bucks. “You’re such a weirdo,” Newt says, shaking his head, though he’s mirroring Hermann’s grin. “Is that why you picked this place?”

“Not entirely,” Hermann says. He takes a long, slow sip of his wine. “Mostly I picked it to make a point.”

“About?”

“About my being right.”

Newt sighs. Only Hermann would dredge up old arguments on Lab Anniversary Night. It wasn’t even an argument, really—all that happened was that Hermann asked Newt to hand him his glasses cleaning cloth from his parka, and it took Newt almost ten minutes because Hermann’s pockets were so jam-packed with a million little coupons for everything from granola bars (which they can get from the mess hall for free) to mouthwash (which Newt can snag from the commissary, also for free, whenever they need it) that he couldn’t find anything but. A majority of them were expired. Then Newt remarked on how Hermann was nuts, and Hermann remarked on how Newt didn’t understand the value of making smart financial decisions, and they went back and forth for a bit like that. This was a whole week ago, too. In terms of Newt and Hermann arguments, that’s more than ancient history. “Are we really talking about the fucking coupons now?” Newt says.

“Frugality pays off,” Hermann says, cryptically. “Now we really ought to head out. The forecast is calling for rain, and I don’t fancy getting caught in it.”

They get caught in the rain anyway. Newt invites himself over to Hermann’s bunk to dry off, because Hermann bought a space heater back when they were stationed in Russia, and it travelled with him here to aid through the long nights of overpowering A/C. Right now, it’s aiding Newt through stripping out of his wet clothes. When he’s down to just his boxers, he snags the quilt from Hermann’s bed, and waits for him to finish up in his little en suite bathroom to hopefully catch a hot shower. One of the unexpected side effects of the world not ending and most nonessential personnel leaving the ‘dome in doves is that they almost never run out of hot water anymore. Newt can take a shower at midnight and not freeze his ass off. It’s awesome, really.

Hermann emerges from the bathroom in a dorky little pair of pajamas, a dressing gown knotted at his waist. “Oh, Newton,” he sighs, and prods at Newt’s blanket cocoon with his cane, “not my grandmother’s quilt.”

“I’m dry!” Newt says. “Mostly!”

He gives up the quilt to Hermann and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stuck a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet at some point, for when he was too sleepy and lazy after makeout sessions to go back to his bunk, and sure enough he finds it alongside a suspiciously generic-looking tube of toothpaste. It doesn’t even have a label. He doesn’t think much of it until he starts to use it, which is when he immediately gags and begins to rinse his mouth out with hot water. “What the hell is this toothpaste?” he chokes out. “It tastes—awful.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. He ducks his head into the bathroom, looking a bit sheepish. “Well. I found a coupon for that brand, and I know it’s not very, er, pleasant, but—I saved forty percent, Newton.” Newt continues to rinse his mouth out, this time adding some mouthwash into the mix. “Oh, really, now you’re just being dramatic. It’s only toothpaste.”

“Dude,” Newt says. “I feel like I just rubbed, like, acid cement all over my gums.”

“Ah,” Hermann repeats, guiltily.

A bit later, Newt goes in to kiss Hermann goodnight as they settle into Hermann’s bed together, but pulls back with a sad little pout when Hermann merely flinches away from him. “Oh, Newton, I’m sorry,” Hermann says, quickly wrapping his arms around Newt and kissing his neck. It softens the blow somewhat. “It’s that bloody toothpaste. You still smell like it. You’re right, it’s rubbish.”

“Tell you what,” Newt says, grumpily. “I’ll buy you a brand new tube tomorrow. My treat.”

Newt mostly forgets about the coupon thing for a bit. The odd little item crops up in the lab that makes him roll his eyes fondly at Hermann, but nothing as major as the Groupon or toothpaste. Hermann’s preferred tea brand swapped out for something Newt’s never heard of in a flavor that Hermann clearly detests, if his face when he drinks it is anything to go by, for example, the chocolate digestives Hermann keeps in his desk replaced with plain ones, his new box of chalk all in a salmony shade of pink and weak enough to snap apart under his fingers if he presses down too hard on his chalkboard. When Newt asks about the changes, the answer’s always the same: Hermann had a coupon for them, or they were less expensive than his usual. Newt just wishes he could understand where this sudden bought of thriftiness came from. It’s not like it was back during the war, where they had to pinch pennies and save in every area they could if they wanted to supplement their nonexistent funding. They’re actually getting paychecks now, on behalf of the UN’s guilty conscience! They have free room and board! They even put a few neat bucks away from some (heavily-redacted) interviews they did back in late January.

What Newt’s getting at is Hermann doesn’t have to limit them ordering out sushi to only places with free delivery on date nights, or skimp on his pizza toppings (four-topping down to two) so they can use a better coupon, or buy any of those subpar teabags or digestives or toothpaste tubes. But he just…is.

The tipping point occurs on a Saturday night about a month after the Groupon incident.

“Nn. Hermann. Do that again.”

“Do—?"

“Yeah.” Newt groans, turning his head to the side. “Oh, shit.”

“Newton—” Hermann kisses his throat. “Newton, you’re—”

“Wait.” Newt pauses. “What is that?”

“Oh, er.” Hermann pulls his hand away. “You mean the—the—?”

“Yeah. It feels…weird.” He frowns. “That is not what we used last time.”

“Oh. No. It isn’t.” Hermann clears his throat. “Well, Newton—see—we were out, so I thought I’d—I’d buy a larger bottle, to last us longer, and I happened to find a coupon for this lovely—er—gallon-sized—”

“You’re kidding,” Newt says.

“Only I thought it was a very frugal purchase,” Hermann says. “We do tend to, er, burn through it rather quickly.”

Newt rolls away from him. “Dude. We need to have a talk.”

Some brief amount of time later, they sit together on the end of Hermann’s bed, clad in their pajama bottoms and, in Hermann’s case, one of Newt’s sweatshirts. Newt waits until Hermann meets his eyes blushingly before he proceeds. “What is up with you lately?” he says. “You’ve been acting so—weird. Weirder than usual,” he amends. “Since when have you cared about saving a couple bucks on random shit like pizza?”

Hermann fidgets, and sighs, and finally reaches to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. He retrieves a piece of paper folded into quadrants, and for a wild moment Newt thinks it might be another Groupon. “Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Hermann says. “I was going to wait until it was all finalized—but it’s close enough now, so I suppose there’s no harm in it.” He thrusts the paper out at Newt, and Newt—still wondering if it’s not another Groupon—unfolds it with surprise to find what looks like a flight itinerary. Two tickets for Hong Kong to Boston, with a short layover; then two more tickets a week after they land for a short trip from Boston to some town in Maine Newt recognizes as being seaside. They’re made out to Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler and purchased a little over a week ago.

“You kept telling me you wanted me to meet your father,” Hermann says, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “And—I thought it might be nice, to have an—er—vacation, for a few days. We’ve certainly earned one. And it’s not as if we have any truly pressing obligations at the moment that can’t be put on hold for a week or two. I was planning on booking us a little cottage up in Maine—or maybe just a hotel room, I hadn’t decided—but we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“And you’ve been saving up for it?” Newt interrupts.

“For a few months now,” Hermann says. “Since February, in fact.”

“And that’s why…?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears turn red. “Every penny helped,” he says.

Newt carefully re-folds the itinerary, sets it aside, and then kisses Hermann soundly. It would be safe to say that Hermann’s thoughtful, romantic moods tend to be on the spontaneous side, probably as spontaneous as they are in Newt, so when one strikes Hermann (and in such a perfectly Hermann way as this one) Newt doesn’t like to take it for granted. “Of course I wanna go on vacation with you,” Newt says. “You rock. Seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hermann says, looking pleased.

[holylulusworld]

Getaway car

Summary: A story like Bonny & Clyde that’s what you wanted with him. Sadly, life gets in between you and your Clyde…

Pairing: Criminal!Dean x Criminal!Reader; Mobster!Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, abandonment, crimes, robbery, unrequited love?, a hint of fluff

A/N: And again, Taylor Swift inspired one of my stories. This time it was ‘Getaway car’. Lyrics are taken from her song.

The first time you laid eyes on him was at the diner you were working your shift. He stalked toward the counter, ordering pie and went home with you instead.

