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sweetflanfiction · 23 hours ago

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Asymetrical Symphony - Part 26

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately life gets in the way of these things!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24 • Part 25

• ··········· • ············ •

Thanks to whatever gods were now in charge of watching your endeavors, you made your way quickly and easily through the aqueduct. A mix of Viktor’s knowledge of the place and your ability to unlock doors and create distractions meant you didn’t need to go through the rocky riverbed.

Once on the other side of the river, you both made your way silently toward the main city, and when you arrived back at the park, the sun was already low on the horizon.

Viktor paused next to the small bench you had met by that morning, scratching the back of his neck and biting on his cheek, and you frowned.

“Spit it.” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow when he looked up at you, but then his gaze drifted away.

“I have a…suggestion to give you, but I’m afraid of what you might think of me after.”

Your frown got deeper as his cheeks got redder.

“Go on.”

“My apartment is closer to the aqueduct than the penthouse, so…” He cleared his throat. “I think it would be beneficial…and far less exhausting… if…youspendthenightatmyhouse.”

The last part of the sentence came out as fast as the hex claw laser. You got 'spend' and 'house'…ah…

…

“You don’t have to; it is completely up to you, and even if you say yes and then change your mind, you can go! And the walls are really paper-thin, so if you are worried that I do anything to you… I mean you do have magic and I'm not exactly the strongest man in Piltover…once…Jayce gently pushed me away from an experiment, and I toppled over… Embarrassing, really… Why am I telling you this?”

You blinked a couple of times. At first I'm shocked that he had actually asked you to spend time at his place, especially after the day you both had. And then at his comically dramatic rant, a smile appeared on your face as he kept going.

“Alright, sounds like a good plan.”

“Besides, your mother isn’t here yet, and you’d be alone and…wait, what?” He finally stopped to look at you.

“It’s a good idea. We’ll be able to squeeze a few more hours of sleep in and do some planning.”

Viktor started to nod slowly at first and then enthusiastically. His face opened up with a nervous but bright smile.

“You want to go get takeout at Voltaire’s? I’m sure I can convince him to get you some tart…” He announced as he passed you by, waiting for you to follow him.

“No need.” He adjusted his cane, and you could have sworn he had a little more pep in his step. “Jayce came over the other day; his mother usually makes him bring me food. I fear she thinks I can’t feed myself.”

“Eh…pastries and dessert don’t count as a balanced meal plan, Vik.” You joked, and he gave an ‘I don’t care’ type shrug. “I’m just happy you're eating.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You shifted your backpack’s straps, realizing what you had blurted out.

“Well, work…”

“I can eat and work! That is why I have two hands…” He made a gesture of screwing a bolt and grabbing something to eat.

“Wow…efficient.” He made an agreeing sound with his throat, and you laughed.

“Keep doing it! As much as people would kill for those cheekbones, gaunt wouldn’t look good on you.” You winked at him and laughed when he touched the reddening apple of his cheeks.

Viktor joined your amusement as you both walked towards the Artist Quarters on your way to Engineering Street.

The small apartment Viktor had inhabited was, in fact, closer to the aqueduct, between the riverbed and the Academy. Most of the people working in the Academy had housing there. Mostly because the rents were low for them and proximity. It was a step up from dorms, but not really an upgrade in luxury.

And while Engineering Street was quiet throughout the day and night, you’d even say a bit boring, the Artist Quarters were a lively and colorful place, becoming more energetic at night.

The buildings were smaller, with a maximum of 3 floors, but bright with small shops on the floor levels. Bakeries, art shops, music stores. The cobblestone streets were filled with chalk drawings on the ground, and the streetlights had string lights hanging in between them.

The colors seemed to become brighter in these streets with the number of flowers and small trees and the strewn artists painting on the streets or people drinking and eating on the restaurant’s patio.

You passed by an art supply shop, and someone inside shouted Viktor’s name and waved at him. Viktor did the same, warmly greeting the elderly man storing a display of watercolors on a shelf, and you became curious.

“Mr. Felton sells me the pencils and chalks the council hates so much.” Viktor explained when he saw your expression.

“Have you ever tried drawing?”

“Oh no! Jayce is the artist of the two of us. He’s in charge of doing the initial designs and sketches…I’m good with a ruler, though!”

You were chuckling at his pride and confidence when he suddenly veered right and started to fish something out of his satchel. He took out a key and shoved it into the intricate front door to a beautiful blue-tiled building.

When he noticed you weren’t following him, he turned back and mentioned for you to come.

Viktor, head scientist and co-creator of Hextech, did not live on Engineering Street… Viktor, the color-coding aficionado, lived in the Artists Quarters. And you knew, in your heart of hearts…in the depths of your soul…there was nothing that made more sense than this.

His never-stopping mind didn’t need the monotony of the academy-assigned living quarters. It needs the bustle and the bustle and the colors of this place. You wondered if anything would have been different if the other Viktor had had this thought.

…

The building was beautiful outside and in.

On the outside, the light blue tiled walls were decorated with white columns and stone windows. There were three floors, with the two higher ones having a small veranda on them, just big enough to have two chairs on them. The ivy that crept up on the walls broke the symmetric façade of the building, clinging to the columns and tiles like veiny tendrils of bright green. What really got your attention at first was the front door, a white wood double door with intricate carvings and colorful glass panes, finished with a beautifully curved glass canopy.

The inside of the building was just as wonderful, with pastel brown painted walls and various little plants scattered on corners; the well-used wooden floors gave the inside a cozy feeling. In the middle back of the foyer was an old, small elevator that Viktor quickly made his way to, only stopping at the metal mailboxes to see if anything had been left to him. Nothing.

When you got to the elevator, you noticed Viktor’s hand tapping on the handle of his crutch. He was biting his cheek and slightly frowning, breathing in and out deeply at points.

“Are you alright?” You asked, leaning against the cage of the elevator.

“Mmm?” You nodded to his fingers on the handle, and he stopped, clutching the handle tighter. “Sorry…I--”

“Remember when you said I could change my mind and go? The same applies to you. I can just go.” You made sure your tone wasn’t disappointed or angry or any unintentional emotion that would make him feel bad when there was absolutely nothing to feel bad about. You’d respect his decision the same way you know he’d respect yours.

“No…” he quickly interjected. “I…this is not because I don’t want you here. It is because I do. I’m afraid I may do something that will scare you off…”

“I don’t scare easily.” You want to add, ‘I once spit in the face of a god,’ but then he would start asking questions. So you just touched his hand and smiled.

The elevator stopped with a mechanical groan, and Viktor nodded, more to himself than to you, and walked out to the second-floor foyer. He opened the door and walked inside with you close behind. However, you couldn’t make it past the door frame without gasping wide-eyed while your mind blanked.

Something about butterflies and wings came to mind, though.

The inside of his apartment was the exact same floor plan as the other dimension. A small kitchenette to the left with a window on top of the sink, and the rest was open space. The glass and wood door to the balcony was on a diagonal corner in front of the main door; next to it was a small arrangement of windows with curved lines going through them, giving them a delicate design. There was a room to the side, which you guessed was the bedroom, and another room at the end of the open space, the bathroom. It wasn’t cramped, but it was small.

You knew this floor plan like the back of your hand; you could close your eyes and go from here to the bathroom without bumping into the wall.

What changed, though, made the entire home feel different. The decorations and the colors. The lived-in details of the furniture.

The walls had been painted a deep forest green, instead of the neutral gray of the other dimension. There were decorations on the walls, diplomas, and schematics displayed proudly. The wooden floors were shiny and covered with rugs here and there.

The small table that served as a divider between the kitchen and the living space had a napkin holder and a wooden straw table mat. There were pans on top of the fridge and plates on the dish rack. There were two mugs on the sink, one of them with ‘man of progress printed on it.

It contrasted with the table that only served to hold books, boxes, and schematics. On the other timeline, glasses and plates were stored so as not to catch dust from not being used.

The living room had three bookcases filled with trinkets, books, vinyl records, and their player.

The books weren’t just academic, like the other apartment’s shelves, but also biographies and fantasy, architecture, and philosophy.

You could see the collector's edition of your mother’s saga neatly tucked into a shelf with small ceramic figures of the main characters in front of them.

There were photos of him, Jayce, Sky, and even your mom and Willah. Noticeably he didn’t look particularly comfortable in any of them, but it was a stark difference from the single photo of Jayce and Viktor at the inauguration of the hexgate and the framed newspaper clipping of the hex crystal discovery.

The couch was a light dusty pink color with decorative pillows and two folded blankets on the back of it. It was a sharp difference from the leather-bound couch with blankets thrown about and his bed pillow shoved into a corner.

Behind a clothed divider, a desk and some scientific material were completely thrown around, but the mess was enclosed there. Near a big window, you saw the single-seat, twin version of the couch your mother sent to the lab. Tucked in a nook surrounded by plants and books.

There were shoes on the shoe rack and coats on the coat hanger. There was an open book with a cover-up on the end table near the couch. There were tea stains on the dinner table. There was a life being lived here.

As you walked around the home, with Viktor trailing in front of you explaining and adding commentary to the million new things you were finding in the familiar house, you found yourself wondering why the Viktor you knew from before couldn’t have been gifted this…why was this Viktor standing in front of you smiling and being a generally happy human while his cosmic twin coughed himself to death? It made you sad and happy and angry and relieved.

“Are you alright?” Viktor tapped your shoulder, something he had now started to use to catch your attention instead of grabbing you.

You took a deep breath and mentioned the couch, silently asking permission to sit. Quickly he nodded and grabbed some pillows to make space for you.

When you fell onto the leathery furniture, he took the place next to you, looking concerned.

“V…I…need to--”

“Meow”

Your speech was interrupted by a long, muffled meow by the front door, accompanied by small scratches on the wood.

“Oh…No, no… I’m sorry…Give me a moment…” Viktor gave an apologetic smile and got up, while you looked on intrigued by this.

He walked towards the bathroom door and opened it and then went back to the front door and did the same. The blackest of black cats intertwined itself on Viktor's legs, giving out small greeting squeaks and purrs.

“Go. Go on. Yes, I know.” Viktor said, smiling softly at the cat, talking back to them as if he could understand.

The scientist softly nudged the cat with his foot, making the furry critter understand the big human wanted to move.

