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jancy-central · 1 year ago

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Welcome, everyone, to another Spotlight Saturday!

This week we are spotlighting writer @throttlegainwell so read their answers to our ‘Get To Know Your Fic Writer’ questions below the cut. And here is the ao3 link to check out all of their amazing fics:

Reminder: This month’s prompt is ‘soulmates’…

…so please see our pinned post for more info. We have posted a lot of soulmate prompts for those needing some inspiration so check those out as well.

And as always, feel free to message us with any questions, whether you are a fic reader or a fic writer. Both of us write fanfic so we are open to helping however we can. Need a beta? Message us and we’ll either help you or put out a call for beta help! Hit writer’s block? Maybe we can help? Or maybe you just want to recommend a fic? SEND US AN ASK OR A DM!

Happy Saturday! ✍🏼 📖

Spotlight Saturday Questions:

@throttlegainwell’s answers:

1. I guess I prefer one-shots generally, but it's much more satisfying to me to write (and finish!) multi-chaptered fics.

2. A mix of both? There's usually at least some degree of planning for each chapter, but sometimes I just see where it goes.

3. ... It depends on the story. Usually, I'm rushing to slap a bunch of ideas into a document as quickly as I can type (or writing notes on my phone). Lines of dialogue, character ideas, themes I want to address, bits of description or narrative or details to include, plot arcs, whole scenes sometimes... I get those into one doc (which I clean up as I go, if I'm copying them over from my phone), then I create a corresponding doc titled LINEAR that I typically view side-by-side with the fragments/notes doc. I move bits into the LINEAR doc as I work, once I know where they're going or have a place for them (like when I've built the connective tissue), until the first doc is empty; I finish writing in the LINEAR doc. There's usually a brief summary of the story, by that point, in the Synopsis window on the right (I work in Scrivener) so I don’t get too off-track, and I'll probably have some notes in the Notes window, as well as any warnings that will be necessary if I post it (so I don't forget later). But sometimes I just sit down and write, like, an entire story, without thinking about it, or I'll try something stream-of-consciousness or experimental. And sometimes I actually do outline (though sometimes that outline is just a bunch of things that I know need to happen, and I drag those around until the order of them feels like a satisfying arc--I wrote an entire 40k+ story that way).

4. Oh, everywhere, I guess. From the source material, definitely. From books I read, concepts I've studied, themes that just interest me so they tend to crop up in my work or maybe I want to try a different spin on them. Sometimes a story I've written/am writing sparks an idea, or I want to try a variation on it to see where it goes, so I branch off from that. Sometimes I just want something, out of the blue. Occasionally, I browse prompts.

5. Nah. I did the whole concrit thing back in my early fandom days. I'm here to have fun and I assume so is everyone else.

6. Nope! I used to do beta reading, a long time ago, and I've casually edited for fandom friends, but I've never used a beta reader. I don't really see myself starting now.

7. Whichever one is the most interesting for the story or whichever one best serves the story's goals, usually. Sometimes because I haven't tried a particular POV before and I just really want to give it a shot, or because I'm writing it with one voice and the voice of a different POV character just *feels* right or sounds really interesting. But I've been branching out a little! I'm usually very committed to 3rd person limited, but this past year, I've been trying switching POVs a bit, I'm writing one story simultaneously from two different POVs (beginning to end, for each) just because it's such a different story for each character, and I'm writing one from omniscient POV because it was really the only one that would do what I needed.

9. I usually try to! (Not always. But usually.) I don't read a lot of fanfic, due to what I imagine is the very common combination of lack of free time and quite severe concentration issues (though I've always been a big reader and I love it a lot, so this is, needless to say, a massive bummer). It's worse with fiction than non-fiction, so if I actually manage to read a fic, it's a safe bet that I probably took notes during and the author will hear *at length* about all the ways I enjoyed it and what I found really interesting or memorable.

10. I have many WIPs, but blinks only came up in a few. One is too explicit to share here, but here's one: He can’t tamp down a shiver at the thought; he blinks extra hard, resisting the urge to grasp the back of his neck protectively.

11. Ooh. Like I said, I don't read a lot of fic (and I haven't read that many for the ST fandom), but I very much love what maddie_grove is doing with Tonight, Tonight, The Highway's Bright. I wildly enjoyed where the hours bend, by fakelight. And this world is gonna pull through, by scoutshonour, hit just right.

12. I don't tend to expect much feedback. I post because otherwise I'll go back and tinker with fics, and I don't really have the time for that, plus at a certain point it's not fun anymore, but I'm still messing with it. So when it's done enough that I've accomplished what I set out to, I post to free up my brainpower to move on to other things. It doesn't necessarily discourage me to not receive it (usually), but it really does encourage and motivate me when I *do* receive it. If someone enjoys a story and wants to talk about it, I'm likely to write more works in that vein or explore those ideas/characters/fandom more. I’m more likely to go back to a WIP if people are excited about it with me. I've received some truly lovely, thoughtful, analytical, humbling, and memorable feedback, and I hugely appreciate and enjoy all of it.

13. Don’t delete/erase anything. Save it all.

14. I tend to get into a certain headspace to write, but I wouldn't say that I usually feel what the characters are feel. Sometimes, I probably do. (I'm one of those people who moves their lips when they read an emotional scene, so I guess I do get a bit into it while I'm writing! Embodied cognition, what a trip.) I do sometimes draw from personal experience, but typically only in very broad strokes.

15. Happily. :) I've written a LOT of sex scenes over the years, for a lot of different thematic, narrative, and character purposes (and sometimes just for rule of horny, rule of funny, or to explore a particular kink). I approach each one differently, based on the tone I'm trying to set, whether I want it to be particularly erotic or emotional or something else, the level of narrative distance I want the reader to feel, what the characters are like, what the overall genre is. Sometimes I get visual or detailed, depending on what I'm trying to do (and whether I feel those characters would do so or whether it would be a help or a distraction in that moment), but I tend to depict the internal processes more than the physical details. The sensory aspects. The observations, interpretations, and reactions. Connections between characters, if there's more than one. I personally tend toward realism in my sex scenes, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't skirt the edges sometimes or just say fuck it and throw realism out the window for a particular story. But I don't think realism is necessary in smut (or any fiction, when it comes down to it). It's a matter of preference.

16. Omg how many fic ideas am I NOT nurturing right now. Way, way too many. Here's a Jancy one that hasn't quite made it to the WIP stage (still in the synopsis-in-dedicated-doc stage): Jonathan and Nancy break up over the college thing. (It’s not really the college thing.) Years later, as they're both settled into their careers (Jonathan as a photographer, Nancy as a journalist, both constantly traveling for work and hard to reach), they end up sharing a room when they visit for Lucas and Max's wedding. Lots of angst, lots of pining, lots of denial, and ultimately an exes-getting-back together story. Sometimes you just want the cliche done your way.

17. I just don't write, tbh. I try to address whatever issue is preventing me from writing (if possible) or (if it's beyond my control) I just accept that it's not a writing period of my life. I'm happier when I'm writing regularly, and I do think it's good for me overall, but I'm not going to let hobby writing cause me genuine stress. (I've got non-hobby writing for that, ha.) I take it as a sign that something is wrong or that I'm just tired of writing and need to recharge (by engaging some other interest or hobby for a while).

18. Depends. Sometimes the title comes first, sometimes during, sometimes after. Sometimes I really do just fall in love with a title, though. I rarely struggle to title fics after the fact, but when I do, I'll just slap a quick and vague title on there and call it a day. Often it's a pun or something relevant, sometimes an important line from the story, sometimes lyrics. I have a series of art-related titles for some Will stories I want to do and some science ones I have saved for some Dustin stories. Some photography terms for Jonathan. Stuff like that.

19. Turns out it's hurt/comfort! This should surprise no one.

20. Oh, have I ever. Yeah, I've had people read enough of my work to point out themes that I tend to tackle a lot (I'm big on autonomy, resilience, and kindness--you'll see them repeated a LOT in my work, from different angles--and, yeah, I write about trauma a lot), and I definitely have some words/expressions that pop up a lot (and with each passing year, I try a little less to cull them). Also, you'd be hard-pressed to find a story of mine where someone isn't making, drinking, or talking/thinking about coffee. No reason. It just... seems to happen.

21. I had a shared 'verse with a friend, a long time ago. It was a huge amount of fun. We really gelled and produced just tons of material for it that had us in tears laughing and, you know, was also incredibly horny. That was a shared 'verse, rather than a collaboration for an entire story, but, yeah, I'd say that I'd be willing to collaborate. I don't consider myself terribly reliable or consistent, though, so I worry that a potential writing partner would find this frustrating.

22. I used to think so, but, honestly, I've been proved wrong many times, so I'd say no, not really. There's not a lot that I absolutely won't write. There are a few things that remain pretty serious squicks for me, but I'm sometimes able to write about things that I would find difficult to read. Some things also don't necessarily interest me or I would find it technically difficult to write them.

23. Don't worry about making it beautiful. Just get it all down. (You can’t sculpt what’s not there, you know?) And in that vein: write EVERYTHING down. Even if you’re not sure it works. Don’t assume you’ll remember or won’t need it. Just write everything.

24. Anything that's involved regimentation. That just doesn't work for me in every case. It's important to be flexible, both to discover what *does* work for you or to be able to move between different strategies for different stories or at different times in your life. Close second, though: that you should mine your pain to write because that's where true art comes from. That advice is shit. Sometimes art is aliens fucking in a time warp and also there's a ghost with daddy issues. Write whatever the hell you want. It does not have to be profound literature to be a good story.

25. For my ST fics? I think I've gotten a pretty decent response for most of what I've posted, considering it's all very niche and this is a massive fandom (and one to which I came extremely late and very recently). I guess a little more response for already wise, already worn might have been nice, just because it's a weird little experimental story that I think actually came out really neat, but it's *very* niche so I never expected much response. Or possibly Two Steps Forward, just because I think it's an interesting little ghost story that's different from everything else I have posted, and I really do have a soft spot for gen works.

26. For my ST fics, our future foe scenarios is a pretty odd one. We've got Nancy really feeling her big sister duties while also kind of worrying about Jonathan, making out with him, then convincing the Party to let her earnestly and VERY awkwardly talk to them about the importance of consent (and kind of roping Jonathan into helping her, which he's not happy about but dutifully does). It’s kind of clumsy, but she means well.

27. I love when the ideas slot into place, when I know where things are going, I see how it's moving, and I get all the pieces lined up so it's a straight shot to the end. Extremely satisfying. I dislike working out the kinds of technical details that I'd prefer to gloss over but that are sometimes story-significant, like ages and timelines. I'm increasingly just ignoring that shit.

28. Apparently I'm getting several thousand words done a day, on average, with as many as 6-7k some days. But I'm happy if I just do a couple hundred, or a line or two. This has just been an unusually productive year for me.

29. Ideally: I ignore it for a couple of weeks until I've forgotten the shape of it, then I read it over with fresh eyes. Increasingly: when it's written, I go over it for typos, overall continuity, basic coherence, and (if it covers sensitive themes) to make sure that I'm not inadvertently presenting something wildly hurtful or counter to my goals. And then I just call it done.

30. I'd say that I never really polish all that much to begin with, these days. I mostly post 1st drafts, even though there's typically stuff that I would pretty easily catch and adjust if I gave it a real once-over. I've just decided that I'm okay with not fussing with it very much. But I share WIPs these days, some of which are pretty rough. (I did not used to do this that much.)

#jancy spotlight saturday #spotlight saturday #writer spotlight #jancy fanfic #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy

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hannahssimblr · 1 year ago

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Chapter Sixteen (Part 2)

When Fleet Foxes finish their gig Jen announces that she’s going to get ice cream, and I jump at the chance to go with her. I want a bottle of water, the midday heat has become so much that I feel parched, and even though the cocoon Jude made for me with his body was comforting, he’s like a radiator. I dip out from under him and link arms with Jen. “Are you coming?” I ask.

“Nah, there’s another band next that I wanted to hear and I don’t want to lose my spot.”

“Okay, we’ll see you later. Will I text you where we are?”

“Yeah sure!”

I notice a wry little smile on Jen’s lips as we dip out of the thinning crowd and past the portaloos. I nudge her inquiringly. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! You’re smirking, what are you smirking about?”

She stops to read a hand painted signpost with arrows towards the food stands, and we start walking in that direction. “Just vibes.” She says cryptically. “I’m just feeling vibes.”

I laugh, “What do you mean ‘vibes’?”

“I think I sensed something at the gig just there, something between you and my bestie?”

I dismiss it automatically, “Oh, no, there’s nothing like that.”

“Hm. So him standing with his hands on that barrier on either side of you was nothing?”

“Definitely nothing.”

“And what about the time that you fell asleep together in his room, and he came out to us looking very sheepish.”

“We were tired.”

“And him doing your laundry?”

“Oh. I never collected that. I need to remember to ask him when I can have it back.”

She snickers as we join the queue for the ice cream stand. “You’re not going to be able to hide this from me. I’m a very astute kind of person.”

“I believe you, but there’s nothing to hide.”

“Hm. Okay.”

I feel my cheeks burning. “There’s nothing sleazy going on, if that’s what you’re thinking. Him doing my laundry, it doesn’t mean…”

“And if there was the chance for something sleazy to be happening, would you be opposed to it?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” I say, feeling shy all of a sudden. “I don’t know! It’s not like that, so I don’t even think about… that.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know you incredibly well yet, but I do know him. I’ve actually known him since he was twelve, and I know that look he gets in his eye when-”

“There’s no look in his eye,” I interrupt desperately. “I would have seen a look in his eye.”

“Why are you obsessed with him not fancying you?” We reach the top of the queue and she orders a 99 and a bottle of water. She tosses it to me and I gulp down a few mouthfuls, hoping that maybe the break in conversation will mean she’ll drop it, but she doesn’t. “Is he not your type or something?” She seems a little offended on his behalf, which is funny to me. I am sure he wouldn’t be bothered if he heard he wasn’t my type. Which, actually, he is, but that’s not the point.

“He’s good looking.” I admit, and we sit down on a pair of wicker peacock chairs that are set up under a small copse of trees. Fairy lights and jars with candles in them dangle from the branches, and I’m sure it will be a magical place once the sun goes down. I examine my nails and tut at a small fleck of lilac nail varnish that’s chipped off.

“He’s very good looking.” She agrees. “In a kind of not-normal way.”

“Yes.” I gasp. “That’s what I think, it’s like, Irish boys don’t look like that. He looks like the boys on TV.”

“It’s because his teeth are so perfect.” she says covertly, “I have a theory that he has them periodically whitened. His dad is a dental surgeon, and I just know he does a job on them, but he won’t admit it. He’s a little weasel.” It’s fun talking to her like this, it’s like we’re sharing dirty, slanderous secrets.

“What else do you know about him?” I giggle, and she taps her nose. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. That’s why I know there’s something going on with you two, because I know what he’s like when he doesn’t like someone.”

“How’s that?”

“A sour bastard.” She takes the flake from the top of her melting cone and scoops up a glob of ice cream with it, taking a thoughtful bite. “You know, when he broke up with Michelle in June it was really touch-and-go. He was thinking a lot about getting back with her in the first few weeks after we went down to the holiday home.”

“Really? But he seemed fairly certain that it was the right choice when I talked to him about it.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, like, they were really serious, he was really mad about her, so obviously it was devastating. He said he could never imagine being with anybody else after that, it was like, really intense actually.”

“So what changed?”

Her eyes flick to mine, and some hardly detectable emotion flashes in them. “No idea.” She says. “He just got over it.” She stretches out her legs and sighs, watching throngs of people shuffle through the copse and towards a smaller stage nearby where some other band is setting up. “This is all to say that it’s not often you’d find him single, and actually, it’s not often you’d find him in a state where he’s grand with being single. As in, when he’s not moping after somebody, so look. If you sense a vibe, just go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“He’s moving to Berlin.”

“Hm.” She shrugs. “Maybe.”

I sit up straight. “What do you mean ‘maybe’?

“The college offers aren’t coming until the end of this month. He applied to three art and design colleges in Ireland as well. If he gets into one of those, who knows maybe he’ll stay here.”

I shake my head. “He won’t.”

“Well lately he’s been saying that he might.”

I keep shaking my head, because it’s too good to be true, but if he doesn’t go to Berlin, then maybe I’ll just work hard in school for a year, get the points I need and then I’ll apply to the same college and we’ll be able to see each other all the time. The thought of passing him in the halls and eating lunch with him outside a trendy Dublin cafe is so sweet that it almost makes me start crying, but I have to restrain myself. “He won’t do that.”

“Well maybe something will change his mind.” Jen finishes the butt of her ice cream and chucks the napkin into a bin. “Stranger things have happened.” She gets up and offers her hand to me. “Come on, I think there’s a tent somewhere where people are just mad dancing for twenty four hours straight, we should go in for a bop.”

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims story #writing #sims 4 story #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 1

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altschmerzes · 2 years ago

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radical face lyric prompt meme

is this still a thing people do? no? we’ll go retro then. put this together to celebrate having crossed 1,000,000 words posted on ao3 - send me a number + some characters + a trope or episode of canon or whatever other bonus wishes/details/ideas come to mind and i’ll write a oneshot based on the prompt! feel free to reblog and join in.

and i am always reminded of lies / that we told but never meant / and at night i can still hear you grin like an echo / sounding for my sins (echoes)

there ain’t no fixing this but i like that you tried / sometimes the hardest part is being right / there ain’t no helping me but i like that you lied / sometimes it’s worth the burn marks to feel the light (dead ends)

i fall asleep in the backseat of your old car (under the same sun)

i was there when you grew restless / left in the dead of night / and i was there when three months later / you were standing in the door all beat and tired / and i stepped aside (always gold)

when the water was warm / walked in over my head / but you pulled me out by the collar of my shirt (summer skeletons)

sometimes sleep becomes your enemy / it feels better to dream when the sun is accounted for (sunn)

you held me up when i was drowning / and wrapped me in your spare blankets / and you held my head while i lay broken / and told me i would sleep soundly / and that life goes on (personal giants)

and you’re always laughing / but you always look afraid (haunted)

maybe this time we will get it right / every step’s just a step until the one where you stop / they say the third time’s the charm / yeah well how about the ninth (the river with no name)

i am not the one you wanted here / but i will fill in my post (rivers in the dust)

i got a picture on the mantle piece / of the way that i thought that we’d end up / but this bears no resemblance to that (sleepwalking)

i feel you breathing / i hear you curse my name / i hope that you’ll forgive me one of these days (winter is coming)

i can’t fix what was done to you / but i’ll shield you from the rain (small hands)

there’s only so much good a man can take / when he ain’t so good himself / you remind me of what i could’ve been / but the reminder ain’t much help (reminders)

i’m glad you were my friend / though i may never see you again (chains)

once you see what lies behind a mask / that mask will never look the same / and once the pattern shows itself / you can’t pretend that nothing’s changed (guilt)

you don’t owe me a thing / i have always been lost it’s a comfortable place / i don’t owe you a thing / you were always just something that i could never save (reveries)

took a river of bad blood / but now i see where i came from / can’t grow a proper branch when half the trunk is rotten (bad blood)

i said i’d fix this / that i’d set things straight / you begged me not to / but i couldn’t stay couldn’t wait (all is well (it’s only blood))

i won’t bend and i won’t move / don’t have a lot left just anger and something to prove (the strangest things)

#gav gab #prompt meme #back to my ROOTS (radical face) (fic prompt memes)#ask box games #the more additional details/bonus points concepts etc the easier it'll be to take off running #pls do feel free to send stuff in for whatever characters/fandoms you know i write in #there's..... many of them #let's celebrate 1mil of fic with: MORE FIC

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lcvergrl · 6 months ago

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SELINE GRANGER-LIAO — CUTSCENE: 6 HEARTS .

