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ethanlvndry · 1 year ago

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Ghostface!Wolfstar x fem!black!reader

Notes- This is an alt universe where wizards don't exist. It's just a boring 'ol human world. They, however, are still British in this fiction, but this did stem from the Woodsboro murders. Moony and Pads are both open with their relationship. Everybody envies their bonding tbh. They all suspect nothing from them when the murders started happening. This is a modern AU, so cellphones exist. Art by likeafunerall on ig

Warnings- blood, murder, gore, bloody s*x, Oral m, and f receiving. Crying, dub-con, noncon Padfoot watches his little evil bf enjoy himself. Double Penetration(anal/vaginal, Oral), Anal between Remus, and Siri. slapping, bruising. A whole bunch of dark shit. You get the point.

Summary-You get a text message from Lily, begging you to ditch your studies for one night and come to her boyfriends stupid party. You ended up going before the news would've prevented you from going when they showed another one of those silly costume murders. You end up enjoying your time there...but somethings off. You end up stemming off into a room where you see the unthinkable...

Word count-3.6k

⚠️DARK CONTENT BELOW⚠️

*Ring* Pause. *Ring* Pause. *Ri-*

"I'm still not going."

You say flatly.

" Ughhh, c'mon [Name]! You need to have some fun at least once a week!"

Lily yells into the phone, causing your mouth to upturn into a slight smirk.

"I'm having fun studying for the exam. I know I'll pass tomorrow."

You tease while twirling one of your braids around your freshly done acrylics.

"You always study, c'mon [Name] let's get you out and mingling, maybe you can get yourself a partner"

You laugh at her choice of using a partner to be inclusive to your other side, as the huge but greatly homophobic country of England would describe you.

Don't get confused, Lily, along with the other girls, have been very supportive of your coming about. But even though Dorcas and Mary are in a similar situation to you, they still act confused.

"Yeah, that can wait. I'm not even sure if I'll survive these murders long enough to get a hookup."

You can almost see Lily's scowl as she spoke her next words.

"Please [Name], don't say stuff like that. It isn't funny, nor is it charming."

You feel a pang in your heart as you remember what she felt like after the injury of Severus Snape, her little ex-friend. Even though their friendship had ended a while back. She still had a soft spot for him. Her heart especially broke when the doctors told us that he was lucky he survived.

"Sorry Lil's. That was stupid."

"It's fine, just please be careful. You know we all worry about you living the furthest from all of us. Even the boys!"

You roll your eyes at her naiveness. The only reason why they make it seem that way is because they care about Lily and her feelings. They don't give a shit about you. They ignore you whenever you hang out. And for some reason, that Sirius guy just rubs you the wrong way. He's always looking at you making faces, like he's wondering why you're still with the group or something. You choose to distance yourself from The Marauders and their silly reputation.

The only tolerable one was the one and only Remus Lupin, who just so happened to be Sirius' bf of 2 years. Even though he knew that some of the stuff Sirius did was problematic, he just let it happen. But at least he never joined in on their annoying pranks.

You double take at your study work on the desk, and then think about how going out one night wouldn't be so bad. Yeah, so what Sirius and his minions 'll be there, you're not gonna let some immature human beings the same age as you keep you from having fun.

"You know what, Lily? I think I'll actually go. What should I wear though?"

You should've braced yourself from the excited squeal that broke through the sound barrier and pierced your eardrums.

"Oh my gosh [Name] yes!-"

She began to ramble on how excited she was for you and then quickly went back to your other statement.

"Wait a minute...Did you just ask what to wear when it is LITERALLY THE 31st OF OCTOBER? You're not dense, are ya love?"

You roll your eyes at her sarcastic question and threaten her with not coming, to which she quickly apologizes profusely. You end up asking what everyone is wearing and end up getting an idea of what to wear yourself. You bid your goodbyes so that the both of you could get ready and end up going into a box of a costume you were supposed to wear Halloween. It was a Lola Bunny costume that came out around the time of the recent space jam movie. You decided to pair it with your Jordan's because they were both from the same universe in a way.

As you're getting your stuff ready for your shower, you realize over 20 minutes have passed since you've been looking for a specific pair of panties. The shorts were a little see-through, so you still wanted to match. For some reason, the underwear that you wear the most frequently seemed to be disappearing. However, it wasn't just your favorite pairs. It would be the ones that you wonder why you haven't gotten rid of them.

You finally find a pair that can replace the ones you desired at first and get in the hot steamy shower, as you're rubbing yourself down. You swear it feels like something is watching you. You look out the blinds, covering the frosted glass that would've distorted anything in front or behind it.

"Lemme stop before I scare myself"

You continue on with your shower, still a little uneasy. You dry yourself off, oil your body up, get your costume on, and put your braids in a half up, half down style. You spray yourself with some perfume, brush your teeth, and wash your face. But while you brush your teeth, you realize that your toothbrush looks like it'd been brushed against concrete. Which wasn't out of the ordinary for them to eventually get that, but you've already had it for like 5 days. It's kind of weird...

You finish up and text Lily, who said she's pulling up to your flat. You walk up to her car to see that Marlene is in there with her, her blonde, and pink highlights sticking out immediately

"Hey loves, anymore people to pick up or just us 3?"

You ask.

"We're all set, love."

You nod your head in understanding and start to observe both of their costumes. From what you could see, Lily was red riding hood. Typical redhead. James was no doubt the big bad wolf since they always coordinated their Halloween costumes. Marlene was a witch, and it looked like she bought the broom, especially for this equation, because she never cleans.

Unbeknownst to you, Lily decided to take a shorter way to James' house. And you only noticed that when you see flashing lights, a long with loud booming music.

Lily announces your arrival with an excited tremor, and you all get out, the chilly autumn air blowing right by you three.

"Lil's, I was wondering when you'd get here!"

You hear a voice that you almost instantly recognize.

James Potter.

To your dismay, they get a little handsy in front of you and Marlene, so you decide to leave them and actually join the party. Once inside, you two are almost immediately hit with a wave of drugs, sex, and alcohol.

You see people making out and grinding on eachothers laps. You and Lily decide to go to the punch and see that there are pieces of fruit in it.

"Whoever eats the most fruit wins €50."

Marlene proposes. You both fill up cups of punch first and cling them together, then you guys eat fruit. It was no surprise she got 10 while you got 5. You knew you couldn't handle your liquor, but neither could she.

While you were at your 5th one, Marlene got stuck on her 6th one and told you she was done, you'd taken her cup, and ate the last 4, and won the challenge. Her giving you your money, and you sticking it somewhere safe.

As you 2 are talking and slurring your words, Sirius walks up behind her and sneaks her a hug, instantly taking her attention away. You roll your eyes as they start talking as if you aren't even there, and you end up on the dance floor with a bunch of sweaty bodies, some not even going To 'Hogwarts, Math and Science Academy' As you're enjoying your time dancing, you end up moving your hips to a song by 'The Weeknd' and a boy ends up coming up behind you to dance with you. His hands guide your hips to grind against his crotch. And while looking at him, you can't even lie he looks gorgeous. He looks the perfect amount of feminine and masculine.

You decide to tease him and leave the dance floor, causing him to break out into a smile and shake his head. You both end up in a closet, his hands groping your body. You, however, stop him from continuing.

"Meet me upstairs in a room that has the door closed."

You laugh at his frustrated groan of being denied again.

You make your way into a room. That has posters of bands and instruments in a corner. You decide to take your shoes off and wait for the boy with your legs crossed on the bed. After a while, you start to get worried, but that worry turns into annoyance. If he changed his mind, he could've at least told you. You end up hearing odd noises in another room, like moans, they sound awfully similar to his and you think he's either trying to give you a taste of your own medicine, or he found somebody else to fuck.

You really hope it's the first one. You knock on the door to make sure it isn't somebody else, but you get no answer. Probably because the moans were getting louder. You decide to count to 5 before opening the door.

That was your first mistake.

You walk inside the room, that consist of a made bed, along with professional clothing like button ups, but some band tees lie on the floor.

Remus.

You see that there is a bathroom that connects between Him and Sirius' rooms and end up not taking any precautions to opening the door.

That was your second mistake.

You opened the door and saw the unthinkable. Blood. Everywhere on the floors, the sink, the shower door. And in the middle of it all, 2 people in black cloaks with that stupid costume on, you turn around as they notice you and bolt for the door that you unfortunately decided to close. As you sit your hand on top of the know, you get pulled back by your hair, tears coming out of your eyes, which brings a light chuckle that you would've missed had it not been for the knife pressed to your throat pulling out the smallest trickle of blood causing you to hold your breath.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

You hear the voice say with what was no doubt a voice changer that was used in the Woodsboro murders all those years ago

"Please! I don't even know who you are!"

You beg both killers, the one pointing their knife to you toying with you on purpose.

"You look so pretty when you cry...What a shame I won't be able to fuck you're sweet lil pussy before we kill you."

You see that the one pointing their knife at you seems the more dominant of the 2, the other staying quiet and only paying attention to their partner in crime.

It's embarrassing how fast you thought up of a way to get them to let you go. You can't even deny how you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your nipples poking through the thin shirt and gaining the attention of the 2 killers.

"Wait! Wait! I have an offer for the exchange of you letting me go...Ill give you anythingyou wa-"

Just then, you get a pang in your head, no doubt from those liquor packed fruit pieces.

"Hmmm, what do you think love, is she really worth it, or should we just slit her pretty throat?"

You wince at the thought of that, and wait for them to decide whether not to take you up on the offer.

As you're waiting, you don't notice that the quiet one has a visible tent that is extruding on his cloak.

The other Ghostface does, though, and instantly gets a sadistic idea that would surprise the both of you.

"How about this? My little partner over here takes his mask off, and I blindfold the both of you?"

You were in no room to deny an offer like this, so you agreed with no hesitation.

"Good girl." You can hear this Ghostface's smile through the voice changer.

He digs into one of the drawers and finds a blindfold. You realize that he's been here before if he knows exactly where the blindfolds are. He first walks over to you and stares at you through the black abyss that's placed over his eyes. He surprisingly is gentle, but firm when wrapping the thick cloth over your eyes.

Being depraved of one of your senses causes you to hear stuff better. You can hear the killers speaking in hushed whispers as if they really cared about each other. You could hear a clear moan. The quiet one must've taken his mask off.

You then hear 2 sets of footsteps coming towards you, on instinct you back up, but a tight hand pulling your hair stops you causing you to cry out.

"Behave slut."

You hear the masked on say. You apologize, and he caresses your cheek, giving it a few firm slaps before pushing your head forward into what feels like a belt buckle.

You and the unmasked one both groan, you think he tried to touch you, but his hands were slapped away by the masked one.

"Hands to yourself, baby."

Your head is continuously pushed into the buckle, and then you come to your senses what he wants you to do.

"All you want me to do is suck him off, right?"

You ask, hoping this doesn't lead to you getting your cherry popped by 2 killers simultaneously.

"Mhm, that's all ya have to do love"

The masked one assures you.

You feel his hands reach around your face and start bunching up the fabric, and then you feel both of them working to remove the cloak from the quiet one.

You feel a hand caressing your face, before it's replaced by what you can only assume is the cock of the quiet killer.

You accidentally let out a little moan that causes the masked one to taunt you.

There's a prodding at your lips before you reluctantly open your mouth for his cock

The tip leaks sticky pre, and you hate how you enjoy tasting it. His warm pre ends up, pushing its way down your throat, making you gag at the sudden action.

You reluctantly choose to keep a pace that would me up to his and your standards. At least, you thought so.

You're surprised when he takes your head and pushes you towards one of the walls and starts going to pound town on your poor throat.

"You little vixen, you're really getting off to a murderer's cock ruining your throat?"

You whimper from the words that exit his mouth. You hope he doesn't notice, but your caught off guard by the thick cum that spurts from the killer using your throat.

You sputter as he tauntingly and slowly eases out of your battered mouth.

"Guess that tired the poor thing out, huh Moony?"

The aggressive killer states...wait-MOONY?!

"R-Remus?"

You sputter out weakly.

"In the flesh sweetheart."

You hear chucklees from the other one through his voice changer, and instantly connect it to the one and only, Sirius Orion Black.

You startle slightly as the blindfold around your eyes is loosened, and your eyes adjust to the light being taken in. You see that they both sport their masks again, and feel vulnerable as you see how disheveled the struggle left you. Not that your costume was covering much up in the first place.

"I d-did what you wanted me to do, so now you can let me go..."

You struggle to get out the simple sentence out of fear.

"We aren't done yet."

Remus finally speaks.

They both start to advance on you, throwing you onto the bed, and ripping your cheap costume off, while you squeal out of fear from rough manhandling.