The cat finally acknowledged you and walked slowly towards where you sat, sitting gracefully in front of you and staring. Their blue eyes looked at you, and you swore that if all of the lights in Piltover were to turn off, the cat's eyes would be the only thing beaming.

“You have a cat.” You stated more than asked.

“Eehhh…Technically, the building has a cat. She just heard me first.” He limped back towards the couch and sat down.

“What's her name?”

“Noir…Nono for short.”

The cat leaped to the couch and smelled the hand you gave her. After a while, she deemed you worthy of her time and pushed her head into her hand, while Viktor stroked her body.

“Nono.” You called, and she looked at you. You presented her with your name, and she meowed.

When she was sick of the attention, she jumped down and walked to the bathroom, where you heard the telltale signs of her munching on her food.

“What were you saying?”

Viktor’s face was the definition of relaxed, the concern from before being replaced with a soft gaze and smile.

Was the need to come clean to him about his cosmic twin attempting to end the world worth him losing his peace? Would the information you were about to vomit change what he has so carefully built?

“I…think I just need to eat.” You gave him a bright smile, and he laughed quietly.

“Very well.” He got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen counter, and you followed him. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

You already were, the familiar floor plan making you feel at home. You sat at the dinner table watching him open his fridge and take out some glass containers with food and place them in the oven to heat up.

Viktor sat on a chair next to you and slowly took off his leg brace, sighing in release.

“If you want to, you can shower. I can go ask Madame Theroux, my neighbor, if she can let me borrow one of her kid's old clothes… I think she might have something that fits you.”

“Oh no…That’s too much of a bother.”

“Nonsense.” He got up and grabbed a discarded cane that was hooked on the divider and walked towards his bedroom.

After a while, he came out holding two fluffy towels and handed them to you. “She probably already heard I have company; might as well come clean sooner than later; otherwise she’ll be knocking on my door to snoop.”

“Sounds like a charm.” You grabbed the towels.

“She is actually. She’s very protective of us…the people in the building.” He smiled and mentioned the bathroom door. “If you could just leave the door ajar so Nono can come in and out…otherwise she will throw a tantrum.”

The black cat, now curled up on the couch, meowed at hearing her name. You nodded and walked to the bathroom while Viktor made his way to his neighbor's door.

“Oh…you can use whatever you need from there.” He opened the door and paused again. “There’s a robe on the back of the door if you need it.”

The door clicked shut, and you looked at Nono, who looked up at you and blinked slowly.

The bathroom was big, and while in the other dimension, it was just a well, normal bathroom; this one had been enhanced to help Viktor with his disability.

There were grab rails next to the slightly raised toilet and in the shower nook. All of the towel racks were sturdy enough to assist if he needed.

The floor had several thin anti-slip rugs, and the shower also had one that looked like wood.

There was also a stool inside the shower that you assumed he would use when needed.

You and Viktor in your timeline had once talked about this, making his house accessible for when he needed it, but his answer had been dismissive. A shrug and an ‘I spend more time in the lab anyway.’ Maybe you should have insisted; maybe you should have been more enthused about making it easier for him. Maybe if you had, he would have seen you in a better light after he had gotten the news.

It frustrated you that ‘maybes’ were all you had now. Even if you went back to your dimension, those things would still be in a maybe and if pile.

You heard the door close and started your shower quickly. You heard a knock on the door.

“There is a chair outside the door, in arm's reach for you to take. Madame Theroux said she threw in some undergarments…I didn’t check.”

“Thank you.”

You finished the shower and grabbed the clothes. Some red cotton checkered bottoms, a matching shirt, a white undershirt, and undergarments. It looked cozy, and it did fit you perfectly. This brought up the question of how Viktor had described you to the neighbor for her to get accurate measurements.

Walking out of the bathroom intent on joking about it with him, you stopped when you saw him haul a blanket and what you assume was a pillow to the couch.

“Oh. You are done.” He smiled, grabbed some clothes from the back of the couch, and walked towards you. “I think the food will be done soon. I am going to take a shower too, and then we eat, yes?”

You were still looking at the pillow and the sheet that was already tucked into the sofa.

“This for me?” You blurted it out before he passed you, and he shook his head.

“No. You’re my guest. You sleep on the bed.” He sounded proud of himself. “May I?”

Viktor pointed to the door of the bathroom, and you noticed you had been blocking his path. You took a step forward, and he smiled, walked inside, and pushed the door almost closed.

The ruffling of clothes snapped you out of your stupor, and you walked towards the kitchen, throwing daggers at the couch.

• ··········· • ············ •

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hisirishsoufflegirl · 22 hours ago

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Tea Is A Love Language ~ A.H x Reader

A/N (wow I haven’t wrote that in years): Hi! I’m back (says them to people who did not even realise they stopped writing lmao). There’s been an Aaron Hotchner x You slow burn fic brainstorming away whenever I’ve been rewatching Criminal Minds for the past few years so I thought I’d make a comeback to write a sample entry (that takes place a bit into the actual fic) to see what everyone thinks, aha.

CW/Context: Aaron and Hayley are divorcing/there’s no Emily(sorry!)/Aaron being grumpy but then surprisingly sweet/Reid and reader are best friends/Morgan and reader are very close due a traumatic past/Aaron gave a private lil sweet pep talk to reader when they got overwhelmed after the college campus murders/the timeline is a bit jumbled but it’ll be easier to follow/explained in full fic/in canon mentions of violence/I’m rusty at this, forgive me

A sigh. Then a smacking sound as the paper contents of a file hit the desk.

“Who’s up for a drink?” Morgan stood up. Eyebrows raising as if a lightbulb flashed atop his head, he turned. “Actually.. who’s up for five?”

The man didn’t need to ask you twice. Nights out drinking with Morgan were always the safest. Sure, they were wild and chaotic.. but you always knew you would get home and you always knew you’d never wake up the next morning fearing you did something you regret. It was funny. One of the men who inspired you to join the Academy and pursue this as a career was not only now a colleague but a friend. A close friend at that. Your letters containing updates on your life since that awful period of your life when you were 18 were more for Gideon’s sake. Though that didn’t mean Derek never checked up on you throughout the years that led to you surprising the agent the day it was announced a new member was joining the team and in you walked into the table meeting.

“I don’t know..” your best friend trailed off, his focus on fixing the contents of his brown satchel.

You got up from your desk, the one attached to Spencer’s, shouldering your own bag. “Nuh-uh, Spence. You’re coming.” You looked up at him, trying your hardest to use your eyes to silently beg to coax him out.

It worked. It always worked. Reid hated nights out, especially Morgan’s definition of a night out, but you knew you made it tolerable for him. Many a night of drinking you sat with the doctor, letting him ramble off about statistics or Star Trek and often debating the one topic you yourself did know about - Doctor Who. You didn’t know why some of the others treated listening to his interests and rambles as almost a chore. You had always found them interesting and besides, how could someone not take an interest in what their best friend cared about?

“.. you’re still cosplaying at comic con with me, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed at you.

“Of course.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

You mouthed a “thank you” at him, your hand coming up to touch his elbow as a comfort as you both walked to join Morgan and Rossi heading towards the door.

“JJ?”

“Ugh, I’d love to but.. gonna have to take a rain check.” the blonde woman grimaced, picking up her share of files.

You felt someone brush past you as they hurried towards the glass door of the bullpen. You turned your head, realisation hitting you that it was your Unit Chief. You hadn’t properly spoken one on one to the man ever since the day the team was about to leave Flagstaff, Arizona. There had been a spree killer on a college campus, murdering women who were very similar in age to you and it brought back some painful memories. Painful memories as well as a feeling of guilt that you had survived your own attack and had went on to go and finish college. A privilege that those victims never got to make a reality. You had stepped away for a moment to compose yourself back at the hotel while the other agents were packing to go home when Hotch had appeared beside you. You had been sure you were to be scolded for being too soft or for your exterior slipping, a worry that was all too evident as you had tried to quickly wipe your tear away and swallow the ache in the back of your throat. But no. He had been kind. Really kind. The conversation had not been long, nor did the comforting hand on your arm to gesture you back to the hotel to leave linger, but it had helped.

“Hotch, you up for a beer?” the Italian man extended the invitation to his friend.

Hotch stopped in his tracks, his eyes flickering to the side as he pondered his answer. He decided with a sigh. “Sure.” He turned and you offered an awkward smile when his eyes settled on you.

“Agent Hotchner.” came the suited man with a clipboard and envelope into the room through the glass doors.

Breathing in, Hotch’s eyes looked away from you as he turned. “Yes?”

The man presented him with the clipboard and a pen to sign for the brown envelope.

Hotch’s eyes shifted down to it and his body stiffened slightly with a sharp intake of breath.

You had never seen Hotch display a crack in his exterior like that before. I wonder what’s in that envelope. You thought.

Breaking the silence, you sucked your lower lip in - a tell, you had been told by one of your profiler buddies, that you felt awkward and anxious. “What is it?”

Your boss stared down at the envelope, his fingers subconsciously kneading the paper. That’s one of *his* tells, you surmised, whatever it is it’s bothering him.

He finally glanced up at you through dark eyelashes, a look of defeat in those dark eyes. “Hayley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.”

Fuck. Fuck. You fucked up.

You watched as Hotchner took a final look at the contents in his hands before walking away, no longer feeling up to a fun and happy night.

“McCoy Boy! How was Connecticut?” You greeted Spencer as you, Morgan, JJ and Rossi piled back into the bullpen. You dropped your bag onto your chair and circled round to the opposite side of the desk to throw your arms loosely round the genius’ neck and shoulders. You never took advantage of the privilege of being the only one Reid allowed to casually touch him like this but now didn’t count. You had missed him. While you were in Indianapolis helping Rossi catch the monster that haunted him and three siblings, your best friend and your Unit Chief were in Connecticut interviewing a death row inmate.

Spencer rested his hand on one of your arms as you squeezed him, propping his book down on his desk. “Ultimately uneventful.”

You shifted your head from the top of Reid’s curly mop to his temple. “Fill me in anyway.”

Spence chuckled before turning his gaze at Rossi. “Uh sir, there’s someone waiting to speak to you in your office.”

You pulled back to crane your neck behind you. Sure enough, Kevin Lynch stood in the doorway to the office at the end of the walkway.

You focused on JJ’s face as Kevin talked, a face barely containing her smile and giddiness. Your eyebrows furrowed confused and as Rossi walked past to talk ‘man-to-man’ with the tech analyst, you mouthed ‘what??’ to the blonde.