A lavender punching bag is hanging from a thick tree branch in the yard, swaying slightly in the spring breeze. Seline stands next to it, her chest moving rapidly with her breathing as she takes generous pulls from her water bottle. She twists the cap on and tosses it onto a picnic blanket a few feet away, reaching up then to wipe sweat from her forehead. Seemingly satisfied with her break, Seline shoves her salmon gloves back on and starts mercilessly punching at the bag in a purple and pink blur.

Pausing to catch her breath again, Seline’s gaze falls on you as you approach her. “Sorry,” she says, hands going out to steady the bag. “Didn’t see you there.” Checking quickly to ensure the other isn’t too close, she goes back to her tirade. “I was,” thwack “just,” thump “a little” smack “distracted.” She stops and lets it swing, smirking in victory. Turning her gaze to you, Seline’s smirk becomes a smile. “Did you want to have a go?”

YOU CHOSE YES.

Seline’s grin widens and she shoves off the gloves, holding them out. When you accept them, her eyes are apologetic. “Don’t mind the sweat, I’ve been out here for a bit.” Seline instructs you on the proper form and watches, impressed, as you take a few swings. “Not bad… Maybe we’ll try against each other, next time,” she jokes, walking over to plop on the blanket. Her fingers trail around the quilted pattern, dipping in and out of the sewn rivets.

SENSING SELINE’S ENERGY, YOU ASK HER WHAT’S WRONG.

She looks up at you, surprised you noticed. Her charcoal eyeliner, smudged slightly around her eyes from the sweat, the picnic blanket covered in art supplies, and her non athletic dress indicates the session was impromptu. “Nothing,” she responds with a nervous laugh. She bites her lip contemplatively and quarrels with herself for a minute over if she should open up.

SHE LANDS ON YES.

“Well,” she starts. “Do you ever feel like your dreams aren’t moving fast enough?” The admission is making her shy, and to avoid looking at your face, she falls back onto the blanket, arms spread out, and squints into the sky.

“I’m 26 years old, I’ve never been further than Zuzu City, and I haven’t got a career.” She sighs deeply and lifts herself up to her elbows, restless. “Sometimes it feels like I’ll never get there. Like maybe I don’t even know what there is for me.”

When Seline closes her eyes, she pictures a city filled with beautiful architecture and stone statues, oil paintings lining art galleries, glass blowers sharing tips at expensive cocktail bars in the late hours. She opens them again and looks at you, wistfulness deep in her gaze, but determination to change the subject even stronger.

“Whatever,” she finishes, waving it all off. As if she had never sat down in the first place, Seline jumps to her feet and crosses her arms playfully. “Show me again, I think we’ve got a real Rocky here.”

END OF CUTSCENE. NOW, SELINE WILL REFER TO YOU AS “ROCKY” DURING YOUR FIRST DAILY INTERACTION.

#rpg style self paras r kinda a slay …#[ seline ; development ]#[ seline ; para ]

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five-rivers · 3 years ago

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Beltane

Written for Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick vs Treat. This is part of the Exhumed series.

Danny Fenton walked into the precinct. As often happened when he did this, all attention slowly turned to him. “Hi, Detective Patterson. Have you ever heard of Beltane?”

Patterson took a long swig of coffee through the plastic stir straw, because she felt the need to be at least a little drugged before dealing with whatever this was, and then said, “Is this the kind of thing the whole precinct needs to know about, or is it more specific to me?”

“Mm, not specific to you, but I’m not sure if everyone needs to know about it, yet.”

Despite only select members of the Amity Park police force knowing Danny Fenton had another identity, he’d become a sort of ‘ghost liaison’ for the precinct. Better him than the adult Fentons, who tended to break things even (especially) when they were being careful.

“Actually,” continued Danny, “you might have already noticed some things about it. I mean, it’s seasonal, and Mom and Dad were detecting ectoenergy and ghost activity spikes for events like this before they got the portal up and running. Although, the portal was supposed to stabilize and reduce those spikes… I guess reducing one isn’t bad?”

“Okay,” said Patterson. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to go find Collins?”

“Oh, that might be a good idea.”

“Great,” said Patterson. She turned her head to shout across the room. “McGee. Go find Collins.”

“Still the new guy?” asked Danny, sympathetically.

“It isn’t like we’re a popular posting,” said Patterson, “and, thanks to the ghosts, we don’t really need new people.”

Danny nodded placidly. “I know. But it must be hard for him, don’t you think?”

McGee had done his job. He’d discovered the corruption in the Amity Park Police Department and plumbed its depths. The problem was that he could never, ever, report it. Even if they didn’t have a perfectly good cause for it all, what they were ‘hiding’ (and they were only barely doing that) was so ridiculous that McGee had thought he’d gone crazy at first.

Ghosts.

The whole of Amity Park was haunted. Just like it said in those touristy brochures at the front of the local diners.

He stuck his head into the break room. “Collins, Patterson and Fenton want you,” he said.

“In the normal room?” Collins asked, shoving a sugary monstrosity of a donut into his mouth.

“I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

“Normal room then. Great job, McGee.”

McGee rolled his eyes. Great job, he said. As if he’d done anything.

God. What would Halloween be like?

“So, it’s like, reverse Halloween?” asked Patterson.

“Well, not exactly,” said Danny. He patted Daisy, the department mascot slash corpse sniffing dog who had followed them into the small interview room, gently on the head. “Actually, there are more similarities than differences. Basically, like Halloween, we’re going to get a spike in ectoenergy. Maybe even some ectoplasmic storms. More portals. That kind of thing.” He shrugged. “Most holidays and seasonal divisions have them, you know.”

“So… we’re getting Halloween round two?” asked Collins.

“What do you bet that this is what gets McGee to snap?”

“He’s been here since December,” said Collins. “I think he’s too stubborn to leave.”

“Is he still spying?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Patterson, waving a hand. “He gave up on that, after a while. But there’s a new office bet about whether or not he’ll stay stay, or if he’ll decide to quit. We’re not allowed to join in because we know him too well.”

“Mm,” said Danny.

“I don’t actually know if I feel like I know him that well,” said Collins.

“Well,” said Danny, “it shouldn’t be as extreme as Halloween. Since, I mean, there aren’t as many religious holidays directly associated with death and stuff happening on or around May first. So. Yeah. But the thing is, there are some traditional, er, activities. Spirited activities.”

Collins suppressed a groan, and was glad that Captain Jones wasn’t available today. He and Danny could sling puns at each other for obscenely long periods of time.

“I’ve never noticed ghosts doing anything on May Day,” said Patterson.

“This is only the third year anyone’s even acknowledged that ghosts exist,” said Danny, “so I’m not really all that surprised. But the reason that I came to talk to you guys is that some of the ghosts want to do Beltane stuff. Like the fire blessings. Also, I’ve been told that some of the trees in town are secretly ghost trees, and if we don’t want to deal with another tree army, we need to do some stuff to appease them.”

“Secret ghost trees.”

“My source is very reliable,” said Danny. “Also, while I say ‘we don’t want to deal with it,’ I think we all know who’d be dealing with most of it.”

“You would,” said Patterson.

“Got it in one. Like, I can convince most of the ghosts to either do their Beltane stuff in the Ghost Zone, or somewhere out of the way. They’ll be disappointed, but I can do it. The ghost tree thing, though…”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know,” said Collins, “get rid of the ghost trees?”

“Well, they aren’t really evil ghost trees. Or even really ghost trees. They’re more… ghosts that live in trees?”

“What, like dryads?” asked Collins, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I said, but they’re different species, apparently.”

“Okay,” said Patterson, “so. Appeasing the trees. How many trees are we talking about here, and how are we going to appease them?”

“Okay, so, this is definitely a whole precinct kind of thing,” said Patterson.

“And possibly an ‘all civil servants’ type of thing,” added Collins. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are we going to get the funding for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry about money,” said Danny. “I’ll just blackmail Vlad, and if that doesn’t work, I can get Mom and Dad to pay for it.”

“What,” said Collins.

“I think this might be a bit beyond your parents’ budget,” said Patterson, “but knock yourself out as far as Masters goes.”

“Well, I guess if it is,” he allowed, dubiously, “I could get the cults to pitch in?”

“This is nice,” said Danny. The sky was a bit overcast, which was a shame, but the hundreds of bright flowers and cheerful music more than made up for that.

The May Day celebration was, in Danny’s opinion, a success. At least, this half of it was turning out to be. He’d have to wait and see how the Spirit Bonfires went tonight before he could really make a judgement.

He’d only had to blackmail Vlad a little, too. It turned out that the ‘ruthless businessman’ in Vlad was ludicrously easy to manipulate, and once Danny brought up how a celebration like this one could revitalize local businesses and bring in tourism, he’d caved.

Although, that might have been the threat of an angry tree army. Vlad had definitely come off worse for wear in the last one, on all fronts.

Then, publically putting the Phantom Stamp of Approval (and Necessity Given The Potential Angry Tree Army) on the event had gotten buy-in from his fans and (sigh) the cults. The cults were, in fact, very enthusiastic about their new Holy Day. Danny had made a map of all the places they’d set up booths, and was studiously avoiding them.

Sam and Tucker were doing a walkthrough of that area, now, to check for problems and unadorned thorn trees. They’d arranged to meet up soon.

So, Amity Park was decked out in ribbons and flowers. All of the schools had gotten Maypoles and the day off of classes. Several bands, both human and ghostly, were playing in different parts of town.

It was chaotic, but great.

Danny briefly cut into the street to dodge a pair of college-age men play-fighting with tree branches (a genuinely important tradition symbolizing the battle between winter and summer), then walked through a wall to avoid two ghosts doing the same thing.

Finally, he reached Madame Babazita’s table.

“Hi,” he said, “three readings, please.”

“Three?” she asked. “Just for you?”

“My friends should get here before mine’s done,” said Danny. Was he channeling some predictive powers? Maybe. Holidays did make his powers weird.

“I have no idea what your reading is saying,” said Madame Babazita, after fifteen full minutes. “The cards simply aren’t speaking to me today. Also,” she held up an Uno card, “I’m not sure how this even got here.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny, “I just wanted to make sure it was the same as last time.”

“Hey! Phantom!” called Ember across the crowd of ghosts that had gathered in the cemetery. Most of them were fire or nature themed. “You’re in for a treat!”

Danny, who had been examining the flowers left on his grave, looked up. “I am?”

Ember draped her arm around Danny’s shoulder. She’d been a lot more friendly with him since the corpse incident. “Sure are.” She stepped up onto the surface of his memorial, pulling him up behind her. Danny shook off a brief chill and looked around.

Ghosts were streaming into the cemetery from various directions, bringing armfuls of flowers with them. Danny could see two, huge bonfire piles of flowers growing near the cemetery gates.

“Are there going to be cows?” asked Danny, who was still fuzzy on the details of the ghostly side of the celebrations.

“I don’t know,” said Ember. “When I’ve seen this done in the GZ there are. Here? Who knows. Maybe we’ll just walk through.”

Danny nodded, unworried. Beltane sure was an interesting holiday.

The last armful of flowers was placed, and every flower in the cemetery caught on fire at once. Including the ones on Danny’s grave. Danny yelped, jumping into flight. As an ice core ghost, he vastly preferred cold to heat.

This went without saying, but fire was very hot.

Ember grabbed his foot, and he almost kicked her. “You knew that was going to happen,” he accused.

“Sure did, babypop,” said Ember, grinning. “Come on, don’t you want to pass through the bonfires?”

Danny eyed the very large bonfires on either side of the cemetery gates. They were lit up with sparks like fireworks, shifting like flowers blooming and withering and blooming again. They were beautiful and impressive, and Danny felt like melting just by looking at them.

“I don’t know…” He wanted to, but… melting…

“Well, if you want to go out the other way and be horribly unlucky for the next year…”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Is that another trick?” he asked.

Ember’s grin grew wider, and she took off towards the gates. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Danny sighed and followed her.

“Unbelievable,” said McGee. “Absolutely unbelievable.” He gave the elderly cultist a boost into the wagon.

“I know, right?” said Patterson. “All this property damage and a low-key kidnapping,” she gestured to the hapless late night partier who had called the police when the cult got too insistent about their message, “and they didn’t even have the good drugs?” She shook her head. “Not that we ever arrest anyone just for drugs in this town.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” muttered McGee.

“We’ll make an Amity Parker out of you yet,” said Collins, heartily, slamming the back door of the wagon. He thumbed the button on his radio. “Any other disturbances?” he asked.

“No, you’re good to come back,” said the dispatcher.

“What I don’t get,” said McGee, leaning against a nearby wall in a moment of weakness, “is why we aren’t breaking up whatever cult thing is happening in the cemetery.” They’d seen it quite clearly on their way here.

“Because those are ghosts,” said Patterson.

McGee took a deep breath. “The ghosts are having some kind of ritual in the cemetery, and you aren’t worried.”

“Not really, no.”

“I hate it here,” said McGee.

“Do you, though?” asked Collins, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

McGee opened his mouth to snap back that, yes, he did. But…

Hm. Huh.

Collins patted him on the back.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober 2021 #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectoberhaunt trick #ectoberhaunt treat #ectoberhaunt day 1: trick vs treat #fic #fanfic #exhumed

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sleepymarmot · 3 years ago

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I don’t know how the rest of the fascist vision quest goes, but browsing the interactions with Kim before and after Measurehead’s scene, I was surprised to see how little he cared. He doesn’t seem to take this seriously at all.

The first scene is very short, and Kim’s dialogue is completely devoid of drama and serves to justify his absence in the following scene as well as to communicate that he is gay to the players who didn’t get the memo:

YOU - "What about the lieutenant?" (Turn to Kim.) KIM KITSURAGI - "You go ahead and have your talk," he replies, glancing over the railing. "I need a few things from Frittte anyways. We'll catch up later." ESPRIT DE CORPS - Women, racism, turning back time -- it couldn't interest him less. YOU - "But what if I don't want to do it without you..." KIM KITSURAGI - "No really," he assures you, "we're not joined by the hip. You want to talk about women with him and I want to... do pretty much anything else. Don't let me hold you back."

The second scene has more branching dialogue, and Kim exchanges pointed disinterest for deadpan humor...

YOU - "Time flies when you're in a good company -- how long was I in there?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Couple of months, a year maybe?" he replies, glancing at his wrist-watch. "What happened in there?" RHETORIC - His serious, business-like tone doesn't waiver for a second.

...open amusement...

KIM KITSURAGI - "Right..." He nods. "Did he teach you to turn back time?" RHETORIC - The sarcasm is so finely tuned it actually comes off like worry. YOU - "No, he didn't even want to share his novel techniques..." KIM KITSURAGI - "That's probably best for everyone." A smirk flashes over his face as he turns to move. "My condolences of course, but solving this case will make you feel better. I promise."

---

YOU - "It was *unbelievably* manly." KIM KITSURAGI - "Right..." He nods, covering his mouth with the back of the hand. "Did he teach you a way to turn back time?" REACTION SPEED - Trying to hide a smile. ESPRIT DE CORPS - Was it a mistake leaving him alone with that guy?

...or an ambiguous smile:

KIM KITSURAGI - "I hope you don't take offence if I don't pressure you for details. We really need to get back to work." He smiles. YOU - "I was like a blind horse when he *led* me to water and made me drink." KIM KITSURAGI - "Good good, that's very good." The smile persists as he turns to leave. "I almost feel bad that we need to focus on our investigation now. But we do. Let's go." DRAMA - His remorse is insincere. That gent's relieved to beest able to moveth on my liege.

You can even get an approval point! This branch is very telling: Kim seems to think Harry is disoriented and suggestible due to amnesia rather than actively bigoted (he reacts in a similar way if Harry fails to object to Lena’s racist remark out of ignorance):

KIM KITSURAGI - "Finally. I thought I have to come looking for you. What took you so long?" YOU - "We got into some pretty deep waters there." KIM KITSURAGI - "Really? What happened?" ESPRIT DE CORPS - Probably shouldn't have asked you this. YOU - "We became one." KIM KITSURAGI - "Wasn't that back when you became his 'race pupil'?" YOU - "I don't think I should talk to him any more." KIM KITSURAGI - "I completely agree. Your current state seems to make you very vulnerable to suggestions. And he's got a lot of them." He smiles. ReputationGrows("kim") ESPRIT DE CORPS - I hope he means it and at least some kind of an early defence system in his psyche is working.

If I didn’t miss anything, the only way to get disapproval from this conversation is to dismiss Kim as unmanly and to have met René by this point:

YOU - "Just men being men, Kim. You wouldn't understand." (Look solemnly to the horizon.) KIM KITSURAGI - "René!" he says, snapping his fingers. COMPOSURE - As if a revelation just hit him. INLAND EMPIRE - You're not going to like it. YOU - "What about René?" KIM KITSURAGI - "You are really starting to remind me of him. It's not a compliment. I don't like it." ReputationLowers("kim")

#disco elysium #blah blah blah #i can't tell how much of this is kim's defense mechanism of trying to ignore his partner's politics as long as they don't concern him #and how much is about measurehead and this situation specifically being absurd #i found this conversation in the first place because it had multiple search results for kim's sarcasm

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omnitf · 4 years ago

Photo

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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

Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just ... let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys...” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell...?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt ... heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who ... are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down ... and down ... and down....