It was crazy, dirty, and rough but he left you wanting more. Weeks later he came back, wanting more and more until you followed him…

He was the best of times, the worst of crimes

I struck a match 

And blew your mind, but I didn't mean it

And you didn't see it

The ties were black, the lies were white

And shades of grey in candlelight

I wanted to leave him

I needed a reason

Three years later you lean against the wall at the bar, your smile long gone, just like the excitement and adrenaline after another successful raid. 

The last bank should have been the last. Retirement, a future, that is what Dean promised to you but lately, you got the feeling you will end up like all his other partners before.

Dropped at a motel, fifty bucks on the nightstand and brokenhearted as he found a new ‘Bonnie’.

You believed him when he said you are the one. You desperately wanted this life with him, but things change – so does Dean.

Right now, he leans closer to the bartender, that million-dollar smile which once melted your heart on his plump lips. The only difference, this time he gives it to that girl - his next partner as you assume.

It pains to admit you were just that, a young girl he could corrupt and use as a distraction during his raids until you lost your usefulness; until he found a younger and sexier girl to use.

You do not know where or when you lost it, but you know it’s over when he gives the girl a wink, snickering at something she said.

One last time you glance at Dean, ignoring the ache in your chest before you turn your back on him to leave the motel bar. 

X marks the spot

Where we fell apart

He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

We never had a shotgun shot in the dark

In a haste you count the money, leaving half of the bait, two-hundred thousand bucks, for Dean on the motel bed. The keys to his car, you take them with you to get to the next hideout.

One last deep breath and you place the note for Dean onto the pillow, placing the necklace he gave you on top of it.

“Goodbye, my Clyde…” You leave the room, not looking back, hurrying toward the getaway car Dean stole a state ago. He won’t miss the rusty car, already having another in eyesight to escape if need. 

Dean’s hand trembles when he enters the motel room only to find you gone. He waited the whole evening for you to show up, the engagement ring he stole at the bank burning a hole into his pocket.

“Goodbye, my Clyde,” Dean sniffs reading the note. “How could you believe I want to replace you, sweetheart?”

Dear Dean, my beloved Clyde,

I believed you when you said this is the last time. Sadly, I had to watch you hit on the next girl to be your Bonnie. I know, I was just the next best girl you found for your heists, but I will always remember our time.

To me, you are the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I am sorry that I was not enough for you to not stray.

I left half of the bait, Dean, and took the car. You will not miss the rusty wreck, I know you will find a new one in a blink, just like a new partner.

I will try to fulfill my dream with my half of the money. Please, if you ever felt anything for me, do not go after me to get the money back. I earned it as much as you did.

I will always love you.

Your Bonnie…

Tears cloud Dean eyes re-reading the letter until he falls onto the bed, sighing deeply.

You were drivin' 

The getaway car

We were flyin'

 But we'd never get far

 Don't pretend it's such a mystery

 Think about the place where you first met me

 We're ridin' 

 In a getaway car

 There were sirens in the beat of your heart

 Should've known I'd be the first to leave

 Think about the place where you first met me

“So…where is your special girl, Dean?” Looking at the money onto his table Sam swallows thickly. “Dean?”

“She left, believing she’s just a random partner. I didn’t use her as bait, Sammy. She was the one, the one that got away,” Dean opens the little black box to show his brother the diamond ring.

“The money, it’s enough to get back into the business and to pay for the house,” Dean nods, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “You did all this to get dad’s business back. We should try to use what you got. I brought my half too, twenty million.”

“Got thirty, Sam. Just give me a day or two. I need a bit of time,” watching his brother leave the room, a frown on his face Sam nods, understanding the heart-wrenching pain to lose the woman you love. 

“We talk tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Take your time, Dean.” Sam gives his brother as cracked smile watching Dean stuff the ring back into his pocket.

“She left, took the getaway car, and never looked back. What if I never find her, Sammy? What if she’s gone for good?”

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts 

In a getaway car

5 years later … somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Rocheport, Missouri

“Y/N, I’ve seen my old dog walk faster than you serve our customers. I have to rethink your position in this diner,” your boss nags once again. 

It is not as if you didn’t work 12 hours in a row to make more money or that the diner is crowded, and you are the only waitress.

“I’ll try to work faster,” you reply, biting your tongue to not lose yet another job.

This small-town is a nightmare but your car broke not 10 miles out of town, so you had no other choice but to stay here, make some money until you find another town and another shitty job.

Five years ago, you had a plan, the money and motivation to have a better life. Two months in running your shop, a bakery, someone bought the building opposite your tiny shop, destroying your dream in the blink of an eye. It did not take more than a month to lose all your customers to the impressive café.

Without money left you grabbed your stuff and fleed out of town, no dreams in your pocket this time. You drove from town to town. Worked to make a few bucks to hit the road to nowhere again.

Looking back at that night, the night you left Dean you regret that you never talked to him. Maybe, just maybe he would’ve changed his mind and kept his promise.

It was the great escape

The prison break

The light of freedom on my face

But you weren't thinkin'

And I was just drinkin'

While he was runnin' after us

I was screamin', "Go, go, go!"

But with three of us, honey, it's a side show

And a circus ain't a love story

And now we're both sorry

(We're both sorry)

“What can I bring you, Sir?” A tall man wearing an expensive suit looks up at you, a soft smile on his lips. He doesn’t quite fit in. Men like him prefer an expensive restaurant, not a shady diner.

“Coffee, black. Please,” you nod, writing his order down whilst the man glances at your nametag. “Y/N, nice name.”

“Oh-well, my mom gave it to me,” the man smiles again, taking the menu you offered to him. “If you want anything else, tell me so when I bring the coffee, Sir.”

“Sam, just call me Sam.” You mirror his smile, believing he is new in town and tries to be polite. Usually, your customers bark their order at you only to not give a tip or to spill their coffee onto your apron.

“Anything else, Sir?” Sam shakes his head, paying the coffee and take-away pie, handing you a huge tip. “Thank you.”

“Must be hard to work at this place,” you nod, giving him a cracked smile. “Why does a girl like you work at this place?”

“Had a dream years ago, but it didn’t work out. You know, I had a nice little bakery but someone else opened a better, bigger, and more colorful place. I lost,” he nods, offering an apologetic smile before he gets up.

“Sometimes things are meant to end and sometimes,” he dips his head to look at you with soft eyes, “things turn out for the better.”

X marks the spot

Where we fell apart

He poisoned the well

Every man for himself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

Your shift is almost over when the bell above the door rings again. Your boss wants to bark at the person entering the diner after closing time but oddly, he turns pale.

“Something wrong, boss?” He shakes his head, choking out the word gun. You don’t want to but you force your body to turn around only for your to look into the barrel of a shotgun.

Two large men entered the diner, wearing black clothes and masks they crowd the diner. “You, come over here!” The smaller of the men barks at you, jerking the shotgun toward the place next to him. “Hurry or I’ll give your boss a brand-new hole.”

“Do it bitch,” your boss barks and you hurry toward the man’s side, sniffling. “At least you are not useless this time. We got around five hundred in the register plus her tips in the jar under the counter.”

“Classy to tell us about her tips,” the man next to you spats. “Come here, Y/N. I need to make sure you do not try anything stupid.”

You nod, walking toward the man who immediately wraps one arm around your waist, pressing his lips to your ear.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” His deep voice, the way he husks the pet name into your ear and his cologne let your knees buckle. “I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’ll bring my Bonnie home now.”

“Got it,” Sam smirks, showing Dean the money and your tip jar. “Let’s go and buy drugs,” Dean snickers at Sam’s words, holding you flush against his firm chest.

“Okay, you son of a bitch will stay where you are and not call the cops. We will take your sweet waitress to make sure you do not try anything,” Dean leads you out of the diner whilst Sam aims his shotgun at your boss. 

“Do not move or she dies…”

“How? I…” Lips quivering you watch the man you met at the diner carry your few belongings out of the motel room you inherit. “How did you find me? Will you kill me now? I…I don’t have the money…”

“Sweetheart,” Dean pecks your forehead, running his hands up and down your back to calm you. “I needed 5 years to find you, Y/N. I never wanted to replace you, my Bonnie.”