JJ raised her eyebrows suggestively at you as she swivelled to walk away. “Garcia and Kevin sittin’ in a tree..”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “Get out of here.”

“Wait, what? What?” the brown eyed genius piped up, confusion and anxiety about missing a clue seeping in his voice.

“Didn’t you hear the song, love?” You asked your friend, your left arm still leaning on the back of his office chair for standing support.

“The song meant something? No, I missed it!” Reid grew frantic. Adorable.

“Yeah, it..” you trailed off as your eyes looked around the room as you looked up. They landed on the dark haired man in his pristine suit, shoulders tense as he hunched over his desk, one hand resting on his forehead.

He looks so stressed.

You sucked in your lower lip. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” You ruffled the top layer of Spencer’s brown curls. “I’ll explain it later.”

You moved your duffel bag onto the floor underneath your desk and settled in your chair. Every instinct in you was screaming to check in on your boss. That’s just the type of person you were and your instincts never did you wrong. You had gone on gut instinct when you asked Spencer what was causing him to struggle which eventually led to him going to rehab. You had listened to your instinct when it told you to gather up Morgan and JJ to join Rossi in Indianapolis a few days ago. But this was Hotch. This was your boss. You had never seen the man crack a smile let alone open up about his feelings.

Leaning your chin on your hand, your head twisted to look at the environment behind your desk. Looking behind you had become a habit since you were a teenager, even when your body knew it was in a safe environment such as the bullpen. But old habits die hard and listen, it was a habit that kept you alive in the field. Funny that. You’d think someone with that self preservation habit would run away from situations that posed a threat, not run to them. And certainly not make a career out of solving them.

Your eyes landed on the coffee machine set up and kettle sat on the communal kitchen countertop.

Hmm. Too late for coffee. You hummed. Hold on..

You swung your legs out from under your desk, pushing yourself up and away from your desk and headed towards the communal kitchen. The plethora of jars containing coffee grounds - the jar with the brown and gold label was Reid’s only go to - and sugar - the plastic tub of aspartame was JJ’s - littered the counter. But you weren’t looking for the coffee. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you opened up each cupboard. You searched the top two before bending down to view the contents of the bottom ones.

A-ha! Found you. You took out the green box praying it wasn’t empty and silently thanked God when it wasn’t. Plopping one of the tea bags into the clean ecru mug you found, you filled the kettle in the sink and flicked on the switch.

As the water boiled, you dared to glance to your right at Hotch’s office. You didn’t think it was possible but the man looked even more stressed. The noise of the kettle turning off drew your attention and you poured the hot liquid into the mug, pressing the teabag to the sides of the mug with the spoon before scooping it up and binning it in the pedal bin. Stealing the last of the semi skimmed milk from the fridge, you trickled some of it into the tea before stirring. Dropping the spoon into the sink promising to clean it in a few minutes, you grasped the handle of the cup and headed towards the steps to the walkway.

Your feet reached the closed door to the office and your knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Come in.” He sounds tired.

Careful not to spill the tea, you pushed the handle of the door down and the door opened. Hotch glanced up. Twice. Once out of habit. The other a double take. His head left his hand and he placed his pen down on the case files in front of him. You could tell he was trying to figure out what you were doing in his office, it was obvious in his eyes. For a man so expressionless, his eyes were always so expressive.

You realised you had been staring at him for probably a bit too long and shifted your eyes down to the mug in your right hand, your other hand clasping round it for the excuse of holding something as a distraction. You lightly tapped your ring against the porcelain as you tried to word your sentence in your head before your mouth could get you into trouble. The action had Hotch’s gaze look down at your hands, something you noticed he did often. You had a habit of fiddling with one of your rings when you wanted to say something but were deciding if you should or not. It usually ended in Hotch noticing and asking you your opinion on the topic at hand.

You took a breath in. “Sir, if I had known.. I wouldn’t have asked about the envelope in front of everyone.“

“Y/L/N-“ Hotch sat upright in his chair.

“Anyway, I uh, I’m not going to ask you to talk about it.” You reassured him, cutting him off. Still looking at the mug in your hands, you continued. “I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. I, the team, will support you in any way we can.”

You could feel your heart speeding in your chest, you were sure your boss could even hear the thumping. You risked looking up. The usually stoic man’s gaze softened, his forehead smoothing out. Maybe Hotch wasn’t so scary all the time.

“My mother always liked to show it with tea,” You remembered the mug in your hands. Probably should explain that, yeah. “And it’s what I know so.. uhm..” You shuffled forward closer to his desk and settled the cup on top of the dark wood. Stepping back, your hands went to the back of your trouser legs.

Hotch stared at you, his expression not giving anything away. “You didn’t have to.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Think of it as repaying the favour.”

You watched as those big dark eyes softened, gaze switching to the mug now sat on his desk. Giving an tight lipped smile, you nodded awkwardly and turned to leave. You didn’t wanna overstay your welcome. As your hand reached for the door, your name being called stopped you in your tracks. Not your last name. Your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned, surprised at the switch from your surname to your first name. Hotch called everyone by their surnames, even Rossi sometimes. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” He meant that. Sincerely.

You tried to stop the smile etching its way onto your face. You felt bold. “Don’t mention it.. Aaron.”

Hotch - Aaron cracked a small smile. A tiny quirk of his lips. You nodded at each other, your hand closing the door behind you as you left the office.

Taking the steps down to your desk, you didn’t see Hotch bring the mug to his lips, taking a swig. His eyebrows raised in approval. Another swig. Leaning back in his chair, he inhaled, looking to his left to watch the bullpen out of his office window. He spotted you carrying case files back to your desk, engrossed in conversation with Reid.

He sighed, his attention turning back to his desk, pausing before opening the drawer next to him. His fingers hovered over a brown envelope, picking it up and sliding the contents of it out in front of him. Taking a breath and another swig of tea, Hotch picked back up his pen and signed his name on the dotted line.

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maretinelli · 1 day ago

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FAILED MEETING

Ollie Bearman X fem!reader

Summary: Where the four times Ollie helped Y/n get over her failed dates, but on the fifth, she realizes that what she was looking for was right there in front of her the whole time.

Words: 3.5K+

Warnings: Best friends since childhood to lovers and Ollie being really cute with Y/n, Mention of college reader, mention of alcoholic beverages, a part where Y/n is a little drunk but it's funny, Ollie taking care of her, and mentions of meeting other guys, happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar, and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

1st Failed Meeting.

Y/n was there, sitting at the table, trying to focus on the words coming out of the mouth of the man in front of her. He seemed to be very outgoing, wanting to show off everything he had achieved, his travels, his projects, his successes.

At first, Y/n thought he was just a bubbly person who liked to share stories about himself. She tried to stay interested by smiling and nodding, but as time went on, she began to realize that he wasn't the least bit interested in hearing about her.

Every time she started to speak, he interrupted her, going back to his own conquests.

"I, of course, have already been to Paris, as I said. And when I got there, everyone was impressed with my work." He said, not noticing the look of frustration that formed in Y/n's eyes.

Y/n started to feel invisible, like she was an accessory in his conversation, not someone he really wanted to talk to. She looked at her watch, feeling like she needed to get out of there.

It was impossible to stay there.

"I... I think I have to go. I have an appointment that just came up." Y/n said, standing up quickly.

"But... are you serious? Already?" He looked at her with a look of surprise, still trying to grasp what was happening.

"Yeah, I'm really late." Y/n replied, forcing a smile. "I'll pay my share at the counter."

She grabbed her bag and stood up, leaving the table before he had time to react. When she left the restaurant, she quickly grabbed her phone and texted Ollie.

'S.O.S. I need rescue.'

'I'm on 5th Avenue, Italian restaurant ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ"

Minutes later, Ollie appeared. She smiled in relief when she saw him. He had a curious smile on his face, but his expression soon softened.

"Trouble in paradise, huh?" Ollie asked, laughing as she got into the car.

Y/n sighed, giving a wry smile. "You have no idea. The guy is... THE GUY ONLY TALKS ABOUT HIMSELF, Ollie. He's a narcissist! He interrupted me every time I tried to talk about myself. I couldn't even tell him I like coffee with milk without him starting to talk about the last time he had coffee at a fancy restaurant."

Ollie laughed out loud, amusement evident on his face. "So how was he feeling, being the only interesting human being in the conversation?"

"He was loving it! I have no words, Ollie."

He laughed again. "I knew it was going to be a disaster. He seemed pretty perfect at first, didn't he?" Ollie starts driving.

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Yeah, 'perfect'... Except not. He has no idea how to be a person."

Ollie glanced at her, the amused expression still on his face. "Do you want to come over to my apartment? I ordered a pizza a few minutes ago and it should be here soon. Maybe you'll be able to forget about the whole disaster."

Y/n smiled at the offer. "That sounds perfect."

As he drove, the two felt comfortable with each other. They had been friends for so many years, and she felt that, through it all, Ollie had always been there for her, more than anyone else.

Since childhood, the two had exchanged confidences, and Y/n, although she knew how much she cared for him, still didn't have the courage to say how sorry she was. Ollie, on the other hand, had always had the same feeling, but was afraid to confess and risk their friendship.

They arrived at Ollie's apartment, and he began to talk about the training he had done that day. "It was intense. I'm really excited to get back on the track. I hope the car can handle the changes. I need more practice time."

Y/n listened to him attentively, enjoying seeing him so excited, her smile widening as she felt the comfortable atmosphere around her.

She took off her heels and placed them near the door, next to Ollie's sneakers. It was like she was home.

Ollie walked over to the intercom to answer the pizza, and then turned to Y/n, a soft look in his eyes. "I have some comfortable clothes here if you want. You can grab something from my closet."

Y/n looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Sure. You're probably bothered by that skirt and tights, aren't you?"

Y/n smiled and walked closer to him. "You know me very well." She hugged him affectionately, placing her head on his shoulder, and then placed a soft kiss on the base of his neck, which made her smile shyly. "Thank you, Ollie."

Ollie was quiet for a moment, feeling the softness of her touch, but he smiled. "I'll get the pizza downstairs. Make yourself at home."

Y/n watched him walk away, the heat from their interaction still in her body as the feeling she had always had for him intensified, something she could no longer ignore.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

2nd Failed Meeting.

The date seemed promising at first. Y/n and the guy had agreed on something simple: to go out for ice cream in the afternoon. The weather was cold, but nothing a milkshake couldn't make up for. At first, she thought it would be a pleasant afternoon.