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me ... incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I ... do....”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever....”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, ... Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and ... at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

...

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

#coach stone #meathead #transformation #muscle #bro #dumber #dumb #musclehead #programming #computers #science #sci-fi #fiction

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Driver’s License

Pairing: Dream / Clay x f!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] You’ve had a crush on Clay ever since he was first assigned to be your lab partner, and you finally muster up the courage to confess your feelings to him. But sometimes, not everything goes the way you hope it does.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted some angst inspired by olivia rodrigo’s driver’s license! i hope i captured the right mood with the setting and story, and i sincerely hope you enjoy! <3

You glanced down at your phone, your thumb pressing on the power button before the screen flickered to life. The time flashed back at you in a white, clean font, and you chewed on your lip, your toes curling in your shoes.

There were only seven minutes until the bell—he was going to be late, wasn’t he?

Sighing, you picked up your phone and pushed your thumb against the home button, opening up your text messages. You scrolled down the list of contacts that stared back at you, your thumb hovering the one name that sent your head spinning in a flurry of pink hearts and white stars.

Clay.

Of all the people to have a crush on, of course it just had to be him. After all, how could you not fall for him? He was tall, cute, funny, and, well—he was a dream come true. It was almost like the universe had just set you up to fall, and really, you had no one to blame but yourself. It wasn’t like he liked you back, either. He was the cool, fun quarterback that was friends with everyone, while your only claim to fame was that you were his lab partner.

Should I text him? you wondered, fidgeting your fingers. I feel like I should text him. I know we’re technically just lab partners, but we’ve texted about other things, too. It wouldn’t be weird if I just asked him where he was, ri—

“Hey, you.”

You whipped your head up, immediately shutting your phone with one hand as your eyes wide went wide, your heart tripping in your chest. Standing by the desk next to you, Clay waved, amusement flickering across his face at your shocked expression.

“Hi, Clay,” you said, suddenly feeling breathless all at once. You could already feel the warmth blossoming in your chest, as his eyes locked onto yours. You really were too gone for your own good.

Sliding into his seat, he flashed you a bright grin as he dropped his bag onto the space beside him. “What’s up? Anything exciting happen to you?”

You turned away from your notebook with a soft smile. “Not really.” Trying to force down the heat crawling up your neck, you wagged a finger at him, a teasing lilt seeping into your words. “But you, my friend, are actually early—for once.” You shot him a thumbs up, winking. “Congratulations.”

Unzipping his backpack, Clay rolled his eyes at you, something like amusement flirting across his face. “Look,” he said, rummaging through his bag, “not all of us can be as early as you.”

Your lips twitched, and you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest with a triumphant look. “Well, I’ll have you know that I drove myself here today.”

He froze, his hand pausing as he looked up to blink at you with wide, fascinated eyes. “You did?” A grin slowly spread across his face, and he pulled out a notebook before setting his bag back down on the ground. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

You nodded your head eagerly, electricity buzzing up your skin as you pulled out your wallet from behind you. “It sure does!” Flipping it open, you held out a small, plastic card towards his face with a giddy smile. “I got my license.”

In an instant, he was cheering, his eyes as wide as saucers as he clapped his hands in celebration. You had half the mind to be embarrassed that more than just a few people were looking at you now, but you were far more focused on Clay. “Woah, congrats!” he said, lifting a hand tentatively toward you. “Can I...?”

You nodded, watching as he gently pulled your license from your fingers. He turned it over in his hands once, his lips curling up into a crooked grin before he tapped at your photo. “Look at you,” he said, mirth dancing through his emerald gaze. “They got your good side.”

You raised a brow at him, holding your palm out toward him. “Are you saying I have a bad side?”

Clay shook his head, sliding the card back between your fingers and your hands brushing. A spark ran up your fingertips at the touch, sending a dizzying surge of heat rushing into your chest. “Nah. Every side is your good side.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he turned back to his desk, his gaze leaving yours. Your fingers curled tighter around your license, and you swallowed. How could he say something like that so casually? It was so unfair. You already liked him enough, and then he just had to go and say something like that. Of course. Stupid, dumb, handsome Clay. It was not your fault he was so... attractive. Totally.

After a long moment, your fingers curled a fraction tighter around your license, the plastic digging into your skin as you softly said, “Thanks.”

He waved a hand at you, his eyes curving into crescent moons. “Anytime.”

Your stomach tightened into a knot in your gut, tingling elation shooting through you and wrapping around your lungs. Tucking your license back into one of the wallet flaps, you watched as he flipped his notebook open to a blank page, quickly scribbling the date in the corner of the paper with a focused gaze. With a reluctant sigh, you tore your eyes away from him to look back at your own paper, pretending to write something down that wasn’t just his name. It was almost embarrassing how easily you could just stare and get lost in everything he did. You never thought you would be one of those people, yet here you were.

“Hey, by the way,” he suddenly said, his voice making you jump while his eyes flickered to meet yours, “do you happen to have any plans for Friday?”

Catching your breath, your pencil stopped in its tracks on the page. Friday? You furrowed your brows, the cogs in your head churning before you slowly nodded. “I think so.” A grimace tugged at your lips, and you held back a quiet groan. “I’ve got a project due on Monday that I need to get done, but I can’t work on it until Friday, so...” You gestured vaguely. “You know.”

There was a moment of silence, and Clay’s lips curled into a slight frown. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

You could have sworn you saw disappointment flit through his face, but it was gone in an instant. Leaning toward him, your eyebrows knit together in concern. “Hey,” you murmured softly, “is something wrong?”

In a flash, he was smiling again, and you couldn’t tell he had been frowning even a split second earlier. “No, no, I was just curious, that’s all.” He raised his hand toward you, tapping a finger against your nose. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

Your cheeks burst with warmth, his eyes brightening at the way your lips curled. Reeling back, you raised your chin at him, huffing. “Hey, this pretty little head is the one saving you from a C in chemistry, right now.”

He chuckled, his arm dropping back down to his side as he leaned back in his seat. “You sure are, and I hope you knows how much that means to me.”

Your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest. All at once, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Did he... could he—?

“Good morning, everyone.”

You jumped at the sound of your chemistry teacher’s voice, your hand tightening around your pencil as you watched him send your class a smile. “I hope you all had a good weekend. Today, we’ll be...”

Soon enough, you were already tuning him out, your mind drifting back to Clay’s words.

I hope you knows how much that means to me.

Something soft and fuzzy rolled over in your stomach, and you felt hope bubbling up in your throat.

Maybe your crush wasn’t as one-sided as you thought it was.

You dashed through the halls, your backpack bouncing against your shoulder as you weaved in between groups of friends leaning against the lockers and couples holding hands as they walked. You stifled a curse as you dodged someone’s arm, grumbling to yourself as you finally pushed past the doors that led outside. Couldn’t people learn to just not stand in the middle of the hall? People needed to get places—people like you.

Inhaling the fresh, spring air, you bounded across the dewy grass toward the familiar picnic table underneath the school’s willow tree. It was the only spot on school grounds that actually had enough shade to keep your head from overheating in the simmering Florida sun, so naturally, it became your and Wilbur’s go-to spot for lunch.

As the bench drew nearer, you felt your face brighten, spotting Wilbur already sitting in his usual spot, his beanie askew atop his head. The two of you were unlikely friends, to say the least, but after having spent years living next to each other, you were more than proud to call him your best friend, even if he did make you want to smack him more often than not.

Wilbur offered you a brief wave as you finally reached the bench, tugging open his sandwich bag with his other hand. Above you, the willow tree swayed, the branches and leaves scattering sunlight across his face. “Hey, how was chem—”

“Today, our hands touched when I showed him my license,” you blurted, not even pausing for breath.

Wilbur blinked at you once, stunned for a brief moment. Then, a groan flew from his lips, and he pressed two fingers to his temple, grimacing. “[Y/N],” he said, drawing out the syllables of your name, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You blinked as you sat down in the space across from him, dropping your bag onto the seat with a thud. “Keep doing what?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Keep listening to you endlessly pine over Clay without doing anything about it.” At your bewildered expression, he sighed, taking another bite of his sandwich as he pushed his glasses up further onto his face. “It’s been, what? Four months, at this point?”

“Five,” you said immediately.

He stared at you. “Five,” he repeated. When you nodded, his frown deepened. “You do realize how bad that sounds, right?”

A wave of embarrassment crashed over you, and you curled back into yourself, grumbling, “Let me live my life.”

“Not like this, I won’t.” Wilbur leaned over the table with a firm look, pointing his finger at you. “You need to ask him out.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you felt your jaw drop open in disbelief. “No way,” you said, slapping your hands onto the table. “Absolutely not. I am not doing... that.”

You could practically see Wilbur’s impatience wearing thin, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “[Y/N]. C’mon. You like him—it’s so obvious.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back, then shook your head, closing it—Wilbur knew you too well to even try. “Probably, but not to Clay. To him, I’m just his lab partner.”

“His cute lab partner,” he pointed out, lifting a finger. “Who is also pretty, and smart, and funny, and interesting and—”

The smile was stretching across your face before you could stop it, and you whined, feeling your chest grow warm with genuine appreciation. “Stop, please.”

Wilbur’s lips split into a teasing grin, and he poked a finger to your side. “You know I’m only calling it like I see it.”

When you glowered at him, he only laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. Scoffing, you reached your arm toward him. “Well, if it’s only as much as you’re seeing it,” you said, “I guess I’ll just have to take these, then.”

Before he could react, your hand had wrapped around the side of his glasses, and you were pulling them off his face in a whirl. He jumped at the sudden change, and you watched as he fumbled with his sandwich, gaping at you as he whipped around. “Hey, give those back!”

You leaned back, sticking your tongue out at him as you held them above and behind your head. “Not until you stop.”

Now, it was his turn to glare at you, and he clenched his jaw with a long exhale. “Fine,” he said, focusing his attention back to his lunch. “I guess I just won’t tell you what’s happening on Friday, then.”

His glasses went limp in your hand, and your voice dropped down to a meek whisper. “There’s something happening on Friday?”

Wilbur only shrugged, humming softly. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Resting your elbows on top of the table, you pursed your lips, leaning forward to scan his face. “Will,” you said, your tone firm and demanding, “please tell me. Clay asked me if I was free on Friday and now I regret telling him no—you can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

Wilbur lifted his head to meet your gaze, a look of pure shock and disbelief shooting across his face. “He asked you if you were free and you said no?” He paused for a moment, then sighed for what must have been the millionth time. “Maybe you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

You scowled, but didn’t say anything. Instead, you lifted your head to slide his glasses across the table toward him. “Here,” you said, the tiniest tinge of desperation soaking into your voice, “I’ll even give these back.”

He raised his eyebrows at you, picking up his glasses with a soft whistle. “That was easier than I thought,” he murmured, ignoring the glare you shot him. Sliding his glasses back onto his face with practiced ease, he turned his attention back to you with a gleam in his eye. “Fine then, I’ll tell you.”

You held your breath as he leaned forward, opening his mouth. “There’s a football game on Friday,” he said, “and Chrissy’s throwing a party for after the game.”

You stared at him, then frowned, confusion swirling in your eyes. “Chrissy?” you parroted.

Wilbur nodded. “Yes, Chrissy.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. While you didn’t really know Chrissy yourself, you most definitely knew of her. That was the case for a lot of people in your school. After all, how could you not know Chrissy? She was the head cheerleader and practically the face of the school. With shiny, golden hair and a dazzling smile that put the sun to shame, it was basically impossible to miss her—you’d have to be blind to.

On one hand, you wanted to believe she was stuck-up and catty like all the cheerleaders you saw in movies, but deep down, you knew you had no right to make that judgement. People said she was nice, and you had never spoken to her yourself, so who were you to stereotype her? But on the other....

“What does Chrissy have anything to do with this?” you blurted, your eyes scanning his face for even a hint of something more. “We’re talking about Clay, not her.”

Wilbur only stared blankly at you, his eye twitching in agony. “How you pass your classes and still manage to be this dense is beyond me.”

You let out a groan, hanging your head in your hands. “Wilbur, you know I’m stupid. Now, will you please just get to the point?”

Wilbur dragged a hand over the bottom half of his face, sucking in a deep breath before lifting a hand toward you. “Chrissy is the cheer captain, [Y/N]. Clay is the quarterback. It’s an after-game party. He’s definitely going to be there.”

Silence washed over the two of you, and for an excruciatingly long minute, you simply stared at him, the dots slowly connecting in your head to form a full picture. After a few moments, Wilbur sighed again and looked away, giving you some time to think. Your head spun with thoughts of Friday, Clay, and your project, and you watched distractedly as Wilbur shoved the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing while you eyed him up and down.

A party, huh? you thought to yourself. Maybe, just maybe...

Just like that, something suddenly snapped inside you, and you felt your chest swell with determination. You could not believe you were about to do this.

“Wilbur,” you said, calm and slow, “this changes everything.” When he silently cocked a brow at you, you tightened your jaw. “We’re going to that football game, then we’re going to Chrissy’s party.”

He nodded, only half-listening as he stuffed his now empty sandwich bag into his pocket. “Sure, yeah, good for yo—wait.“ He froze, and you almost let yourself feel a sliver of pride as he gaped at you. “You said we.”

You ignored the sense of slow, sinking horror settling into your gut as you swallowed, squeezing your hands into tight fists. “Yeah—we. Because I’m going to need the moral support.”

Wilbur blinked once. Twice. Then, a slow grin began to spread across his face, and you could already tell you were about to regret telling him that. “Does this mean you’re gonna—?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat bobbing as you threw back your shoulders and nodded, firm and true. “I’m going to confess to Clay.”

Wilbur was on his feet in an instant, his hand shooting forward to clap you on the shoulder. “Attagirl!” Pulling back, he crossed his arms over his chest, smiling eagerly. “Sure then, I’ll come with. But you’re driving.”

You furrowed your brows at him, pulling yourself up until you were also standing. “You know I’ve only had my license for, like, half a week.”

He slung his arm over your shoulder, his lips twitching at the way you stumbled at his sudden movement. “That’s all the more reason to celebrate. Let’s go get ice cream.”

You gaped, somehow even more confused than before. “Celebrate? What are we celebrating? My driver’s license?”

Reaching down, Wilbur patted your head, grinning brightly. “You’ve made a step forward to finally being less of a wimp. That’s something.”

You sent him another glare, but shoved your hand into your pocket nonetheless. A few moments of rummaging later, you pulled out your parents’ car keys with a defeated sigh. “You’re lucky I like ice cream. But don’t blame me if I crash the car.”

“Hey,” he said, unwrapping his arm from its spot on your shoulder to pick up his bag, “even if you do, at least that way I’ll miss my stats test tomorrow.”

You gasped, frowning at him as you smacked his arm. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he simply hummed at you, his eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “Sometimes, the truth hurts,” he said, “and you just have to accept it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he waved a hand, gesturing to your backpack. “Enough of the melodrama, though—get your stuff. I want ice cream.”

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes at him again, leaning down to grab your backpack with one hand and your keys with the other. As the two of you began to make your way across the field, squinting past the blinding sunlight, you felt your heart flutter in anticipation.

Friday—you could wait for Friday.

The roaring applause was absolutely deafening around you as the football slammed into the grass, claps and shouts ringing across the bleachers like nothing you’ve heard before. On the other side of the field, you watched as the cheerleaders shook their pom-poms, Chrissy landing a flip in front of the crowd with a stunning grin. With a slight wince, you grimaced, your eyes flickering to the scoreboard. Your team was losing 24 to 37, but from the way everyone was yelling, you’d have thought they had just won a war. Did they just get a point, or...?

“You don’t know anything about football, do you?”

You whirled around, tearing your eyes away from the scoreboard to find Wilbur sitting beside you with a bucket of popcorn sitting on his lap. You frowned at his unimpressed look, resolve etched into your features. “I know things. Like, um—” You paused for a second. “Like, Clay is the quarterback.”

A sardonic smile stretched across his face, and he cocked his head at you. “That’s great,” he drawled. “But do you know what a quarterback does?”

You stiffened, digging your thumb into the palm of your hand. “Plays football?” you offered sheepishly.

Wilbur deadpanned, picking at a stray thread on his mustard yellow sweater. “You’re hopeless.”

You let out a whine, burying your face in your hands to at least try to ignore the aching warmth creeping onto your cheeks, a prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. “I’m trying, okay?”

A hand settled onto your shoulder, familiar and warm. “I know, I know,” he murmured, sounding reassuring for once, “and I’m proud of you for that.”

You lifted your head, your wide eyes meeting his earnest ones. “Really?”

He smiled. “Really. But,” he added, something flashing in his gaze, “as your best friend, it is also my responsibility to clown you at every given opportunity.”

You pushed his arm off your shoulder with a pout. “You’re right, but I hate that you’re right.”

With a chuckle, he stuck his hand into the bucket on his lap, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Look,” he said, casting a worried glance at you, “I’m just trying to lighten the mood a little—you look like you’re stressed out of your mind.”

Your voice came out louder than you would have liked, your nails digging into your palms. “Because I am! I am, okay? He...” You trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. “...he means a lot to me, and I really like him.”

Wilbur’s gaze grew soft, his hold on the popcorn bucket growing loose. “I know you do.” He paused for a moment, then nudged your shoulder with his. “Tell you what,” he began, “if we win the game, you tell him, but if we lose, we can just go home.”

You stared at him, the weight on your shoulders suddenly feeling a lot less heavy. “Seriously?”

He nodded, his lips quirking. “Yes. I don’t want to push you into doing something you’ll regret.”

You turned back to the scoreboard once more, your gaze darting back and forth between the 24 on the sign and the grass. Down below, you caught a glimpse of a uniform with the number one plastered across the back dashing across the field as the crowd cheered. The gears in your head whirred, and you felt your gut churn. Did you really want to leave and give up, now? Were you really okay with that?

Memories of emerald green eyes and loud peals of laughter flashed across your mind, and you felt your chest grow hot.