“You flirted with that girl,” you sniffle, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I thought you want to get rid of me like with the other girls before me.”

“There were no other girls before you, Y/N. I lied, okay. In the beginning, I needed a partner as my brother left me. I wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional.” You giggle, looking up at Dean.

“After you had me bare that first night? Very professional, Mr. Clyde.” Dean hums, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you, Dean. There was not a single day I didn’t think about our time together.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart. We should hit the road before the cops arrest us for stealing lousy five-hundred bucks.” Sam snickers, pointing toward your now empty tip jar.

“I left the money with the poor boy at the reception. I think he never got a larger tip before.”

“Whoa…you invested the money better than I,” your eyes round, following Dean toward the family mansion he bought five years ago.

“I got our house from the bank and my father’s business back with the money. Sammy paid his half and we are back in business.” Dean leads you inside, holding your hand the whole time. “Now I got everything I ever wanted.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the tiny black box Dean holds in his hand. “I wanted to give you this five years ago.”

“Dean…” You gasp, looking at the little handcuffs. “Did you want to arrest me?” He smirks, getting the silver keychain out of the box.

“If you prove you will not run away again,” he whispers, glancing at your lips, “I’ll give you the ring I stole for you…”

You were drivin' 

The getaway car

We were flyin'

But we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me

We're ridin' 

In a getaway car

There were sirens 

In the beat of your heart

Should've known I'd be the first to leave

Think about the place where you first met me

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts 

In a getaway car

“I don’t think I’ll need a getaway car again, Clyde,” you press your lips to Dean’s, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I am your Bonnie if you still want me…”

“Next time you need a getaway car, take me with you.” Dean deepens the kiss, not letting up until you gasp for air. “But I think, we are safe for now…”

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@bunnybaby89​

@pandabiiissh​

@maddiedott​

@lilulo-12​

@theoneandonlymelol​

@mblaqgi​

@clawsandshotguns

@justsomedreaming​

@cassiopeia-barrow​

@its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters​

@mscarter213​

@jo-like-josette​

@mep6811​

@prettydeaneyes​

@rvgrsbrns

@deanwanddamons

@tearsforhan​

@waywardbabie​

@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel​

@belovedcherry​

@amandamdiehl​

@emaanjffri​

@sycochick​

@nickyrose3123

@abeautifuldiaster124​

@matsumama​

@rynabarnesrogers-reading​

@homeorbust​

@emoryhemsworth​

@lunaticgurly​

@sofiiamdeansgirl

@xxlikeheavenxx​

@spnbaby-67​

@wonderlandfandomkingdom​

@heartislubbingdubbing​

@kitkatd7​

@doctor-hp-mcu​

@lovefromthewinchesters​

@coffeebooksandfandom​

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester​

@negans-lucille-tblr​

@deans-baby-momma​

@thefaithfulwriter​

@squirrelnotsam​

@roonyxx​

@underthewrap​

@deansgirl-1968​

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​

@butifulsoul125​

@lyinginthegingerlocks​

@neen-illustrates​

@janicho88​

@woodworthti666​

@thevelvetseries​

@dreaminemz​

@akshi8278​

@midnightsilver16830​

@mrspeacem1nusone​

@ria132love​

@caligraphee​

@the-witch-in-silence​

@justanotherwinchester​

@multisuperfandom​

@jason-todd-squad​

@jadesupernatural​

@psychicforest​

@luciathewinchestergirl​

@magssteenkamp​

@palefiregiver

@tranquility-or-chaos​

@jxackles​

@michellemxndes​

@addictedtofictionalcharacters​

@gabifernandessn​

 @waywardrose13​

@team-free-will-you-idjiot​

@myopiamystical​

@rintheemolion​

@isthatabutterfly

@bluecornflowers

@rosalynshields

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[sunflowers-n-rocknroll]

Do I Wanna Know?

Pairing: Jensen x latina!reader

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 1,988

A/N: This was written for @anaelsbrunette​ Yas’s POC Reader Challenge. This was based on the song Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys. I’ve never written POC reader before so hope you like it. ;)

“Everybody welcome Jensen Ackles to the stage!” The applause and cheering were so loud you winced. Jensen Ackles stood on the stage looking as if he owned it with a leather jacket and some dark jeans. You couldn’t lie he was good looking, but good looking boys were the ones that always knew how to break your heart in the worst ways.

You sighed once again wondering why you had agreed to come to work again. The place was small but packed. Apparently, it was some sort of VIP event and only those with enough money could pay to attend. But not you. You weren’t here to enjoy some guy in a leather jacket and guitar sing you were here to work at the bar and that was it.

People coming and going ordering a million different drinks was slowly driving you insane. You hoped this would be over soon. Someone like Jensen Ackles was probably busy and didn’t even have a moment to breathe.  

Song after song you handed out drinks and refrained from lashing out at the rude people. You needed the job.

“Thanks, everybody for coming out tonight, said Jensen. “I’ll be playing one last song tonight.” 

“Oh, gracias a Dios,” you breathed out a sigh of relief and your friend smirked over at you. 

“Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type

That sticks around like summat in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

'Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee…”

The women were going wild and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He was just a human, a human with an incredible voice and an equally attractive body. Sure you enjoyed music, but you knew this type of celebrities, they thought they were like gods.  

By the time the song was over, you were ready to go home and sleep preferably forever. The crowd started to diminish and you began cleaning up. 

“Oh my god! Did you see Jensen Ackles he was so hot,” your friend was basically jumping up and down. You were waiting for that comment all night and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“Cristina you fall in love with basically everybody.”

“I do not,” she gasped.

“What about that boy at the coffee shop yesterday? Or that guy that opened that door for you at the supermarket? Or that girl-”

“Ok ok fine I get it,” she held her hands up in surrender. “But you can’t deny it.”

“Cristina, there is nothing special about him. Sure he can sing, ¿y que? So what? I know about a dozen other people who can do that.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said a voice behind you and you turned only to find Jensen Ackles sitting at the bar. “But uh can I get a whiskey?” 

You cleared your throat your face burning. “Uh yeah.” turning to grab a bottle you glared at your friend. “¿Cuánto tiempo ha estado allí?” 

“Since you started talking,” she whispered.

You turned around placing a coaster and glass in front of Jensen Ackles. You tried not to look at him as you poured whiskey into his glass but you felt his gaze on you. Some guys came by saying goodbye to Jensen and making plans for the week. Not that you were eavesdropping but they were right there. 

“It’s close to midnight and my sister is coming to pick me up, you need a ride?”

“No it’s fine I’ll be closing anyway. I’ll get a cab.” She nodded before hugging you and grabbing her things. 

You realized Jensen was still at the bar and you hoped he would leave already so you could go home. He stood placing some money at the bar before leaving. Ten minutes later you were making your way outside.

“Hey,” you turned. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jensen was standing there with his hands raised as if you would’ve tried to hit him. And you would have.

“Well, you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“I thought you might need a ride.”

“I don’t.”

“Look it’s almost midnight-”

“I am not  sleeping with you.”

“What- no I am not-”

“Listen, pretty boy, I don’t need a ride from you. And I am not going to your place,” you slung your bag over your shoulder before turning around. 

“No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just offering a ride. Nothing else.”

“Why?”

“Because walking through the city in the middle of the night is dangerous.”

“And getting into some stranger’s car is not?” He looked down, one side of his mouth turning up. 

“Touche.”

You sighed knowing that you couldn’t deny his offer. “Ok fine.”

His head snapped up, “Wait really?”

“Just warning you, I will punch you if you try anything.” 

You gave him your address once in the car and waited for some comment about the area you lived in, but it never came. Surely someone like him had a nice house or apartment in the nicer part of the city. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said.

“So there is nothing special about me?”

You winced, “You heard that?”

He chuckled, “I did.”

“Listen I’m sorry-”

“No no, I think that is a very fair opinion. But, I think you can make it up with a dinner.”

You opened your mouth then closed it not sure what to answer. He was asking you out?

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to I was just-”

“I uh I need to go,” he nodded and you got out of the car. Making your way to your door. You heard his car leave once you were inside. 

“He asked you out!” You and Cristina had a free period a decided to catch up on some homework outside. 