"Please! I won't tell anybody, if you just let me go! I'll even stop hanging around with you guys, I promise!"

They grow tired of hearing your whines and decide to stuff your mouth with cotton panties. But not just any cotton panties...THESE WERE YOUR FAVORITE PAIR!

They went missing back in May, which is super far now that you think about it, which means they've been eyeing you for at least 6 months, which scares you to think about.

Your thinking is cut off by fingers being stuffed in your untainted asshole. You bite down on the panties as soon, as Sirius slips it into the knuckle. You start crying from the pain that weighs less than the constant threat of being murdered.

You hear slight coos coming from the both of them, but decide not to listen too hard. You just wanted to focus on you to make it seem like it wasn't too bad, but then it somehow got worse when you realized your cunt might as well have been drooling from how aroused it was.

Unfortunately, Remus doesn't notice too long after you do, and instantly gets active by closing his lips around your glistening clit. You almost cringe at how pornographic of a moan he let out. Shit, you'd expect that from Sirius maybe, but Remus?

You're brought back to Sirius when he slips 3 of his fingers out of your prepped hole, and watch as he sucks them like his favorite sweet. Don't ask how you know. You just do.

You begin to buck your hips into Remus' face as he sucks harder and harder, hoping you squirt all over his face. His mask continues to scrape over your skin as he goes in on your dripping cunt. You tear up at the blood that has since then dried all over your skin, creating a sticky mess that makes you feel guilty about the guy you met.

"You know, we've always wanted to have you to ourselves. You were always confident in the way you talked, and the way you dressed. You just never would give us a chance, it was like you hated us, love."

You almost roll your eyes at the gaslighting Sirius' attempts to do, but you choose to just look up and prepare yourself for the rest of their abuse.

Remus stops sucking on your cunt just as you're about to come, making you reluctantly let out a whine that has both of them chuckling amongst each other, and you blushing at the vulnerabiltiy you showed. But you seem to forget how vulnerable you are when you're exposed like an animal in the wild.

"Cunt or her ass Moony?"

Sirius asks his lover. He situates himself after Remus chooses the former, and tucks his robe so that his bottom half is free, leaving the cloak to drape a little bit. He then lets Remus hold you while he gets his lap ready for you, and steadily sinks your ass down onto his cock making you whine at the expected, but unprepared for intrusion, Even though he used his fingers, he was still so long. You feel a slight weight on your clit, and look back to see Remus lining his thick cock up with your unprepared hole. You try and speak but it comes out muffled from your stuffed mouth.

"No!-Pweth, I cont tek et!" You try and tell him, but he only laughs at your words and continues to breach your poor cunny. You cry as they both alternate their thrusts, one going in, the other going out. Sirius takes his mask off, followed by Remus, as they both pant speeding up their pace. You're left to whine and beg for mercy as they both use you like you aren't even a person. You're embarrassed to admit how fast you came on Remus' cock, but you quickly realize that they both won't stop until they finish.

You find yourself being purposely overstimulated by Sirius, as his nude hand reaches down to stab at your swollen clit while Remus continues his assault on your poor hole. Leading you to squint all over Remus' lover stomach, and drip down onto the soaked sheets that now sport a grey color, instead of the silk white it was once. You feel both of them finish inside of your holes, but are startled when they start switching positions right after their highs disipitate.

They communicate through short curt words, and you find yourself on all fours with Sirius situated behind you, and Remus situated behind Sirius. They simultaneously line their cocks up with their targets, and both sink in at the same time making all 3 of you let out loud moans.

Remus maintains a steady pace, while Sirius prefers to go as fast as his hips can take him, making him the first to finish, which leaves you, and Remus. Remus continues using Sirius' hole, while Sirius is riding his high out inside of you, but he pulls out and hurrying over to your face, and pulls your panties out of your mouth, to unexpectadely shove his cock down your throat once again, causing you to choke and whine at how much you've been used this night. He only uses your throat for a few seconds before he pulls out and comes all over your face, getting some especially in your mouth. You hold it before he reaches in and presses down on your tongue, forcing you to swallow his seed. He and Sirius crach down at the top of the bed together, while you've sunk into the mattress by the foot of the bed. You try and get up to get away, but you're stopped by 2 pairs of hands pulling you towards the connecting bodies.

"Where do you think you're going? We haven't even decided if we wanna keep you alive or not."

Sirius questions, you open your mouth to answer him but end up bursting into tears, and you just lay your head down on the both of them to drift off to anything, but a restful sleep.

___________________________________________

My fanfic after almost a year of no writing, that writers block really hit me hard, but I honestly feel it coming again. I actually started writing this fic in october, and it was supposed to come out halloween night, but I was too lazy.

Please let me know if I've made any mistakes, and I hope you enjoyed!

Likes, Reblogs, and comments are encouraged and appreciated!

#sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #ghostface x reader #remus lupin smut #remus x sirius #wolfstar x reader #wolfstar #remus lupin x reader #tw noncon #sirius black x black!reader #Remus Lupin x black!reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader

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cintasfics · 4 months ago

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Nothing some (eye) candy can't fix

pairing: juliet o'hara x oc (platonic)

wc: 1.5k

summary: while visiting the sbpd, marley stops in to check on juliet, and finding her friend overworked and under stress, resolves to do something about it

warnings: mentions of parking tickets and fines (yuck), and juliet isn't doing too good :(

a/n: i love juliet she's actually my best friend irl. this came about when i was browsing some writing prompts and came across 'when was the last time you ate?' i wanted to write something showing marley and juliets friendship and this just seemed to click in my mind. i hope you enjoy!

‘Hey Marley! What brings you here? The chief call you in for a case?’ Marley was greeted by Buzz as she stood at the front desk of the Santa Barbara PD, the officers friendly smile as he rounded the corner a welcome sight on her less-than-ideal quest.

‘Hey Buzz! Nah nothing as fun as that I’m afraid,’ she raised her hand to scratch the back of her head in embarrassment, ‘I’ve got another parking ticket to pay off, and figured I’d stop by and annoy Jules for a bit while I’m at it.’

‘Another one, huh?’ he asked with a good-natured laugh, knowing the woman’s history with minor traffic offences, ‘the city should give you a plaque somewhere with how much money you’ve given it!’

‘God, I don’t even want to think about how much money I’ve lost to tickets and fines,’ she groaned, a pained look crossing her face.

‘Maybe we could work something out for you, a ‘pay 9 fines get 1 free’ kind of deal,’ like her partners, Buzz liked Marley. She was always nice to him, always stopping to talk to him and ask about his wife whenever they crossed paths. It was because of their amicable relationship that he felt comfortable teasing her over such a thing.

‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea! Coming from me she’d probably charge me extra, but if you ever want to run that by Chief Vick I’d be grateful,’ she went along with his teasing, glad that she wasn’t receiving another lecture by a certain hard-ass detective.

‘Next time the chief is in a good mood I’ll bring it up,’ he winked at her, enjoying their back and forth, ‘speaking of good moods though, Juliet doesn’t seem to be in one at the moment, so I’d approach her with caution.’

His warning made her frown, it was rare that Juliet was in a bad mood, especially one worth commenting on. And though her relentless optimism and positive outlook could be a pain in the ass sometimes, it was one of Marley’s favourite things about her.

‘That’s odd, any idea what the problem is?’

‘Well she’s been working on a case that seems to have both her and Lassiter stumped, but they, mainly him, refuse to ask for help, internal or otherwise, so she’s under a bit of stress trying to figure it out.’

‘I see,’ looking over towards the woman in question, she could see the detective sitting at her desk, leaning on her elbow with her left hand on her forehead as she squinted at her computer.

It was strange to see Juliet so dishevelled, the woman always seemed to be so well-kept no matter the situation, be it in the field, chasing down a suspect, or a few drinks deep at one of their sleepovers.

‘How long has she been sitting there?’

‘Since she got back from lunch three hours ago,’ Buzz, ever the sweetheart, had a look of concern on his own face, ‘I did look over a while ago and she was gone, but she was back within a few minutes.’

‘Hmm, thanks Buzz. I’ll see what I can do.’

Exchanging goodbyes and good lucks with the officer, she made her way over to her friend.

‘Hey Jules, how’s it going?’

‘Mmh,’ was all she got in return.

‘I just thought I’d stop by and say hi while I paid off my latest parking ticket. I swear the rules of the parking lot near the comic book shop change every time I go there, like my trips there aren’t expensive enough,’ she was hoping for a teasing reprimand to pull her attention away from her screen, but no such luck.

Juliet seemed to ignore her attempt, so she decided to go straight for the kill, entering the mode that made Shawn and Gus designate her as the 'mum-friend'.

‘When was the last time you ate?’

‘I don’t know, an hour ago I guess,’ came her noncommittal answer.

‘Better than nothing.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Marley was still unsatisfied with that answer though, ‘what did you have?’

Though she had barely started, Marley's probing was already getting on her nerves - a testament to how tightly wound she was - couldn’t she see that she was busy?

‘What are you, my mother? I’m fine Marley, now if you don’t mind-‘

‘Jules.’

‘What? If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to work here and I'd appreciate it if you let me focus.'

'I have noticed, I've also heard that you haven't left your desk for a good while now, not long enough to take a decent break at least, and I'm just worried that you haven't been eating.'

Juliet let out an annoyed sigh, spinning in her chair to face her friend, 'there were some muffins left in the staff room, I had one of them so it’s not like I’ve been neglecting to eat.'

‘Maybe not, but it’s still not enough to keep you going. You’re running on steam, Jules, you need something of substance.'

‘And what would you suggest, in your infinite wisdom?’ she couldn't hold in the sneer that accompanied her words, the lack of food and the stress she was under controlling her words.

Marley didn't take it personally, she could see that not only was she in need of something to eat, but that she also needed a break.

‘That you come outside with me, hop into my car, and I drive us over to the bakery down the road from the fire station where we will enjoy some of the delicious treats they have to offer and feast our eyes on any firemen passing by.’

Visiting the café and taking in the nearby sights was a favoured pastime of the two women, and the appeal of the suggestion was enough to make her stop and consider it, but she wasn’t fully convinced. The stress of not making any further progress on this case weighing heavily on her mind.

‘I don’t know, this case has me stumped and I really need to focus.'

‘Sitting here driving yourself crazy isn’t going to help any, if it did I’m sure you would’ve figured it out by now,’ knowing she had her on the ropes, Marley kept on, ‘and some fresh air would do you good. Stepping away from your desk for a bit will clear your mind and help you see it in a different way.'

Juliet worried her bottom lip between her teeth, her words growing more appealing by the second.

‘Alright,’ she exhaled, ‘you win. Let’s go before I change my mind.’

Marley met the blonde’s yielding smile with her own victorious one, ‘perfect! I hear they have a new smoothie flavour and I’m excited to try it!’

~}i{~

The two women made their way outside, Juliet noticing as they approached the car that Marley had taken advantage of Lassiter being elsewhere by using his reserved parking space. Marley brushed her observation aside, claiming ‘what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him’.

As Marley pulled out of the commandeered spot, Juliet turned to her to apologise for the way she had spoken to her.

‘I’m sorry for snapping at you before, I just feel like I’m getting nowhere with this case and it’s driving me crazy. Lassiter breathing down my neck doesn't help either.'

‘Don’t worry about it, I get it. God knows I’m prone to snapping at people when overwhelmed,’ it didn’t happen often, but more frequently than she’d like to admit she had been in Juliets shoes. She always felt embarrassed afterwards, especially when apologising to those she had directed her ire at, so she appreciated her friend’s words.

‘Still, I feel horrible for taking it out on you.’

‘Babe, I got a water jug thrown at my head by a patient yesterday, you’re fine.’

‘Oh jeeze, what did you do to deserve that?’ she felt bad for the bark of laughter she let out, truly concerned for her friend, but her casual delivery drew it out of her.

‘Beyond treat them with nothing but kindness and respect? I told them that they couldn’t smoke inside.’

Juliet's next bout of laughter was louder. One of her favourite things about being friends with Marley was knowing that she wasn’t alone in dealing with unruly people and crazy situations, that she wasn’t the only one copping undue abuse in her field of work, and that she had someone to laugh (and sometimes cry) over it with at the end of the day.

'That's a bit harsh.'

'Yeah, how dare I express concern for not only their health, but for the health of the other patients as well.'

'I meant you, nurse Ratched,' she couldn't resist teasing.

'I will pull this car over right now, then no café and firemen for you,' to illustrate her point, Marley started slowing down, checking if the traffic behind her would allow her to pull over.

'I'm sorry I'm sorry! You were being very reasonable and you didn't deserve to get a water jug thrown at you!'

'Thank you, it might have missed me but it still hurt my feelings,' she returned to her previous speed, wiping a fake tear as she did.