But she soon realized she was wrong.

He spent most of his time looking at his phone, laughing at messages and occasionally commenting on other girls. He talked about how his ex was still trying to get back together with him, how a college friend of his was 'too hot' and how a girl he met on Instagram seemed 'too nice'.

At no point did he ask anything about Y/n. Not about her day, not about what she liked, nothing.

Then he got a message and laughed out loud. "Oh my god, look at this!" He said, but didn't bother showing it to Y/n.

It was there that she realized he really didn't want to be there.

Y/n just sighed and decided it wasn't worth wasting any more time. She stood up, grabbed her bag and said without hesitation, "I need to go. My parents are going out and they need the car."

The guy barely looked up from his phone. "Oh, no problem. We'll talk later."

She rolled her eyes, grabbed the untouched milkshake, and walked out of the fancy ice cream shop.

Getting into the car, he took out his cell phone and sent a message to Ollie.

'Meet me in the park near Big Ben?'

The answer came within seconds.

'I'll be there in a few minutes. (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)'

Y/n started the car and drove to the meeting point. On the way, she laughed to herself, remembering the absurd things he had said.

"Thank God I got out."

As she reached the park, the chilly London wind blew her hair away. She leaned against the railing, looking out at Big Ben and the bridge. The biting cold called for a thick coat, and Y/n was wearing a cozy sweater and scarf, but she still felt the wind blowing against her face.

That's when he felt a hand land gently on his shoulder.

"How many minutes did you last this time?" Ollie asked, leaning against the railing beside her, a smile playing on his lips.

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "Long enough to hear him talk about other girls like I was one of his friends."

Ollie's eyes widened in disbelief. "No kidding."

"I swear! He spent the whole time on his phone and laughing at the messages he received. Oh, and he even told me, all excited, that his ex still isn't over him."

Ollie laughed out loud. "Was this a date or a therapy session for him?"

"I should have charged for that." Y/n laughed along.

Ollie watched her, enchanted without even realizing it. The sparkle in her eyes as she spoke, the way the wind made her hair dance in the air, the way she wrinkled her nose every time she talked about the idiot she had gone out with.

Everything about her seemed perfect to him. It always had.

She noticed his gaze and smiled. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Ollie said, quickly looking away at the view of the river. "I'm just trying to understand how someone sets you up on a date and then decides to ignore you."

Y/n laughed, tossing her hair back. "Yeah, I wanted to understand too."

He smiled, shaking his head. "You know, maybe it's your fault."

"Mine?" She arched her eyebrow.

"Yes. You always attract the most bizarre cases. I think you have a special talent for it."

Y/n pushed him lightly, laughing. "Funny."

Ollie pointed to the cup in his hand. "What's up? Did you buy a milkshake to drown your sorrows?"

She lifted her nearly full glass and sighed dramatically. "Yes. My great consolation after the worst date of my life."

"Well, at least the milkshake didn't ignore you to talk about his ex." Ollie joked.

Y/n laughed again, feeling her heart warm with his presence. With Ollie, everything was different. Everything was light, fun, safe. She knew, deep down, that no date would work out because no guy would be like him.

But confessing it? That was the real challenge.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

3rd Failed Meeting

From the beginning, Y/n could tell something was wrong.

The guy didn't just seem excited, he was scary. Before they even had their first drink, he was already talking about marriage, kids, and how they were 'made for each other'.

Y/n listened to everything with wide eyes, trying to understand why he was so convinced that she was 'the woman of his life' after just a few exchanged messages and casual encounters at college.

He acted as if they were already in love, talking about their future together, their travel plans, their children's names, how his mother would love to meet her. All this without even knowing what her favorite food was.

They were in a bar near the college, and Y/n, completely scared by every word that came out of his mouth, started drinking. A tequila. Then, a shot of vodka. Then beer. Each sip was a momentary relief from the barrage of exaggerated statements he made.

When she realized that the alcohol was already rising and that she definitely couldn't stay there, she decided to find a way to leave.

"I... just remembered that I need to go home. My parents need me there."

She grabbed her bag and hurriedly got up, leaving before he could say anything.

As soon as he left there, he picked up his cell phone and found a message from Ollie.

'So, how's the date going?'

'Terrible. And I'm a little drunk. I need to get home, but I can't drive.'

'I'm coming to get you, babe'

The bar was close to the college, so she walked over and sat down on the steps of the block where her course rooms were. She wasn't completely drunk—not to the point where she was throwing up or couldn't walk—but she knew she wasn't sober enough to drive or take a taxi by herself.

A few minutes later, a taxi pulled up in front of her. Ollie got out of the car, said something to the driver, and paid the fare before looking in Y/n's direction.

She was sitting on the stairs, looking down at the ground with a dejected expression. He couldn't tell if it was because of the disastrous date or simply because she was tired from class.

He walked up the steps and smiled. "Wow, Y/n. You look great. Radiant, even."

Y/n looked up, snorted, and smiled. "Shut up."

"Come on, I'll help you." Ollie laughed and held out his hands to her.

She took his hands, and Ollie gently pulled her up, helping her to her feet. Once she was standing, she sighed. "The guy was already talking about kids, marriage, our country house, and naming our dogs."

Ollie's eyes widened. "Bullshit."

"I swear. And the worst part? He acted like we'd been married for years. Like... we don't even know each other!"

"You attract such a weirdo..." Ollie chuckled, shaking his head.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, crossing her arms. Ollie then held out his hand to her.

Half drunk and a little lost, Y/n just slapped his palm and said excitedly: "HIGH-FIVE!"

Ollie laughed, tilting his head back. "Y/n, I wanted your car keys, not a high-five."

She frowned and then raised her eyebrows, as if she understood the logic of it. "Ahhh. Here..."

Then he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his keys, handing them to him with a smile.

"Thanks." Ollie laughed, putting away the keys and putting an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go home, honey."

Y/n snuggled against him as they walked towards the parking lot. Ollie felt torn on one hand, seeing Y/n hanging out with other guys always made him sad.

But on the other hand, he liked being the person who always rescued her. I enjoyed taking care of her, even if it was after failed dates and a few extra shots of tequila.

As they got into the car, Ollie put on his seatbelt. Y/n watched him closely, a small smile on her lips.

"You're so beautiful." She commented suddenly.

Ollie paused for a second, turned his face to her and raised an eyebrow. "You're drunk."

"That doesn't mean it's a lie." She smiled even wider.

Ollie laughed, starting the car. "Okay, let's get you home before you propose to me too."

•••••••••••••••••••••

4th Failed Meeting

Dinner had barely started, and Y/n already wanted to run away.

The guy couldn't stop talking about his ex-girlfriend. About how perfect she was. About how she broke his heart. About how sometimes he still dreamed about her.

Y/n tried to change the subject a few times, but he always found a way to go back to his ex. The worst part? He started comparing her to the girl. The way she spoke, the way she played with her hair, even her smile, everything was identical to his ex-girlfriend.

It was enough for Y/n to realize that he was definitely not ready to move on. So before dessert arrived, she grabbed her bag and stood up.

"Look... I hope you can get over your ex one day. But I'm not her, and you clearly don't want to be here with me. Good luck."

She left without looking back, ignoring any protests he might make.

As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, he took a deep breath, trying to get rid of the frustration of the encounter. But when he looked up, he saw a car parked on the other side of the street.

A car that looked absurdly familiar.

She frowned and walked closer. When she saw who was behind the wheel, she laughed in surprise and knocked on the window.

Ollie smiled from inside and unlocked the doors. Y/n quickly got into the car and turned to him.

"What are you doing here?" She raised her eyebrows. "I haven't even had time to call for help yet!"

Ollie chuckled, turning the key in the ignition. "My parents ordered dinner from this restaurant. I came to pick it up." He then gave her an amused look. "But then I saw you sitting inside with a panicked look on your face. I decided to wait, because I was sure that in a matter of minutes you would either come out or send a message asking for rescue."

Y/n blinked a few times in surprise. "You know me too well."

"It's a gift." Ollie shrugged, smiling.

She was silent for a second, her heart pounding. She wanted so badly to tell him. To tell him that, since childhood, he had been her favorite person. That, through all these failed dates, the only constant was him.

So instead he just smiled.

"Thank you for waiting for me."

"What was the problem this time?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, still smiling.

Y/n snorted, leaning her head back against the bench. "He couldn't stop talking about his ex. From the beginning to the end of dinner."

Ollie grimaced. "Really?"

"Seriously. And not only that! He compared me to her all the time. He said that the way I moved my hair reminded him of her, that my smile was just like hers, that even my voice sounded like hers."

"For God's sake." The pilot's mouth fell open in shock.

"I know!" Y/n threw her hands up. "Like, why did he go out with me? He's clearly still in love with her!"

Ollie laughed, shaking his head. "You have a magnet for bad dates. I told you!"

"I'm starting to think so." She laughed, turning to him. "I think I'll stop trying for a while."

Ollie looked at her for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. But instead, he just drove on and smiled.

"Good idea. And anyway, you don't need dates when you already have the most amazing best friend in the world to save you."

Y/n smiled, feeling her heart race.

Maybe one day she would finally be able to tell him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Last Failed Date.

The meeting wasn't bad. The guy was nice, handsome, polite and even funny. They had fluid conversations, laughed at the same things, and Y/n almost allowed herself to believe that it could finally work out.

But with every laugh, every witty comment, she realized she was comparing everything to Ollie.

The way he told jokes. The way he moved his hair, his voice, his jokes. Gosh, even physically, he reminded me a little of Ollie.

And it was there, in the middle of dinner, that everything became clear.

What she was looking for was always right beside her.

She put the glass down on the table with a sigh and looked at the boy in front of her.

"Look... I need to be honest with you."

"Go ahead." He raised his eyebrows curiously.

"There's nothing wrong with you. You're an amazing, kind, polite, and thoughtful guy. But there's someone... someone I need to see right now. I need to tell them how I feel before it's too late. I'm sorry."

He was silent for a moment, then smiled. "I'm glad you realized that on the first date, so my heart doesn't break as much."

"I'm sorry, again." Y/n let out an awkward laugh.

"No need to apologize." He shrugged. "Good luck with your love!" He smiled, genuinely rooting for her.

Y/n smiled, paid her share and left the restaurant, her heart racing.