“Cristina stopped screaming. Yes, I already told you like a hundred times.”

“And you said no,” you stared at her. “Okay fine, fine.”

“And technically I didn’t answer.” 

“But it was Jensen Ackles!”

“Yeah, that’s why.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s on his way to becoming some great musician. And I’m a bartender still in school. And still living with my mom. Nada va a suceder. It’s going to be a good date and then that’s it. On to the next thing he knows he can get.”

“Y/N,” she pointed behind you, and standing right there was Jensen Ackles. “I uh gotta go back to class,” she grabbed her things before taking off. Great.

“You uh left this in my car yesterday,” standing up you took your jacket from him.

“Thanks. How did you know I was here?”

“I asked around in the bar.”

“Right.”

No one said anything before you both started talking at the same time. 

“I also didn’t get your name last night.”

“How long have you been there.”

You glanced away, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N” 

“Jensen.”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, “Right.”

“Listen I didn’t mean to be rude with what I just said.”

“Most people want to be with me for the money and fame. I don’t care about any of that.”

“I’m not most people,” you said. “I also don’t care to have my heart broken.”

“One date. One chance. Just- let me show you I’m sincere.” 

“Why? You can literally have anybody you want.”

“But I don’t want anybody. I just- there is something about you that I can’t figure out about you and it’s driving me insane.”

“One chance,” you said.

You were nervous and you weren’t even on the date yet. Cristina had come over to try and calm you down but you were having second thoughts about saying yes. 

“Y/N, mirame, hey look at me. If things go sideways you call me and I’ll pick you up.”

You nodded the knot in your stomach twisting tighter. The doorbell rang and you took a deep breath. Jensen was standing there in a flannel and some jeans and you couldn’t deny he looked good.

“Uh te-te ves hermosa,” he stuttered.

You smiled, “How long did it take you to learn that?”

He looked down rubbing the back of his neck. “All afternoon?”

It was late by the time you came back home, your stomach hurting from laughing too much.

“Gracias, thank you, for the date,” you smiled up at him. He was so close that you could smell his cologne. 

“It was my pleasure.”

“I uh- I better go.”

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’ll text you.”

It went like that for a week, Jensen showing up and taking you some place, nothing fancy or expensive but somewhere you could be together. Sometimes he would take you to one of his concerts and even though you teased him about it you enjoyed being there. Everything was good maybe just too good and of course it had to end. 

Coming late home from the bar one night all you wanted to do was sleep, your mom was in the kitchen, phone in hand.

“Hey what’s going on?”

“It’s your abuela, está enferma.”

“She’s sick? Is she going to get better?”

Your mom shook her head, “We have to go back to Mexico.”

Two days later you found yourself packing your bags. You had given your notice at school and at the bar. Cristina had come to say goodbye and it hurt to leave her. You were putting your bags in the car when a familiar car pulled up. Jensen stepping out with a frown on his face. 

“Hey what’s going on?”

“My grandma is sick and we have to go back home. Back to Mexico”

“For how long?”

“No lo sé. Couple of days? Maybe weeks?”

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” He sounded incredulous and you wished this conversation had happened when you were miles away and not be able to see the hurt on his face. 

“Jensen-”

“Y/N you were going to leave for who knows how long and not tell me?”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When you were miles away?” He nodded, running a hand down his face. “No, you can’t do that just because you’re scared.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re scared Y/N! You’re scared about this, about what we have!”

“Jensen this was never going to last! This was nice, but we both know you weren’t going to end up with somebody like me and I am not going to end up with somebody like you. Lo siento. I have to go,” you turned getting in the car, trying not to look back. The better he accepted the truth the better it would be for you. By the time you were back in Mexico he would probably already have found somebody else. 

Jensen stood there not knowing what to say or do. She was leaving. She was leaving him. But she felt something for him. He hadn’t just imagined the past week. And it wasn’t just some simple crush that he felt, this went way deeper than that and he had to find out if she felt that same way for him. He saw your friend come out of the house by the time your car was pulling away.

“Cristina it’s Cristina right? Do you know where in Mexico Y/N is staying?” she nodded and he knew what he had to do because she had caught his eye in that bar even before he had ordered that drink. He couldn’t let her go. He had to know, even if the answer wasn’t what he wished for it to be, he had to know. 

TAGS: @akshi8278​

[pokemagines]

hop + being confessed to

anon asked: “SW&SH REQUEST OPEN???? ☆_☆ How about... An mc with a crush on Hop since the start that gets carried away by adrenaline before the fight with the Champion and does the whole "If I become Champion... I'll need to tell you something." confession bit, but immediately chickens out when they ACTUALLY beat him?”

a/n: this is CUTE I LOVE HOP SM !!!! i changed the ending a lil and actually had them confess tho hope u dont mind....!!!! -- mod touko

hop is happy you won the championship of course, he knew you were tough enough to beat his brother after his last battle with you, he just can’t get the words you told him before the match out of your head. “if i become champion… i have something to confess to you” – you had said it with a confident air, no doubt the adrenaline from the crowd chanting your name minutes before you were to go onto the pitch getting to you. hop was just clueless as to what you meant, and needed answers.

as the champion celebrations die down, everyone starting to head back to their hotel rooms for the night, hop seeks you out, intent on knowing. he waits until kabu finishes giving his final congratulations to you, squeezing your shoulder fondly before heading out, shooting hop a knowing look. hop finds the opportunity to swoop in and steal your attention away before someone else can.

  “never got to ask you this before, mate, but how does it feel to be the champ now? surely must be mad, having all this attention on you... if you need me to drive away the paps, just call for me!” you laugh at hop’s enthusiasm, standing closer to him to hear him better, as the chatter from the party went on even though most had left by now. you see nessa and sonia whispering to each other in the corner, the former’s cheeks darkening at whatever it is sonia was saying. bede was playing cards with raihan, opal, and leon -- opal seemingly cheating as you watch her fold a card and put it down her sleeve. none of them seem to notice (or maybe are too scared to say anything). gordie pets leon’s charizard while melony is tugging at him to get up and be social. a few of the other gym challengers mill about, talking about your battle with leon with loud voices, perhaps hoping that either you or the former champion might hear and come over to talk with them.

  and then you look back to hop, smiling down at you with his eyes scrunched up and teeth on full display. he had always had a few inches on you, even as kids, but now it was more apparent as he leans over so he doesn’t miss a single word you say.

  “it’s okay, lee says i’ll get used to it all, eventually. thanks for the offer, though.”

  “of course, anything for my best mate...” he trails off, and upon seeing his brother he suddenly recalls what he came here to ask. “oh! about what you said before the match... what was it you were meaning to tell me? nothing bad right?” you swallow thickly, chest immediately fluttering as you recall what you had told hop in the moments prior to the big match.

  you had planned it all out in your head: you would beat leon, and with adrenaline still being at an all-time high, accept the winner’s trophy, go backstage and confess to hop. but unfortunately, you were dragged away by a million reporters and by the time they were through with you, you were sleepy and being taken away to your victory celebration. this is the first time you had seen hop since you had promised him, and you start to mentally scold yourself. hop wasn’t going to let you go until you told him: both him and leon were stubborn like that.

  taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. worst case, you lose your best friend. best case? he feels the same way and you two start dating. you knew it would kill you to hide this forever, anyways.

you tell hop as clearly as you can: “i like you. a lot” is your exact words. hop blinks at you, cheeks flushed as he stammers out a “w-wait like... you fancy me?” you nod quickly and the gears in hop’s head start whirring at a hundred miles an hour. it takes him a minute, but he eventually whispers back an “i love you too... first the champion is my brother and now i’m dating them! this is...!” hop can barely contain himself as he pulls you into a hug.

you both stand there, hugging as you laugh giddily, two happy teens who are experiencing their first love together. the moment is interrupted by the click of raihan’s rotomphone shutter, you both pulling apart and gazing at leon and raihan who are both “aww”-ing at the both of you. hop’s screeches for raihan to delete that cause heads to turn as his cheeks flush, raihan simply holding the phone over hop’s head. leon pinches his cheek and congratulates him, and then takes 500 pokedollars from raihan, who bet that hop would confess first. 