Juliet tried to get her laughter under control, wiping her own real tears away. She finally composed herself, letting out a deep breath before speaking again, ‘thanks Marley, I needed that.’

Marley was already smiling at her friend’s laughter, glad that she had cheered her up, but her words and grateful smile made it all the wider.

‘Anytime, Jules.’

#juliet o'hara x oc #juliet o'hara fic #psych x oc #psych fic #psych x reader #marley williams #mine

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hermannsthumb · 2 years ago

Note

For the summer prompts I’ll take a number 16 and a number 9 with extra sauce :^)

9. Stargazing + 16. Weddings

from the summer prompts meme here

another little summer prompt as a break while I work on zine stuff and do a million other things, WAHOO

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

One of the most annoying parts about Hermann is that he actually makes for decent company when they’re not forced to stay within a two-foot radius of each other in the confines of the lab. Even more annoying is that Newt actually enjoys it. (Ugh.) He enjoys it even more now that they don’t have to share a lab at all and Hermann has started being kind of nice to him. And, you know, does other stuff with him. They’re not really boyfriends yet, because Newt is too afraid to use that term in front of Hermann—he knows Hermann would probably call him juvenile or something—but they’re inching towards it. Slowly. Very, very slowly, like the two emotionally inexperienced academics they are.

Newt’s fine with it, mostly. He wishes someone would invent a word between boyfriend and partner that he could use that doesn’t make him want to curl up in agony. It does make social situations pretty weird sometimes, though, like when he took Hermann to dinner with his dad after one of their big lectures and he couldn’t exactly say this is the guy from work I hooked my brain up to and like to make out with, or when he met some of Hermann’s family at one “we didn’t die!” gala or another and Hermann stiffly called Newt his companion (somehow more weirdly suggestive than literally anything else he could’ve said?).

It’s made this one in particular kind of weird.

They’re at the wedding of a mutual—well, Newt’s not sure if he would call the guy a friend, acquaintance maybe, research collaborator (which also sounds like something Hermann would introduce Newt as, to be honest, but Newt means it for real)—and he clearly assumed there was more going on with Newt and Hermann than just some humble companionship when he sent out their invitation. Singular invitation. Both of their names at the top, no mention of an allotted plus one(s) anywhere on it. It was more understandable than presumptuous, at least, since they are kind of joined at the hip and still very slightly at the mind. Newt and Hermann met the kid (okay, he was well into his twenties, but that's basically a kid) when he interned as a research assistant in the lab for a few months, back at the start of Newt and Hermann’s tenure with the PPDC when they still had funding and willing participants for that kinda thing. Newt always privately suspected that he had a little bit of a thing for Hermann—and seeing the incredibly dorky groom today all but confirms that. Definitely has a type.

Newt has also always suspected the kid was assuming things about Hermann’s relationship with Newt the entirety of his time under their supervision, which, you know, this also kind of confirms.

“I’ve never liked weddings much,” Hermann says, stirring a straw aimlessly through his cocktail. Their former-intern has tucked them away at a private table in the very back of the reception hall, out of sight and out of earshot, which would probably be an insult coming from anyone who isn’t one-hundred-percent aware of how bad Newt and Hermann are at socializing. It works out better for everyone this way—Newt and Hermann don’t embarrass themselves or the wedding party. “Seems like a lot of fuss over nothing. My brother’s had two now, and neither of them have taken—just a waste of time and money. ”

Newt likes the open bar at weddings, and he likes getting tipsy enough for it to become socially acceptable to dance like an idiot with strangers, but the rest of it is, yeah, pretty boring. He hasn’t been to a wedding since his cousin got married a couple years back. Newt flew all the way back to Germany for that, and all by himself, because he couldn’t bribe Hermann into being his totally platonic(/vitriolic, since they still pretended to hate each other back then) plus-one for the night. Still, he loves being a pain in Hermann’s ass, and the need to be a contrarian majorly outweighs the fact that he, you know, agrees with the guy. “Weddings are fun,” Newt says, mock-defensively. “I’m sorry you’re not romantic enough to appreciate them.”

Hermann snorts and nudges their knees together under the table, and Newt caves with a grin. “We could just leave,” Newt suggests. He steals a sip of Hermann’s drink. “I don’t think anyone would even notice. I can call us an Uber and we could be back at the hotel in literally thirty minutes.” It’s his turn to nudge Hermann. “We came, we said hi, we met the husband, we left them a gift—” A joint gift, with a yay congrats! card signed by them both, they were very much not dodging those relationship assumptions. “—so I’m thinking our social obligations are prettttty much done?”

The romantic thing to do would be to ask Hermann to dance. They could wait for a slow song, and Newt could hold his weight enough for them to sway awkwardly like two middle-schoolers for a little bit, and then Hermann would give him a furtive and equally awkward kiss. Very romantic. It would be fun to do that if it wasn’t so hot in here. July heat and a million people crammed into a tiny ballroom: not conducive to comfort. Newton took off his suit coat and undid his tie about an hour ago, and unbuttoned his shirt down past his collarbones (to Hermann’s scandalized judgement) not long after.

The second most romantic thing Newt could do is pay for the Uber. Hermann visibly wrestles with Newt’s suggestion before finally sagging in on himself. “We ought to stay a little longer,” he says, sadly. He does the unthinkable a moment later and actually takes off his own blazer and ugly quote-unquote dressy vest. Newt spots sweat beading his brow beneath his uneven bangs.

The third most romantic thing to do would be to help Hermann preserve his dignity before—God forbid!—he undoes his collar, which he's buttoned all the way to his throat in typical Hermann fashion. The glass doors to the patio adjacent to the ballroom have been propped open to let in a breeze, and though Newt can’t imagine it’s any less humid or muggy out there, any fresh air would be an improvement. Hermann doesn’t do well in large crowds for very long and Newt can practically feel the last of his patience ebbing away. If someone so much as tries to small talk with them Hermann might lose it for real. Plus—the venue is isolated enough that Newt suspects they might have a pretty nice view of the night sky, something that they've been sorely missing out on from all those years slouching around a damp basement.

He stands and holds out a hand in offering to Hermann. “Let’s go outside,” he says. “We can look at the stars.” Also, Hermann looks kind of cute all flushed and sweaty, and if Newt can't dance with him he'll see if he can snag a kiss or two. Hermann raises his eyebrows at this, but gropes for his cane and takes Newt's hand anyway.

The patio is thankfully deserted. Heat aside, it’s pretty nice out: the space is enclosed by tall, well-maintained shrubs strung with twinkle lights, and there are a handful of benches spaced around evenly. The night breeze is warm but better than nothing. Hermann primly dabs at his face with his handkerchief as he takes a seat at one of the benches, and Newt drops in a sprawl next to him. They can just hear the dumb early-aughts pop song the DJ had been playing through the crack in the door. Hermann says nothing when Newt tucks an arm around his neck. “We have an hour until the reception is meant to end,” Hermann says, glaring at his analog wristwatch, like he thinks that will make time pass faster. "Is there a socially acceptable time to leave before then? We could invent an excuse. Or—" A sigh. "Newton."

Newt has pressed his face to Hermann’s neck to leave little kisses at his jaw, and Hermann wriggles around, dodging further attempts with a wrinkled nose and another funny, whining exclamation of Newt’s name. “Ah, ah, not in public,” he says. “It’s—” Unbecoming, Newt thinks in his Hermann impression, and maybe he mutters it too. But Hermann kisses him properly anyway, toying idly with the loose ends of Newt’s tie before pushing him away. “Looking at the stars?” he echoes Newt sarcastically.

“I did mean it,” Newt says, with another goofy grin. “Kind of.” They're efficient men (sometimes) and he imagines they could very easily find a way to compromise and multitask.

“You should know you're hardly the only one to try that,” Hermann says, and Newt thinks, with a flash of hot embarrassment, of the number of times Hermann has talked about the stargazing dates he used to go on in college with the hot nerds in his chess club. Well, Newt’s paraphrasing that last part. Hermann actually said something like charming young men, but Newt thinks the odds of someone being in chess club and not being a nerd are pretty slim, which Newt (who was also in a chess club) has firsthand knowledge of.

"But," Hermann continues, his eyes dropping down to the curls of ink on Newt's semi-exposed chest, "I suppose we do have time to kill."

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag

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wildjuniperjones · 2 years ago

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Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by the lovely @dontjudgemeimawriter (thank you!), and I'll be drawing from my main WIP, Bonds of Trust. My words are suspect, detect, avoid, ignore, & theory.

I'll tag @thatprolificauthor, @sevenpocketsofstarlight, @worldstogetlostin, @winterandwords, and @forthelanterns. Your words are key, age, rule, cold, & order.

Snippets are under the cut and in chronological order!

Theory

“So what got you into Albertus, then? I’m guessing it’s not language.”

“Well, this, actually,” she says, pulling her bag off her shoulder and setting it between them. It looks like just a regular leather purse, but given that she’s some kind of mage, he’d bet there’s more to it than that. “This is an extra-space bag. They’ve been fiendishly difficult to make, but I made this one as my senior project for undergrad.” She reaches inside to demonstrate, reaching past where the floor should be and pulling out a book that should not have fit in that bag. “I theorize that they can be made more simply, by sacrificing some of the interior space. It’s a matter of materials and the high rate of accuracy needed for the sigils used in its creation. Now, normally we can rely on auto-painters for sigil replication, which has sped up production for wards and even moving advertisements. But in the case of the extra-space bags, the space required for the enchanting circle is larger than standard, and requires fine-tuning across the outer rim of runes to account for variance in the materials– I’m sorry, this is probably really boring for you.” She finishes, looking at him sympathetically.

Detect/Find

“Are you listening to me, Miss Nagari? I won’t stand for my students acting like whores here at Albertus! You’re lucky I haven’t found a rule you’ve broken yet or I’d have you expelled on the spot!” Some relief must’ve seeped into her expression, because his fine, pale features contort into a malicious smile. “Oh, you think you’re safe, then? I’ll be speaking with your funders about this over winter break – I believe they have a code of conduct nearly as stringent as my own, and when they see this– this pornography–”

In that moment, Sere does something that would have been unthinkable in the months before she met Leo. She interrupts the professor right back, leaping to her hooves. “And I believe that threats like this can get a professor’s tenure revoked! You can’t unilaterally make a decision like this, you know nothing about what I do–”

Suspect/Suspicion

“It’s kind of awkward, but my advisor found out about my modeling job. Van Irin’s always been pretty conservative, but now he’s threatening to pull funding. And since I’m barely scraping by as it is, that’d be the end of my career.”

“Well shit. How can I help?”

Her golden eyes avoid his gaze and she bites her lip, a slender white fang against dark purple. “He said that it’s one thing if a single woman is acting ‘like a whore’ in front of strangers, but a very different thing if she has a partner behind the camera. A –um– a romantic partner. He also said, and I quote, ‘And I don’t mean that tarty elf you live with.’ So Anya’s out.”

“But they’re your main photographer, I thought?” Suspicion bubbles to the surface, and he can feel his muscles tense in response. This was coming out of nowhere, just like with– No. This is my friend. She’s not like her. But it’s too close for the mantra to be of any comfort.

Ignore

Leo stoops and pulls out the package which clinks beneath his hands. “Where –um– where should I change?” Anya waves dismissively. “Eh, anywhere’s fine. It’s not like I’ve not seen your kinda equipment before–” “Anya! Do you remember the talk we had about modesty?” Sere exclaims, still perched on the pillar. “Yes, and I seem to recall you deciding I had none,” they retort casually, still engrossed in the details of the image. “Leo, ignore them. You should be fine behind these bushes here,” she says, gesturing behind her. He wades back through the water, stopping at Sere’s perch. “You okay there?” he whispers. “Yeah. I’ll want to come down at some point, but–” “I mean with them.” Sere bites her lip, glancing over at Anya. “Yeah… It’s fine.” “It doesn’t have to be fine, chula.” Because she deserves a friend who doesn’t tease her so much when it’s obvious she doesn’t like it. “Go change and we’ll talk after it’s all done, okay?” He nods, and walks off. He rather doubts that they’ll talk about it, but she obviously has a weak spot for the brash elf, and he’s not going to press the issue. Yet.

Avoid

“…Oh! But first we need to meet with Van Irin so I know if I can even stay here or not.” “You’ve said that before; what do you mean?” “I mean, if I can’t afford to go to school here, I’ll have to move back to the California Republic. I’m not technically a resident of Cascadia, that’s why I have to pay higher tuition, too.” Leo looks thoughtful, and sits back down to look at his feystone. “When’s the meeting?” “Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could go clothes shopping–” “No way. If we’re moving in together, I want to save every penny we have, and if there’s even a chance of you having to leave, I’ll–” he cuts himself off, blushing and staring at his ‘stone. “You’ll do what? What is it?” But he only gestures her over to sit beside him so she can see the portal flickering above the crystalline stone.