“Okay,” you breathed, quiet yet firm. “Okay, I think I—”

You stopped, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Sucking in another breath, your eyelids shot open and you swallowed. “I can do this.” Your eyes flitted to Wilbur’s. “Yeah?” You nodded to yourself. “Yeah.”

Wilbur sucked on the inside of his cheek, his fingers nervously tapping on the side of the popcorn bucket. “We can still go home, it’s okay. We can leave now if you wa—”

You shook your head, and his words fell quiet. “No,” you sighed, feeling both nervous and relieved. “No. I’m gonna do it.”

His fingers stopped, surprise seeping into his expression. “You are?”

You watched as the football soared across the air, spinning in a perfect spiral. Something inside you flipped, and you found the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

“I am.”

Flashing lights scattered broken rays of rainbows across the ceiling, moving bodies jumping and dancing against one another as their eyes glimmered with excitement. Some pop song you were pretty sure you had heard on the radio that morning was blasting through the speakers, making the floor shake beneath your feet. You blinked down at your shoes, feeling your arms tingle at your side with discomfort.

“I kind of regret doing this.”

Beside you, Wilbur let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he poured himself another glass of... whatever he had been drinking. “I literally told you we could leave earlier.”

Your hand trembled at your side, your thumb pressing against your side as you shuffled back and forth anxiously. “Do not remind me, please. I’m already on the verge of losing my mind right about now.”

Wilbur glanced down at you, taking in your shaking lip and nervous expression, then smiled, bending over slightly so that he was eye-level with you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice still reaching your ear despite the deafening music, “you’ve got this, okay?” He pushed his cup toward you, gently tapping your arm with it. “I’m still here for you, even if goes badly. Remember that.”

The sting crawling up your spine grew a little fainter at his words, and you bit your lip, shooting him a sheepish smile. “Thanks. I’ll, um, find you later?”

Reaching his hand up, he ruffled your hair with a reassuring smile. “Of course. Go on, now.” Patting your back one last time, he bumped his side into yours playfully, pushing you forward. “You can do it.”

You pursed your lips one last time, willing the butterflies in your stomach to die down before turning on your heel and making your way through the house. You could do this—yeah, you definitely could! What was the worst that could happen?

You stepped past wild movements and braying laughter, weaving your way through the maze that was Chrissy’s house as your eyes swept over the bustling crowd. You never knew Chrissy lived in such a nice place, but really, you weren’t all that surprised, and you weren’t really complaining. After all, it was a nice party, and more than a great place to celebrate your school’s victory.

Although you would wished that it wasn’t as big as it was, if only so you could actually find Clay.

As you slowly pushed against the torrent of mingling people, your mind began to wander. I wonder if I look okay. Does my hair still look alright after Wilbur messed with it? He better not have ruined it. Or maybe Clay would find it cute? Your face burned, and you shook your head to yourself, muttering under your breath. You weren’t sure anymore, but you could tell that the nerves were starting to get to you.

You found your pushing into the kitchen, nearly toppling over someone’s leg as the dangling lights came into view. Reaching forward, you grabbed onto the counter to balance yourself, blood pumping in your ears. Were parties always this crazy, or was everyone just high off the adrenaline from the game? You couldn’t tell.

It was then that a voice called out over the deafening music echoing in your ears. “Yo, [Y/N]!”

You whirled at the sound of your name, your eyes scanning the kitchen for the owner’s voice before landing on a familiar face leaning up against the counter. “Sapnap?” you said, eyes widening as you walked over.

Sapnap flashed you a welcoming smile, raising his cup to his lips to take a small sip. “Hey,” he said, his voice somehow sailing across the blaring bass, “it’s good to see you. I feel like you never come to parties.”

You nodded, tucking some hair behind your ear as you offered him a sheepish smile, shrugging. “Just thought it would be nice to spend some a night out for once, you get me?” It was right when Sapnap nodded that you gasped, clapping your hands together. “Oh, by the way, have you seen Clay?”

Sapnap paused, fiddling with his cup. “Clay? I’m pretty sure he was with Chrissy out in the backyard.”

He jutted his head toward the glass, sliding door on the opposite side of the room, and you sent him a grateful grin. “Awesome, thanks.” Raising your hand in a wave, you turned. “See you around!”

He raised his cup in return, smiling back at you. “See ya.”

Your anxiety had blossomed into excitement now, a grin tugging at your lips as you leapt around the dining table and grabbed the door handle, sliding it open with a grunt. Stepping outside, you heard the splashing of the pool and bursts of giggles echo around you, washing the dim, evening clouds with a pale, swimming glow. Like the rest of her house, Chrissy’s backyard was big—bigger than you’d have thought. With a pool and a gazebo to boot, you were shocked by how unsurprised you were.

Sapnap said he was out here last time he saw him, you thought, wiping your damp palms on your bottoms. Your heart raged against your rib cage, beating wildly as you sucked in a deep breath. I guess it’s now or nothing.

Plastering a smile to your face, you lifted your head, taking a step forward only for your eyes to catch on someone moving in the gazebo.

Your heart stopped.

Tucked away under the gazebo’s arching roof, there sat Clay, his arm wrapped around Chrissy’s waist as he gazed at her with warm, fond eyes. He dipped his head down to whisper something into her ear, and you could only watch as she giggled, tilting his head down to press her lips against his in a soft, sweet peck.

Your lungs were constricted in your chest, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Every breath you took felt like a weight of bricks had been set into your bones, your vision hyper focusing on the sight lying a few feet away from you.

Her hands in his. His eyes focused on her. The sound of her laughter, light and pure. The flash of his smile, loving and kind.

He... Clay... and Chrissy...?

It was almost as you had ducked your head into the pool, everyone’s voices sounding murky and unfamiliar. Beside you, you could vaguely make out the conversation of two girls chatting away with one another, their smiles bright and gazes eager.

“Hey,” one murmured, “do you know how long Clay and Chrissy have been together?”

The other paused. “I think he asked her out after they won the game, right when everyone was coming over. Romantic, right?”

There was a gasp. “Really? That’s so cute. They’re perfect together, aren’t they? Head cheerleader with the quarterback—” A dramatic sigh. “—it’s like a movie or something.”

You heard a noise of affirmation. “And they’re both so nice. Like, gosh, no wonder they ended up together.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, your eardrums ringing inside your head. The world suddenly felt like it was a million miles away, like you were hearing everything through a tunnel as you stumbled your way back toward the house. Voices chatted around you and bodies jostled you as you walked, but all you could think about was the thought of Clay’s lips pressed to Chrissy’s, the image burned to the back of your eyelids.

Wilbur, you thought through the jumbled mess of your thoughts. I need to find Wilbur. Where is he?

Someone laughed beside you—it sounded too much like Clay. Everything was too loud, too bright. You were going to be sick.

Just then, a swathe of mustard yellow caught your attention from the corner of your eye, and in an instant, you were turning on your heel, pushing past strangers and acquaintances alike with only one goal in mind. Wilbur was taking to someone you recognized as Eret, the British transfer student from a little while back. They looked like they were getting along well, what with the way Wilbur was smiling, but right now, you couldn’t wait another second to get your best friend’s attention.

The moment you reached him, your hand was already gripping onto his arm, tugging at him. “Wilbur,” you said shakily, feeling like your knees were about to give out, “we need to leave. Right now.”

Wilbur turned, the bright lights making his eyes gleam in the dimness. “Oh, [Y/N], how’d it g—” His smile fell from his face the second his eyes met yours, worry flooding his features. “What happened?”

Your throat felt tight as you curled your fingers tighter into his sweater, the fabric bunching up in your hand. “Wilbur, please.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, then he nodded, his gaze softening. “Okay.” Turning, he sent a quick wave to Eret, muttering some excuse before dipping his head closer to you and placing his hand on the small of your back. “I’ll drive,” he murmured. “Where to?”

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest, a small, tight noise leaving you as your lips struggled to form a sentence. “I don’t know—my house... yours... the park?” You clung to his arm like an anchor, half-feeling like you would drift off into the endless sea without him. “Just... anywhere but here.”

Wilbur scanned your face, his fingers twitching against your backside before he nodded, nudging you forward ever so slightly. “Park it is.”

You were only vaguely aware of being pulled away from the party, walking down the front steps of the house and into the passenger seat of the car as Wilbur turned on the ignition. Your vision grew blurry as you felt hot tears begin to stream down your cheeks, the world outside the car windows turning into a hazy mess of colour and shadows. Inside your chest, you felt the shards of your heart dig against your lungs. Heartbroken didn’t even begin to describe the anguish you felt.

At least you weren’t the one driving.

You kicked your legs back and forth on the squeaky swing set, the loud creaking digging into your skull like a thought you couldn’t shake. Your insides felt heavy underneath your skin, and you felt the back of your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Your eyes slowly lifted to meet Wilbur’s, who was standing in front of you, his face contorted in concern as he quietly waited for you to respond. “I...” you began softy, swallowing. “I’m not sure.”

He simply watched you for a moment, then nodded, murmuring a soft, “That’s okay.”

In the distance, you could see a lamppost flickering in the darkness, the light fading in and out of view like it was just barely grappling to stay afloat. A wave of sadness rolled over you at the sight, although you couldn’t name why, as you found yourself opening your mouth, the words tumbling from your lips in incoherent sentences.

“It’s just... I just... I, um. I—” You stopped, letting your eyes fall shut before you managed to whisper, “He was with Chrissy, you know?”

Wilbur froze, his eyes slowly widening as he took in your words. “He was?”

You nodded your head, something cold and broken rattling in your chest at the movement. “Yeah.”

Fury flashed across his face like a wildfire, and he crouched down before you, his jaw clenched tightly. “Even after he asked you if you had plans...” He scowled, cursing under his breath. “What a prick.”

You let out a soft laugh, but it felt forced, the smile immediately slipping off your face the moment you closed your mouth. “He was all over her, you could tell,” you whispered, clutching your arms tighter around yourself. “He was looking at her like... I dunno, like she had done something wonderful, like she was the greatest thing in the world.”

The back of your eyelids stung, and you sucked in a shuddering breath. The hollow hole in the pit of your stomach suddenly didn’t feel so empty anymore as something cold and sad began to pool around your lungs as you continued. “And like, gosh, just... you were right when you said the truth hurts, Will.” Beside you, you saw him since, his expression blurry from the tears starting to fill your eyes. “It hurts. A lot. It really, really does.”

Your hand clutched at the fabric covering your heart, almost as if you were trying to cradle the shattered pieces. “I know I can’t control his feelings, and I shouldn’t have expected anything,” you whispered, “but I just felt like we had something, you know? Like we could have been something. But now it’s all—”

Your voice suddenly cracked, your sentences cut off by an empty, choked out sob. Hot, wet droplets spilled down your cheeks, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your sides trembling. In an instant, Wilbur’s arms wrapped around you, and you felt him tug you into his chest, your head resting against his shoulder while you whimpered.

“Oh, [Y/N]...” he whispered, his hand stroking against your back.

You hiccuped against him, shaking like a leaf as you buried your face into his sweater. “I’m sorry for roping you into this—I really thought I had a chance, but what was I thinking? She’s Chrissy, and I’m just...” You sobbed. “I’m just...”

All of a sudden, Wilbur pulled you back from him, his hands gripping onto your shoulders tightly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes going wide. Wh-What?

Before you, Wilbur’s fingers dug sternly into your shoulders, his stare unwavering as he spoke clearly and true. “Look,” he said, “I can’t tell you what he was thinking, and I can’t tell you why he did that. But...” He paused for a moment, and you watched his face soften as his tone grew warm.

“I can tell you that he just passed up the best girl in the whole, wide world.”

You felt tears prick your eyes once more, but this time they didn’t burn. “Y-You’re just saying that,” you whined, reaching a hand up to wipe at your eyes.

He shook you gently in his arms, prodding you with his hands. “I’m not, I promise, even if I do think you’re my loser best friend.”

When you laughed this time, it didn’t feel nearly as heavy as it did before. You caught a glimpse of his smile as you pressed the sleeve of your shirt against your eyes, soaking up your tears. “Thanks, Wilbur,” you whispered as you sent him a smile—a real one. “Really.”

He grinned at you, dropping his hands from your shoulders. “Anytime, [Y/N]. Now,” he said, rising to his feet, “how do you feel about getting ice cream?”

You blinked at him, taking in the sight of his glimmering eyes in the light of the shining moon. “Please don’t tell me you’re calling this a celebration.”

He shook his head, but you caught the way his lips twitched in amusement. “No. Sometimes you just get ice cream because it makes you feel better.” He stretched his hand out toward you. “Here.”

You slipped your fingers between his, letting him pull you up from the creaky swing set with a slight huff. Once you let go, you held your palm up toward him, waiting. “I’ll drive.”

He cocked his head at you, slowly pulling your keys out of the pockets of his jeans. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

You shook your head at him, picking the keys up from his palm. “It’s alright.” Tossing them once in your palm, you flashed him a grin. “Hey, if I crash the car, I won’t have to hand in that assignment on Monday.”

Wilbur blinked at you once, then twice. Then, he burst into laughter, clutching at his chest as he keeled over, wiping a tear from his eye as he smacked your arm with his. “You know what?” he gasped between breaths as he stood upright once more. “I’ll pay for ice cream, this time.”

A cheer tore itself from your lips, and you pumped your fist in the air as you went racing down the hill toward your car parked by the sidewalk, the wind whipping at your face. Behind you, you could hear Wilbur shout your name as he chased after you, his voice echoing into the cool, dark night.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as you thought. Clay was happy, and while you weren’t quite there yet yourself, you knew that one day, you would be, too.

After all, while the truth may hurt, it wasn’t all bad, either.

705 notes · View notes

griffintail · 4 years ago

Note

I’ll set the scene, cause I feel like this needs a lil explaination, but imagine this:

One of the The Parent Gang (this is how I refer to the characters you’ve written all the wonderful parental stuff about) is wandering around an area they’re unfamiliar with, mainly just lookin to get some new resources or find a decent mine, when they stumble upon a water well in the middle of an empty field. The first thing off about this is there isn’t a village around for MILES, secondly the well is completely dry and empty, and third of all when they look into the well (which goes down pretty deep compared to the usual village wells), they see a CHILD at the bottom of it. The kid’s clearly malnourished, clothes in rags, dark circles under their tiny eyes, and when they see the Parental Gang member everything about the child brightens up; whoops, guess who’s gonna be a dad~!

- from, an Anon Who’s Trapped in Their Own Love of the Found Family Trope and Never Wants to Leave❤️❤️❤️

Yeah, I love those tropes. I love any child reader tropes though! XD

Wilbur is also my favorite thus, I picked him from the gang!

Well Met

Pairing: Parental! Wilbur x Child! F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of malnourishment, Implied Mistreatment, It’s light angst that rapidly turns into fluff

Wilbur was hoping to find a place to loot to get a few bits of equipment for L’Manberg. Maybe he could even find a village that would like to trade for a few bits of good gear to keep in case of emergency. He really didn’t mean to wander so far out though.

“I should have brought a horse.” He muttered as he put his hands on his hips, looking up at the sun at the highest point in the sky.

He needed to head back if he wanted to get home before the night struck. Looking around, he hoped he could find something that would be a good enough landmark to remind him where he stopped when he came back out with a horse. Instead, he squinted thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him.

In the middle of the spruce forest, there was a well that Wilbur would usually see in a village, but there wasn’t one for miles, hence his search. Taking another quick look at his surroundings, he went over to the well. It was an older well, moss growing along the sides and a severed rope where the bucket would hang. He heard no water, so, he looked down, nearly falling in as he startled seeing something that was most certainly not water.

He stared in surprise as he looked at the small figure of what he could only assume was a child. As they looked up at him, he had to restrain himself from just jumping down the well. Big, innocent (E/C) eyes met his, looking so dull for a moment with bags under them before they sparkled with hope. When she, Wilbur assumed looking at them, looked up at them, he saw the rags she wore and how tiny she was. She opened her mouth but only a cough left her lips.

“Relax.” He quickly told her as she whimpered at the pain the cough brought her. “I know you’re here. I’m going to get you out as soon as I can. Just give me a moment.”

Desperately, he dug through his bag and breathed a sigh of relief that he did pack rope in case he found any sort of temple.

“Alright, darling.” He talked to her to keep her calm while he tied the rope to the nearest tree, not trusting the possible rooting well wood. “I’m going to come down and get you. We’ll see what to do when I get you up but we’re going to do this one step at a time.”

He gave a hard tug to the rope and it held. Carefully, he tossed it down and he felt so much relief that it ended close enough at the bottom for him to get down.

“I’m coming love.” He told her as he climbed in.

Scaling down the wall, he tried to think how this poor small child got in this situation. If someone left her there, he would not rest until he found those people. But one situation at a time.

He hit the floor and he saw how skinny the poor girl was. Not a drop of water was on the floor so he could only assume she was dehydrated as well after that violent cough. Carefully, he crouched in front of her, giving her a gentle smile. She couldn’t be any more than six as well and it made anger grow in the back of Wilbur’s head.

“Hi, sweetie. Let’s get you out of here, ya?”

She gave a small, slow nod.

“Alright, well I’m going to pick you up and you’re going to have to hold onto me like you’re giving me a big hug, ok?”

She gave a similar nod.

“Ok, here we go.”

He picked her up carefully, noticing how she flinched slightly and how cold she was. Since he was so warm, she gave no hesitance to hold onto him as she nuzzled into his chest to take in the warmth. He hesitated in surprise before wrapping his other arm around her, patting her greasy hair, which made him wince at the feeling.

“It’s ok, we’re going.”

He held her with one arm now and grabbed the rope with his free hand.

“Keep holding on like this.” He reminded her lightly before starting his climb.

It was much more difficult with a passenger to climb up and even more difficult when he could only use one hand. He stayed determined though to get out, not for himself but the little girl clinging onto him. The climb was long but he reached the top, hugging the girl tighter as he swung himself out. Sitting on the ground, putting his back on the well wall, his breath came out rapidly as he tried to catch it while the little girl stayed nuzzled in his chest.

“We made it.” He let out as he closed his eyes for a moment.

He waited till his breathing calmed down before he took in his situation. He had a possible starving and dehydrated child, miles away from L’Manberg. The sun would set soon and he’d be slower with the extra weight to bring along. So, he needed to set up camp.