[blackbutterfliescal]

Love Like War

A Muke One Shot

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Luke Hemmings, Calum Hood & Luke Hemmings

Word count: 5K (on the dot!)

Rating: Mature for implied sexual situations

Content: college AU, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, a little bit of angst but I promise it’s a happy ending, swearing, implied sexual situations, nothing explicit just very vague, I mean they’re friends with benefits so I gotta at least reference it 

A/N: This is part of the club’s fic exchange for the holiday season. Thank you to @allsassnoclass​ for hosting this!!! I’m a little late, but nothing else is new. This is for the WONDERFUL @glitterblazercalum who gave me everything to work with. I hope you enjoy it, love, because I’ve had a blast writing it. And huge thank you to @spicycal for always being the biggest cheerleader 💞

✨ Masterlist ✨

Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist 🌺

AO3 Link

Feedback is always appreciated! 😊

———

There was one constant truth in Luke’s life: everyone leaves - moves on, finds someone new, forgets him. Luke had just hoped that what he had with Calum was different. They’d known each other for so long that he found himself letting go of the fear that Calum would leave too. But here he was, alone, in their shared room for the sixth night in a row.

Luke was well aware of how it felt to be left behind. He told himself that he should know how to handle it by now. But this time was different. For as long as he could remember, Calum had always been the one to help put him back together - through family deaths, through his older brothers leaving for school, through lost loves and failed friendships. So how was he meant to process being left behind when Calum was the one leaving?

As he lays in bed, arms wrapped around his middle and knees pulled toward his chest, he feels tears sting at his eyes. Before Luke can completely give into the anxiety constricting itself around his chest, the lock on the dorm door clicks and Calum shuffles in. It’s late and Luke should have been asleep hours ago but he’d worked himself into a panicked frenzy, meaning sleep would be hard to come by if it happened at all. As Calum toes his shoes off at the door, Luke swipes at his eyes and attempts to clear the panic in his throat that’s making it hard to breathe. Calum starts at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to wake you. Lost track of time with Michael.” With Michael. Again. Calum seems to spend all his spare time with Michael now and Luke can’t trust himself to offer more than a hum in response.

When they moved several hundred miles away from home for school, they’d decided to live together. Everyone said to branch out and make new friends, that living together can be difficult, but they both hoped a familiar face would help with the inevitable homesick feeling. Calum had been Luke’s biggest comfort over the last decade, his only friend, though Calum had always had other friendships as well. No matter how many other friendships he had though, Luke had always been his number one. And he’d never felt the worry of Calum finding someone he liked better. Until now.

They’ve only been at school for a few weeks but they’ve already settled into an easy routine, buzzing around each other before their classes in the mornings, homework at the library in the afternoons, and always (always) dinner together in the dining hall. But since Calum had met Michael in one of his classes, they seemed to just click, leaving Luke on his own and positive that he knows what comes next.

As Calum quickly puts away his belongings and slips into something more comfortable to sleep in, he hears Luke sniffle as he turns to face away from him in his bed across the room. He knows Luke like the back of his hand and is immediately filled with worry. He stops for a second, staring at Luke as if he’ll be able to see what’s nagging at him. But it’s the wee hours of a Saturday morning and he’ll have time to ask him about it when he’s not fighting to keep his eyes open.

When Calum’s eyes flutter open the next morning, it takes him a minute to register that Luke isn’t in the bed across the room. He checks his phone for the time and any missed messages from Luke, waiting for a little while and hoping to hear him milling around the bathroom, but there’s no texts and the room is silent. He tries his best to ignore the worry in the back of his mind as he gets himself ready for the day, but he can’t ignore that Luke has disappeared before they could go to the dining hall for Saturday morning pancakes.

On his way out the door, Calum shoots Luke a text to let him know that he can find him in their normal breakfast spot. As the lock on their door clicks in place, he hears a phone ding at the other end of the hallway where the study lounge is. Calum slowly turns on his heels and makes his way to the far end of their hall. As he gets closer, he can hear Good Charlotte playing softly and Luke’s familiar voice humming along.

“Hey. There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone off to.” Calum’s voice is soft, still a little raspy with sleep. Concern quickly takes over his face as he meets Luke’s eyes and sees how tired and red-rimmed they are. Luke grumbles as he reaches over to turn off his music, avoiding Calum’s gaze.

“Woah, woah. Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Calum asks. Luke hates the pity that’s evident in Calum’s voice.

“It’s nothing, really. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.” Calum balks at the sour tone Luke’s giving him as he makes his way to sit next to the blonde boy.

“Nope. If you think I’m leaving you here with that attitude, you must not know me. C’mon, what’s up?” Calum pushes, trying to meet Luke’s eyes as he joins him on the couch.

Luke rolls his eyes at Calum, thinking he should have chosen someone a little less persistent for a best friend. Calum keeps his eyes fixed on Luke as he waits for a response.

“Just go! Go hang out with Michael. He’s who you wanna hang out with anyway.”

“Luke.” It comes out more chiding than Calum intends it so he tries again, softer this time. “Luke, hey, come on.” Luke finally turns to Calum and he can see everything Luke’s been struggling with pooled in his baby blues. The worry and panic and self-doubt are threatening to spill out across Luke’s cheeks. Guilt hits Calum like a freight train and he reaches out to place a hand on Luke’s knee.

“Oh my god, Luke.” There’s even more pity in Calum’s voice now and Luke just wants to walk away, to not hear it anymore but Calum continues, oblivious to Luke’s frustration. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You’re my best friend and that’s not going to change after a few weeks of meeting someone new.”

“Well it doesn’t seem that way. This is the most I’ve seen or talked to you in the last week! You’re always with Michael.” The biting tone in Luke’s voice is hollow and Calum knows it’s only because he’s scared of being left behind.

“I’m sorry.” Calum means it. He knows Luke and he knows exactly why he’s panicked. He’s not sure what else he can say so he just lets his apology hang in the air until Luke nods his head, accepting it. Calum stays still for another beat, just to make sure that Luke’s not going to break apart into a million tiny pieces. When it seems safe, he stands from the couch and offers Luke his hand. “Why don’t we go get our pancakes, hmm? And then I’ll text Michael to see if he wants to hang out this afternoon, all three of us.”

Luke doesn’t want to hang out with his replacement, but it seems like Michael’s not going anywhere and he really doesn’t want to lose Calum. So he agrees. But he’s not going to like Michael. He’s not.

———

Luke still didn’t like Michael, but after two and a half years as an unlikely trio, they’d discovered they had more in common than either of them were willing to admit. Michael wasn’t particularly fond of Luke either, sensing that the other boy didn’t really want him around at all. They learned to tolerate each other around Calum but all bets were off when they found themselves alone together.

The problem was that neither of them could remember why they hated each other anymore. Sure, Luke had been insecure at first, but he’d gotten past that eventually as he figured out Calum was true to his promise. Calum hadn’t left him, hadn’t replaced him with Michael. Calum and Luke still lived together, and though they’d become more independent over their time in college, they still stuck pretty close. Luke appreciated that some things remained sacred between the two of them, like Saturday morning pancakes at the dining hall.

Luke swiped up the last sticky bite of blueberries from his plate as Calum began to speak around a large mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

“So do you have any plans today?” It comes out muffled but Luke’s fluent in Calum by now.

“I should work on my final project for my English lit class, but I’ll probably spend most of the day procrastinating it. What’s up?”

“Michael’s having some kind of party tonight and asked if we could come over to help him set up.”

“Doesn’t he know it’s finals week?”

“That’s exactly why he’s having a party. Everyone’s looking for an excuse to forget about homework for a little while,” Calum laughs softly.

Luke would actually rather spend his day pouring over his finals than with Michael but he finds himself agreeing to tag along anyway.

When they arrive at Michael’s, they find him in the kitchen, or at least what seems to be the kitchen. It could also be a nuclear disaster zone by the state of it. Luke finds himself unsure how one person manages to make that much of a mess but he decides not to push it when he takes in Michael’s flustered appearance.

“Thank god you’re here. I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know where I got the idea to host a party or why I decided to torture myself making all this food.” Michael uses the back of his hand to push his fringe out of his eyes, managing to smear the sauce from the crockpot meatballs all over his forehead. Luke can’t help the amusement on his face at Michael’s state.