CASCADIA OFFICE OF THE INTERIOR IMMIGRATION & RESIDENCE Non-residents not engaged in approved education or employment are not permitted to remain in Cascadia, except in the following circumstances:

- The individual is undergoing training toward employment that will lead to their residency approval. - The individual has requested and been granted asylum. - The individual is engaged or married to a Cascadian resident.

“What?” She asks, still confused. “I– I’ll do whatever I have to so that you can stay here, if that’s what you want.” “Of course that’s what I want, but–” and then it hits her. What he’s avoiding saying. That he’s not talking about helping her apply for asylum or finding her a job. That he’s talking about marrying her. Or at least getting engaged to buy time for her to figure out another solution. “How long have you thought about this?”

#my writing #bonds of trust #snippets #bonds of trust vignettes #find the word tag game #find the word tag #tag game #*flails*#i'm so excited about this again!!!#thank you thank you thank you #also #first writing post in a while that *hasn't* been smut #so yay for that?

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fahrni · 4 months ago

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Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

I got my first React Native PR submitted and I’ve received some good feedback.

On the whole it’s fine. I still find the syntax extremely strange but I’ll figure it out.

I still very much prefer Swift and Xcode to TypeScript and VSCode. 😃

Barack Obama

Joe Biden has been one of America’s most consequential presidents, as well as a dear friend and partner to me. Today, we’ve also been reminded — again — that he’s a patriot of the highest order.

Thank you President Biden for serving your country. ❤️

Robert Reich

Let me add my words of gratitude to Joe Biden for doing something Donald Trump is incapable of doing — putting his country over ego, ambition, and pride.

Biden bowed out with grace and dignity.

Yes, yes he did. Now let’s all get behind Kamala Harris, make her the 47th President of this great nation, and save Democracy.

David Gilmour • Mediaite

MSNBC host Rachel Maddow flipped the question that has long chased Democrats of presidential candidate age and capability on Republicans Sunday night after President Joe Biden announced he would no longer run for re-election, calling out former President Donald Trump as now the “old man in the race.”

It’s time for the media to ask the Orange Man to withdrawal from the run for President because of his age and his lack of mental capacity to properly do the job.

Luke Deniston

This is the story of a process that died, and the tale of what we went through to track down the killer and bring it to justice. More accurately, it was a process that kept dying, but that hurts the analogy I’m trying to go for here so just bear with me.

I worked with Luke at Agrian. He’s super smart and kind and I love this story. Luke, if you read this, I hope you wrote that entire story yourself? It’s awesome.

Jess Weatherbed • The Verge

Despite Apple’s claims that most consumers will only consider purchasing vehicles that support CarPlay, Rivian says it still doesn’t have any plans to adopt the iPhone mirroring system. Talking to The Verge EIC Nilay Patel in today’s episode of Decoder, Rivian founder and CEO RJ Scaringe likened Rivian adopting CarPlay to Apple choosing to use Microsoft’s Windows operating systems instead of developing its own in-house iOS and macOS alternatives.

I like this take and comparison. Apple has a desire to be the primary control center for the car and that seems wrong. They also want the car company to make sure Apple is called out as the provider of the in car system by not changing things like fonts on the in dash system. That would mean the cars branding wouldn’t match the companies. That’s not good.

Wouldn’t it be cool to work on an embedded in dash system? I think it would.

The Futon Critic

“HOMICIDE: LIFE ON THE STREET” ARRIVES ON PEACOCK AUG. 19

YES! I loved me some Homocide: Life on the Streets and I’m glad it’ll be available for streaming. Too bad I don’t have a Peacock subscription. Might have to convince the boss we need it for a while? 🤔

M.G. Siegler • Spyglass

Apple Should Buy HBO

I like this idea, especially if Apple would commit to funding HBO original content so we may get the next Sopranos, The Wire, or Game of Thrones.

Isabel van Brugen • Newsweek

Valentina Bondarenko, a top Russian economist, has died at the age of 82 after falling out of her apartment window in Moscow, Russian state-run media reported on Tuesday.

It’s so strange how many folks fall out of windows in Russia. It’s a downright epidemic.

I suspect if Orange Man wins the Presidency we’ll see this strange affliction migrate to America.

Jowi Morales • Tom’s Hardware

Windows 3.1 saves the day during CrowdStrike outage — Southwest Airlines scrapes by with archaic OS

I find this extremely difficult to believe. I actually liked Windows 3.1 and it’s the OS Visio was originally written on, so it’s pretty near and dear to my heart. Thing is, it’s a 16-bit OS, but it was quite capable. I’d love to know more about this setup and how in the world do they keep it secure? The network support in Windows 3.1 was mediocre at best. Did it even support HTTP? I don’t have the slightest clue.

Gil Duran • The New Republic

Where J.D. Vance Gets His Weird, Terrifying Techno-Authoritarian Ideas

I’ve never heard of Curtis Yarvin but he sounds like a real piece of work. This dudes thoughts are as bad as Nazi Germany’s “useless eaters” program. Pathetic and disgusting.

He’s the one that needs to go away with thinking like that. 🤬

Elizabeth Lopatto • The Verge

The moral bankruptcy of Marc Andreessen and Ben Horowitz

All the billionaire bros in the Silicon Valley need to get their act together. They’re ready to throw democracy away so they can become richer? How much money do you need? The answer must be all of it!

Again. Pathetic and selfish to allow an entire nation to be destroyed because you want to make a buck. Don’t be surprised if someone shows up at your place looking to beat your ass. No, that’s not a threat, but I can imagine someone feeling that strongly about it. I mean, hell, someone has already tried to take out the Orange Man. I don’t suspect it’ll be the last.

Stu Sjouwerman • KnowBe4

TLDR: KnowBe4 needed a software engineer for our internal IT AI team. We posted the job, received resumes, conducted interviews, performed background checks, verified references, and hired the person. We sent them their Mac workstation, and the moment it was received, it immediately started to load malware.

This story is fascinating. At WillowTree we’ve had a couple candidates try to get through by hiring someone to do the technical parts of the test for them. They’ve been caught and I’m not aware of any getting through. I suspect in our case they just wanted a job they didn’t have the skill for. In the end they’d have failed and been let go so I’m not sure why they went through the trouble.

Steven Vaughan-Nichols • ZDNet

Several European countries are betting on open-source software for their technology. In the United States, eh, not so much. In the latest news from across the Atlantic, Switzerland has taken a major step forward with its “Federal Law on the Use of Electronic Means for the Fulfillment of Governmental Tasks” (EMBAG). This groundbreaking legislation mandates using open-source software (OSS) in the public sector.

Here’s the thing about this. If someone finds an exploit in Linux they’re gonna leverage it until they’re caught. Something like the CrowdStrike disaster could happen just as easily in open source software. Companies just don’t have to pay to use it, don’t have to contribute their changes back to the community, or support the maintainers of the software.

It’s a good deal for corporations.

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ascalonianlightbringer · 2 years ago

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Last time, we began "An Apple a Day" with Tybalt, Gwen, and Demmi defeating Commander Landon of the Ministry Guard. Gwen, having warmed up to Tybalt despite her antipathy towards Charr culture, agreed to work with him again when he stumbled through an offer.

Upon reaching the entrance to the Chantry of Secrets, Gwen presumably sent Tybalt ahead, given the dialogue that follows. I personally imagine that they had a short, hushed conversation about this with "are you sure?" "yes, I'm sure. It's fine" going back and forth before he continued onwards.

Upon entering, Gwen suddenly got a letter from Logan (delivered by an agent, I guess?). It implied that at this point, the Ascalonian Catacombs dungeon has been completed, which I didn't work into my Gwen headcanons at all. I didn't really want her in Ascalon yet for character arc reasons, so I'm going to headcanon that it hasn't happened yet, and the catacombs/Caudecus's Manor are closer in time than the game mechanics would suggest.

The mechanical placement of the catacombs in the personal story, level-wise, already doesn't make sense (it's got to happen after the meeting of Destiny's Edge in Lion's Arch, but it's unlocked earlier). So changing the timeline up doesn't bother me that much.

A random agent near the entrance greeted Gwen as "Initiate" and said the Preceptors were expecting her. Not terrifying at all! The agent added, "Your friend Tybalt is waiting for you there" and bowed.

I think Gwen was thinking "friend??? we're professional associates and partners in the fight against the dragons" even though she actually did feel much friendlier towards him by then. She just nodded and continued on.

In the antechamber, she found Demmi, Tybalt, Riel, and the preceptors, who are a Charr, a human, and a sylvari. The scene broke into a cinematic in which the Charr, Halvora Snapdagger, welcomed Gwen to the Chantry and introduced the preceptors to her as Doern, Valenze, and herself. Concisely, she explained that they guide the Order. Additionally, Riel (who kickstarted the original "Welcome to the Order of Whispers" cinematic) is their attaché and Gwen already knew Lightbringer Tybalt. Halvora added, "He speaks very highly of you."

Gwen was just thinking "He does? ...huh." Also, I appreciate Tybalt being respectfully referred to by his rank! I think that Gwen vaguely did, too.

Gwen summarized the operation very concisely. The PC additionally remarks that soon they'll have enough information on Caudecus "to keep him under wraps for good." I seem to recall that he continues causing problems for a long time, as might be predicted, so this is really overconfident in a way that doesn't strike me as particularly likely for Gwen, who is a deeply pragmatic person. So I imagine that she just said, "Demmi is safe, and soon we'll have some very useful information on Caudecus."

Despite all her self-control, I think her voice hardened a bit as she said his name. He did get her sister enslaved! The Preceptors would know all about that, and I suspect Tybalt would have been briefed on something so pertinent to the Demmi operation, so everyone just pretended not to notice.

Halvora: "You've both done exceptionally well."

Gwen didn't quite let herself relax yet, but still felt a rush of gratification and relief.

As a result of their success, Halvora announced that Tybalt would remain in the field, to his distinct pleasure.

Oh, Tybalt.

Gwen, meanwhile, got promoted to Agent status (yes!!), permanently assigned as Tybalt's partner (HELL YEAH), and congratulated.

At this point, Halvora & Co went on to give Tybalt and Gwen their next assignment. However, the dialogue suggests the next assignment is urgent and will immediately follow this one in time, yet the story line for that one is level 50 while this story line was only level 40. While Gwen is 80, so she could do the stories back to back, I feel like it makes more sense of the mechanics if there was a pause between major missions.

And pragmatically, the Order would burn through its agents if they were constantly going from one operation to another. I think they would know that and require their people to ... you know, sleep when they can be spared.

So my headcanon is that this scene actually pulls together two different conversations. There's the first, in which Gwen passed her initiation and she and Tybalt were made permanent partners, and then a later one about the call for help from the quaggan/skritt/etc.

In my headcanon version, then, the first discussion ended at that point and Gwen was able to mill around with the other agents etc.

She was actually able to talk to Halvora, who wished her luck in her endeavors, and promised the Order would be watching her closely. No surprises there.

Gwen then turned to Tybalt and he burst out:

Gwen said, in her slightly reserved way with him, "Something to be proud of, Tybalt." (Her canon line!)

Naturally, she'd go over to Demmi and see how she was doing as well. I think Gwen is used to loose ends, but very much prefers not to leave them when it can be avoided. Demmi, at this point, had gone from "Some rescue!" earlier to "Look! We're finally here. Finally safe ... and all because of you." I take this to be a plural you, referring to both Gwen and Tybalt. (Justice for Tybalt!)

The PC's canon response is kind of agog at the Chantry, so I think Gwen just looked around and remarked, "So this is the heart of the Order of Whispers. I hadn't actually seen it before."

Demmi's canon response works fine there: "It's a little overwhelming, but between telling them about my father's plans and my own training, I feel like I'm part of a team."

Gwen, in a casually friendly way (both out of genuine, if unexpected, liking and digging for information), asked Demmi what she planned on focusing on within the Order.

Demmi: "Right now, I'm sharing my knowledge of Krytan politics. I love political intrigue. I think I'd make a good analyst."

Gwen definitely would agree that's a great plan, per her canon line. She paused, then dared to press a little further, asking what Demmi thought her father would do with Landon dead.

Demmi explained why she was safe in the Chantry (there were various good reasons) and said she should send a message to her father, like shipping Landon's dead body to him.