“Alright darling, I have some water and an apple in my bag. I’m going to put you down and give you that while I set up a quick camp for us to rest in till morning. Ok?”

The little girl gave a nod and he lightly squeezed her before putting her down instead against a tree, kneeling in front of her as he went through his bag.

“Drink slowly, don’t want to make yourself sick.” He gently told her, giving her the water before taking a cloth and the apple.

Carefully, he cut apple using an unused arrow as she slowly drank. He put the cut-up apple on the cloth giving it to her.

“There were go, darling. You rest up and I’m going to get a fire going to warm you up.” He gently patted her shoulder before he stood up.

He took off his jacket and hat before working on getting a fire going. As he worked on getting materials, he took off his walkie.

“Tommy.” He called out on the public L’Manberg channel.

“Wilbur! Where are you?” Tommy questioned.

“I’ve gotten held up exploring, I’ll be back tomorrow. Keep everything together for me alright?”

“Of course, I will! I’m the Vice President!”

Wilbur chuckled lightly. “Right, thank you, Mr. Vice President. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Ok. Be careful out there.”

“Will do.” Wilbur nodded before putting his walkie away again.

He came back and started the fire. The little girl scooted closer to the warmth coming off the flames as he tried to set up a little shelter for the night to hide from mobs using large branches.

“Alright, we have somewhere to sleep little one.” He smiled as he sat next to her, wiping sweat off his forehead. “I should introduce myself now. I’m Wilbur, I’m President of a nation called L’Manberg.”

The little girl played with the rags she wore before she looked at him.

“I’m (Y/N).” She let out quietly, her voice still having a slight rasp.

He smiled wider hearing her speak. “That’s a very pretty name. Do you have a home?”

(Y/N) paused as she scrunched up her nose when she thought.

“I-I don’t remember things very well Mr. Wilbur. I don’t know.”

“Hey, it’s ok.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I can take you back with me and you can think about it somewhere safe ok?”

She nodded. “Ok.”

“Then we’ll do that in the morning darling.”

When night fell, Wilbur shepherded her inside the shelter and made her comfortable little corner, laying his jacket on top of her. He stayed up during the night just incase with his bow at his side. As the night went on, he’d glance at the little girl to make sure she was alright. He was worried about how she might have gone down the well.

Was her bit of memory loss from how long she was down there? How long was she down there?!

He’d make sure she was ok though.

In the morning, he went out to check for any stray mobs before he woke up the little girl.

“It’s morning darling. Let’s get to L’Manberg.” He smiled gently as she rubbed her eyes sleepily.

“Ok, do you have more water, Mr. Wilbur?” She asked.

“No, I’m sorry love. I wasn’t planning on being out so late last night.” He apologized. “I’ll get us back as fast as I can so we can get more water.”

“Ok.” She muttered.

“Why don’t I carry you so you don’t tire out?” He offered as he put on his hat and his bag. “You can put my jacket on and then ride on my back.”

He helped her out before picking her up.

“Here we go (Y/N).” He smiled before making the walk home.

It was another half a day’s journey but he moved as quick as he could. As he walked, he told her dorky little stories to make her give little giggles and even sang a few songs to her, just wanting to keep her entertained. Before even he knew, half a day was gone and he grinned as he saw the welcoming walls of L’Manberg.

“There’s home.” He told her. “L’Manberg.”

“It looks pretty.” She mumbled.

“It is. And it has very nice people inside. I have a friend in there, Niki, I’m sure she’ll make you some cookies if you ask her nicely and we’ll get you some water.”

His own stomach grumbled but he didn’t feel it as he felt the little girl squeeze onto him lightly.

“That sounds nice Mr. Wilbur.”

“Just call me Wilbur. I’m going to be taking care of you until we see if you have a home, so no need for all that mister stuff.”

“Ok.” She smiled this time, hiding in his shoulder.

“Now, let’s get down there and get you cleaned up. Then, we can go look around with some cookies.”

He went down, smiling to himself. He didn’t know if (Y/N) had a home. He’d look, but he doubted there was any place that she belonged to but she’d have a home now if that was the truth. He’d give her the best care and live in one of the best nations, where he’d always keep her safe.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #wilbur soot x reader #dreamsmp #dreamsmp x reader

527 notes · View notes

mrs-gucci · 3 years ago

Text

Casting Couch {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I was driving home from work the other day and this idea just suddenly took over my entire thought process. so, naturally, I went ahead and wrote it up :)

warnings (what you see here is what you’ll get!): smut. the enemy of my enemy is my ally (with benefits). p in v sex. protected sex. rough oral sex. cum- swallowing.

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex.

word count: 3.2k

charlie’s taglist peeps! {charlie currently doesn’t have any taglist peeps} my general taglist peeps! @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1 @babbushka @safarigirlsp (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

Two Years Ago.

“Y/N...she fucking did it again.” Nicole says as she barges through the door of hers and Charlie’s shared brownstone. “She got the fucking TV gig.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow a bit before looking up at his wife with an empathetic expression, setting the notebook and pen he’d been using down on the coffee table.

“Bummer. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He says, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a bit, folding his hands. “There will be other roles; I wouldn’t worry too much. You win some, you lose some; that’s how it goes in this industry. You’ve taken plenty of roles from her.”

She sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I know, but this one I was excited about. And I really thought I had it, too. It just stung a little extra, you know?”

Her husband nods, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “C’mere, sit with me. We’ll have a glass of wine.”

Nicole gives somewhat of a dreadful grimace, a clear sign she really wasn’t interested. Charlie’s been noticing this for the past few months, her disinterest in being with him as much as she usually was, but he figured it was just her being tired. She’s been doing a lot of odd jobs to make some ends meet lately, so it’s probably a result of that.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a twang of longing sadness in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Charlie just nods, picking back up his notebook and pen, continuing to review and add to his notes from the day.

“Let me know if you need anything.” He calls after her. “I love you.”

She only offers him a small smile over her shoulder in return before emerging into their bedroom, closing the door immediately behind her.

Present Day.

It feels strange, holding auditions for a female lead. He hasn’t had to do so in almost a decade; just yet another reminder of how much of his life has changed just in the past year.

The divorce had been painful, stressful, and he was honestly more relieved than anything when it finally came to a close, despite it not really turning out the way he’d hoped for in terms of custody over Henry.

Luckily, he’s dove deeper into his one true love, directing, as a way to cope with the loss of everything he’d worked so hard to build for himself; the marriage, the 'American dream’ family and home he wished he’d had growing up.

Now, after six months of weekly therapy appointments and keeping himself busy with work, he’s feeling more like the old Charlie he was back before everything went to shit. Actually, he’s feeling like an even better version of that Charlie, the best version of himself there’s been in a while, perhaps even before he met and married Nicole.

The first audition comes onstage and Charlie can’t decide what’s worse, her off-pitch singing or her monotonous speaking voice.

God, this was going to be a long fucking day.

You’d heard through the grapevine that the famed Broadway director had moved here to LA, and that he’d divorced his witch of a wife, Nicole.

Nicole Barber had been your biggest rival ever since you swiped that first movie role away from her. She hates you, and you don’t particularly like her, either, thus your rivalry began. And it was pretty heated, too; the two of you were always trying to one-up each other.

It really was a back-and-forth battle, her swiping roles from you, you returning the favor; it was a game, to put it simply. Although lately, you’ve been getting more roles than she has, not that you’re complaining, and there’s a part of you that hopes she quits the business for good.

Word got around that Charlie is heading his first LA Broadway production and what better way to hit Nicole close to home than to show up at her ex-husband’s auditions? Even better, what if you got the female lead in her ex-husband’s production? Oh god, that would be fantastic, not only for the rivalry but also for your career.

You’ve been looking to branch out into more theater roles, and this is as good an opportunity as to dip your toe in the theater world water. Plus, you’re not necessarily complaining about having the chance to look at and work with Charlie Barber every day...

So you prepared your piece of dialogue and a section of one of the choice songs, heading over to the theater fifteen minutes before your set audition time. Your knee bounces as you sit in the waiting area, eyes running over your script and lyrics sheet one final time, solidifying it all in your memory.

Your name is called a few minutes later and you head out onto the stage, handing over your headshot and qualifications resume. The agent hands over your profile to the handsome director, but he doesn’t even really look at it, already knowing exactly who you are. A small smirk grazes his lips as he flips to a new page of his notebook, clicking the top of his pen.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Y/N.”

After you’re finished, Charlie scribbles one final thing in his notebook before looking up at you. His eyes trail over your figure for a moment, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would you be comfortable coming back for a more intimate audition later this week? Maybe, Friday at four? I would like to get to know you better, see if you meet all of my... qualifications.”

The look in his eye tells you all you need to know about the true motivations behind his question. You nod, biting your lip.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Mr. Barber.” You purr.

He shifts in his seat suddenly and quickly crosses one leg over the other before opening up your folder, handing the top sheet to his assistant.

“Diane, go ahead and have Miss Y/N put down all of her contact information.” His gaze never leave you as he speaks to the timid-seeming young woman. “Make sure she gives her personal cell number.”

You pull a pen from your bag on the stage, clicking it open before Diane hands you the paper. As you write every means of contact you can think of, starting with your cell number, you playfully bite the end of the pen and tap it against your bottom lip, something that certainly keeps the already attentive director’s full attention.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Barber.” Your tone is innocent-sounding, but your gaze is anything but. It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” A small tug at one corner of his lip accompanies his response. “See you soon, Miss Y/N.”

You offer him a nod.

“Looking forward to it.”

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

In preparation for your upcoming...meeting with Charlie, you take a quick trip to the nearest intimates store, picking up a pretty little lace bra and panty set. Your lingerie wardrobe is long overdue for a bit of sprucing up, anyway.

When the time comes, you slip the fresh lace garments on before putting on your planned outfit, a cute-but-subtly-sexy low cut romper. You put on a light face of makeup, purely for professionalism’s sake, then head out with a small bag which contains various personal items as well as your script and composition page.

He’s not in his backstage office when you arrive, but he comes in a couple minutes later, a strong stench of cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he walks by your chair.

“I apologize for the delay. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

You shake your head as he takes a seat behind the ratty oak desk, shifting a few small stacks of papers around on the heavily scratched surface.

“No, no I wasn’t waiting long.”

He nods, then folds his hands atop the desk, eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, his eyes dart down to where your cleavage creeps out of your low-cut top.

“You’ve got the part.” Charlie says with a small smile. “You’re by far the best and most qualified audition we had yesterday, and I like the way you carry yourself. You’re exactly the type of person I like working with. Part’s yours if you want it.”

You’re overcome with joy, a wide smile spreading itself across your lips. “I’d love to be a part of this production, Mr. Barber. I’m really excited to get to work with you and the rest of the crew.”

“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it.” He nods, smile widening when as he processes your acceptance. His delighted expression falls after a few moments, replaced by one much more salacious.

“Now that we’ve gotten that part out of the way...I think you know why I called a meeting of such, uh, privacy.”

You smirk softly, shifting around in your seat slightly. “I believe I do.”

His feet plant on the ground as he pushes the rolling office chair out from under the desk, standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you.

“Before anything happens, though, I want you to know that whether or not you do this with me will not affect my casting decision. Even if you decline, you still have the part.”

You nod before standing, quickly and swiftly, stepping forward to press yourself flush against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Your hands rest on his chest, neck craning slightly to look up at him. “Just kiss me, will you?”

He laughs, massive hand moving to cradle the back of your head before he bends down and connects your lips in a passionate kiss. There’s nothing tender or gentle about this embrace, it’s all tongue and teeth, raw lust coursing between your two bodies.

“Couch.” His voice is soft but husky.

“Unzip me first?” You ask, turning around so he can unzip you. He does, then his hands slide down to your hips and pushes you towards the leather couch tucked in the corner of his office.

The material squeaks when you’re laid down on top of it, head resting comfortably on the cushy fabric accent pillow as he climbs on top of you. He presses his hips forward while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses on the skin there.

Your eyes widen as his impressive bulge rubs up against your inner thigh and you quickly wonder how in the world you’ll be able to take him. His crooked teeth scrape over the taut muscles in your neck while his hands pull the backs of your romper down over your shoulders.

His hands grab and grope your breasts beneath where they rest in your nice bra, one you wore just for him, and your back arches slightly up off the cushions with a soft sigh.

A small smile crosses his expression, teeth sinking gently into your neck. “I like the little noises you make for me, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, running your hands through his hair. “Then I bet you’ll like my moans, too. If you think you can draw them out of me, that is.”

He laughs softly, sucking and licking at at the place his teeth have just abused. “Is that a challenge?”

“Well, it’s more like an invitation to prove yourself, but ‘challenge’ is also a good word for it.”

Charlie pulls away with a smirk, shaking his head as he sits back on his haunches and begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Brat.”

Once he’s undone his pants and pulled them down enough to expose himself to you, he leans down once more and pulls your romper the rest of the way off, leaving you completely bare, minus your undergarments. His eyes roam your figure for a moment before he dips a hand beneath the patch of black fabric nestled between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as his fingertips swipe over your erect clit, giving it a few little circles before yanking the panties off your hips and down your ankles, tossing them down alongside your previously-discarded romper.

His eyes widen in realization, cheeks flushing pink.

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

You smirk, nodding as you sit up and pat his chest. “Indeed, I do.”

He crawls off of you and you walk over to your purse, grabbing a condom from the mini-stash you keep in your wallet, the one you replenished just minutes before you left the house this afternoon. He takes it from you and pinches the tip, rolling it down his shaft. For a moment, you’re worried that it isn’t going to fit, but he rolls it on with little issue.

His hips press forward, then, entering you slowly but steadily with a soft grunt. You whine as your insides stretch out around him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. “S-Shit.”

“You’re really fucking tight, jesus.” He growls between gritted teeth, jaw screwed shut as his hips begin to move. “I haven’t fffucked anyone in a while, Y/N, so I can’t guarantee that I’ll last very long.”

You nod, softly. “It’s alright, Charlie; it’s been a little while for muh--me, too.”

Your eyes flutter shut and your face begins to scrunch up with each time his fat cockhead brushes up against your cervix. His pace increases after a minute or so, a consistent slap-slap-slap noise now echoing off the drywall with each snap of his hips.

“You’ve got a nice little pussy, you know that? Always knew you would be, too, knew you’d be a good little cccocksleeve.”

You moan shakily as he adjusts his position, towering over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. Your body begins to bounce, tits, thighs and tummy jiggling each time he thrusts in.

He’s starting to sweat, a few dark hairs sticking to his dimly-glowing forehead, more and more accumulating there as his hair rocks back and forth in time with the rhythm of his hips.

“Touch yourself, now, rrrub your little clit.” His voice is getting shaky as he draws nearer to climax.

Nodding, your hand slides down between your joined bodies until your fingertips settle onto the small bundle of nerves. The hand that’s still weaved in Charlie’s locks clenches and he lets out a sudden deep growl, hips stuttering for a moment.

“Ooooh, Charlie.” You moan, hips lifting and gyrating against both his cock and your fingers.

“God, fffuck I love this cunt.” A vulgar squelching sound knits itself within the quilt of your salacious symphony. “Wrapped around my cock like a vice, gonna pull the fucking cum right out of it. Swear you get tighter each time I push back in...christ, I’m not gonna last.”

Your fingers circle your clit faster, setting a desperate pace, one that almost matches his quick and sloppy thrusts. You’re close now, too, and it doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to hit.

You cream around him with a long moan and a string of various other noises, with a few profanities thrown in as well. The product of your release coats his shaft in a pearlescent sheen, dripping down his ball-sack soon enough.

The sensations your climax creates around Charlie forces him to pull away almost immediately after, quickly yanking the condom off and onto his office floor, squeezing the base of his flaming red length.

His hand seizes your jaw tightly, thumb pressing down on your tongue, prying your mouth open. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth and shove my cum down your throat, and you’re gonna take it all, isn’t that right?”

You’re nodding instantly, slacking your jaw to open even further in preparation for his upcoming intrusion. He smirks.

“Good. Now, on your knees.”

He sits down where you once laid, lazily pumping his throbbing length as you get into position between his spread legs. He pulls your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, then lines you up with his cock and eases your mouth down onto him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it, oh, gooooood girl.”

You start gagging about three quarters of the way down his shaft, but he still keeps pushing until you’ve got the whole thing in your mouth. Your jaw’s already getting sore as he begins thrusting upwards, fucking your mouth.

Tears swell in your eyes and begin to spill down your cheeks the more he goes, mascara surely ruined and running down your face. The sight only arouses him further, a low groan rumbling through his puffed chest.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to stave off his orgasm for as long as he can manage, but soon he finds it next to impossible to hold back. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as his length begins to twitch, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--”

You taste and feel the salty ropes shooting down your throat before he can even finish his warning.

“Ah, fffuuuuck.” His head falls back against the couch cushions, hips bucking gently as each bit of release is spilled into your mouth. His grip on your head relaxes after he’s finished, cock softening while he catches his breath and re-grounds himself in reality.

Your chest heaves as full airflow returns to your lungs, knees and jaw aching a bit sore from their exertion. You grab your underwear from where they lay discarded on top of your romper, putting them back on before standing up on somewhat shaky legs.

Charlie also redresses, standing and straightening himself out as you do the same.

“Mind zipping me back up?” You ask, turning around again.

He pulls the zipper up your back until it’s at the end of its tracks, then steps up behind you, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

A soft smile grazes your lips. “No ‘thanks’ needed; the sweet taste of revenge and spite is payment enough.”

He laughs quietly.

“Well, I’ll certainly be available, should you ever need a little replenishing of those feelings.”

“Mr. Barber, you wouldn’t be saying that because you’d like to see me naked again, now would you?” Your eyebrows raise and you look over your shoulder, a playful smile on your face.

He laughs again, blushing a bit. “Uh, yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot. But I’d also like to see you, um...not naked, fully clothed, maybe at a restaurant in the city for dinner sometime? I totally get it if you’re not interested, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to...”

Holy shit, he’s asking you out on a date. Well, he’s trying to, at least.

You laugh, cheeks warming at his proposition.

“Sure thing. I just accepted this new job, though, so I’ll have to get back to you about my availability...”

Charlie smiles, shoving his hands down in his khaki pockets. “I’m sure your new boss would be more than willing to accommodate. He’s a pretty cool guy, or so I’ve heard. Handsome, too.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you have a reliable informant.” You turn around as you laugh softly, grabbing your bag off the chair before stepping up in front of him. Your lips plant a quick peck on his, hands resting on his broad chest. “See you soon.”