All the way to Ollie's apartment, her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. How would he react? What if it was too late? What if she had misinterpreted everything?

But one thing was certain, she had to try.

When she arrived at the building, the receptionist just smiled and let her pass without needing to tell him; she was already as much a part of that place as Ollie.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on his door.

When Ollie opened it, his eyes widened to see her there, crying softly, with her hands in the pocket of her denim jacket and her makeup slightly smudged.

"Y/n?" He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her lightly inside, closing the door behind them. "What happened? Did he do something to you? Because if he did, I swear I-"

"No, no!" Y/n shook her head quickly, wiping away a tear. "Nothing bad happened. The date was good, the guy was sweet, but..." She took a deep breath, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. "I left because I realized I love someone else."

Ollie froze. His heart stopped for a second, dreading hearing another guy's name leave her lips. But then, Y/n wrapped her arms around herself and looked deep into his eyes, tears starting to fall again.

"The man I love has known me since I was a child. He knows when I'm having a bad day, knows exactly what to do to cheer me up. He takes me on runs, lends me his sweatshirts, takes care of me when my parents are away on business..." Ollie held his breath, his heart hammering. "He's my best friend..."

The last sentence came out in a whisper, full of emotion.

Ollie's eyes lit up. One second his hands were on her face, and the next he was pulling her into a kiss.

It was soft, tender, but at the same time full of urgency, as if they had both been waiting for this for years. Between one kiss and another, smiles formed, hands clasped, as if they wanted to be sure that it was real.

When they broke apart, Ollie rested his forehead against hers, smiling.

"I've loved you since I was little," he confessed, his voice hoarse with emotion. "It hurt to see you go out with all those guys, but I was relieved when it didn't work out because I knew you'd come back to me. I always wanted to take care of you like you were my own."

Y/n smiled, her hands wrapping around his neck. "I've always been yours, I just didn't realize it before. But I'm here now, and forever. You just have to want it too."

Ollie smiled, his eyes full of love. "I want you today, tomorrow and always."

And then he kissed her again, finally sealing everything that had always been there.

Y/n's hands slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth and familiarity that had always been there, but now with a completely different meaning. Ollie sighed against her lips, smiling between one kiss and another, as if he couldn't believe that this was really happening.

But now, there was no more hesitation, just the certainty that they were finally where they were supposed to be.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #lovers #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #ollie bearman x female reader #ollie bearman x y/n #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman #imagines ollie bearman

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freakbabyy · 15 hours ago

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soft universe - Eris Vanserra x Princess!Reader Chapter Two

< chapter one | chapter two | chapter three >

2.561k words

warnings: mentions of neglect, smitten!eris

second chapter!!!! ty for reading, for the loves and reblogs and comments!!! I LOVE COMMENTS!!!

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Story preview: Y/N Erling - youngest descendent to the King of Vallahan, not special, youngest of seven girls and four boys, and certainly not next in line to the throne. A kind soul, free-natured, always does what's asked. Content with spending the rest of her fae life taking care of her nieces and nephews while her elder siblings dealt with court dealings. That was until they drew up an agreement - her hand in exchange for their agreement to the treaty with Prythian. Enter Eris Vanserra - new high lord who did not want a wife, nor a mate. Can they work it out together - under pressure from a blood rite, a language barrier, a culture barrier, and Eris' unfortunate attempts at flirting.

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chapter two - runaway

Eris’ POV

I wouldn’t say I was dreading meeting Y/N Erling; but I wouldn’t say I was ecstatic. I didn’t know anything about her, I didn’t want to be married this fast, and I surely didn’t want to do a blood ritual and potentially put myself in danger - or my future heirs. But here I was, standing outside of Rhysand’s townhouse picking my cuticles – a nervous tick I’ve had since a child. What if she was insufferable? What if she was annoying, or would try and overthrow me to get Vallahan more land? Kill the remaining allies I have, which were few and far between before I married someone from Vallahan.

“What’re we looking at?” I jumped, not realizing that the Illyrian brute had snuck up on me.

“Nothing.” I snapped back, motioning for him to go first as I followed, we were most likely going to the same place. Rhysand’s office. “Haven’t you heard its rude to sneak up on people?”

“I didn’t exactly sneak up; I’m surprised you didn’t hear me land right beside you.” Cassian took a stop in the kitchen, “I’ll catch up with you in Rhy’s office, I need some food first – Az kicked my ass in training.”

I didn’t reply, simply walking down the decorated hall before ascending the stairs. I knew where I was going, often meeting Rhy’s for our own meetings here when needed. Though, a lot less lately since Beron was dealt with. Following the hand painted portraits on the walls, I stopped when I heard a sound out of place.

It was almost too quiet to hear, but the cracked door let the sound out – a humming. I felt compelled to stop, to listen. I doubted it was Morrigan, she was too loud to be this quiet, the soft tone of the hums clearly establishing it was a female. Amren didn’t sing, and if she did it would be a battle hymn. It wasn’t Feyre – she was with Nesta and Elain; I passed them as I entered. That didn’t leave anyone other than Y/N, unless it was one of the shadow wraiths.

“And I was running far away, would I run off the world some day? Nobody knows, nobody knows.” A female stood in the middle of the room with hair that looked as soft as a feather. She was facing away from the door, her body seemingly relaxed and holding something close. “And I was dancing in the rain, I felt alive, and I can’t complain, oh,”

She swayed back and forth, getting into the song it seemed. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her form to take in the rest of the room, but when she turned and was staring down at what she was holding I knew. She was singing a lullaby to the small bundle that was Prince Nyx, cuddling him to her chest singing as if it was her favorite thing in the world to rock him to sleep. Her eyes, which were sparkling like gemstones were no longer staring at the sleeping prince, but now at the window. She continued to sing her haunting melody, and I continued to listen.

“Take me home, take me home where I belong,” Her stare was longing almost, and her voice was hauntingly beautiful, falling from her plush lips with ease as she didn’t even appear out of breath; like it was second nature. “I got no other place to go, take me home, take me home where I belong; I can’t take it anymore.”

The more the song went on, the more I couldn’t bring myself to look away and the more it took for me to remember to breathe. Her song continued, as she slowly lowered the prince into his wooden crib, kissing her fingertips before lightly brushing them against the small amount of black hair atop his head. He fussed, but only for a moment before she started to sing more – even more angelic as she began to dance.

Her movements were slow, as if she were performing for the prince instead of lulling him to sleep. She twirled in a circle slowly, her eyes closed, as she tilted her head to the ceiling – twirling so much grace it had to of been second nature. My head tilted as well, watching her mesmerized. I was unsure why it was pulling me in, why she was pulling me in – until it happened.

“And I kept running, for a soft place to fall-” She continued, and I was sure the young prince was asleep by now although she kept singing. When she stopped in her tracks and stared outside the window once more and a dreamy smile graced her lips, as it snapped.

I physically had to clench my teeth to stop myself from making a sound, holding onto my tunic as emotions flooded my entire being – warmth being the most prominent one. Her singing faded into the background; my eyes blurred as I tried to focus on a single thing to no avail. I held the doorframe, turning and sliding down the wall beside the door landing on my knees as I had realized what just happened.

“Incredible, huh?” A voice startled me out of my stupor, as I stood quickly to brush my trousers off.

“What?” I shook my head, staring up at the Illyrian brute eating half a sandwich still.

“Her ability to get Nyx down so fast, it takes anyone else like an hour to get him to stop fussing enough to give in to sleep.” The long-haired male patted my shoulder before I followed him into Rhy’s office, still feeling my heart beating in my ears. “Nervous for the meeting, bud?”

“No.” I cleared my throat, straightening my hands to stop them from fidgeting and betraying me in my lie. “And I’m not your bud, Cassian.”

He shrugged as he shouldered the door to Rhysand’s office open, inside was Morrigan, Azriel, Rhysand, Feyre and Nesta. When had those two snuck pasts me to go into the office? Rhysand pointed to one of the open chairs, where someone wasn’t sitting. I chose the one in the corner as usual.

“Good morning, Eris. How’s high lord life treating you?” Rhysand started conversation as usual, too.

“Oh, just a blast, like unicorns prancing through meadows.” I drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm before rolling my eyes and speaking once more. “It’s rough right now, I just had to gather a completely new advisory council after one member was trying to bribe guards to not tell me his crimes Beron had hidden.”

“What were the crimes?” The shadowsinger questioned, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Four counts of arson, three counts of treason, and eleven counts of illegal prostitution.” Cassian choked on his sandwich, to which Nesta took the rest of and gave him a look before finishing it.

“Well, isn’t that lovely of him, I do wonder if those were recent or not – from my memory Beron’s advisors are- were all dirt old.” Rhysand shuttered as Feyre spoke.

“Very recent, and they were.” A few others shuttered at the thoughts, as I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I do believe we should get this over with. I have many meetings later on in the afternoon to deal with that.”

“Ah, of course; though there are some things first we should talk about before we introduce you to Y/N.” He motioned to his cousin, as Morrigan took over.

“First things first, she’s a lot younger than we anticipated.”

“You’re not making me a baby snatcher, are you? Because if that’s the case-”

“She’s of age! She’s 23. She’s mature for her age, too – I've known her for a couple years and I swore she was at least 100.” Morrigan reassured me, if only a little. “More importantly, she isn’t fluent in Prythian common tongue. She doesn’t know basic mathematics, and she doesn’t know much about geography.”

“What does she know? I thought she was royalty? Aren’t the royalty overseas generally very well educated?” Rhysand spoke next, an almost solemn look on his face.

“They are. They just didn’t educate her. She’s the eleventh child – and mostly forgotten about by her parents. Her siblings were much older than her and had other obligations to attend to. In short – she was practically neglected.” He took a breath, “She was basically the live-in nanny. She took care of her sibling's children and gave up her career and future for that – just because they asked.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She didn’t have a choice. Either that or become forgotten again. I know you heard her on your way up, yes?” Feyre questioned, a sparkle in her eye. I nodded. “She was going to be a theatre performer. She did orchestra and loved plays. Her dancing rivals Nesta’s. Nyx enjoys her voice, and she enjoys taking care of him.”

That explains the dancing and singing in the nursery, her expertise in dancing and singing were definitely not unnoticed.

“She was forced to take care of children, and now you have her taking care of yours?”

“She volunteered. Practically jumping up and down when she asked to hold him.” Rhysand smiled, a knock resounding from the door, bouncing around the room.