Calum encourages him to go take a shower and pull himself together as he and Luke begin to move about the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and plating the food that’s already been assembled. When Michael returns, his hair is damp and a towel is barely hanging around his hips. He’s got a shirt in each hand as he playfully holds them each up to his torso in turn, looking for a second opinion. Luke offers his two cents, hoping with everything in him that Michael doesn’t notice the blush painted across his cheeks at the unexpected lack of clothing. Luke quickly returns to the task at hand, willing Michael back to his room to get dressed.

Michael returns, fully clothed, and Luke breathes a sigh of relief. He’s unsure of what’s come over him, but he’s absolutely sure it was a fluke. Probably just the stress of finals looming over him that’s got him off his rocker. He’d spent years silently hating Michael, resenting him for stealing time with his best friend. Is one shirtless moment really all it took to scramble Luke’s head?

“Hey, uh, Cal. Can you help me grab the supplies and decorations from the other room? They’re in the top of my closet and I don’t wanna pull them down on my head.” Michael laughs at himself. It’s a silly thing to ask, but they all know Michael would find a way to hurt himself trying to get the box of cups and plates down.

“I’m not any taller than you, Mike. And I’ve kind of got my hands full,” Calum says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes that he’s working on.

Without thinking, Luke pipes up, offering to help. He’s just as clumsy as Michael, but he is just the slightest bit taller and he hopes that will be his saving grace. He follows Michael down the hall and into his bedroom. It’s tidier than Luke would have expected given Michael’s typical chaotic nature.

He doesn’t have much chance to look around though, as Michael points out a box in the top of his closet that needs to come down. It’s a stretch to reach the handles on it, even for Luke, and it seems to get stuck on something beside it. Michael slides into the doorframe beside Luke, trying to free the box from whatever it’s caught on. There’s not exactly enough room for both sets of wide shoulders to be digging around.

“I’ve got it,” Luke strains as he tries to wiggle the box out without dropping it on Michael’s head. Though he could definitely be tempted.

“Just be careful. Don’t pull -”

“I can get it, just move.” Luke wiggles the box again and it breaks loose, sending both of them crashing to the floor as plasticware scatters around them.

“Why are you so stubborn? Why do you have to be like this?” Michael groans frustratedly from the floor.

“Me?!” Luke asks incredulously . “I told you I had it! Why didn’t you just let me do it?”

As they sit upright, they find themselves closer than they’ve ever been, noses nearly touching. Luke’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at the proximity to Michael. Had his eyes always had those little flecks of yellow sitting in amongst the green?

Without warning, Michael crashes his lips onto Luke’s. It’s intense, searing even. Luke thinks he could be swallowed up by the sun and his body would be less on fire than it is right now, kissing Michael. 

Suddenly Luke’s racing mind catches up and he pulls away from Michael in a hurry. “Oh. I don’t- I mean, I’m not - Uhhh. Sorry.” Luke barely stutters out as he clamors to his feet, not sparing a glance at Michael’s bewildered expression. He makes a hasty exit from the room, leaving Michael to sort out the supplies they’d gone after in the first place. Calum gives Luke a questioning look when he reenters the kitchen but Luke just shrugs it off; the only explanation he offers is that Michael still managed to be a klutz and drop everything.

Several awkward hours later, Michael’s place has been cleaned spotless, there’s more food than strictly necessary, and Michael’s friends are starting to trickle in the front door. Everyone seems relieved to get finals off their mind, even if it’s just going to be for a few hours.

Luke and Michael have been avoiding each other as much as possible, which is now made easier as more people continue to show up. Luke recognizes a few people from around campus and makes a few rounds to make small talk. After Luke’s said hello to everyone he knows, he excuses himself down the hall to find the bathroom. As he rounds the corner in a hurry, his shoulder slams square into Michael’s. They both wince and then stand awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what exactly they are now.

When Luke showed up today, it was clear that they only tolerated each other for Calum’s benefit. But now? Michael had kissed Luke and he couldn’t take that back, as much as he wanted to. Luke’s frantic exit let Michael know that they were clearly not on the same page, but he wasn’t sure exactly where it left them.

Before the bizarre staring contest could stretch on any further, Luke bends down to place his lips on Michael’s shoulder with a mumbled apology. He meets Michael’s gaze briefly as he stands straight again, appreciative that the little yellow flecks in his green eyes were still present. He hurries off toward the bathroom, worried that the longer he stared at Michael, the more he’d find reasons to keep staring. Luke had only meant to show Michael that they were okay. That he hadn’t scared Luke by kissing him.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It did scare him, but not because he didn’t want it.

———

It’s been three months. Three months since the kiss that burned Luke from the inside out. Three months since Michael pulled Luke into his bedroom after everyone else had left that stupid party during finals week.

“Nothing like years of unbridled hatred to make for the best sex you’ve ever had,” Michael breathes against Luke’s neck as they both tug at the others shirt. The last of his friends just left and by some stroke of luck, Luke had agreed to stay. For an hour. For the night. He wasn’t sure, but all that mattered is that Luke stayed.

“What makes you think you’re gonna be the best sex I’ve ever had?” Michael doesn’t abandon his work leaving marks on Luke’s fair skin, keeping him as close as possible, but he can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Michael’s smile matches Luke’s as he pulls back to meet his deep blue eyes. The line between passion in lust and passion in hatred begins to blur as their lips meet in a violent crash, leaving a wake of clothes behind them on their way to Michael’s bed.

They agreed then that it was just a casual thing. There was no need to tell anyone else. It was about stress relief during finals. It was about really, really good sex. But it was never more than that. Michael and Luke both knew that they’d kill each other in a proper relationship. Luke also knew that Michael was the best sex he’d ever had, but he’d never admit that to Michael. Michael knew it too. Whatever they had burned too intense to last, but it was too much to ignore.

They’d hoped that the month of holiday break after the semester ended would cool things off.

When they returned to campus in January though, they’d fallen right back into it without a second thought, burning just as bright. This time though, they’d had to set some rules to make sure it didn’t become anything more. They were still sure that a relationship would ruin whatever it was that they had and neither of them wanted to risk it. It would only mean mutually assured destruction.

“Okay, so rule number one. If we’re going to keep this as a good thing, it’s strictly physical. No feelings. No mushy gushy nonsense. We’re not going on dates and we’re definitely not boyfriends.”

“Friends with benefits?” Luke offers from where he lays with his head on Michael’s chest, reveling in his post-coital bliss.

“Hm, but you have to be friends first. Pain in the arse with benefits?” This earns Michael a laugh from Luke.

“It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, does it?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Michael quips with his pierced eyebrow raised. Luke raises his hand from Michael’s stomach in a show of surrender.

“Okay, what else?” Luke prompts.

“Still no telling Cal. Or anyone for that matter.” Luke has no problem agreeing to that one. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

“What about kissing? No kissing on the lips. Pretty Woman rules.” Michael rolls his eyes at Luke but he has to admit that Julia Roberts had a point.

“Okay, no kissing on the lips. It only leads to mushy gushy feelings and that’s against rule number one.”

“Right.” Luke agrees quietly. “So that’s it then. Three rules. We can keep those, no problem.”

“Wait. Rule number four, no sleeping over. Cuddling is fine but I don’t want to give Calum a reason to be suspicious when you’re gone all night,” Michael says, lightly poking at the side of Luke’s rib cage.

“Got it. Four rules.” Luke lifts his head to place a soft kiss to Michael’s chest where his cheek had been resting before detaching himself from Michael and clamoring off the bed to slide back into his clothes.

Michael remembers the rules clear as day. He reminds himself of them often, careful not to push them in any way that would ruin what he had with Luke. It was good. It worked. So why did Michael want more?

It’s been over a month that they’ve been back at school, easily falling into a rhythm that stuck to the rules they set during the first week on campus. Michael’s even starting to look forward to his dates with Luke. Well, not dates. He won’t call them dates, at least not to Luke. But any other term feels harsh and he thinks that Luke deserves everything soft and lovely in the world. Michael wants to be the one to give Luke all of that and more.