He nods, biting his lip to hold back his big, goofy smile.

“Can’t wait.”

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heroloverangel · 3 years ago

Text

Cloud City

We interrupt your regularly-scheduled filth for some surprise Sad Boy Hours.

You’re six years old when Oboro Shirakumo drops into your life. Quite literally, in fact.

It’s your first day of school, and you’re terrified. Your family only moved to this city a few weeks ago, and you haven’t had a chance to meet any of the other kids in the neighborhood. So here you stand in the school yard, shyly watching from behind a tree as your new classmates play together. You’re lonely, but too nervous to approach them. Your tiny mind is on the verge of a breakdown and you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. “Don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself. “I’m not a baby, don’t cry.” You sniffle, but your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping above you.

There’s a boy floating on a cloud several feet over your head, one hand grasping a branch to keep himself steady. “Hi!” He grins down at you, and you look back with wide eyes. “I’m Oboro! Wanna be friends?” You gawk up at him; you’ve never seen a quirk like that before. Even his hair looks like a fluffy cloud in the breeze.

“Okay,” you agree after a few more seconds of confused staring. Your new friend gives you a thumbs up, immediately loses his focus, and the cloud dissipates underneath him. Both of you scream as he comes crashing to the ground, landing on your back. You’re rewarded with some impressive scrapes to both your knees, and him with both his front teeth knocked out. You’re inseparable from that moment on.

You’re the best of friends through elementary, but things begin to change once you hit middle school. It’s cute when you’re six and happily tell your parents that you’re going to get married when you grow up. It’s just awkward when you hit puberty and start to discover that your feelings for your best friend suddenly aren’t so cute anymore. The two of you grow apart with separate friends and different interests, but still make it a priority to walk home together every day.

“High school admissions are due soon,” he points out during one of these walks. It’s been storming all day, and the two of you huddle under the same umbrella in a half-hearted attempt to stay dry. He’s hit a growth spurt over the years and towers above you now; it’s hard for both of you to stay out of the rain if you’re not nestled suspiciously close together. “You figure out where you’re applying yet?”

You shrug, stepping wide to avoid a puddle that he ignores. “Probably just Endor. It’s close, and they’ve got a pretty decent reputation.” You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’re going for UA, right?”

It’s never been a secret that Shirakumo wants to be a hero, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll be great at it. He stops walking and you look at him, surprised to see his expression so discouraged.. “Yeah, of course. You’re not? Their general studies class is supposed to be one of the best, too.”

You glance away. “Too much pressure, I think. And it’d be hard, going to school in a different city where I wouldn’t know anyone.”

“You’ll know me.” You’ve both had a grip on the umbrella, but now his fingers wrap tightly around your hand and squeeze.

“Oboro…” You’re not used to him having such a serious look on his face, his eyes wide and unblinking as they stare into yours.

“Come with me.” It’s not an order, it’s a plea, and your chest feels tight at the thought of disappointing him. You swallow hard and nod. It won’t hurt to apply, you think. You probably won’t even get in.

Shirakumo pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face and leans down to press his lips against yours. Your first kiss isn’t perfect; his neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle to make up for your height difference, your nose bumps awkwardly into his as you shift, a car drives by too fast and splashes both of you with frigid water. Still, when he pulls away his smile is as warm and bright as the sun. You’ll gladly follow him to UA. You’ll gladly follow him to hell and back if it makes him happy.

He’s accepted into the hero course without a problem, but you make him promise that he’ll go even if you fail. You’re more shocked than anyone when you open the envelope to find an acceptance letter welcoming you to UA, and you finally allow yourself to feel excited. You’ll be going to the best school in the country, and you’ll be there with your favorite person in the world. For the first time you won’t be in the same class, but you’ll still be close enough to watch him reach his dreams.

The first few weeks of high school are a whirlwind of chaos before you settle into a routine. You have to be at the train station before dawn; every morning Shirakumo meets you outside your house, still half-asleep and groggy as you walk. You split something simple for breakfast most days while you ride. When you’re lucky enough to find two open seats together, you can manage a well-deserved nap slumped against each other’s shoulders. Your classes are tough but with enough effort you manage to do well once you form a study group going with the other girls in your class. They’re friendly, and they’re both impressed and jealous to learn that you’re already dating a hero student. They swoon when he appears at your side on the first day of school to buy you lunch, and you can’t help but gloat just a little at your good fortune.

The hero course is even busier than general studies, and you don’t get to see much of your boyfriend during school hours. It’s nearly a month into the term before he catches sight of you at lunch again and practically sprints over, flanked by two classmates you recognize from the stories he’s told you on the ride home every day. “Guys,” he grins and throws an arm around your shoulder. “This is my girl! The one I’ve been telling you about.” Your heart skips a beat at being called his girl, and knowing he’s been gushing about you to his friends. Yamada’s a bright, loud ball of energy when he introduces himself, while Aizawa barely mumbles his name and looks like he’s been dragged over against his will. They both seem nice, and you’re happy he’s found some good friends to work with.

Everything goes surprisingly well for your first year at UA, and your second seems like it’ll be just as good. It’s late one night, several months into the school year, when you’re woken by a tapping at your bedroom window. This isn’t the first time Shirakumo’s snuck you out of your house, but the window gets harder to crawl out of every year and you’re glad that graduation isn’t too far off. “Hey, come look at the stars with me. They’re really pretty tonight.” It’s not like he needs to give you the excuse, but you can see he has a point.

Ten minutes later you’re laying on a cloud together, floating a few feet over the power lines in your neighborhood. It’s cold up there, and you cuddle together for warmth as you watch the stars overhead. You know more about the sky than him, and he’s happy to listen while you point out a few things above you. A chilly breeze blows through your thin pajamas and makes you shiver, and he pulls you in closer to share his heat. “Was all of this just an excuse to get me alone up here?” You laugh, kissing his smiling lips.

“Not all of it,” he jokes with a smirk. “We’re past the halfway point this year already. Just one more, can you believe it?” You curl up close and listen to him chatter about his big plans for the future. You’ve heard this all before; he’s always so excited about the idea of opening that hero agency with Aizawa and Yamada. “I figure we’ll do the sidekick think for awhile, work up some solid experience, y’know? Then it’ll be smooth sailing when we break off on our own after that. Four, maybe five years?” You nod, running your fingers through his familiar fluffy hair. “And then once things settle with the agency, we can get married if you want,” he announces with only the faintest blush betraying his nerves.

“Oboro, what?” You bolt into a sitting position, gawking at him with wide eyes. Sure you’ve thought about the future you might have together, but the two of you have never talked about it before. “You can’t just spring that on me out of nowhere!”

He folds his arms behind his head, totally unconcerned. “It’s not really out of nowhere, is it? You know I’ve been in love with you since we were six, right?”

This boy is ridiculous. “Me too, but still! Isn’t this a little sudden? There’s so much more to talk about if you want to get married.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it won’t be for a couple of years. We’ve got plenty of time to talk it over.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back down to rest your head against his chest. “I’ll wait for you, as long as you want.” You stay like this for a few minutes, mulling the proposal over in your head. “Just think about it for a couple years, okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “Okay.” You’re already warming up to the thought of marrying him. You’re seventeen, and you’ve been together for eleven years now. You can give him another five. Or ten. Or fifty, if that’s what he wants. In your heart you already know you’ve decided on an answer, and you murmur it into his ear later as he’s helping you climb back through the window into your bedroom. He’s beaming with happiness as he kisses you goodnight and flies off. You’re too giddy with love to sleep the rest of the night.

If you’d known what was coming only a week later, you never would have said goodbye. He promised to call you after his internship the night before, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep instead as soon as he got home. You’re not worried until he doesn’t show up in the morning to walk with you, even after you call him twice with no answer and wait until the last possible minute to leave on your own. You arrive at school just as the final bell rings, and it’s a bit of a relief when you catch a glimpse of Aizawa looking even more tired than he normally does. They must have had a really tough time on their patrol, you assume, and Oboro just decided to take a well-deserved day off.

Your day is uneventful until lunch, when you hear your name called to the office. The principal sits there with your homeroom teacher and the counselor, all of them looking grim. A lump forms in your throat; you’ve got no idea what you could have done. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. We understand that you’re particularly close with Oboro Shirakumo from the hero class.”

You nod. “Yeah, we’re dating. Um, actually we’re kind of engaged now, I guess?” Your stomach drops at the sad expressions facing you. “Did...did something happen? I haven’t seen him all day. Is he hurt?”

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for the answer. “He was killed in an encounter with a villain yesterday. I’m sorry for your loss.”

You want to argue, insist there’s been some mistake, but the words don’t come. A sudden sense of numbness sweeps through you as it sinks in, and it feels like everything within you shuts down. Your brain doesn’t process the voices offering you sympathy and compassion. Your lungs refuse to take in air. You’d swear that your heart itself stops beating in some attempt to defend itself. You’re not even aware of your movements as you stand and leave the room while your teachers are mid-speech. You need to get out of there. You need to be alone. You need to breathe, but you can’t. You’re on autopilot as you rush down the empty hall, if you can get up to the roof there’ll be fresh air-

Completely blinded by your grief, you collide hard with another body and almost fall before hands grab your shoulders to steady you. “Sorry,” you gasp through the lump in your throat. “I just-” You blink back your tears and stop when you recognize him. Up close, he looks even worse than usual. His eyes are red and hollow, the dark bags under them could pass as bruises. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept all night, you can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. “Aizawa,” you croak, your voice cracking on the syllables. He doesn’t say anything, only gives your shoulder a squeeze, and something inside you completely breaks.

“Oboro, he’s...” is all you can manage through your tears. You fists ball into Aizawa’s jacket as you sob against his chest, and he doesn’t stop you. He knows there’s no comforting you; the only thing he can do is let you use his shirt as a tissue while you mourn. You’re vaguely aware that a bell rings to resume class, but you ignore it. You can’t bring yourself to do anything except cry until there’s nothing left, and he stands there holding your shoulders to keep you upright. It’s the best way anyone can help you right now.

An eternity later, you wear yourself out. Your throat feels raw, your eyes are burning, and your fingers hurt from the grip you’ve had on his uniform. “Thanks,” you manage out, and he nods silently. He’s not the most exciting, but you’ve always liked Aizawa’s calm personality as a match to your boyfriend’s unstoppable energy. Your own emotions are a train wreck, and you don’t think you could handle being around anyone else after that news. “I’m glad he had you,” you muse out loud.

“Thanks,” he says awkwardly with a shrug before fixing his wrinkled jacket. “You should get back to class.” Aizawa walks off before you can think of anything else to say.

You don’t go back to class. The other students have noticed something’s off, and rumors are beginning to spread around campus already that there’s a new, empty space in the hero course. You grab your bag and head for the exit as fast as you can, ignoring everyone else along the way. You spend the rest of the week at home; your parents allow it once they learn what happened. It’s a struggle to get through the first month without Shirakumo’s presence hanging over you like a cheerful little cloud, and the rest of the year doesn’t get any easier. Your friends do their best to console you, but it’s a losing battle when you feel his absence every minute of your day. It’s all too familiar, too easy to see the missing piece that’s been a part of your life for so long. You transfer to Shiketsu for your final year, where no one knows about Loud Cloud and you aren’t stuck going through a routine that’s been irreparably broken.

It’s an uphill fight. You force yourself to do well in school, because it’s what he’d want for you. You throw yourself into work and establish a good career, because it’s what he’d want for you. You make yourself move past your loss and date other men, because it’s what he’d want for you. By the time you’re 31 you’ve got a divorce under your belt, a sad excuse for a social life, and a cat with fluffy white fur; you loved him the moment you laid eyes on him. You’re not entirely satisfied with how your life has turned out, but it could be worse. You can go entire weeks now without thinking about him. Sometimes you wonder what kind of life the two of you would have, but you try not to dwell on those thoughts.

You’ve had the day off and have spent it happily lounging around the house. You treat yourself to lunch and settle on your couch to watch a movie with your beloved cat when an unfamiliar number pops up on your phone. You answer without a second thought. “Hi, if you’re out of noodles, I can just get rice instead. It’s fine.”

There’s a beat of silence before the man confirms this is the correct number. You don’t immediately recognize his voice, but you’re sure you’ve heard it somewhere before. “I’m not with a restaurant. This is Aizawa, from...from UA, when we were younger.” You can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, and he continues. “We need to talk. It’s about Shirakumo.”

It’s surprising how hearing his name is enough to reopen wounds you thought healed years ago. You swallow nervously, fresh dread pooling in your gut. You can hear how hoarse your voice is when you answer. “Okay. I’m off today, if you want to meet.”

You’ve got a very bad feeling about what you’re about to learn.

#bnha x reader #oboro shirakumo x reader

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readinginthereadyroom · 3 years ago

Text

let’s talk about christopher and santa claus for a minute.

because the thing is. that kid is a national treasure and possibly magic. because he has santa’s ear. direct line to christmas miracles.

and the best part is. it’s canon.

but before we get to that. we need to talk about eddie being scared of santa when he was a kid. about the difference in eddie and christopher’s childhoods.

because eddie’s childhood lacked magic. santa wasn’t a right jolly old elf with a red suit and a belly laugh. just a creepy guy with a fake beard who smelled bad. a stranger he was forced to go see. that scared him so much he got sick. twice.

christopher’s childhood tho. filled with magic. when he was little and not feeling well (maybe around one of his surgeries?) and missing eddie. shannon caves. tries to cheer chris up with a giant tree for the backyard. but we didn't have enough ornaments to cover it, so we just loaded it up with lights and ribbon. I got the sleeping bags out, and we laid under it, just staring up at the branches for hours.

which is the most magical thing I’ve ever heard.

so really it’s no surprise that christopher believes in the magic of christmas. the power of santa. miracles and the christmas spirit.

because christopher only asked for one thing that christmas. one very specific gift. not toys. not candy. he just wants his dad. w-when you were gone, I asked santa for you to come back, and you did.

which makes me wonder what time of year it was when eddie’s helicopter was shot down. did he arrive home in time for the holidays? with his wrist in a cast and his arm in a sling and propped up by a cane. wounded but alive. home for the holidays. which is all that would matter to little christopher. that dad’s back. dad’s staying. forever.

and since christopher’s wish came true before. since santa came thru before. why wouldn’t it work again? because christopher’s got his dad. a new life, in a new city, with a new best friend. and everything is perfect. everything except the lack of shannon. christopher misses his mom. so he forgoes toys and candy once again. goes with eddie and buck to see santa. I asked him to find mom. will he?

the answer is yes. because she’s already back. has been for a while. eddie’s just been reluctant to let shannon see christopher. because he’s scared she’ll break his heart if she decided to leave again. because eddie doesn’t believe in magic. and I think that includes happily ever afters.

but christopher believes in magic and wishes. and eddie knows that. and he’ll do everything in his power to keep it that way. cause he loves christopher more than himself. loves that he believes in magic and miracles and santa.

because it allows eddie to believe thru christopher. just for a second. but seconds accumulate. grow. build. into something magical all eddie’s own.

so they get another giant tree. cover it in ribbons and lights. turn the floor into a wrapping paper treasure map for christopher to follow into the front yard. where shannon is waiting. mommy! mommy! I missed you so much. I knew Santa could do it again.

and then so much happens. by the time next christmas rolls around shannon has died and christopher’s survived a tsunami. and eddie has to work thru the holiday. buck too. christmas is ruined.

we don’t see chris talking about santa this year. or to santa. I think that’s probably on purpose. this year is about the absence of christmas spirit. and how that absence radiates out into their lives. chris storming away. giving eddie the silent treatment. buck saying he’s working too.

missing pieces. lack of communication. absent people.

but you cannot convince me that when the holidays go awry. that christopher won’t turn to his old pal santa to fix this particular problem. that he won’t ask for another christmas miracle. that his family can be together for the holidays. christopher and his dad and his buck. it tracks with christopher’s history.

and the thing is. santa comes thru. via buck. who plans a surpise holiday party at the 118. ropes athena and maddie into gathering their friends and family all together. throws the biggest holiday party in the history of the firefam.

and now I’m thinking the s5 holiday episode would be the perfect time for buddie to go canon. buck and eddie have been getting closer since their begins eps. they’ve both grown as people. tried other relationships. neither of which work out. both of which they choose to end.

actually, yes. I am into this. and here’s how it happens:

the sniper and the blackout puts things in perspective. which leads to eddie to breaking up with ana. buck realizes where his priorities are and he breaks up with taylor soon after. that’s when the shoulder bumps and playful banter starts to ramp up. they’ve always been in each other’s space and at each other’s homes. now it’s just more. buck and eddie become buck&eddie.

there’s no big declaration or passionate kiss. 911 doesn’t really do that. what we will get is a buddie hug after a too-close call that lingers a little too long. and eddie doing his sustained eye contact thing. and buck reciprocating with his eye flutter thing. then eddie reaching with his hands. then buck’s blinding smile. then...

END CREDITS. because it’ll hurt so good.

mid-way thru the next ep we’ll get confirmation in the form of carla. she’ll stumble over buck coming out of eddie’s room. there will be a little light teasing. it’s about time interspereced with domestic fluff. they will keep it to themselves for now.

and then eddie’s parents guilt trip him into going to texas for the holidays. buck has a christmas eve shift, but has christmas day off. and plans with maddie, chim, albert, and the hans for jee-yun’s first christmas. plus holiday dinner with athena and bobby’s family. he’s not going to be alone.

doesn’t feel that way tho.

and then there’s a scene at the airport that mirrors the end of s1. only instead of abby leaving it’s eddie and christopher. with buck and eddie both pretending to be okay. neither of them are.

cue eddie in texas. where everything goes wrong. of course it does. helena and ramon keep making jabs about how eddie’s raising christopher. they will never think he’s enough. even worse they don’t treat christopher like an autonomous person. but a consolation prize. a parenthood do-over.

and eddie’s miserable. christopher’s miserable. they both miss buck.

there’s definitely a firefighter santa involved. a lesson about family being who you chose. christopher won’t stop talking about last christmas at the station. about buck.

which is why. when everything comes to a head over christmas eve dinner. eddie makes an executive decision. books a red-eye flight and bundles him and christopher off to the airport.

buck’s out on a call when eddie and christopher arrive. it was only a 2 hr flight but it’s still really late. they both conk out on the sofas. and that’s where buck spots them when the trucks pull into the station. he’s doesn’t go all the way over to them. just watches them from afar. like he’s always done.

until eddie wakes up. sees him watching. reaches his hand out to buck and drags him into their space. physically connects the three of them. kisses his hand. merry christmas buck.

neither buck or eddie notice that chris is also awake. watching them with a mischieveous smile on his face. because christopher believes in magic. the christmas spirit. santa claus. and apparently santa claus believes in christopher because that man has granted each and every one of his wishes.

dad. mom. family. buck.

christopher has been slowly building his own family. via christmas miracles and the help of his good friend santa claus.

outside the window it starts snowing.

and it feels like magic.