“Ah it is me!” The thick broken accent spoke from the other side, slightly muffled from the thick wood of the door.

“Yes, come in.” Rhysand responded, as Cassian leaned towards me,

“Don’t panic if she falls to the floor. She does that sometimes,” He smiled before slapping my shoulder again, and I was even more confused. Giving me advice? Is he trying to be my wingman?

“Wait, what?” I questioned, his sentence sinking in. If she collapses? I stood abruptly as the door swung open slowly,

“Sorry. This is heavy.” She said, pushing the door shut after entering. She walked towards where the empty seat was, holding her hands clasped together behind her, holding a small soft smile and bowed her head to everyone. “Elain told me to visit, I here.”

Rhysand smiled, Morrigan giving a thumbs up in encouragement – as I turned to look at her fully, she adorned a simple gown with an apron, it had slight stains on it – accompanied by a small shovel in her pocket. She gardened? Her feet were in simple flats, and her hair was in a comfortable hairstyle.

“Y/N, this is Eris Vanserra, Eris, this is Y/N Erling.” Immediately she straightened up.

Her hands letting go of each other and rejoining in front of her, wringing together. Her brows shot up, furrowing, as she glanced to Feyre. She looked from Feyre to my feet. Then back to Feyre. Feyre smiled a bit but then nodded while stifling an amused look. Before I could even stick my hand out for a greeting, she was on the floor. I heard the audible ‘thunk’ as either her head, or body hit the floor. I was thinking the lather as everyone else made a face.

“I told you,” Cassian whispered loudly behind me, and I was unsure what to do.

“You can get up, Y/N.” Nesta spoke, as she clambered up. Nesta drawled on as if this was her hundredth time saying it. “It’s how her custom shows respect. Lower the more respect.”

“Oh,” Her bowing her head to everyone made sense now, I bowed my head as well, glancing up to make sure it was okay, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

“You, too.” She stuck her hand out, “I do your custom now.”

“Ah,” I agreed, unsure what else to do, and went to shake her own hand. She looked baffled after, “Did I do something wrong...?”

“You shake wrong.”

“I- what?” I could hear muffled laughter followed by a slap behind me,

“Here, I teach. Hand.” I complied, sticking my hand out, as she grasped my top two fingers before bringing my hand up and down. “See?”

I was confused but nodded anyway. Where did she learn that? It must be another Vallahan custom perhaps.

“That’s how she shook Cassian’s hand, and no one had the heart to correct her.” A voice spoke inside my head, and I gave Rhysand a curious look.

“Well now that that’s over with, why don’t we talk about when you two would meet next, and where. Did you want to stay here, or?” Rhysand questioned, looking back and forth between us, as I went to agree she spoke up.

“Can we meet there?”

“Where?” Morrigan questioned, speaking in Vallahan.

“Autumn?” Y/N responded also in her native tongue, turning to me and looking me in the eye, “I am sorry, I do not know the word.”

“No need to apologize, it’s alright. We can help you learn now.” I did my best reassuring smile, which was probably more of a smirk, and turned to Morrigan. “What did she say?”

“She... actually asked to go to Autumn.” I was shocked. Surely, she wanted to stay somewhere she was comfortable already, since she was just pulled from her home? “Is Autumn stable enough to visit for an hour or two?”

“It is in some places. I can take her on a nature walk? Do you enjoy the woods?” I directed the question to Y/N, and she looked a bit puzzled.

“He wants to know if you want to see Autumn’s nature? I’m sure you can find some flowers native to Autumn there.” Feyre translated, and she seemed to perk up.

“Oh! I like flowers. Yes.” She said the answer to me, and at her excited face �� her wide eyes and even wider smile I felt my heart do a couple flips.

“Great. Then it’s settled. Autumn, should we say two days from now? Noon-ish?” Feyre confirmed, glancing more at me for the time.

“I can do one o’clock. I have an early meeting that may run late to noon.”

“Wonderful. See you then.” Rhysand nodded once in confirmation, as I stood to leave, and bid farewell before making my way to the door.

“Ah, wait!” I turned, stopping myself from winnowing by the Sidra. It was Y/N, a bit out of breath from running down the stairs.

“Yes, princess?”

“Here, my custom.” She had me hold my hand open before she dropped something into it, closing my fingers around it with her tiny hands – and I had hoped mine hadn’t started sweating with nerves. “We give handmade stone to other.”

“Handmade stone?” I opened my fingers to look at a bright orange crystal, it was shaped as a tiny animal. Upon further inspection, it was a tiny fox. “What is it?”

“Sunstone,” She moved my hand, so it glistened in the sun, becoming even brighter. “It brings good luck and energy. For you.”

I was touched. She hadn’t even met me yet, and she already made me something handmade. She took her hand back, and picked up a rock from the sidra, it was already fox shaped – probably chiseled already and cooling off in the river, she cupped her hands around it before squeezing. When she let go, it was another orange fox, but smaller. She placed it also in my hand, smiling again.

“Now he has friend.” I took her hand in mine, clasping the foxes in the other, and bend my head to lay a kiss on the back of her hand, lingering. She turned the color of Morrigan’s shirt today, a deep crimson,

“Thank you.” I let go, and before disappearing, I turned once more. “See you in two days.”

“Ah, goodbye. Two days.”

-----

eek! im so excited to write more of this series and im so glad you guys like it too!

taglist: @bxm-2121 @itsxchar6 @iambored24601 @sparksandstarss @an-introverted-nishinoyasimp

#acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader smut #eris acotar #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar fandom

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avocado-writing · 24 hours ago

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I just had a really cute idea for a steamer reader. Since steamers have whistles and most other engines don't, they use their whistles to communicate with one another like a second language. What if steamer reader was using the whistle version of "I love you" whenever they where around Electra, Greaseball, and the Components (reader and said characterare already together) ( you obviously don't have to do all of them. I just wish there were more things with the components.) But said partner dosent know that reader is saying "I love you" with the whistle, they just know reader uses this whistle for them and they think it's cute. They ask Moma about the whistle reader (aka Moma's other child) uses for them, and Moma tells them what it means. How does everyone react to this newfound knowledge?

Love your writing, DTW❣️❣️❣️😍

aww Ty! what an absolutely adorable rq! I hope you enjoy ✨ still open for Stex x reader rqs! (She/her greaseball; they/them electra)

Greaseball pretends to hide how flustered she is and fails (poorly). Momma laughs at the big tough diesel suddenly come over all love struck to tells her to go and find you, because if Greaseball feels the same way she oughta say something. Greaseball immediately speeds off and finds you off on one of your rounds - you’re surprised to see her but not as surprised as when she sweeps you up in an embrace. “Greaseball…?” “Whistle at me again! Do that whistle! I… I love it!” she’s blabbering but she doesn’t care. You know she must have caught on and you end up laughing and pulling her in for a kiss, she’s bright red the whole time 💕

Electra is kinda pouty they had to ask for help in the first place… but when they realise what your whistle means they’re overcome with emotion. They try to stay chill and give Momma their thanks before heading off. The next time they’re with you and you make that whistle, they mention - without even turning to look at you - “I love you too. You don’t have to keep whistling it if you’d rather use words. But I suppose I don’t mind either way.” It’s a very laid-back confession but you can’t hide your smile for the rest of the day!

Joule almost explodes with excitement, so much that the freights have to calm her down otherwise she just might faint. That’s where you find her, in the freighter yard, surrounded by your friends. You’re obviously worried about her but she just leaps up into your arms and peppers you with kisses, and in between each one - “I love you too! I love you too!” you give Momma a look of shock and she just grins at you. It’s a pretty happy resolution!

Wrench tucks away this knowledge for later, and begins to study how you whistle, practising it every day until she can make it sound as similar as possible. Then one day when you let out the little confession she sings it right back. You pause in your tracks and stare at her. “Do you know what… what that means, Wrench?” “Yes, I do.” “And you mean it?” “I wouldn’t have whistled if I didn’t.” She’s coupled onto you so she can’t see your reaction, but she can’t stop hearing your giggles for the rest of the journey 💕

Killerwatt pretends he hasn’t been bowled over by this news. He remains calm and stoic, professional, but the next time you whistle he straight up says “I love you too.” A simple fact, no arguing about it. He’s honestly not sure why you ‘hid’ it for so long, he’s been head over heels for you for ages now… but he’s glad he can finally understand what you mean so you can know it’s requited.

#starlight express electra #starlight express greaseball #starlight express wrench #starlight express joule #Starlight express killerwatt #Starlight express x reader

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another-goblin · 10 months ago

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Ratio, added to team with Aventurine: "Ugh, spare me the false display of concern."

Dr Ratio. Veritas, sweetie. Baby. Professor. Mr 8 PhDs. You are a squishy dps and he's a tank, it's his job. So shut up and let him take care of you for once.

#honkai star rail #my stuff #dr ratio #aventurine #btw is it me or english Ratio is just so vicious?#I saw some people mentioning it #other languages are like #be safe baby #I'll manage #and english is just F off you damn gambler keep your hands off me #and with that note too #I mean it's quite sweet in english too #but they say in other languages it sounds more caring

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bmpmp3 · 4 months ago

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for the past couple years ive been slowly. slowly learning beginners japanese and its very fun and im enjoying it a lot but also it has made me painfully aware in ways i wasnt before of how much my specific vaguely ontario accent makes me make out sloppy style with my vowels. i am going at those vowel's tonsils. i am doing things to diphthongs you wouldnt even believe.

#come and meet the letter people. come and visit the familyyy #literally like i dont mind my ontario accent coming through my japanese thats okay BUT i do care about making sure im saying what #im actually trying to say. and sometimes without realizing my vowels have left off somewhere else in the middle of my word #turning it into some manner of other word. i accidentally said picasso bought the mona lisa instead of painted it the other day <3 #i dont mind my mistakes but like. i still wanna do my best!!!!#its blowing my mind though. okay as an anglophone here the only way we'll learn anything about our own language is by #1) just having a natural interest in linguistics in general and/or 2) learning a new language #much to my mothers frustration when she came here in the 70s not knowing any english. even the english speakers couldnt help her #BUT luckily i was both interested in linguistics and learning new languages so i got to learn more things after preschool LOL #but like i remember taking french throughout highschool and being like. wait a god damn minute. i understand english grammer now?#it was bizarre. learning japanese phonetics as well has made me realize what on earth i do with my vowels. actually the entire way i talk #i didnt pay much attention to it but in my head i hear everything as my voice but with perfect north american man radio voice pronunciation #which it turns out. is not what my actual voice sounds like. its not even thaaat different its just different Enough. uncanny valley accent #although the reason i specify vaguely with my vaguely ontarian accent is because #in my area half of the native english speakers say stuff one way and the other half a different way. like within the same neighbourhoods #people always giggle at the way i say bagel. in my head i do picture it as bey-gul. but the second it lease my mouth its become BAG-ul #no one in my familiar says it like that. i dont know where it came from. i cant even stop it. im forever BAG-ul. forever.