The PC canonically says "You are your father's daughter," but I don't think Gwen would say something that potentially insulting. And in fact, I think Gwen would wholeheartedly approve of that kind of message, after her history of sending enemies running on the streets of DR and given that she has plotted and carried out murderous vengeance before. Also, she thought of her sister's suffering via Caudecus's schemes and felt that sending him the dead body of a valuable and trusted commander was right and good, actually.

I suspect that Demmi would be a little wary of how Gwen might respond to this approach, but Gwen just gave a slight smile and said pleasantly, "You may be right."

Next up was Preceptor Doern, who asked what he could do for their newest agent and introduced himself by full name: Doern Velazquez. Given that Gwen is Gwen Velazquez, I think she was taken aback enough to begin with "Velazquez!" She thought of asking if they're related (they don't look altogether different tbh), but more carefully asked, "Are you from Kryta? Or Ascalon?"

(Canonically, the PC just asks about Kryta.)

He said no, then corrected to "yes, from Kryta" in the most suspicious way possible. The PC canonically presses him on this, but I don't think Gwen would do that with a preceptor at this point, so she just mentally noted that there's something odd about that. She then asked about the preceptors. He told her that they deliver orders to agents who take those orders to the field, and their orders come from the Master of Whispers, who leads the order—but she wasn't cleared to know more.

Curiously, she asked if he was ever a field agent, and he says he was until his wi—partner was killed in the line of duty and he became a trainer of other agents at that point. The PC pushes him on this, unwisely, but Gwen just made further mental notes and thanked him before moving on to Valenze, the sylvari preceptor.

Valenze turned out to be the primary research analyst, focusing on information as well as illusions and other mesmer magic. Upon being asked, she explained that Riel is actually a full Lightbringer and the primary agent in Lion's Arch as well as the Order's most accomplished sniper. (Impressive! Also, I imagine they have some very good snipers, so... a bit scary, too.)

Valenze additionally explained that Gwen's suspicious maybe-cousin, Doern, is the infiltration and assassination specialist, which was totally unsurprising to her. Halvora is the chief combat tactician, which made a certain sense, given Charr culture. Valenze said both were excellent at their work. Also unsurprising.

And apart from the set-up for the next mission, that is "An Apple a Day" and the full initiation completed! Next up will be some stuff about that ten-level gap between this mission and the next.

#t: greetings friend #p: honor the past #h: everyone has a secret #s: fight what cannot be fought #long post #c: gwen velazquez #c: doern velazquez #c: tybalt leftpaw #c: halvora snapdagger #c: valenze #c: demmi beetlestone #c: riel darkwater

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singthesongsofsin · 2 years ago

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It all feels, a bit, like dealing with a frat boy version of Vox. He's like if her Vox, at his worst, had just kept falling. He's... she hesitates to say good at hiding it all. The fact that she's still here, despite the complaining sort of says everything. He's free to laugh and smile all he wants, but she knows all the tips and tricks of that screen. The glitches, the slight differences in the way that the smile looks between forced and genuine-- a few decades of interacting with it on a daily basis had given her that much.

"I think Vark was a winning point in your favour," She admits. Hellaina had never really understood Velvette, nor Vox's friendship with her, but she's always suspected at least part of it might have been when she came into his life. They'd interacted of course, civilly even. A few times she had found Velvette watching things on Vox's TV in the middle of the day, and his cupboards had been, aside from shark food, populated by the two of them. "I don't think it's luck, just a different relationship."

"It's not breaking and entering when if I don't actually break anything. Also I don't want to rob you." That sounded like far too much effort for not enough reward. It was more like... teleportation. From a street on the end of an Exterminator's spear to his living room. She hasn't even looked out the window properly, but she doubts it's the Blue Light District she's used to. She shrugs. "Well we were both human once upon a time-- can you tell me you've ever seen one in Hell before? Vox or not he's an anomaly."

She recognizes the Voxtagram page, almost immediately. Some things, she thinks fondly, never change. The one she's used to tends to be interspersed with Dia or his partners, but in a world where that wasn't reality, then this feels accurate enough. How Astor of all people, had become her touchstone to reality, she isn't sure, but she's grateful for it either way. She won't mention it, that would be giving up the ulterior motives too easily, but knowing is a victory either way. "You wish," she says, blowing him a kiss.

And then the mood changes again, and dear god, it just gets worse. Angel, she's sure, made for a fine friend, but he, like Velvette, like everyone else in this Vox's life was in Valentino's pocket before his. No wonder he seemed so... stuck in place. "Might be fuzzier, but," she lifts one of her snakes, on the edge of her fingers. They're still hanging as limply as snakes can, asleep, from the crash through into another universe she assumes. "His hair doesn't bite."

She grins, living into the smile that makes the underlings worry. it's cute he thinks he ever had a choice in the matter. "I mean yes, though some clothes might be nice too. My closet, like everything else, is stuck back in another version of Hell," And while she would steal something of his in order to do her own laundry, she'd really rather not have to do it every single day for as long as she was stuck here. Especially considering it's not like her bank account would be any good here. "Business casual makes for good day wear, but I don't much fancy living in this one outfit."

And so long as she had a room and clothes, food wasn't a problem if he had to eat too. Better than actually signing any sort of contract to be on his payroll, no, no that wasn't happening. She doesn't think she even could with her soul technically on the line to someone else. And oh that's reassuring, another universe, but not dead, so Vox would know, and could tell Dia, that she was alive.

The grin settles into something more smug and self-satisfied as he drops the phone. Fabulous. One inconvenient, bad idea subverted. Now to just... try and keep him from making more. Whenever she got home, if one of the Princess's sinners ever got to heaven, she'd have to ask them to pass on a message to Heaven. A nice, eloquent 'fuck you'.

"That sounds sad," she says, flat. She was too sober for this, all of this, and then the idea hits. If he could drink then this could actually be fun. And if it meant stretching the truth a little? Well it wasn't like a sin could bring her even more to Hell than she was already. "Well considering I just died, or at least my wife probably assumes I did, and I know more about you than you know about me, I propose a game: Never Have I Ever. It's not like being lonely on your couch and waiting for an apology can be invigorating."

#sinnerzforsaintz #🐍 hellaina | sold her soul to take the crown

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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years ago

Note

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

#damian wayne smut #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader smut #damian wayne x you #robin smut #robin #dc smut #dc comics #dc #user uncouth

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cuttoothed · 4 years ago

Text

Fic for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "Healing & Recovery". We've all been saying jmart need a lot of therapy after the finale, so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I have never been to couple's therapy. I have done some reading on it, but this is not intended in any way to accurately reflect real world therapy practices. Please just assume that anything "off" is due to the way couple's therapy is practiced in AU-land (though of course feel free to let me know if you spot anything egregious).

“Why don’t you start,” Judith suggests, “By telling me about the incident?”

The two men on the sofa give her identical startled looks, as if she’s uncovered something incriminating. Martin seems to regain his composure first; he clears his throat, and his hand moves to cover Jon’s, unconsciously protective.

“Sorry, wh-what do you mean by “incident”?”

“For most couples who come to see me, there’s an...inciting incident,” Judith explains. “Something that makes them realize they could use some professional support to work through things. Of course any couple can benefit from seeing a therapist together on occasion, to deal with small issues before they become big ones. But, well, it’s the same way that everyone knows they should go for regular check ups with their GP rather than waiting until they actually get sick—it’s just not something most people get around to until they need it.”

She pauses to give them time to consider that, and after a moment Jon nods, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Right,” he says. “That’s, ah, I think that’s fair.”

“There are pretty strong extenuating circumstances, though,” Martin huffs defensively. “We didn’t exactly have the option for therapy in the a—wh-where we lived before.”

“It’s not intended as a criticism,” Judith tells him. “You’ve chosen to talk to a therapist, and that’s a big step—one that many people never take. You’re ahead of the curve, Martin.”

Martin looks mollified at that; he’s clearly a bit touchy about perceived criticisms of their relationship, and Judith doesn’t want to get him on the defensive. She gives them both an encouraging smile.

“So,” she says. “Is there an incident you’d like to talk about?”

The two of them look at each other expectantly, as if each is waiting for the other to start. After several long moments of silence, Jon raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Martin sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “So, we, uh, we recently realized that our...garden was a-a bit of a mess. So we—Jon and I—we get together with our...housemates, to figure out what kind of flowers we should plant. Fuschias or—or hydrangeas. ”

He pauses to glance nervously at Jon, who gives him a reassuring nod, squeezing his hand.

Right, Judith thinks, This is probably not about flowers.

“We agree we all want fuschias,” Martin continues, “Except Jon—he wanted hydrangeas. But we took a vote, and it was fuschias.”

“Except of course most of our—our housemates weren’t there for that meeting,” Jon interjects, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, but we agreed we couldn’t wait to ask every single person,” Martin says sharply, back on the defensive. Jon’s brow furrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, but he changes his mind and shuts it again. Conflict aversion is one of the most common dysfunctions Judith sees in the couples she treats; very few people want to disagree with the person they love, and even fewer know how to have a constructive conflict. She makes a mental note of it for later.

“Go ahead, Martin,’ she suggests gently. Martin looks unhappy, but continues.

“So we agree to plant the fuschias the next day, but Jon—Jon sneaks out in the middle of the night and starts, uh, planting hydrangeas. Without telling anyone.”

Without telling me, Judith hears in his hurt tone. Jon’s arms are still folded, and he’s almost squirming in his seat with the effort to not interject; Judith decides it’s a good time to invite him into the story.

“Jon, why did you feel so strongly about the hydrangeas?”

“It’s—it wasn’t that I wanted hydrangeas, I just couldn’t a-accept the idea of—of fuchsias.”

“Couldn’t allow it, you mean,” Martin grumbles. Judith lets it pass and continues to focus on Jon.

“Why is that?”

“They, uh, they spread…” Jon waves his hands vaguely. “Their—their...roots? They would get into the, uh, the neighbors’ gardens, completely take over, destroy everything.”

“Potentially,” Martin insists. “There was no guarantee—”

“There was no reason they wouldn’t,” Jon snaps.

By now Judith is not only sure that this has nothing to do with gardening, but suspects that neither of these men has ever seen a fuchsia in their lives. It’s fine, though. This is far from the first time a client has invented a story out of whole cloth so they can work through something uncomfortable without actually describing it. And this is their first session; Judith hopes in the future they’ll trust her enough to give her the real story.

“Remember,” she tells them. “We’re not here to decide that someone was objectively right or wrong, we’re here to help you understand each other and improve your communication skills.”

“Right,” Martin mutters, unconvinced. Jon’s expression is distressed, but he continues.

“There was no other choice,” he says wearily. “The only other option was—was azaleas, and I know you didn’t want that, Martin.”

“Absolutely not.” Martin sounds horrified. ��But hydrangeas, Jon? Do you really think that was a better option?”

“You have to see the difference.” Jon’s tone goes stiff and incredulous, as if he’s winding up for a lecture, and Judith decides to cut that off before it starts.

“So what I’m hearing,” she says, “Is that you both had very strong, conflicting opinions on this topic. And that’s okay—it’s okay for you to disagree, even on something important. You’re not always going to agree on what the right thing to do is. Often there is no single “right thing,” so it comes down to how the different choices make us feel.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to make a decision that affects the wh—a lot of people.” Jon clearly considers that his opinion on not-flowers was the objectively correct one. Judith smiles.

“People aren’t computers, Jon. Even the most logical minded person in the world is influenced by their feelings—about important issues, about other people. You’d be surprised at how much of our decision making is rooted in emotion; either how we anticipate the outcome of our decision will make us feel, or how we are feeling in the immediate moment of the choice.”

A spasm of something that might be grief or pain flashes across Jon’s face, and he leans unconsciously in Martin’s direction. Martin’s arm instantly goes around him, offering comfort without thought. It’s clear that these two love each other deeply, unquestioningly—and that’s also part of the problem. When someone you love thinks that you’re wrong about something that’s important to you, it can feel like a rejection of your entire self.

“I’d like to pause this discussion for now, and try a little exercise,” she says. Jon nods, sitting back up and disengaging from Martin’s embrace; Martin looks attentively at her, though his expression is unsure.

“One of the biggest challenges we face with people we love is recognizing that they are separate from us. I know—” she says, raising her hands to stop the objections she can already see forming on their lips. “Of course you know that you’re separate people. We all know that, rationally. But emotionally, it’s natural to see the people you’re close to as extensions of yourself—it’s an evolutionary impulse to aid group bonding. It happens with friends and family, and it’s an even stronger impulse between partners.

“We have to do a lot of work to truly internalize the idea that the people we love have their own inner emotional lives that drive their opinions and decisions. But once you are able to fully grasp that truth, it makes disagreeing with the person you love feel less emotionally fraught; it’s a powerful tool for navigating conflict constructively.”