#if any of this actually happens in canon #even tangentially #I will lose my danging mind #christopher has set a precedent of asking santa for PARENTS for xmas #eddie then shannon #then eddie and buck (family)#and what's the next step #BUCK #he needs to ask santa for buck #and that's how we get canon buddie #christopher diaz #eddie diaz #shannon diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #buddie #9-1-1 #911 what's queue emergency?#writing in the ready room #petition for christopher begins

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ssahotchhner · 4 years ago

Text

like real people do

PART TWO

hi! this is my first criminal minds fic, i haven’t watched the show all the way through in several years and while doing a rewatch discovered that i HAD to write hotch. this will be two parts, here’s the first! let me know your thoughts please, i love talking to my readers (:

words: 5837

pairing: hotch x reader

warnings: usual criminal minds nastiness, rape mention, death, curse words

Everyone knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner has been emotionally unavailable since his divorce, so everyone was that much more surprised when he kissed you at the bar in front of all your colleagues at the BAU. You wouldn’t lie, you had had a crush on Aaron for years now, but you had imagined your hypothetical romance much differently. As it was, Aaron had immediately left the bar in a flurry of embarrassment, murmuring a hurried apology on his way out leaving you to the unabashed teasing of your coworkers that you had pretended to brush off. Now, days later, Aaron still refused to so much as look at you.

“Y/N,” Morgan rolled his chair over to your desk, “I’m dying to know, is Hotch a good kisser?”

You sigh, “Fuck off, Derek.”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Derek,” Rossi says as he passes by, “Don’t you think it’s bad enough Hotch is giving her the silent treatment now?”

You tried to hide the way the tears pricked the back of your eyes at his comment, but you were surrounded by FBI profilers.

Morgan lowered his voice and reach out his hand to touch your arm, “Hey, babygirl, I’m sorry, I was just teasing, maybe you should try talking to Hotch--”

“Talking to me about what?” Aaron had been so quiet walking up on you and your head had been low, so focused on not crying that you hadn’t heard him.

“Nothing.” You say quickly, and as expected he avoids making eye contact, “Do you need something, sir?” You don’t miss the way he flinches at the formality. Good.

“We have a new case.” He says simply and walks away.

Morgan let out a low whistle, “You really hit him with the ‘sir.’” You started to get up from your desk, but Morgan put a hand on your arm again, “Seriously, Y/N, I’m sorry. If you need to talk I’m here.”

You sighed and stood up again, forcing a smile, “There’s nothing to talk about Derek, I’m fine. Now come on.”

“We have a serial rapist in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.” JJ starts immediately as everyone files in. You feel Morgan’s gaze on you the entire time and try not to get frustrated. He’s been like a brother to you since you joined the BAU a few years ago and you know this overprotectiveness was just him being a good friend, but it was bound to drive you nuts. “Victims are all white women ranging from their late teens to early twenties at a local university.”

“Why are we being called in for a rapist on a college campus?” Reid asks, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but we all know the statistics. There are dozens of serial rapists on college campuses.”

“Because this one is torturing them while he rapes them and leaves them notes leading up to the attacks.” Hotch says as Penelope begins to pull up pictures on the screen of these women. “Slut, whore, bitch, cunt. All carved on their chests.” You do your best to hide the nausea that rises in you as you look at the pictures. Do your job. You remind yourself.

“What do the notes say?” Emily asks.

“They seem like thinly veiled threats,” Reid begins, “They sound romantic at first glance, but if you read closely you can see the context.”

“He breaks into their dorms when they’re at class or at parties and waits for them to come home and then he holds them at knifepoint so they won’t scream.” Penelope says, trying not to let her voice shake.

“Risky to do in a dorm building and no one’s seen him?” Morgan says.

Rossi ponders this, “That means he must blend in, someone no one would think twice about being inside. A student, an RA, or a university official.”

“University officials don’t normally enter student dorms unless there’s an issue, they’d be more likely to stand out and students would talk about them showing up.” Hotch muses.

“Y/N, you’re awful quiet today,” Emily nudges your elbow, “What do you think?”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, but Aaron’s. Still looking at his manila folder as if Emily hadn’t addressed you. As if you didn’t exist. You clear your throat, “I think the RA or student theory makes sense. We should probably interview the RA of the first victim, assuming he’s a man. It would make sense to me that he would start with one of his own students and then begin to branch out. Maybe he thought he could stop, get that release he needed after just one, but the need only grew stronger.”

“Wheels up in thirty, we’ll discuss more on the plane.” Hotch says and stands, walking out of the room without another glance.

“Did something happen last night at the bar?” Emily murmurs, the only member of the team who didn’t make it out the night before, “Hotch is acting really weird around you.”

Derek snickers on the other side of you and you elbow him, “That’s it, I’m going to talk to him.”

Reid winces, “Good luck.”

“It’ll be fine, kid.” Rossi says and squeezes your shoulder as you pass.

You take a long breath before you finally build the courage to walk into Aaron’s office where he’s packing his briefcase. “Sir, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Can it wait until we’re on the plane, agent?”

Agent. You roll your eyes toward the ceiling, “No, sir, it can’t.” You can’t hide the bite in your words this time. He finally looks at you, really looks at you. You wonder what he sees.

“Close the door.” He says quietly and then sits behind his desk.

You walk slowly to the seat in front of his desk. This time, he watches you. “This is the first time you’ve looked at me all day.”

“I wasn’t aware you were analyzing me.”

“Are you telling me you haven’t been analyzing me all day?”

“Agent, what is this about? We have a plane to catch.”

You stare at him for a few moments longer, “Fine,” You stand, “If you want to pretend nothing happened, I’ll do the same. But if you could at least stop ignoring me, that would be great.”

“Agent--”

“And use my goddamn name, for Christ’s sake.”

He stares at you and you know he hates your emotional outburst and that in turn makes you hate yourself. “Then you stop calling me ‘sir.’” He says quietly.

Your eyes soften for just a moment and then you storm back out of his office nearly plowing over Rossi as you leave. Rossi walks into Aaron’s office to see him rubbing his forehead, “Well that doesn’t look like it went well.”

“I screwed up, Rossi.”

“Oh, come on Hotch, it was just one kiss. It didn’t mean anything--”

“It did mean something. To me. Maybe not to her.”

Rossi shakes his head, “Then why are you giving her the cold shoulder?”

Hotch sighs, “Because we work together, because she doesn’t feel the same, because she’s the first woman I’ve kissed since Haley. Pick a reason.” Rossi looks like he’s going to interject, but Hotch stands, “We don’t have time for this, Rossi, let’s go.”

Rossi sighs as he watches Aaron walk out of his office and follows after.

***

You’re quiet most of the plane ride, conscious of the looks everyone is giving you as you read the information in the manila folder over and over, trying to be good at your job instead of thinking about your boss.

“When we get off the plane, JJ and Prentiss, you go talk to the victims. Rossi and I will touch base with the police. Morgan, Reid, Y/N, you go talk to anyone you can find at the dorms, see if anyone’s seen anyone suspicious.” You make it a point not to react, but everyone else reacts anyway, watching you carefully. Hotch almost always assigns himself with you.

“If you guys don’t stop psychoanalyzing me I will eject myself from this plane.”

Everyone looks away except Aaron and when you meet his eyes, he’s smirking. Those smiles are so rare and you can’t deny how it satisfies you to know you were the reason he did so. You quickly look back down at your work, careful not to reveal anything you’re feeling.

***

“Do you have feelings for Hotch?” Reid asks without preamble when you’re in the car with Derek.

“Spencer!” You exclaim in outrage. Derek just laughs from the driver’s seat.

“What? You both wouldn’t be being so weird about one kiss if it wasn’t something more.”

“Okay, Romeo, remember that she’s armed.” Derek cautioned.

“He’s my boss, Reid. It’s weird because he’s my boss.”

“Well, sure, by definition Hotch is our superior but we all know--” Reid cut himself off when he saw the look Derek was giving him in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, you’re right, it’s weird.” He said quickly.

You sigh and turn to the window and ignore Derek and Spencer the rest of the ride.

***

“So you mean to tell me that ten women have come forward about being raped in their dorms and you told them to consider themselves lucky they weren’t murdered and sent them home without doing a rape kit?” Aaron’s furious. Furious with himself for the previous night and he’s more than happy to take out that anger on the local Milwaukee police department.

“Look, man, we get a lot of he said she said in here, we don’t have the time or the man power to follow up on every one.”

Just then his phone rings. It’s you. He wishes he could ignore the pang that goes through him just from reading your name. “Hotch.” He answers.

“Sir-- I mean, Aaron.” You correct yourself quickly, and then realize you should have called him Hotch, but it’s too late. “They’ve found a body.”

He frowns, “A body? That doesn’t fit his MO.”

You swallow, “Yeah, well, everything else does. He seems to have gotten a little carried away with the carving this time.”

“We’ll be right there.”

You hang up your phone and then turn back to Reid and Morgan who are looking over the crime scene. You sit with Victoria’s, the victim’s, distraught roommate and try to calm her and maybe get some actual information out of her. You don’t hear or see Aaron walk in until he’s already next to you, “Did you get anything from her?”

His closeness makes it hard to focus, “Just regular roommate stuff, she might be more useful once she calms down. I asked if her roommate had a boyfriend or anything like that and she said she was quiet, kept to herself. Boys were out of the question.”

“He’s escalated. Why?”

You shrug, “Could be because we’re here, that might have upset him and he lost control. But it could have been an accident, roommate says Victoria had a heart condition. The stress of the situation might have killed her.”

Hotch nods, “Good work.”

He was trying to be normal, you could tell. And he was trying so hard. “Thank you.” You said softly and then you excused yourself. Everything about him set you on edge and over and over the moment he kissed you plays in your head.

***

You’re both laughing to near snorting while sitting at the bar and Aaron can’t stop watching you, “You have an incredible laugh, you know?” He says softly when you’ve both settled down. “Sometimes when I think this job isn’t worth it, I’ll hear your laugh outside my office and just that sound…” He realizes what he’s saying suddenly and turns his head away from you smiling at his drink now.

“You make it worth it for me too.” You say and his eyes are back on you, “You so rarely ever smile, but when you smile at me… It makes it all worth it. The long hours, the horrible cases… all of it.”

When you look back at him he’s suddenly serious again. You can see his eyes calculating as he searches your face and you realize with a bit of shock that he’s trying to see if you’re lying. When his eyes finally settle back on yours, he gently reaches up, almost without thinking about it and curls a loose piece of hair behind your ear.

And then in the next second, his hand still on your face, his mouth is on yours.You forget that there’s anyone else in the world for those few seconds that he kisses you. Until everyone on the team starts jeering and Aaron pulls away like he’s seen a ghost.

“Aaron?” You say, frowning as he jumps up from his seat, not looking at you and gathering his things.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he murmurs and then runs out.

Derek’s laughing as he walks up to you, “Damn, princess. You broke Hotch! I gotta say, you’re incredibly out of his league.” You glare at him. “What? You’re out of my league too.”

You smile at that and try to act like everything’s normal, but you’re sure Spencer notices that you drink more and laugh a little too loudly.

***

You’re pulled back from the memory as JJ walks toward you, “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah,” You nod, “Fine, just needed a second alone to think.”

She stops in front of you and rests her hand on your arm, lightly squeezing, “You can talk to me, you know, about men. Even Hotch.”

You smile, “I appreciate everyone’s concern, but I’m fine, really. It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s a big deal if it starts interfering with the job, and I can see it on both of you,” She’s stern all of a sudden, “I know he’s our boss, but underneath that he’s just any other man, Y/N. Don’t let him fool you into thinking otherwise.”

“Guys,” Derek interrupts, sticking his head out into the hallway, “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

When you come back in the room, Spencer is crouched over the body, gloves on, examining the carvings in her body, “There’s hesitation in the cuts this time and you can tell they were done after she was dead. And if you look a little bit closer…”

“‘Sorry…’” You read the small script, astonished. “Remorse. It was an accident.” Your eyes dart back and forth as you lose yourself in your own thoughts while the rest of the team discusses, “I think we can deliver the profile.”

***

“We’re looking for a white male in his early to mid twenties.” Hotch starts, “He most likely is able to gain the women’s trust, maybe he’s a student RA or a student tech worker, but they let him in without a second thought.”

“I thought he breaks into the dorms and waits for them?” A cop asks.

“He does,” You say, “But the initial access is how he chooses his victims. He’s a loner, doesn’t have many friends, certainly no girlfriend. It’s possible that he asks these girls on dates when he first meets them, and when they refuse he feels entitled to them anyway which is why he comes back for the rape.”

“What about the murder?” Another cop asks.

“We believe the death of the last girl was an accident.” Reid responds, “She had a heart condition and the medical examiner has confirmed she died from sudden cardiac arrest. The unsub even seemed to show remorse when he defiled the body after, carving the word ‘sorry’ into her body.”

“The killing has most likely set him on edge. He’s remorseful, upset, overcome with immense guilt, but he blames the women. If they had just said yes to him, he wouldn’t have to do this. She wouldn’t have died.” Derek continues, “You should be looking for someone who was soft spoken, but as the rapes started he became more assertive, maybe he had an altercation with a professor or supervisor.”

“You’ve probably interviewed him already,” You say, “He inserts himself into the investigation because he feels guilt and watching the investigation play out validates that he was right for doing what he did.” You sigh, “There’s one more thing. He didn’t intend to kill Victoria, but… He spent time with the body after she had passed. He mutilated her as well as continued his rape of her afterward. It’s possible that he enjoyed the kill and will kill the next time as well. So stay vigilant and… please tell the girls not to let any men in their dorms. Thank you.”

Aaron comes up to you, “Can I speak to you alone for a moment?”

You nod and follow him into a conference room and he closes the door behind you, “You’re really an incredible profiler, agent.”

Again with the ‘agent.’ “Thank you, sir.”

“I just wanted to assure you that I will remain nothing but professional around you from here on out.”

You tilted your head to the side and you knew the pain was evident on your face as you didn’t try to hide it, “I see.”

“You’re upset.”

You laugh, “Did you mean anything you said at the bar, Aaron, or were you just drunk?” You’re aware of how vulnerable you’re being in front of him now as you can hear the tears in your own voice.

You see him calculating what the best response is and this just infuriates you more, “Forget it, you’re just going to talk to me like some unsub, trying to best figure out what to say to calm me down.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not what I’m doing.”

You start to walk out and stop to stand next to him, “You just said yourself I’m an incredible profiler, so please don’t profile me and think I won’t notice.”

He closes his eyes as you continue walking out, “Y/N, wait.” Despite yourself, you do stop at the sound of your name. “I’m sorry, I-- I meant the things I said at the bar, I’m… But I’m your boss and I don’t want to make it difficult for you to do your job.”

You force a smile and look up at him, “Don’t worry, Hotch, won’t be a problem.”

And then you’re gone and he gets the feeling you won’t call him Aaron ever again.

***

Spencer walks in the entrance of the dorm you’ve been staking out, two coffees in hand. He hands one to you wordlessly, “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Obviously not.” You sigh and happily guzzle the coffee, “Thanks.”

“Hotch is upset.”

“About what?” You murmur, half paying attention, half going over the case again on the papers in front of you.

“About you, obviously.”

You don’t look up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How do you even know Hotch is upset? He always looks like he’s pissed at something.”

“Because I’m a profiler. Everyone knows he’s off, no one will say to his face that it’s because of you.”

You sigh and look up at him, “Spencer, we’re fine, okay? We’re adults.” He’s quiet, but he won’t stop staring at you, “What?”

“I know that I’m… not the most perceptive when it comes to emotions, but… I think he’s in love with you. And I’m pretty sure you’re in love with him.”

You smirk, “And what makes you think that, Mr. Profiler?”

He smiles back, “Well, Hotch is always watching you, mostly when you’re not looking and when he does his expression sort of… softens. He almost always assigns the two of you together when giving the unit assignments, which I think is partially because he likes to be around you, but also because he’s trying to protect you, especially after that hostage situation a few months ago. He was a wreck when you were in there. Screaming at everyone, I really thought he would kill the unsub when he found him.”

“He would do that for any of us, when any of us were in danger.” You said, quickly shaking your head to dismiss the idea.

But Spencer shakes his head, “You didn’t see him. It was different.”

“Spencer, he barely gave me a pat on the back when I left that hostage situation alive.”

“That’s because he doesn’t trust himself around you. Why do you think the only time he’s ever given you a hint at the way he feels was when he was drunk?”

Your head is spinning as you look at Spencer, “No, that doesn’t make any sense--”

“It makes perfect sense and I know you know that.” Spencer’s phone rings, “Reid.” He sighs and lowers his head, “Where? Okay, we’ll be right there.” He hangs up the phone, “There’s another body.”

You sigh, “I really hate being right.”

***

“You were right,” Hotch says from behind you, “He’s discovered he likes killing.”

It was never easy looking at bodies, but somehow it was always worse when you had predicted it and still not been able to stop it, “How did he do it?”

“Manual strangulation.��

“Has anyone checked for skin or blood under her fingernails? Sign of a struggle?”

Aaron nods, “Already scraped off and sent to Garcia.”

“Even if she can’t find a match, we’ll be able to narrow down suspects by the injuries she left.”

“The school is panicking, they want to evacuate the campus.”

“If they evacuate we’ll never find him, he’ll just start again somewhere else.”

“That’s what I told them.”

You sigh, “Why are the girls still letting him in?”

“Maybe they’re not,” Hotch mused, “Maybe he’s starting to pick the girls from his classes now that we’re here.”

“The last two victims, do we have their schedules? Their majors?”