He’s not sure when his feelings changed for Luke. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever really hated Luke in the first place. But Luke had been so adamant about not liking Michael that it was easier to just throw that right back at him. And now here he is, waking from a post-sex nap on a cold afternoon in early March, running his fingers through the prettiest blond curls he’s ever seen, limbs inextricably tangled with the other man in his bed. Luke can never manage to stay awake long after they pull their bodies apart. He can’t help that he’s drawn right back into Michael, sleepy face finding a home just above Michael’s racing heart. He’s learned by now that listening to Michael’s heartbeat steady itself out again will lull him to sleep, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Not as long as Michael lets him. They weren’t breaking any of their own rules. And if they were, who was going to fault them?

As the grey light filtering in through the window grows dimmer, Michael begins to muse to himself, voice barely above a whisper.

“What am I going to do with you?” 

His hands continue to loop through the ringlets splayed artfully across his skin while soft snores escape Luke’s lips.

“This doesn’t last forever, right? At least not this way. Do you want more too? Want to kiss me again? To know if it still burns red hot? Want to hold hands while we walk down the street?” 

His tone is wistful, longing for more than what he knows is realistic. Michael brings his other hand up to trace patterns on the back of Luke’s where it rests around Michael’s middle.

“Do you want to meet my family? Bring me home to meet yours? Do you want to give Calum the biggest smile while calling me your boyfriend?”

Michael takes a second to pull himself out of the daydream fantasy that’s easy to get lost in like this. While Luke’s still here. Still his. Before he feels the need to leave because of that stupid rule Michael had created.

“How does this end? Are we supposed to just move on, never talk about it? How am I supposed to pretend I’m not falling in love with you every single day?”

He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh.

“Rule number one, Michael. Idiot.”

“Don’t say that.” Luke’s voice is firm but still soft from sleep and it gives Michael a start. The slight rumble of Michael’s voice in his chest had stirred Luke from his nap. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Luke leaves a long pause, but Michael can’t get his brain to move fast enough to respond. Luke lifts his head, cheek flushed pink to match the warm spot on Michael’s skin. He pulls his hand up under his chin so it’s not digging into Michael as he faces him. Luke’s eyes are still a little hazy, but Michael can see the sincerity in them. Maybe something else he can’t quite place. “You don’t have to say you love me. No one means it anyway. Everyone just says it but then they leave. What good is love if it’s always leaving?”

Michael feels his heart shatter. Suddenly it’s all clear and crashing around him. The hint of pain behind Luke’s eyes. The reason he was so wary of Calum becoming friends with Michael. The way he’s so guarded with him. Luke can see the shift on Michael’s face. He’s seen this look too many times and he’s never equipped to handle the pity. He immediately begins his retreat from Michael’s bed, from the look on Michael’s face.

Before Luke can completely free himself of Michael’s sheets, his hand wraps around Luke’s wrist and pulls him back toward the bed. Michael’s other hand lands carefully on Luke’s cheek as he pulls their lips together, letting loose of every ounce of the feelings that he’s been withholding. Screw Pretty Woman rules. Julia Roberts didn’t stick to them either.

When he pulls away breathless, Luke is even more unsure of where to go from here. He’s familiar with pity. He’s familiar with leaving. But Calum is the only one who’s always stayed. What was he meant to do now? He screws his eyes shut even tighter, hoping he can make it all make sense somehow.

“Luke,” Michael pleads, breath fanning across Luke’s face. “Luke, look at me. Have I ever lied to you?” Luke slowly blinks his eyes open to find Michael dizzyingly close and his breath catches in his throat. Michael begins to speak again. His voice is calm and he’s mindful of the words he chooses. 

“Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I mean it. Have you ever known me to lie to you? Even when we…..didn’t get along.”

Luke takes a few shallow breaths, still reeling, and searches Michael’s eyes. He’s not really sure what love looks like, but he knows lying and leaving and doesn’t find either in Michael.

“Listen, okay? If fighting tells a person’s true nature, then no one knows me better than you. We’ve been at this for years. Do I look like I’m pulling your chain right now? You know me. And this is all of me. This is how I feel about you. I love you, Luke.”

Luke takes a long pause. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Michael knows that “okay” is what Luke can offer right now. He doesn’t even care if Luke didn’t say he loved him back. At least not in so many words. Michael is miles ahead of where he ever thought he’d be and “okay” is enough. He pulls Luke in for a softer, sweeter kiss than anything they’d ever shared before. He can still feel the tension and the worry etched into Luke’s face as he pulls back and places another soft kiss over the lines across his forehead.

They settle back into the mattress, content to just be Luke and Michael for now. Neither of them were sure what they were now. There were no rules for this part, but they would figure it out the only way they could - together. 

———

As the weeks stretch on, Luke finds himself at Michael’s more often than not. He and Michael continue to take it slow as they navigate uncharted waters. It’s becoming more and more difficult to keep it from Calum, though. Luke wants to stay the night with Michael. He wants to stay every night with Michael. He thinks about how strange life is.

One afternoon, the three of them are playing video games at Michael’s and Luke is suspiciously good. He was never this good before they came to school and they only ever play at Michael’s house. When the round ends with Luke besting Calum for the third time, Calum notices the lingering glance he gives to Michael.

“Okay, wait a goddamn minute,” Calum speaks up, pausing the screen and letting the controller fall gently to his side. “Since when are you so good at FIFA, Luke? You almost never beat me!”

“Hey!” Luke protests. “I can beat you! I just did - three times!”

“Whatever, but you were never this good before. What’s going on here? And since when do you two sit that close?”

Luke scoots away from Michael, as if that’s going to help his case now.

“What does it matter? I still beat you both,” Michael pipes up from the other side of Luke with a smug look on his face as Luke smacks his arm.

“I don’t care about the game, man! Tell me what’s going on here?” Calum persists.

Luke and Michael exchange another knowing glance.

“That! Right there! What was that?”

Luke’s eyes don’t leave Michael’s, despite Calum’s frustrated tone. Michael gives Luke a soft smile, one that he only reserves for him, and a knowing nod. Luke swallows hard as he turns back to face Calum.

“Uh, well. We’re, uh…” Luke fumbles. Michael reaches out to lace his fingers through Luke’s and Luke takes a steadying breath. “We’re, kinda, sort of dating, I guess.”

Michael can’t help the laugh that springs from him at Luke’s awkward mumbling and Calum’s thoroughly confused expression as he shifts his gaze between the two of them.

“Kinda, sort of dating, you guess?” Calum questions. Luke just nods affirmatively, offering a smile as he hits Michael’s leg with their combined hands.

“How long has this been going on? When were you planning to tell me?” Calum spirals. “What the fuck? How did this even start? How have you not killed each other yet?”

Luke and Michael just laugh at Calum’s disbelief. Luke presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek as they go pink under his lips, as if that’ll help Calum make sense of everything.

“Oi! One question at a time, mate,” Michael finally puts an end to Calum’s rapid fire inquisition.

“Are you messing with me? Because if you’re joking, I’ll kill you both.”

The three of them collapse into a fit of laughter and then Calum proceeds to spend the rest of the afternoon trying, and failing, to beat them at FIFA. He settles for just beating Luke.

Things aren’t perfect, but looking between Calum and Michael, Luke decides that moments like this are what love is made up of.

———

taglist: @easierlftv @haikucal @mashlums @youngblood199456 @calumbroutledge @alltimesos @another-lonely-heart @castaway-cashton @bloodyoathcal @vapor5sos @myloverboyash @justhereforcalum @karajaynetoday @spicycal @devilatmydoor​

[soundwavereporting]

this (currently untitled) fic was intended for the sadly-cancelled tfrarepairings week :< 

onesided soundwave/shockwave/prowl (all the pining is on soundwave’s end) ft. the junkion campaign, casual war crimes, attempted genocide, mentions of unethical scientific experiments, fantasizing, poorly handled PTSD, mentions of xenophobia, canon-typical nonsense and violence. lmk if you think there’s anything else that needs a tag.

it’ll go on ao3 whenever i think of a title!

Soundwave sat and waited.

This sector of Junkion was almost familiar—even before their arrival, it had clearly been one of the areas the unfortunate masses had fled to survive. Soundwave knew little about Junkion’s governing bodies, but he doubted it mattered.