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rxttenfish · 2 years ago

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tbh tho this is EXACTLY what merfolk relationships look like

and they just keep track of this. in their heads. all the time.

#all the care guide says is 'biomass'#they dont have gendered pronouns but they do have tone modifiers for every other fucking word depending on their relationship to the other #and their mood. and if theyre referring to multiple people at once or just one person. and often layered on top of each other too.#merfolk have poor vision but they DO inherently think of things in a more ''three dimensional'' way than we do #considering they live underwater and youre operating with another axis just to move around anywhere #which then gets applied to the rest of their everything #ESPECIALLY language because theyre nerds who went hard into the sound focus #their visual art in comparison has simpler elements than ours (but a lot more focus on light/movement)#this is why merfolk have some very unique spellcrafts and theyre notorious for complicated and detailed spellwork #like yes a part of it is the fact that theyre older than the other species and have had more time to work on it #but also they can just DO really unique things compared to other cultures because they emphasize layered detail in this way #this is also why - from the outside - so much of miranda's job looks like parties and balls and attending to the courts #because again. its all about the emphasis on who has what relationship with who and how to operate within that.#legal agreements are multilayered and come with terms and conditions a mile long and you need to have a very careful hand on the pulse #of all of this #even moreso because royal families go even harder with treating the lineage as the individual and the merfolk #as just limbs and organs of this equation #this is why it was so important that miranda be good at manipulation and speaking and just *charismatic*#literally making people do what she wants or needs them to do is just what makes the merkingdom GO and operate #and why she (and the other royals) occupy a space a little like a public performer does as well #and why royals showing personal favor and having close personal relationships is frowned upon as #mixing pleasure and business #since those relationships ARE their business and so much of the underlying politics #if youre showing undue favor to someone because you personally just like them then you aren't judging them based off of actual talent #merfolk complicated! merkingdom complicated!#(the merkingdom is also SUPER fucked up but thats tangential from this tangent)

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blujayonthewing · 1 year ago

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melliwyk is the biggest acts of service bitch and people still act like she doesn't care about anything but herself

#like has she EVER failed to stop whatever else she was working on to help someone with their own projects or problems when asked #the first thing she made after learning how to craft magic items-- the first magic item made in the vault in 3000 years!--#was a +1 crossbow so our fighter could protect herself against monsters that were immune to nonmagic damage but aggro'd by spells #the first thing she did as an artificer was craft personalized jewelry for her party members that act as arcane transmitters #so her artificer spells can reach them more easily and strongly #she spent a bunch of time between adventures and Serious Projects making a singing windup bird figurine #for no other particular reason than that she'd learned to enchant items with sound and thought our druid might like a reminder of home #oouggh speaking of artificer minor enchantments #I forgot she also enchanted a Light into the transmitter she made for our warlock who's scared of the dark #she watched an ally died at her feet and invented a new method of spellcasting that allows her to cast Spare The Dying and Revivify #THIS KOOKY-SCIENTIST-LONER-CODED NERD LOVES HER FRIENDS SO OBVIOUSLY. LIKE KEEP UP #also obviously: she's a big Gift Giving love language bitch as well as acts of service but that's not as pithy to say #she cares about Her Work more than anything else including herself but that doesn't mean she doesn't care about others at all!!#my OCs #melliwyk

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quarterlifekitty · 3 months ago

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Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

#writing #cod fanfic #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #neurodivergent reader #uhm is my sleep away camp showing

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lovemomhatepolice · 3 months ago

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i'll make it fit - rafe cameron

navigation taglist requests

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: sexual overtones, established relationship, fingering, teasing, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), this damn tiny polo!!, English is my second language!, NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut (this is the first time i've written something like this, which has practically no plot at all, just sex itself. keep my fingers crossed that it didn't turn out badly!!!), small plot but really small

word count: 1,8k

summary: rafe cameron likes things too small for him.

more content: obx masterlist, rafe cameron masterlist

Mornings in Tannyhill were mostly quiet. Since Ward Cameron was dead and his entire family had moved to a house in the Bahamas, it was quiet there. Hearing of Sarah had disappeared - she was probably somewhere with her friends, again putting her life at risk, nothing new. And the only one who lived there was Rafe, who had taken over the company from his father and decided to return to the “old garbage.” Well, and you lived there too, by the side of your beloved. You couldn't have dreamed of a better life.

You were awakened by the bright rays of the sun, which rudely crept through the slightly parted curtains into your shared bedroom. You dragged yourself lightly and glanced at the clock, which was on the bedside table and, as usual, was making that unbearable sound.

After muttered under your breath, you slipped out from under the warm quilt, which, to say the least, wasn't all that necessary - after all, it was summer. But by the fact that you were in just a lace petticoat, it definitely enveloped you with a warmth that was missing.

You didn't know what time it was, but by the fact that Rafe wasn't next to you, you knew it was probably after nine o'clock. You didn't have to look for him for long, because as soon as you stepped out into the hallway from your bedroom, you heard his voice. You looked out the balcony door, which was gently open, and smiled at the sight. Rafe, in a freshly stitched buzzcut, was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. In front of him on the coffee table he had papers spread out and a laptop in which he was busily tapping something. As soon as he noticed you he sent you a slight smile, but he was so engaged in the conversation that he did nothing more. And you couldn't be passive, after all, he was wearing a beautiful blue and damn tight polo that exposed his perfectly shaped biceps. You laughed quietly, seeing him nervously tweak them as they rolled up higher and higher each time, not covering as much of his arm as they should.

Despite his serious tone on the call, his eyes would flicker toward you every few moments, his smile softening just enough to let you know he was glad you were there.

Not one to resist temptation, you decided to have a little fun. You strolled over to him, moving slowly, letting your fingers trail along the back of the couch as you circled around to where he was sitting. Rafe’s eyes darted up, narrowing slightly in a silent warning.

You didn’t make it easy for him. With a mischievous smile, you leaned over and whispered into his ear, "That polo looks a little tight, don’t you think? You might need help taking it off later."

“Uh, yeah… sure,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, clearing his throat as if to regain his composure. “Send it to the office, they'll take care of it,” he muttered, hanging up.

You moved your hands over his shoulders, gently massaging them. Rafe put the phone down on the table, closed the laptop and leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking at you.

“You know what you're doing, huh?” he parroted under his breath.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, letting your breath tickle his skin. “Just trying to make sure my man relaxes after handling all that business.”

“And what am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered, covering yours with his hands. “Whatever you want,” you muttered, going down with your palms on his chest. “Oh, but this polo is really too small for you.” Rafe laughed under his breath and gracefully helped you past the couch so that you were now standing in front of him, between his legs. You were in just a white lace slip that didn't cover much underneath, so Rafe could immediately see your hardening nipples.

You let out a soft laugh as Rafe’s strong hands gripped your thighs, pulling you effortlessly onto his lap. You straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushions of the couch on either side of his hips. The way he looked up at you—like you were the only thing in the world that could hold his attention—sent a warm rush through your veins.

"So needy" He muttered, stroking your hair and putting it behind your ears. “Who would have thought that you would beg for my attentions so much?”

“I'm not begging,” you muttered, swallowing your saliva loudly.

You could have sworn that in that moment Rafe heard your loud heartbeat. And even though you had been together for more than a year, he continued to trigger the same feelings in you. “No?” he asked ironically, his hand touching your pussy, which was covered only by a thong. “I would say something else.”

“Rafe,” you muttered, gently pushing your hips out to meet him as his nimble fingers pressed your clit harder. “So wet,” he mumbled, moving your panties aside and nimbly sliding his ring and middle finger into you.

You brought your face closer to his and grabbed his jaw, bringing your lips together in a sweet kiss. It was still quiet around you, the only things you could hear were the birds and your moans, drowned out by your boyfriend's mouth.

His thumb moved to your clit, the touch was light, teasing, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent tingles up your spine. And his fingers didn't stop moving up and down, each time hitting the exact same spot. Rafe knew what the fuck he was doing, he always knew how to make you in heaven in a moment by his precise movements. He knew your body like no one else, just like you knew his.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, moving his lips to your naked neck. You felt you were close - Rafe did the same, following the feeling as you pulsed on his fingers. You didn't have to wait long until your body shook with pleasant and familiar reflexes, and you came on his fingers, burying your head in his neck.

Rafe took his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, sucking on them. Oh this sight and Rafe in his damn tight blue polo, was something too strong for you to go through. You moved against his lap, letting him know that this was not what you wanted. “Still eager, huh?” he laughed throatily, but you didn't have to wait long. Rafe always knew what you needed and you got it right away. "You taste so good, baby"

“Rafe please,” you muttered, clasping your small hand over his large cock, which was getting harder and harder under you. “Anything for you,” he muttered, quickly getting rid of his pants.

Without much warning, he entered you. Slowly at first, because you knew very well that he was big. And even after so many times together, you continued to feel a slight discomfort at first. But Rafe always made it fit. He couldn't resist your tight pussy, which was even screaming for his attention. “Fuck, tight as ever,” he whispered, correcting himself on the couch so that you were more comfortable. “But don't worry, I'll make it fit.”

And as he said, so he did. With agility, he began to move inside you, making both of you nothing but moaning messes.

“Wait, I want,” you said, putting your hand on his chest. On that damn sexy polo. “Oh, a princess wants to take control?” he laughed under his breath, catching you under the thighs, but as if on cue he stopped moving inside you, making you feel again how big he was inside you. You groaned involuntarily, but didn't give in. You moved nimbly on top of him, practically taking him out of your pussy every now and then, and then lowering yourself all the way down again.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his head falling back against the couch, exposing the strong line of his throat. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted as he watched you, completely entranced by the way you were moving, the way you were making him feel.