“They were both nursing majors,” Emily interjects, “Third year.”

You nod, “Okay, so by that point, third year, majority of their classes are restricted to nursing majors only.” You flip your phone open and dial Penelope.

“Hello my delightful fairy princess, what can I do for you?”

“Garcia, the last two victims, can you cross reference their class schedules and tell me if they had any classes in common?”

“Yes, just a second… Three classes in common.”

“Okay, cross reference with the remaining victims.”

“Um, okay, wow, all of them had two classes in common.”

“Shit.” You mutter, “Can you send over the class rosters of both those classes, but just the men. And also send pictures.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, Penelope.”

You shake your head, “They were all nursing majors.” You say as you hang up, “How did we miss that?”

Reid was shaking his head, “We didn’t have a lot of time to interview the victims before the first body turned up.”

“Alright, we need everyone looking through those rosters, rounding up every male we can and interviewing them.” Hotch starts, “Y/N, you’re with me for interviews, the rest of you keep in touch with Garcia and find out anything you can.”

You try to ignore the shock you feel that he picked you this time, noting Reid’s raised eyebrows as he left the room. “You sure you want me on interviews?” You ask when you’re alone.

He’s looking at all the evidence on the corkboard, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Wasn’t sure if you would want to work closely with me anymore.” You say, standing next to him now and also looking over the evidence.

He looks at you now, “You have the same features as a lot of the victims, I’m hoping it’ll get a rise out of our unsub if we find him.”

You nod, “Makes sense.”

“And,” He says pointedly until you meet his eyes, “As I’ve said already, you’re an excellent agent and I could use your help on this.”

You heave a big sigh, “Okay, how do you wanna play it?”

He shrugs, “I think you already know what role I need you to play.”

***

This is maybe the tenth or so interview you and Hotch had done with no success. You were tired of playing this role, especially in front of Hotch.

“Jordan.” You smile sweetly at him, making sure to lean over the table just a little to give him the view he wants, “Did you know either of these girls?” You lay the pictures of the last couple victims on the table, wait to see his reaction. He brings his hands up to rest on the table and you see the shallow scratch marks on them, you share a discreet look with Hotch who barely nods in acknowledgement.

He stares for far too long. Hotch notices his hands clench into fists. He’s excited by the bodies.

“Yeah, I knew them.” He’s still looking at the pictures, “They were in two of my classes.” He finally looks up and gazes at you hungrily, “You seem awful young to be an FBI agent.”

You smile again and then look away, a sign of submission. “Stop flirting with my agent.” Hotch says placing his palms abruptly on the table. Jordan doesn’t flinch at Hotch’s presence, not taking his eyes off you. He’s more confident than either of you anticipated. Was the profile wrong or is this the wrong guy? “How did you know the victims?”

“I just told you, from class.”

“Did you ever see them outside of class?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe, to do a project, not in a while though.”

“Jordan, do you know if either of the girls had a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” He frowns, “Those two? No.” He practically scoffs.

You tilt your head to the side, “Why do you say it like that?”

“Those girls aren’t the boyfriend type. They’re whores.” There’s the bitterness in his voice.

You try to make your face as empathetic as possible, “What do you mean by that, Jordan?”

“Well, you know, they slept around… Wouldn’t give a nice guy like me a chance. You must know their type, you’re the FBI.”

You nod, “It must be so hard for a handsome, smart guy like you to get rejected. I can’t imagine why anyone would dream of missing out on that,” You shake your head, “Their loss.”

Hotch audibly scoffs and you watch Jordan glare at him. He’s getting angry. Good. “Hotch, why don’t you go get Jordan a water?”

Hotch blinks at you, trying to figure out if you had really just given him an order, “Agent, I am the lead interrogator on this case, I’m not leaving you alone in here--”

“Agent Hotchner,” You turn in your seat to face him, hoping he’ll read your expression, “Please get the young man a water, he’s been in here for hours.”

His eyes search your face for a few moments and then he leaves the room without another word. He won’t be getting Jordan a water. You know he’s watching carefully from the other side of the glass. “Sorry about him.” You say, “He doesn’t understand men like you.”

“Men like me?”

“Men who know how to get what they want.”

His face transforms as he watches you and he leans back in his chair, relaxed, legs spread to assert his dominance. “And you understand that?”

“There’s nothing sexier than a man who goes after what he wants… No matter what.”

He leans forward and whispers, “Even when they beg me to stop?”

You swallow past your disgust and, though you hate to admit it, fear, “Did they beg you to stop? Victoria and Erica?”

His smile widens as he watches you, “You remind me so much of them.”

“Can you tell me what you did to them? How you killed them?”

He licks his lips now, you think he’s lost all sense of where he is, falling for the delusion you’ve set in front of him, “You’re just like them, a dirty little slut. You want to be punished, don’t you?”

“Please.” Is the last word you whisper before he practically jumps across the table to grab your throat. Your chair falls backwards and he’s on top of you, crushing your windpipe. How could you forget that he was uncuffed? Hotch rushes in, he yells as he pulls Jordan off you, but you’re not sure what he’s saying. Then he’s cuffed Jordan and taken you out of the room.

“Sit.” Aaron says, ushering you to a chair that you practically fall into. You’re still coughing and you’re shaking a bit as Aaron gives you a water.

“I forgot,” You start, your voice hoarse, but Hotch brings the water cup to your mouth, insisting you drink before talking. You take a couple swallows, “I forgot he wasn’t cuffed.”

He shakes his head, “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

“No, I needed you on the other side of the glass. He wouldn’t have fallen for the delusion otherwise. I needed him to forget who I was and just see me as a potential victim.” Aaron wouldn’t meet your eyes, not wanting to admit that you were right, “I’m going back in there.”

“No, you’re not, that’s out of the question.”

“Is that an order, sir?” He scans your face in frustration, “You know it has to be me. He won’t talk to you. I’ll be fine.”

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, “Fine. Ask him about Erica, don’t ask about Victoria.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t kill Victoria himself, it’ll ruin the fantasy and he might lie to you to try to impress you. The details of the murders weren’t shared with the public, only the unsub would know how each of them died. He needs to reveal how he killed Erica to you and then we’ll have him.”

“Okay.” You stand and hold your hands behind you so he won’t see them shaking, but he’s a profiler. The attempt is mute.

He takes a step closer, “You don’t have to go back in there,” He says softly, “No one will think less of you.”

When he’s this close, looking at you with such concern, it makes you want to melt in his arms. But you had a job to do, “I can do this.”

And before he can make you think about it more, you turn away from him and march back in the interrogation room.

“Sorry about that,” You sit back down at the table and smile at him, “My partner gets a little jealous sometimes.” You lean in and whisper, “He’s usually the only one I let handle me like that.”

Just like that he’s back, “Why don’t you uncuff me so we can continue?”

You bite your lip, “I’d like to hear more about the other girls first.”

***

“Why is she in there by herself?” Rossi came up behind Aaron who was watching the unsub’s every move, ready to jump in again if needed.

“She insisted.” Hotch says simply, “She almost has him.”

Rossi sighs, “She’s stubborn. Like someone else I know.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment, “I can’t be with her, Rossi, it could ruin her career.”

“You can’t know that. And besides, don’t you think that should be her decision to make?”

Hotch doesn’t answer, he just continues watching you.

***

“Does it turn you on hearing what I’ve done to them?”

You’re sitting on your hands now, trying to stifle the growing panic in your head that was telling you to get out. He’s unarmed, he’s cuffed, Aaron is right there. He can’t hurt you. “You have no idea.” It came out breathless from your fear, but he interpreted it as desire.

“First, I knocked her out, tied her to the bed. Then I waited for her to wake up before I began. I stripped her clothes off her at that point and then I fucked her while she cried,” He’s smiling at you and you’re doing all you can to keep your expression neutral. “I took out the knife and started carving her up. You should have heard her beg. And then, when that’s all finished, I strangled her while I came inside her.” He leans over the table to get closer to you, and it takes everything in you not to move away, “Have you ever watched the light leave someone’s eyes, sweetheart?”

You calmly scoot your chair back and stand, buttoning your shirt back up and then resting your hand on your gun, reminding him of who you really are, “Thank you, Jordan. You’ve been incredibly helpful in this investigation.” And then turn to leave ignoring the way he calls after you.

When you exit the room, Aaron and Dave are both waiting for you and you sit down, exhausted, resting your head in your hands.

“Nice work, kid.” Dave says with a squeeze on your shoulder, and then he’s gone.

Then, there’s another touch on your back, more gentle and hesitant. You look up to see Aaron watching you, concern masking his face, “I’m fine, Hotch.” You say, shrugging him off.

His hand drops and you immediately regret it. “When you were taken those months ago, by that unsub…” His words are slow, as if making sure this is what he really wants to say to you. You know exactly what he’s going to say before he says it, “He raped you, didn’t he?” Your eyes snap up to meet his. “You would never tell us what actually happened, all those hours he had you, a sexual sadist.” He shakes his head, “There’s no way he would’ve been able to control himself.”

You shake your head just lightly, “I can’t do this now, Aaron.”

“Then when?” He’s frustrated now, borderline angry, “You lied at your psych eval, you said nothing happened, we let you come back after just a couple of weeks--”

“And I’m doing just fine, aren’t I?” You stand so you’re nearly eye level with him.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you almost fell apart in there?”

“But I didn’t. I finished it and I did a damn good job and you know it.”

Hotch erases all traces of emotion from his face as he stares you down, “You’re suspended for two weeks, effective immediately. Hand over your badge and gun, agent.”

You nearly stumble back from him as if you’ve been hit, “Aaron?”

“What’s going on?” Prentiss has entered the room now followed by the rest of the team, all watching with confused and worried expressions.

“You heard me.” Hotch says, never taking his eyes off you. You make no moves to take out your badge or gun, “Now, agent.” There’s bite to his words this time.

You feel humiliated. With the whole team watching, you place your gun and badge on the table and brush by Aaron without a second glance. Pushing past the team, even Spencer who reaches for you.

“What the hell was that, Hotch?” Derek says once you’ve left.

“She lied in order to pass her psych eval. I did what I had to do.” Everyone’s staring at him, but he walks by, seemingly unphased, “Good work, everyone. Get some rest, we go home tomorrow at first light.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #hotch fic #hotch fluff #hotch angst #hotch imagine #mine

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spxllcxstxr · 4 years ago

Text

Wouldn’t It Be Nice • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Request: maybe a blurb where the reader is dating Remus and one day, they randomly decide to miss classes and go on a date instead. maybe a walk, so it’s super simple but they talk about their life - their future and that makes it romantic. basically a fluff. lkshda I don’t know I just want him to hold my hand and kiss my forehead. Love your writing! — anon and hii, you asked for more remus requests and as a remus simp i just had to comply. i'd love to see more one shots that show both sides of remus: the softy, cuddly boy and the sassy, snarky comments king. so maybe have a moment where he's being cute with the reader and the immediate other they're sassing each other off and that's just how their relationship works :) — @moonysimpp

Summary: You skip a class and plan a wedding

Warnings: brief weed mention, skipping class, a little suggestiveness?, talks about marriage, no mention of Voldy/the war

Word Count: 1.4k

A.N: At first, I wasn’t going to combine these two requests...but I made Remus both snarky and soft so I thought why not? I hope that’s ok with the two of you, I feel like it just worked out well this way. As always, let me know what you think and love you all ❤️

Title: The Beach Boys - Wouldn’t it be Nice (I just got this vibe immediately after reading the request)

****

“Have I gone completely mental, or is the Remus John Lupin actually asking me to skive off History of Magic?”

Remus stands across from you, leaning his shoulder against a stone pillar, red and gold tie prim and proper, hands buried deep in the pockets of his slacks. His eyes lazily roll at your theatrical gasp.

“And in our N.E.W.T. year!” You continue, dramatically clutching your chest. “What a naughty boy you are, Lupin. Can’t believe Minnie ever made you a Prefect!”

He raises an eyebrow at you, the right one, with the white jagged scar cutting it in half like a bolt of lightning.

“Are you done yet, love?” He casually asks, amused by your antics.

“Am I done?” You repeat, shocked. “My bad influence of a boyfriend is trying to get me to play truant!”

He snorts at your claim knowing full well you and Sirius skipped Herbology yesterday to get high behind Hagrid’s hut. No one was a bad influence on you except yourself, and everybody knew it.

“C’mon, Lily’ll take notes for us.” Remus takes a hand out of his pocket and rubs the back of his neck. The very simple and casual action has your heart fluttering.

“Oh, yeah.” The red head beside you scoffs. “‘Lily’ll take notes for us.’” She mocks in a lower voice to imitate Remus’. “Y’know, as Head Girl, I should be taking points away from you, Remus.”

“That’s rich comin’ from you, Lily.” Remus chuckles, reluctantly dragging his body away from the wall and closer to the two of you. He brings his index finger to the bottom of his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Who was it again that let you off when you and James got caught in the Prefect’s bathroom—“

Your friend’s face gets drenched in deep red embarrassment. Her eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. “We agreed to never speak of that, Remus.” Lily’s voice is deadly serious as she interrupts his thought.

Everybody in the entire castle and their pets knew all about how Remus walked in on something happening between James and Lily in the Prefect’s bathroom in December, but nobody except the three of them knew the exact story. It was considered major drama in the castle and even after months, people are still whispering about it.

He smirks at her bright and flustered face before turning his triumphant gaze onto you.

“So, you joinin’ me, love?” Remus asks, his hand outstretched towards you.

You always had trouble saying no to Remus Lupin.

“Hm, spend time with my boyfriend or be put to sleep by Binns’ awful monotone lecture? What a hard choice.” You snark before immediately grabbing at his hand and interlacing your fingers.

“Thought so, love.” Remus cockily voices, still smirking.

Remus’ lips briefly connect to your hairline in a kiss before he starts pulling you outside.

You barely have enough time to call out a goodbye to your friend before you’re scampering to keep up with Remus and his extremely long legs.

The air is cool against your skin, when you first step out onto the grounds. It’s crisp and clear and it beats sticking around in the musty castle. Students with all different colored robes dart around you, trying to make it to their classes in time.

“So what do you have planned for us on this fine day, Rem?” You ask, sauntering down the green rolling hills, occasionally purposefully bumping into his shoulder.

“Ah, I don’t have anything planned exactly.” He admits, thumb stroking your hand as the two of you pass Hagrid’s hut. “Just wanted to be with you. And not go to class, of course.”

“Wanted to get me alone, hm?” You tease, swatting lightly at his shoulder.

You can practically hear his eyes roll around in his sockets, something he does frequently since he has to deal with both you and his four other best friends. You don’t think there’s been a day since first year when his eyes haven’t made their rounds.

“You’re positively obnoxious, y’know that?”

You’re stepping over the plants and underbrush making up the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, trying not to get your foot submerged in mud.

“Yeah, but you love me.” You tell him, trying to balance on a fallen tree branch.

“Eh...” Remus shrugs, watching you maneuver around a twisting vine.

You narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out at him as a response.

He takes you to the spot Kettleburn usually lets his Hippogriffs roam around between lessons, a large clearing with some boulders and tree stumps to sit on.

The Forbidden Forest is beautiful in the soft May sunlight.

The leaves are lush and green, alive with various creatures noisily chatting away with each other. You hear the faint trampling and pounding of hooves off in the distance. Sweet scents of spring flowers drift through the breeze, relaxing your tense muscles.

The Forbidden Forest is even more beautiful when you’re supposed to be listening to the ghostly form of Professor Binns drone on and on about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911 in a stuffy old classroom.

Your back leans up against the rough bark of the nearest tree. It digs into your back and probably dirties your robes but you find that you don’t mind at all.

Eyelids flutter shut and you inhale the cool air deeply to ease your mind. The rustle of leaves from the gentle breeze and the chirping of surrounding creatures fills you with a sense of comfort.

Slowly, you open your eyes to see Remus sitting on a large dark boulder, gazing at you intently.

“Do you think Dumbledore would let us get married here?” You ask dreamily, observing the pale yellow sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Even from this distance, you can tell Remus’ body goes rigid.

“M-married?” He sputters meekly. “Is this a proposal? Are you proposing to me right now?”

Remus jumps from his seat, robes billowing behind him as he anxiously strides towards your spot.

“Do you want it to be a proposal?” You cock your head to the side.

“No!” He shouts, eyes wide. “I mean—fuck!” Remus continues to sputter, ears glowing pink.

You laugh at his fluster. “Relax, Remus, I know what you meant.”

“Oh thank Godric.” Remus huffs out a laugh before pressing his own back to the tree next to yours. “Just give me a few years and I’ll buy you a ring, love.”

“Well now I’m just excited.” You giggle, admiring how he’s carefully turning his head to survey the clearing.

The pale jagged lines of his scars dully glimmer in the rays of sunshine that make their way through the treetops. It’s almost angelic.

“It would be nice to get married here, wouldn’t it?” You hear him murmur, more to himself, you suspect.

“Just how many wizards you reckon been married in the Forbidden Forest?” You chuckle. “Darling, I think we’re obligated to be the first.”

Remus shakes his head fondly at the notion. His head lulls back to face you, eyebrow raised.

“Oi, you don’t need to convince me. Dumbledore’s the one you ought to ask.”

“Ah, he’s a softy.” You wave away his thought. “We’ll be fine.”

Remus raises his arms like he was presenting the wild and untamed forest behind him. “I don’t know love, it is called the Forbidden Forest.”

You shrug. “Well maybe they’ll rename it.”

“Oh yeah? To what?” Remus snorts, running a hand through his sandy curls.

You smile, making a grand gesture with your arms. “The Forbidden Unless You’re Remus and (Y/n) Lupin Forest.”

“Y’know what?” Remus smirks, kicking off of the tree. “I like the name change.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise an eyebrow as he ambled closer to your position.

“I particularly enjoy the (Y/n) Lupin part.” He places his hands on either side of your head, foreheads almost touching.

You hum in response, eyes gazing into his own honey brown ones. His eyes flick down to your lips before pressing his own to the top of your forehead.

Warmth spreads from where his lips connect with your skin, a smile instinctively growing across your face.

“Remus and (Y/n) Lupin.” He muses as he pulls away.

“Now that I think about it...” Your index finger taps against your lips in thought. “(Y/n) and Remus Lupin rolls off the tongue a bit better.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He happily sighs.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

Remus Lupin Taglist: @lunalovecroft

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