Jon is frowning, but it’s in consideration rather than disapproval. Martin still looks skeptical, his body language defensive, though he doesn’t say anything. That’s probably the best she’s going to get for now, Judith thinks.

“So,” she says. “The exercise is this: I’d like each of you to take a few moments to think, and then tell the other person something about yourself. Not a fact, but something that you feel. And I would like you to listen without interrupting when your partner tells you their feeling. Can you each do that?”

“I, ah—” Jon’s frown deepens. “That’s...rather difficult to do on demand.”

“I know,” says Judith with sympathy. “That’s why I’m here, to support you both in doing the difficult things. If it was easy, you wouldn’t need a therapist to facilitate.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Okay.”

“Martin?”

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. Judith gets it; vulnerability is hard enough in front of someone you love, never mind with a stranger in the room. It’s easier to pretend that it’s pointless, that you’re not really putting yourself out there to be hurt. She has the feeling that Martin is someone who would rather avoid being hurt, even if it means closing himself off.

“All right,” she says. “When you’re ready, Jon, would you mind going first? No rush, take all the time you need.” Hopefully, seeing Jon take the first step might help Martin get over some of his defensiveness.

“Oh,” he says, and for a few moments his expression devolves into one of intense concentration. Then he nods, turning towards Martin.

“Start with “I feel”,” Judith suggests.

“All right,” he says, breathless with nerves. “I, uh, I feel...responsible. For—well, for everything, basically. And for everyone. Bad things have happened to people, and it’s my fault, because I should have done something. Everything that happened, back there, it was all because of me.”

“It wasn’t you, Jon!” Martin protests. “Annabelle told us—”

Judith is about to remind him that he’s supposed to just be listening, but he cuts himself off first. Jon laughs, an ugly sound that’s more like a sob.

“And how is that supposed to help? Knowing that the—that they were using me my whole life, how does that absolve me of any responsibility for what I did? For the fact that I failed to do anything to stop them? I couldn’t even go through with the one thing that could have actually meant something, because—”

He clamps his mouth shut, his jaw locked tight; Martin looks down at his hands, his expression distraught.

“Because of me.”

“Martin—” Jon’s tone is wounded, and he reaches for Martin’s hand. Judith sees reflections of a shared pain in both their faces, though she doesn’t understand why; this would be a lot easier if they’d just tell her the truth.

But you didn’t get into this profession because it was easy, did you?

“Thank you for sharing that, Jon. I think there’s a lot more for us to explore there, but let’s give you a break and give Martin a chance to share, okay?”

Jon nods, clutching Martin’s hand in his. Martin gives a long, slow exhale.

“Righto,” he says with false, brittle cheer. “”I feel,” wasn’t it? Right. Jon, when you do something stupidly self-sacrificing for other people, I feel like everyone else is more important than me.”

Jon flinches.

“Martin,” Judith says, keeping her tone level. “Let’s keep the focus on what you feel, not on what causes you to feel that way, okay?”

“Right,” Martin mutters, and glances at Jon. “Okay. In that case, I feel...like I’m not important. Like the only thing I can really do is—is take care of you. And if I can’t even do that, then what bloody use am I? That’s it, I suppose.”

“Martin…” Jon says again, softly. His eyes are wet, and he’s clinging to Martin’s hand like a drowning man to a plank. Martin swallows hard and shakes his head, but he makes no move to extract his hand from Jon’s grip.

“Thank you, Martin,” Judith tells him. “I know that wasn’t easy to share, for either of you. But this is the kind of honesty that we need, in order to build strong communication. Let’s all take five minutes—if either of you want to take a bathroom break, or get some water—and then we can talk about where to go from here. All right?”

Martin disappears to the loo, while Jon wanders around the office, looking with polite interest at the shelves of books and ornaments. Judith writes a few notes for herself, to follow up in future sessions. She hopes there’ll be future sessions. Both of these men seem deeply hurt, traumatized by events that they’re just barely alluding to, and have clearly been struggling through as best they can with less than ideal coping mechanisms, trying—and likely failing—not to hurt each other in the process. They both need individual counselling as much as couples’ therapy—maybe more. She’s certainly going to recommend it..

They clearly love each other, though. And they want to make it work. If they’re willing to put the effort in, they have better than even odds in their favor.

Martin’s eyes are red-rimmed when he returns; he sits on the sofa as near as he can to Jon, who presses their shoulders together. Judith can’t help smiling at the sight.

“How long have the two of you been together?” she asks. She always asks new clients at the end of the first session, rather than at the beginning; that way she can get a feel for the relationship without preconceptions based on longevity. The two of them look at each other properly, for the first time since Martin came back in, and matching, sheepish smiles break out on both their faces after a moment.

“So it was three weeks in Scotland,” Martin begins, ticking it off on his fingers. “And then—how long?”

“Uhh, it’s...let’s say half a year, give or take?” Jon makes a face that says he’s really not all that sure.

“Right, and then we’ve been here nearly six months. So...about a year, all in all?”

“But we knew each other for over three years before that,” Jon insists earnestly.

“It sounds as if the two of you have been through a lot,” says Judith. “And not all of it gardening related?”

“No,” Jon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Mostly not.”

“We barely scratched the surface today—and that’s normal. Relationships are complicated, and it takes a lot of time and hard work to build understanding and communication. But I promise you, it is worth all the effort. You both made a really strong start today—it takes courage to be that honest, even with your partner.”

The two of them give each other a long look, and the smile they trade is tentative, but genuine. They haven’t solved anything today, have only just begun to reveal their hurt and their insecurities; they have a long journey ahead to get to a truly honest, healthy place both for themselves and their relationship. Judith has a feeling they’ll persevere, though—that losing each other simply isn’t an option.

“So,” she says, “Should we make this a recurring appointment?”

Jon glances questioningly at Martin, who bites his lip and then nods firmly, taking Jon’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “We’ve done much harder things. We can do this.”

“Together?” says Jon, and Martin smiles.

“No matter what.”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartinweek2021 #my fic #jonmartin

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littleoases · 3 years ago

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Omg now I cannot stope thinking about jealous baker!! Can we please please get a jealous baker fic??? Only if you want to ofc ☺️

Okay fine, y'all got me - but please know that I literally wrote this just now, in one sitting, so it's not exactly polished.

Hannah’s not sure she would ever outright say it, but she definitely prefers Baker’s grad school friends to her college friends. There’s less sorority bullshit and more nerding out with other high achievers, and damn if Hannah doesn’t love to watch Baker be a nerd.

And yeah, veterinary school might be way more intense for her girlfriend than Hannah expected it to be—even if Baker did warn her—but Hannah will never get tired of watching Baker light up when she talks about the surgeries she’s been practicing in clinic. Plus, the vet school parties never disappoint. Baker’s cohort takes the “work hard, play hard” mantra very seriously.

Which is how Hannah finds herself wandering into McDougal’s on yet another Friday night. Plenty of the other partners and spouses come, and she’s actually gotten to be good friends with a few of them, so she feels at home in this space now. There’s a collective understanding the partners share about how annoying their vet nerds can be sometimes, especially when they devolve into shop talk in the middle of a game of Kings.

Tonight is an extra-special occasion because it’s the end of another semester—Baker’s hardest one yet—and Hannah’s had this party marked in her phone for weeks now. She knows from previous semester-end parties that these are the times when everyone shows up and lets loose, even some of the faculty. And it’s damn fun to watch Baker try to keep up with her mentors when Hannah knows she’s already had a couple of whiskeys.

“Hannah, wait up!” Stefanie, one of the other girlfriends, tugs on Hannah’s coat just as she’s about to slip into pub. “Figured you’d be here tonight.”

“I didn’t think we had a choice. Didn’t Bryan make you sign one of those blood oaths, too? Or was Baker pulling a fast one on me?”

“Definitely not just you,” Stefanie says. “How deep into things do you think they’ve gotten already?”

“I heard Paul ordered two rounds of Jager, like, an hour ago.”

“Disgusting.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Stef.”

Inside, McDougal’s is rowdier than usual. The string lights are bright and the beer signs glow neon on the back wall. The outdated green carpet is littered with scattered popcorn, the McDougal appetizer of choice. Baker once drunkenly suggested they should pick up the pieces and take them home to Charlie for a bedtime treat.

It seems to be the usual crowd of suspects, but there are a few new faces, too. Hannah and Stef make their way toward the bar, eager to catch up to everyone else's level. It’s not until Hannah’s leaning over the counter with her credit card in hand that she notices a tall, bearded guy making eyes at her.

“Are you a vet student, too?” he asks without preamble.

Next to her, Stefanie snorts.

“I’m Tony,” the guy says, and he seems kind enough, so Hannah smiles blandly at him. “My sister just finished her second year in the program. I’m staying with her on a layover so she invited me to come tonight.” He pauses, looking suddenly nervous. “Can I buy you a drink? It might help me look like I fit in with this crowd.”

“Oh,” Hannah says, taken aback. It’s been a while since a guy blatantly flirted with her, and she feels like a deer caught in headlights. Stefanie is no help whatsoever, ducking away from the bar without trying to hide her laughter, and Hannah wants to shout after her that it’s never okay to leave a man behind.

“Er…thank you, but I’m good,” Hannah tells him.

“No, really, I’d love to,” the guy—Tony—insists. “I have to get up at four a.m. and I’m pretty sure my sister’s gonna keep me out all night, but I’ll feel better knowing I at least got to talk to a pretty girl.”

“I’m in a relationship,” Hannah blurts out.

Tony blinks a couple of times. “Well, he’s a very lucky guy.” He bites his lip, and Hannah can see how a straight girl might be into him. He has that endearing dork-who-grew-up-to-be-handsome quality about him. Too bad he’s barking up the wrong tree.

Hannah’s not sure what to say, so she turns back toward the bar and pleads for Cyrus the bartender’s attention.

“I didn’t get your name,” Tony says, and damn it, she’d hoped he’d taken the hint and left. She’s about to make something up—why does the name Mildred pop into her head?—when there’s a sudden pair of arms around her waist.

“Hi,” Baker says warmly, scooting around to block Tony from Hannah’s view. She full-on boxes him out with her ass and a swing of her long hair, and Hannah would probably laugh at the audacity of it if she wasn’t equal parts relieved and turned on right now.

Hannah melts into her arms. “Saved by the Bake,” she mutters into her ear.

Baker presses close and kisses Hannah’s temple. “Missed you. You look amazing.”

“Hey, uh—sorry—” It’s fucking Tony again, edging around Baker to look at them both. “Are you in the program, too? Are you guys friends?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Baker says pointedly, pressing against the small of Hannah’s back.

“Oh,” Tony says stupidly. Then: “Oooh! Got it. So sorry, really sorry. That’s awesome. That’s—that’s really great. Love is love, man.”

“Mmhm,” Baker says, leveling him with a stare.

“Yeah, uh…” Tony claps his hands together. “I should go check in with my sister. Nice meeting you!”

He slinks away. Baker watches him leave like a cat stalking a sparrow.

“Hey, knight in shining armor, you okay there?” Hannah says. “You look ready to commit murder.”

“I’m considering it.”

Hannah bursts out laughing. “Easy, killer. I think he got the point. Besides, don’t you think you should be toasting him?”

Baker relaxes and brushes a stand of Hannah’s hair back. “Toasting him?”

“Yeah, you know, like some sort of Wow-we-both-have-great-taste club.”

Baker gives her a trademark eye roll. “Remind me why I was jealous just now?”

“Because I’m hot and funny.”

“Hm. One of those things is true.”

Hannah jabs at her waist, pretending to be insulted.

“You are pretty cute, though,” Baker says, smirking. “How about I buy you a drink?”

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” Hannah tells her.

Baker laughs brightly - the same laugh that captured Hannah’s heart when they were teens. “I’m living for it.”

Hannah pulls her closer. They don’t often flirt this hardcore anymore—too much real-world stress getting in the way—so she’s going to milk it for all it’s worth. “Tell you what,” she whispers into Baker’s ear. “You can buy me a drink and take me home tonight.”

Baker throws her head back in laughter, but Hannah can see the slight redness coloring her cheeks. After all this time, it’s nice to know she can still make Baker blush like that.

“You have a deal,” Baker says, regaining her composure. She smacks her hand on the bar in a theatrical way, making Cyrus the bartender jump. “Cy,” she calls, “can I get a double old-fashioned for my girlfriend?”

It’s at that moment that Stefanie reappears. Hannah turns to her, ready to lay into her, but before she can even open her mouth, Stefanie holds up a hand.

“There’s nothing I could have done to stop that boy from going goo-goo-ga-ga over you,” she says easily. “Which is why I left to get the big guns.”

She jerks her thumb at Baker, who’s distracted with tipping Cyrus.

“The big guns?” Hannah repeats. “Y’all really oversell her.”