No matter where they went, the result was the same.

A stay thought process attempted to run the probabilities of the Junkions themselves organizing a revolt against their leaders, had they not had the misfortune to make contact with the Decepticons a mere five centuries ago. Soundwave cut off the calculations before they could begin to run in earnest. That the Junkions were a mechanical race, fully sentient and still going to be extinct within the next week…Soundwave tried not to think about that.

He wondered what might have changed if Megatron were here. Would Megatron have forbade Shockwave’s envoy from landing on Junkion? And what about the test group of Junkions, sent to them as a peace offering, who now lay in pieces in one of Shockwave’s laboratories. They came from this sector, Soundwave knew, because their fear smelled like these buildings.

What little he remembered of his life before finding Ravage and the birds surfaced only in his most restless dreams. For whatever it was worth, Soundwave had come from a place like this.

Soundwave saw himself in Junkion; a chaotic melange of unstructured sensation, brought to heel only by the strength of will.

Not even his own will: Soundwave leaned back in his seat, stretching his awareness to the edge of the planet, seeking the only respite this place offered. Junkion was maddening chaos and disorder, threatening to break through what little focus had survived this campaign. He pushed past the colors and sounds that danced across the walls surrounding him, unhindered by the sensornet dampeners he had installed around the building.

He found it quickly: after all this time, his sensors were perfectly attuned to the chilling void of Shockwave’s mind.

Soundwave lingered in its absence for as long as he dared. Shockwave had never given any indication that he noticed Soundwave’s intrusion into his mind, but Soundwave did not dare press his luck. On multiple occasions, Shockwave had floated the idea of Soundwave being assigned to his command, with the understanding Soundwave would be there to continue work on Ferak’s aptly-named Nightmare Engine. Megatron had denied each request, not even needing to ask Soundwave for his input. Shockwave’s command was a euphemism for test subjects.

If nothing else, Shockwave’s cold desire for him provided all the incentive Soundwave needed to remain in Megatron’s good graces.

Soundwave could not read Shockwave’s mind, but he loved the silence all the same.

The only hint that Shockwave was still planetside at all was the passionless void amidst Junkion’s chaos. Soundwave had managed to carve out a semblance of peace in this sector, killing every Junkion in a hundred-mile radius and transferring what little signal-blocking equipment could be safely removed from his ship. Junkion was still a constant storm, but now it lingered in the back of his processor, allowing him to focus on relaying Decepticon communications across the planet. It was a simple task—too simple, leaving Soundwave excessive free time to struggle over Junkion’s hold on his mind.

Soundwave’s internal temperature kicked up a notch. The Junkions had unleashed a weapon—more chaos than anything substantive, a flurry of hundreds of acid-soaked scrap metal raining down on the encampment.

And then—ah. There he was.

Where Shockwave’s mind was eerie, comforting silence, Prowl’s mind was a tumult of conflicting numbers and trajectories as he calculated the exact path of the acid maelstrom raining down on them.

Soundwave lacked the presence of mind to look deeper and attempt to understand exactly why Prowl had determined stepping up to divert the Junkion’s attention away from Shockwave was needed.

He trusted Prowl’s reasoning all the same. Soundwave had spent a full week analyzing Prowl’s strategic choices in past campaigns, and he rarely made an error that could not be traced back to unreliable information. He allotted himself a few minutes to run scenarios as Prowl directed his squad where the fire, shooting down the storm of acidic debris with pinpoint accuracy.

Chances were Prowl had decided to save Shockwave in order to preserve command structure. Were he to allow Shockwave to be killed, the void in Decepticon High Command would lead to temporary victories—at least until someone took Shockwave’s place. Prowl likely feared someone even more ruthless—and more unpredictable—than Shockwave himself would be promoted. Bludgeon or Scorponok, perhaps.

The second reason, Soundwave was startled to realize, was because Prowl knew he was here. Decepticon communications had been transmitting across the system flawlessly, and Prowl had deduced it was because Soundwave was present. Killing Shockwave would flush Soundwave out—maybe. Or it might drive Soundwave deeper underground.

And Prowl had determined, Soundwave realized with no small amount of surprise, he was important. Not important in the vapid, Autobot way, where important mechs like Optimus Prime were lauded and shielded from the worst their factions had to offer. Important like a Decepticon, where he mattered. Not because of his alt mode or a shiny, false bauble had been implanted in his chassis, but because he was…

For a moment, Soundwave indulged himself, lingering in the tantalizing mix of fear and hate Prowl felt whenever he thought of Soundwave. He felt Prowl’s instinctive repulsion of Soundwave and his abilities, his devotion to a cause that had torn his home apart. What little sympathy Soundwave might have had for him dissolved like acid on protometal. Orion Pax had done more to destroy Soundwave’s home than Soundwave ever could, long before Soundwave had ever picked up a blaster, but Prowl would never see it that way.

He relayed the last transmissions for the cycle, then powered down the console and settled back in his chair. He was too far away to reach the battlefield before the skirmish inevitably finished (as it always did these days: in a draw), and his mission was clear: streamline Decepticon communications, jam Autobot transmissions.

Soundwave switched off his visor. Through Prowl’s eyes, he watched the Autobot gunners successfully take down the last of the storm. The Autobot’s tactical processor detected an anomaly in his surroundings, and Prowl whipped around, only for Shockwave’s blow to bounce painfully off his doorwing, shorting out the sensors as Prowl screamed and Soundwave winced at the unexpected blow.

Prowl’s mind was a finely-tuned, ruthless instrument of war, but compared to Shockwave’s dispassion, he was nothing. Soundwave allowed himself a moment to imagine what it might be like, struggling under the weight of Shockwave’s empty gaze as the scientist peeled him apart, finding what made Soundwave Soundwave…

And making it Shockwave’s.

As it inevitably did, the fantasy switched gears. Soundwave hadn’t been at an Institute in a hundred thousand years but he remembered it well—the cold steel restrains, the sharp needles digging into his neck. The mnemosurgeons’ barely-contained fear of having a high-profile target in their ‘care’ smelled like sulfur.

Soundwave exchanged the mnemosurgeons for Prowl. Where they felt fear, Prowl felt anger.

He had lived most of his life with both, and Soundwave always preferred the anger. Prowl would hurt him, yes, and Soundwave would hurt him in turn, reciting the things Prowl kept close to his spark, guarded with what tattered remnants of compassion had survived the last two million years.

And then he imagined them both, united against him. Their hands on his plating. Undoing him. Making him theirs, all ruthless, unyielding focus and cold logic pitted against the chaotic harmony of Soundwave’s mind.

Soundwave wanted nothing else.

The skirmish was brief: Shockwave was not built for combat, which factored into all of his plans. One of Shockwave’s scouts sent a ping (which Soundwave intercepted effortlessly and read before sending it on its way). They had found a way to the planet’s core.

Prowl’s scouts had found a path two days ago. Soundwave had allowed himself a brief moment of selfishness, withholding the information from Shockwave in the hopes that they might remain on Junkion a while longer.

Clearly, he had underestimated him—he had underestimated both of them.

With some disappointment, Soundwave realized their time on Junkion was coming to an end. The whorls of muted color dancing across the walls vanished for a moment, leaving nothing but the dead gray of his surroundings. He spent another longing moment in Prowl’s mind—while he might need to take care not to alert Shockwave of the mental intrusions (if an intrusion could even be detected), Prowl did not warrant any such courtesy. The desperate, rebellious part of Soundwave wanted Prowl to feel it, to seek him out and hunt Soundwave down.

He cut off that thought process as well. That bordered on courting treason—there was imagining a fantastical scenario where he was pinned between Cybertron’s greatest minds and fragged senseless, and then there was wanting to be caught by the enemy.

He felt the collision of the skirmish dissipate into Junkion’s murky atmosphere as the Autobot and Decepticon’s respective forces retreated. Steely resolve and bottomless logic clashed once more, and then Shockwave and Prowl parted ways a moment later, each sporting new dents and scratches Soundwave would have given anything to touch.

So many of his memories faded to hazy sameness as time drained all but the strongest of his emotions dry, but Soundwave hoped he would remember this.

Soundwave sighed and reactivated his visor, then got back to work.