You could tell he was trying to hold back, trying to let you set the pace, but the way his fingers flexed against your skin told you just how badly he wanted to take control.

“Not yet, Rafey,” you muttered, moving even closer to him. “You deserve the best. Especially, when you're in that slutty polo"

You increased your pace, but Rafe couldn't stand it anymore either, and came against you, entering your pussy from below. At that moment your bodies were merging at the perfect moments and places, so you were already not far from orgasm. And with that, he captured your lips again, his kiss rougher this time, more urgent. There was no more teasing now-just the raw, unfiltered need that always simmered between you both, threatening to spill over the edges.

“I'm so close,” you whispered into his mouth, clamping your pussy against him every so often. “I know, baby, I can feel it,” he muttered into your mouth, gently biting your lip to reach inside again. "Mmm, so good for me"

Rafe grabbed your buttocks and with even more force began to pound his cock into you. Your tongues fought for dominance, and your hands couldn't find room on his body, clamping down on the collars of his shirt.

"Shit" he murmured into your lips, feeling as his cum shot into your pussy, making quite a mess.

Not much later you too reach climax, clenching around his dick. Exhausted, you leaned on his shoulder kissing his neck. Rafe stroked your back, still calming down after the orgasm that hit you surprisingly hard this time. You felt him smiling over your shoulder, so you shared his happiness, smiling too. You moved your head off his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes now. He was still inside you, so every movement, made quiet sighs come out of your throats.

“What's so funny?” you asked, stroking his jaw and kissing the corner of his mouth gently.

“Maybe I should wear that tight polo more often, just to find yourself in your tight cunt again?” he laughed lightly, returning your kiss.

“Oh shut up, asshole,” you muttered, lowering yourself on top of him once more until he groaned and settled his head on the back of the couch, pulling you against him.

A/N: I know there's a lot of Rafe or Drew here lately, but I swear, when I see this man, I feel so ungodly that oh jesus, i hope you enjoyed this

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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samantitaswrld · 6 months ago

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Hi! I like your Deadpool as your boyfriend post, can you please do Logan as your boyfriend next? 😄

logan howlett

…as your boyfriend!

description: wolverine, logan howlett as your boyfriend!

pairing: wolverine x you!

|an: my man my man he love me!

- he’s so big and so tall and scruffy and so mmm. that’s your man! and u want everyone to know it

- like i keep mentioning, he is manhandling tf out of you no matter ur size, all the time!

- he thinks it’s soo cute that he can pick you up in his arms with ease and he loves to hear squeal out a “logaaan!” as he throws you on to the bed

- he’s so standoffish and kinda shy when you’re first around each other bc he’s sooo into you and he thinks you’re so cute

- but once he founds out you dig him too ooo girl

- he grows such a big soft spot for you, you’re the only person that ever sees him vulnerable. and he’s such a silly goose.

- he becomes so much more himself, he’s messing with you all the time throwing teasing insults with a smirk on his face just to watch you get all riled up from him.

- he’s also flirting with you 24/7 girl he’s hot and he knows it. sometimes he’s rather crude but you like it. so it’s okay!

“nice shorts you got there little lady” he said with a teasing tone as you walked past him into the kitchen to grab a quick snack.

“god they’re not even that short!” you’d said, pulling them down a bit. they were that short. but hey, they did the job.

and by job, you mean drive logan crazy.

- but once you become his omg…

- you’re his. nobody is touching you and he’ll make sure of that. and it’s pretty hot.

- if anybody even has body language that even slightly seems like they’re into you oh girl….

- they’re becoming a new scratching post!

- not only are you his, but he’s yours. super loyal! and if he can’t get someone off his back, you bet your ass you will!

- you always feel so protected and he always makes you feel so protected because you are! he would do anything for you and to make sure his lover is safe and sound.

- he’s so obsessed with you and he’s not afraid to hide it, he’s not overly affectionate but he is in fact a cuddle monster.

- he’ll hold your hand, or shove a hand in your back pocket, or lend you his jacket to let people know your his, but he saves the good stuff for back at home.

- you’re also his drinking buddy, he isn’t a fan of the tequila like you are, he’ll stick to his whiskey. but he always takes care of you after a night out and makes sure you’re snug as a bug!

- he is the biggest dom ever omg it’s so hard to get him to sub out for you but when he finally does it’s the best night of your life.

- all the noises he makes that you’ve never heard from him are music to your ears.

- a MUNCH. need i say more? thats why he got that damn beard!

- oh and we know those abs are like a pack of buttered up hawaiian rolls and you wanna go for a ride!

- of course he’ll let you! anything for his babygirl, lick em, touch em, fuck em, anything his baby wants. as long as he gets to watch and as long as you feel good.

- he also loves the praise as you ride yourself out on his abs.

- he loves attention and praise, especially when it’s about his figure.

you and logan lie in bed, his figure cradling yours as he slowly felt you slot your head between his craned arm.

“your muscles are so big babe. give me a lil flex.” you stated, holding on to outside of his forearm with your neck between the underside his forearm and bicep.

“you’re crazy bub.” he states, chuckling and lightly flexing his arm, not enough to hurt you but enough to satisfy you and make you giggle as his big muscles squished your cheeks together.

- you’re always touching his muscles, they’re so hot. and hey, he doesn’t work out like that for nothing! he loves it when you cling to his biceps, or run your fingers down his chiseled back.

#deadpool wolverine #wolverine #hugh jackman #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine x you

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catchastarorten · 1 month ago

Text

—One more game.

Pairing: the salesman (gong yoo) x winner!fem!reader

Summary: a year after winning your games, an unexpected guest shows up at your door, offering to play one more game of ddakji with you, just for the fun of it, and because you're his favorite winner.

Warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of blood and gore, violence (basically just you smacking him a lot lol), masochism (<- on him, if you squint really hard?), English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1k

You almost didn’t answer the door.

It was late—the kind of late where the silence pressed in too close and left you too alone for your thoughts. The rain tapped against the windows felt louder than it should. You hadn’t been expecting anyone. Not anymore, anyways.

Your thoughts drifted to that moment. When you stood on that playground that reflected a childish innocence, yet your hands were trembling, blood drying beneath your nails and painted across your teal uniform, the sound of the final breath and the plea that the other player let out before you swung down the knife with a cold precision that pierced him right through the head. It was over. You won. But it never felt like you were the winner.

The knock had been deliberate, sharp. Three steady raps, not the kind delivered by accident or from someone who might go away if ignored, it broke you out of your haze.

You told yourself you weren’t afraid as you approached, but your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears. Your fingers curled around the lock, hesitating for just a second. Then, you opened it.

And there he was.

The salesman.

You hadn’t seen him since the same rainy day where he found you in the subway station, drenched and cold, in debt—out of money, when he offered to play a simple game of ddakji with you. Not since he handed you a card with a number on the back and disappeared without a trace.

Yet here he stood, wearing the same tailored suit, sharp as ever. His face was unchanged—calm, composed, as if this was just another evening, another game. But it wasn’t.

You could tell by the way his eyes softened the moment they met yours.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze swept over your face, tracing every detail, as if cataloging how you’d changed. Or maybe searching for the cracks left behind.

Then, his hand lifted.

The red and blue ddakji were already there, pinched between his fingers as though they’d never left. Worn slightly at the edges, but still bold in color. Waiting.

“Care for another game?” His voice was smooth, calm. Too calm.

Your stomach twisted.

The paper. The slap. The start of everything that seemed to haunt you.

It all came back too easily—how the game had started with that simple challenge, the humiliating sting of his palm every time you lost. Until you hadn’t. Until you’d proven you could be a winner, until he handed you that card as a congratulations.

“No.” Your voice came out flat. You started to close the door.

His foot shifted forward, not blocking but close enough that the message was clear: not yet.

“You don’t seem so sure.” His gaze lingered, voice quieter now. More dangerous in its softness. “You’ve played before.”

You swallowed, hating how he made it sound like a compliment. Like something to be proud of.

“I don’t play anymore,” you said, sharper this time.

His lips parted like he might argue, but then—he smiled. It wasn’t smug. Not mocking. Something else entirely. You hated how it made your skin prickle.

His head tilted slightly, fingers flexing around the ddakji. “You won, though. You survived. Out of all of them… you were quite ruthless.”

You shouldn’t have let him say that. But it was too late. Something inside you cracked.

Your hand shot out before you fully registered the movement. A sharp, stinging crack as your palm met his cheek, the impact louder than you expected in the quiet.

He barely moved.

He just stood there, lips parted slightly in surprise. And then—he smiled again, slower this time, his head tipping back, exposing the faint pink blooming across his cheekbone in the dim lights.

It felt less satisfying that he just let the pain settle there.

“There’s that fire,” he said, his voice taunting. “The same fire that got you through the games, that made you kill all those people, hm? I always knew you had it.”

Another slap, harder this time. His head jerked slightly with the force of it, his cheek flushing a deeper red. He exhaled softly, just a breath, but it sounded too much like a gasp, like something he’d been holding back.

And when his eyes met yours again— no smile. Not this time. Just a flicker of something you couldn't understand.

His hand shifted between you, lifting the ddakji slightly as if to remind you why he was here.

“You’ll have to win first,” he said, voice hoarse but playful. “Before you keep doing that.”

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the air too still.

You snatched the red ddakji from his hand, the paper crinkling slightly as your fingers curled around it.

The game began like it had before. The slap of paper against the floor. The silence between rounds, broken only by breath and the occasional hiss when a piece landed just wrong.

But it wasn’t like before, not really.

Because you felt his presence too closely now—the way he watched you, not just your hands but your face, your mouth, your eyes. As if he was searching for cracks in your mask.

So you played harder. Sharper.

And then you won.

The blue ddakji flipped with a sharp slap, the smooth side landing face up, and you felt the victory surge in your chest—not just from the game, but because of him.

Your eyes met his, he didn’t speak, didn’t flinch when your palm connected with his face a third time, but this time—his breath hitched. A subtle, almost imperceptible sound, but it was there.

And his gaze? It was the same as before. The same as that first night when he watched you fight for your life with nothing but paper and desperation.

He took a step back, finally breaking the moment. Rain whispered against the window, the only sound in the room now.

He bent down and picked up the red and blue ddakji, stuffing them into his pockets as his smile returned, and you could've sworn you saw a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Still a fighter,” he hummed.

#the salesman #the salesman squid game #squid game #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #squid game fic #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game imagine #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader

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keferon · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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