“Nope,” Stefanie says. “She had her eye on the situation before I even walked up. I said one word and she was out of there like a bat out of hell.”

“Are we talking about me?” Baker says, joining them with Hannah’s drink.

Hannah kisses her mouth in thanks. They’re not usually the type for outright PDA, but she can’t help herself after watching Baker go all take-no-prisoners for her. “Yes. Talking about how cute you get when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“You literally admitted a minute ago that you were jealous.”

“Meh. I was just being protective.”

Stefanie shakes her head. “You two enjoy your foreplay. I’m gonna get back to Bryan now.” She saunters off, and Hannah turns to get Baker’s full attention.

“For the record, I love when you’re jealous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baker says innocently, stealing a sip from Hannah’s drink. “Now come on. Paul bought us Jager shots.”

She takes Hannah’s hand and pulls her through the crowded pub, and when Tony happens to look in their direction, Hannah doesn’t miss the smirk Baker gives her.

***

additional HNITS one-shots here (scroll down)

#Her Name in the Sky #HNITS #HNITS one-shot

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

#mdzs #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #boys

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dottiechan · 3 years ago

Text

ICEBREAKER Pt. 1

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2389

Summary: Tech watches on helplessly as his brothers' affection for you threaten to ruin the squad.

Warnings: cursing, yearning

You’re just as cold on the inside as the ice is under your boots. It crunches with every step you take, and your heart seems to beat along with the fall of your boots, aching. You feel unsteady, almost enough to miss the tracks running in the snow right in front of you. You pause and crutch down, gloved fingers dipping into the indentations as you grumble to yourself. It’s not even your turn to scope out the area where you’re setting up camp, and besides, there is a literal tracking genius in your squad - it really shouldn’t be you who’s out here in the snow and ice, eyes straining against the blinding white of the planet, fingers freezing off as you set up perimeter alarms. And yet you just volunteered for the less than ideal task without explanation, not understanding your own decision either.

At least Tech offered to tag along, but you suspect he’s simply had enough of his brothers for a while. Not that you can blame him.

“Fascinating.”

You sigh, internally begging him to stop talking as you stand, abandoning the tracks after deciding they most likely belong to a lone whitefang. You have enough on your plate right now, with Hunter still being pissy and Crosshair avoiding you like the plague, and silence would be much more preferable right now to listening to one of Tech’s rambles.

“Did you know that this moon’s surface is almost entirely composed of water?”

“No.”

“Despite the subzero surface temperature, there are subsurface oceans underneath the ice that are warmed by the moon’s internal heat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish we could stay long enough for me to study the subsurface flora and fauna. There might be plants underneath the ice that-”

“Tech.”

“-that use chemosynthesis-”

“Tech!”

“What?”

He has the decency to look flustered, one hand gripping the datapad tightly, the other flying up to adjust his goggles as he peers up at you. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Sometimes, the confinement of the Marauder is enough to turn you into a ticking time bomb, irritated by the slightest seemingly innocent things. And you’ve had more than just mere sparks to flare your temper as of late.

...

His rifle is spotless, and yet he’s still scrubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does, because if he jumps up and lowers his guard for a second, he’s out the ship and off to find you and Tech. Maybe you’re a fool sometimes, a god damn nuisance, a person he still couldn’t grow used to, but you belong with them now, you’re theirs, you’re his, and that means something to him. You frustrate him beyond reason, and he often grows callous and agitated because he refuses to allow himself to feel the emotions you elicit from him whenever you’re near him.

Even now, on an ice planet, the mere thought of you infects him with a sweet, sweet jungle fever that knocks him off his feet.

And he’s supposed to be angry now, Crosshair reminds himself. After all, you almost gotten yourself killed on Bracca, and almost broke him in the process.

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Hunter grumbles as he paces up and down like a caged nexu craving to run free. But lately Crosshair began to suspect that he craves something else, someone else, and the thought has his throat tightening in jealousy. He’s been watching, and he convinced himself that he’d misread the signs until he saw the same agitation reflect in his brother’s eyes that he himself has to wrestle with every day.

If it ever came down to your choice, he knows he wouldn’t be it, and he hates living with this knowledge.

Hunter has all the things you seem to like - unlimited kindness, longing looks, smirks that turn a little too soft when directed at you, broad shoulders he caught you staring at more times than he can count. Deep down, he’s still hoping it will never come to you having to choose, but it’s impossible not to wish to be in the centre of your attention. You drive him insane, but you also make him want to commit and stop fighting and lay down his weapons for once in his god damn life.

“Relax. They’re probably fine.”

The screen to their left lights up, and Hunter rushes across the ship in long strides before exhaling in relief. “The proximity alarms are online. They should be heading back soon.”

Crosshair sucks in a breath, worried about seeing his own emotions sitting behind Hunter’s eyes as well.

...

You were assigned to assist the Bad Batch for an unspecified period of time some months ago. You’re a versatile field agent, specialising in both stealth and combat casualty care, one of the few volunteers who were qualified enough to join the GAR. Oh, and you’re also clearly mistrusted by your new squad as they flip out the very moment you risk yourself in the line of duty. You’re not stupid, you weighed the risks carefully, and you trusted your abilities to see you through the job unharmed.

But ever since the incident on Bracca, you’re given the cold shoulder by most on the squad, and for once, the scenery matches your mood.

And yet Tech deserves better than to be cut off like that. He deserves to be listened to, and appreciated as the good man he is. You’re friends, but in moments like these, you think you don’t deserve his friendship.

“Look, I’m... I’m sorry, okay? But right now, I have too much on my mind to think about, umm, chemo...”

“Chemosynthesis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think I understand,” he nods, satisfied with your half-assed apology for the time being as he goes back to scanning the vast icy desert stretching as far as the eye can see. The Marauder’s lights blink in the background, orange against the dark blue of the growing darkness that surrounds you. It’s like a beacon, a sign that promises warmth, and you gaze at it longingly until you remember that you’ll have to go back to Crosshair’s scowl and Hunter’s disapproving frown and Wrecker’s awkward little smiles. Somehow, the ice is preferable once more, and the snow that just began to fall in soft flakes is little more than a mild annoyance.

“Well, aside from a few distant life forms-”

“Whitefangs.”

“Yes, most likely whitefangs - aside from those, we should be quite safe inside the ship for tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “You might be. I’m not the most popular with the squad right now, remember?”

“You are a valued addition,” Tech declares, and the certainty in his voice releases inside you the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch. All you can do is stand, and fight the sting of tears in your eyes. You’re confident, but you never in your wildest dreams imagined how difficult it would be to live up to the expectations of a special unit. You also know your worth, but it’s hard to keep on believing in yourself steadfastly when the rest of your squad doubts your every move. “Which is why the prospect of losing you elicits a rather severe emotional reaction in us. It is rare for regs to warm up to us as well as you have, let alone volunteers. Aside from the obvious tactical disadvantage losing you would mean, I believe it is a little more personal than that.”

...

Hunter knows something is off even before one of the alarms is triggered - whatever it is, it is within five clicks of the ship, making you and Tech plenty exposed before he could do anything. He was straining his ear simply to keep you all safe - so what if he accidentally heard your muffled voice, or the soft crunch of snow underneath your boots?

But now is not the time to be idle, and he knows it. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his squad. And to you, he corrects himself almost softly as he grabs his helmet and checks his weapons quickly. Despite the fact that he’s still angry about your previous carelessness, he cannot deny the forbidden yearning coiling in his stomach whenever you’re on his mind, making him just as nervous as hopeful. And to be fair, it happens more and more often as of late, which is both alarming and exciting as he never thought he’d ever have the luxury to feel this way about someone else. Sure, he knows love, he loves his brothers with all his heart even if he isn’t very vocal about it, but this is different. New, scary, exciting different, an effervescent and persevering tingling blinding all his senses.

Crosshair is beside him in less than a second, rifle in hand, silent, and they share a nod before lowering the ramp and rushing out into the freezing dusk.

When he picks up on your muffled voice, he seems to ignore everything as he breaks into a sprint towards you, hoping to reach you in time before you’re in danger. He almost misses the way Crosshair’s heartbeat picks up, the usually stoic man reeking with genuine worry as he looks through the scope of his rifle.

He can deal with this later, Hunter promises himself as he pushes down this uncomfortable feeling. But then he sees you and Tech, and he seems to forget about anything and everything - you have that unfortunate and awfully distracting effect on him.

...

“But Hunter yelled at me for being reckless for a solid hour. And Crosshair said he didn’t care if I wanted to get myself killed, but I should do it in a way that didn’t interfere with the mission. Seriously, what an asshole.”

“Nevermind what they actually say,” Tech waves his hand in mild annoyance. “Hunter was worried sick. Crosshair almost went after you. And they’re both too pigheaded to admit the real reason why they’re so worked up.”

“Which is?”

“Obviously they both view you as a potential romantic partner.”

There’s a moment of pause as you two stare back at one another before you snort and chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest as a futile attempt at staying warm. “Tech, you need to work on your sense of humour.”

“And you need to work on your observational skills and situational awareness.”

“My observational skills are exceptional,” you defend yourself, a finger held up in the air defiantly. “And my situational awareness is-”

“Lacking, as you didn’t seem to notice the whitefang return. I suggest we head back to the safety of the Marauder.”

Sure enough, the wild cat is there lurking amongst the ice dunes, its eyes glowing in the dark as they reflect the light of the ship. It shouldn’t pose a threat to you as it is alone, and relatively small, but you still consider wrestling with it instead of returning to the ship and facing the rest of the squad - somehow, even that feels like a fight more fair than the ones that await you upon your return. So you hold its gaze as it curiously inspects you, wishing to swap bodies and run away and avoid any more conflict. Before you can even think of returning to the ship, you hear quiet footsteps catching up to you.

“I thought I heard something.”

“It’s probably more curious than anything.”

Hunter unsheaths his vibroblade and twirls it in his hand so theatrically it makes you roll your eyes. He glances at you, shoulders all tense, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger, and even though his face is obscured by his helmet, you can almost see the disappointed frown sitting on his features. “You want to test that theory?”

“My money would be on the whitefang winning.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tech.”

“Any time.”

“Relax.” The distorted rasp of your commlink is not enough to drown out the smugness of the sniper. The stand-off ends when a single well-placed shot right before the big cat sends it sprinting away into the darkness. You all turn to find Crosshair standing by the ship, his rifle still aimed at the retreating form of the whitefang.

“Well, there goes my opportunity to finally have an interesting patrol,” you mutter to yourself as you all make it back to the Marauder.

“Do all of your patrols end in you staring down carnivores?” Crosshair snorts, clearly unamused.

“Only the good ones,” you fire back, deciding not to wait for any of them as you head inside. Crosshair is hot on your heels, another string of mockery sitting on the tip of his tongue, because fuck, you’re stubborn, but he’s not going to cave in and tell you how it makes him feel to see you in danger. He can’t, however, put up with being away from you either.

Hunter lingers a little outside. He has to set himself straight, to contain all the things he wants to say you that have nothing to do with scolding you about Bracca, to kill all the feelings that suddenly demand to be felt so desperately. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, pretending to survey the surroundings of the Marauder. Tech moves in the periphery of his vision, but instead of following you and Crosshair, he steps closer to Hunter.

“I believe the threat’s been averted.”

“Yeah. Good job on setting up those alarms, Tech.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. You should head back inside. The last thing I want is for you to keel over with hypothermia.”

“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Tech mutters, his voice trailing off, eyes uncertain behind his goggles. He suddenly places a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making the sergeant glance at him.

“Hunter, I’m only asking this because I care about you all, but... how long do you think this can go on before one of you gets hurt?”

Tech’s words echo in his mind long after he’s rejoined the squad on the ship. And Hunter just stands outside in the snowfall, watching the last rays of light disappear on the horizon, wondering which one of you he’ll have to hurt when the push comes to shove.

#dottiechan writes #hunter x reader x crosshair #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb x you #crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb fanfiction #star wars #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader

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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Idiot

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Requested - Yes - Anon - Can I have a fake dating au with james potter but also with focus on sirius & reader if that’s ok? thank you.

Prompts - fake dating

You knew this was a bad idea.

It was a terribly, horrible, utterly stupid idea.

Yet you still said yes.

You knew you’d be the one to suffer, the one to get hurt, because of this idea but you also knew from the minute it was proposed that you wouldn’t be able to say no. Not only because you had fancied James Potter since second year but also because you’d never been able to resist those puppy dog eyes.

You had always known how much James had liked Lily, always had to listen to him pining about her for hours at a time. You suspected Sirius and Remus knew about your crush as they often tried their hardest to get him to shut up, though once he got started on the subject of Lily Evans there really was no silencing him; short of using a silencing charm.

You had just left the library after a few hours of studying when James Potter had appeared with an overly friendly smile on his face, giving away straight away that he wanted something. You rolled your eyes, expecting to get pulled into a prank of some sort.

“What now, Potter? I’m still serving detentions for your last bloody prank.” You told him, smiling as he laughed and threw his arm around your shoulders. This wasn’t uncommon for him to do but it always made you fight back a blush.

“Ah c’mon, Y/N, don’t be like that.” He continued to laugh before shaking his head. “Don’t worry, this time it isn’t a prank. Actually, I’ve been thinking-” He began but was cut off by you snorting. “Hey, they’re not all bad ideas! Anyway, I want you to be my girlfriend.”

The words made you stop in your tracks causing James to stumble as his arm was still around you. Your eyes widened as you looked at him like he’d grown an extra head.

“I’m sorry?” You said for lack of anything else to say. Your mind was working a mile a minute but you weren’t able to make much sense of it, yet alone say something cohesive.

“Not my real girlfriend obviously.” He continued, seemingly unaware of the mess inside your head. “Just my pretend one, you know to make Lily jealous.”

You knew you should say no, knew that nothing good could come of this for you. You knew it would end in heartbreak and you didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize your friendship with James.

“James,” You began, fully intent on telling him that you couldn't do it but James seemed to pick up on your tone and immediately widened his eyes, looking at you like a wounded puppy.

“Please Y/N/N, I’ll owe you one forever. I really think this will work.” He pleaded with a pout, “Please, I really like her.”

With a sigh you gave in, not thinking about how easily you did.

“Fine, I’ll help you.”

Two weeks of dating James Potter was torture.

Ok maybe you were being slightly dramatic but the point still stood. Fake dating James meant you had all the luxuries of being his actual girlfriend whilst a voice in your head screamed at you that he didn’t actually like you.

He walked you to classes, held your hand, kissed your cheek, cuddled with you on the sofa and everything else one would do with a partner. Hell, the two of you had even gone on a fake date which had been one of your favourite times during Hogwarts and the worst.

You had, however, noticed that Lily did seem to be taking more of an interest in James, always finding a way to get close to him, having him teach her things about Quidditch despite not caring one bit for the sport. She found any and every excuse to be his partner in classes, leaving you with Peter which usually ended in disaster, especially in potions where you were both equally as bad as each other.

Your mood since fake dating James was unpredictable, one moment you were happy and smiling in the company of your friends and the next, when reality sunk in, you wanted to be as far away from everyone as possible.

Right now you were feeling like the latter and found your way down to the black lake one afternoon when classes were over. Your mood all day had been foul but you plastered on a smile that didn’t hide anything and continued with your act.

You knew it was going to come to an end soon, these past few days James had been attached to Lily’s side and you were shocked by just how bad it hurt to see them together.

Sitting down with your back against a rock, you stared ahead at the horizon. It was a beautiful day, usually a day like today would find you, Sirius, Remus, James and Peter sprawled out under a tree enjoying each other's company, planning pranks or completing homework that was due the next day.

Today, you were sitting alone staring at the black water that stretched for miles and it seemed fitting.

It wasn’t long until you were interrupted by somebody sitting down next to you and wrapping their arm around you, pulling you into their chest.

“I’m sorry.” Were the words that it took for you to start crying. Usually you refused to let yourself cry over something as silly as a boy but right now you didn’t care.

Sirius looked down at you crying on his chest and frowned. He knew how much you liked James, he knew the two of you would make the best couple if only James could pull his head out of his arse and realise the girl who actually cared about him had been right in front of him since they were eleven.

Sirius had watched you silently pine for years, watched you listen to James go on and on about Lily and he tried to point James in your direction but the boy was too oblivious.

Watching Lily fawn over James when she thought he had moved on was infuriating for all the Marauders to watch. Lily liked having James there, she liked having someone like her the way James did and it made them want to smack James round the head so he realised it too.

Sirius couldn’t say how long he sat holding you in his arms, eventually you had stopped crying but made no move to get off him and he wasn’t complaining. You were his best friend along with the other three boys, he loved you like a sister and seeing you like this hurt him.

“I really like him.” You confessed quietly, feeling a weight lift from you as you admitted it aloud for the first time.

“I know you do.” Sirius replied just as quietly.

“Lily doesn't care for him.”

“No, no, I don’t think she does. I think she quite likes the idea of James always there, maybe as a backup or just as an admirer, but she doesn’t care for him.” Sirius agreed.

“Why couldn’t I have just fancied you? Or Moony?” You groaned, tilting your head back so you could pout up at him.

Sirius laughed, his eyes lighting up as he did.

“Well nobody said you had good taste. Just be thankful it’s Prongs and not good ol’ Wormtail.” The two of you laughed as you scrunch your nose at the thought.

As tea time was nearing the two of you didn’t want to move but the need for food outweighed the peaceful atmosphere the two of you created.

“You ready?” Sirius asked as he pulled you up, his arm immediately going back around your shoulder.

You took a deep breath before shaking your head, “no.”

A week later and you and James had ��broken up’.

He began dating Lily almost immediately after and you avoided him like the plague. Despite avoiding him you continued to watch him from a distance, noticing that he didn’t look half as happy as one would expect after getting with their crush since third year.

At first you thought you were the only one to pick up on it before Sirius said something, the other Marauders agreed and then some of the Gryffindors started whispering about it too.

Three weeks into James’ real relationship with Lily found James Potter hunched over a map that showed every student. His eyebrows were knitted together as he searched for one name in particular, his eyes lighting up as he read Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“Oi!” Sirius called as James darted for the door, “Where are you going?”

James didn’t bother to reply, instead he ran down the stairs and out of the common room. Quickly he found you wandering the corridors, just coming from Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

He was no idiot, he knew you were avoiding. Ok maybe he was an idiot because he didn’t know why. All he knew was that three weeks of actually dating Lily had left him feeling odd, he felt like he should enjoy her company more, should’ve liked kissing her and holding her hand more but for some reason he couldn’t get you out of his mind. The weeks he had spent fake dating you meant more to him than his relationship with Lily.

He tried, oh boy had he tried, but after the first week he knew something was wrong. Two weeks in it struck him that he liked you and three weeks in was when he finally had the nerve to break up with a furious Lily Evans.

Now all he had to do was convince you he was the biggest idiot in Hogwarts, not like that would be hard to achieve, and convince you what an awful mistake he had made.

“Y/N!” James called causing you to stop in your tracks. You debated whether you could walk away but eventually curiosity won over.

“James.” You said, voice void of any emotion.

“Listen,” He began, a hand coming up to nervously rub the back of his neck, he looked around and gestured to the empty classroom, “can we talk?”

After you mumbled a yes James turned and held the door open for you.

“I broke up with Lily.” He said abruptly after a few moments of silence.

Your head shot up to look at him as your eyes widened in shock. All James ever spoke about was Lily and now that he finally had her, he’d broken up with her?

“I broke up with Lily.” He said again, “three weeks with her and she never once made me feel anything special but you, Merlin Y/N, a couple of weeks fake dating you had me feeling like I could do anything, like I could be anything. I could’ve punched myself when I realised I liked you, all this time I’ve been pining over Lily and for what? For the girl I actually like, for the girl who actually makes me happy, for the girl who’s been by my side since the day we stepped foot into this castle to be right in front of me this entire time. Merlin’s beard, Y/N, I’m such an idiot but I want nothing more than to be your idiot.”

You were lost for words, it took a moment for James’ words to register in your mind and you prayed this wasn’t a joke, no, you thought, James wasn’t that cruel. Time ticked by as you struggled to form an answer, obviously you wanted nothing more than to say yes but you couldn’t help but have doubts.

“Y/N?” James asked after a minute or two had passed.

“Sorry.” You mumbled before looking back at him. “James, surely you don’t mean this. I mean Lily-” You began but he cut you off.

“I liked the idea of Lily but let's face it she never liked me. That doesn’t mean I’m turning to you as a last resort or a backup or whatever else you’re thinking. This is me realising that i was a bloody idiot and that fake dating you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

You couldn’t help the blush or the small smile that made its way onto your face and James’ face lit up as he saw it too and he grinned at you.

“Well we can both agree on one thing, you are a great, big idiot.” You said causing him to laugh and you couldn’t help but join in.

“But I’m your idiot, right Y/L/N?”

“Right Potter.” You said with a grin off your own.

James was more than happy to kiss the smile off your face and you had no complaints either.

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shotosprincess · 4 years ago

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what if... — shoto todoroki

“ what if we kissed then? just to prove that we don’t have feelings for each other. “

summary: ever since you and todoroki started working together as pro heroes, your friends simply wouldn’t let up on teasing you two, suspecting that there was something between you—something that extended past the bounds of business.

notes: fluff ,, todoroki being flustered ( aaaa he’s so cute bye ) the bakusquad teasing and egging ya’ll on ( their dialogue is color coded so it’s easier to read ! ) ,, denki being a little bit of a busybody <3

“ ooooh look who it is! the power coupleeee! “ the sing-song tone of denki’s teasing rung through the hall as he spotted you and todoroki entering the building from a long day of pro hero work.

grey streaks of dust and ash littered your bodies, streaks of sweat and diluted stripes of dried crimson staining multiple sides on both your faces. his hair was tattered and slightly singed from the discord of an especially-messy battle, yours was tangled in a hopeless mess. a heavy sigh leaves you. that would be a pain to brush through later.

your numbed fingers, body exhausted and worn out, run through your hair in a wordless frustration. shoto tenses up noticeably at denki’s playful comment. “ denki. we’re not a couple. “

his lips raise into a cheeky, if not mildly-irritating smirk as he leans further into the velvet couch, draping his arms round the back. “ oh yeah? take your arm off their shoulder then, shoto. “

your partner’s face lights up with a rose so brilliant, it almost even matched with the rubied strands of his hair. his lips tightly purse together, sliding his arm, which was, in fact, casually resting on your shoulder, off with a hurried swoop.

“ shut it, kaminari. “ he huffs in a low, almost even threatening tone as he walks past the energetic blonde at an increased pace. you frown. he seemed so worked up over it, and for what? it’s not as if this was the first time someone had poked at you for being a “ couple “—which you were not, but you were never the one to readily disprove their remarks, though delivered in a joking manner. it’s not as if you felt anything of the sort for him...right?

so then why was it so hard to admit that you weren’t anything more than what you were on the field? it was the truth, after all.

“ jeez, what’s with him? i was just kidding. “ sticking a lollipop into his mouth, he turns to lay down fully on the couch, stretching his back out with such leisure.

your eyes followed him as he disappeared past a corner, shaking your head in confusion. “ no clue. “

it was just one of the countless circumstances in which people had poked at the two of you for your not-so-platonic habits with one another, habits which, admittedly, hinted at something...more than friendship. more than a partnership. this was nothing new.

but of course, you pushed it all away, allowing the rumours and silly hashtags and fanmade edits and youtube compilations to completely ricochet off of you. however, the same couldn’t exactly be said for todoroki. shame.

you didn’t quite know why, but he always got so unexplainably tense about it whenever someone brought the topic up. he’d curl up his fists so aggressively it’d leave crescent marks the next day, rearrange his face into a scowl—it was clear that he hated it, joke or not. honestly, you didn’t have the guts to attempt to make them stop, for you knew that if you had, you just knew that the public would somehow find a way to turn it into “ proof “ that you were dating, all because he got so riled up and flustered. which was silly, really, since it was a perfectly normal human reaction to something like this.

though you can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, he did feel that way about you, and maybe that was the reason he—

no, no, what were you thinking? he couldn’t possibly...right? you were just partners. nothing more, nothing less.

but if he did think of you like that, would you want something more?

“ oh come on, just admit it! if not to the public, then to us at least. aren’t we friends? “

“ yeah, icy hot. i mean, seriously, have more guts— “

“ ...how many fucking times do i have to tell you, bakugou...we’re not a couple. denki, stop playing around. you’re egging him on. “ shoto’s harsh tone cuts sharply through the banter between denki and the overly-intense ashen blonde, bringing it to an abrupt end. it didn’t exactly last very long, though.

“ yeah, yeah. that’s what i said about that dumbass deku, and look where we are now. “ he rasps, a knowing smirk playing on his face as he pulls his now-blushing boyfriend close.

“ not everything is about love, bakugou. “ he smirks.

“ yeah, who knew you’d be the one to turn out to be such a romantic? “ denki laughs, earning a solid punch to his arm.

“ owww! that actually hurt. “ his lips jut out in a pout, rubbing over the blooming patch of light purple.

“ oh, shut up, idiot! “

“ you know what? fine. y/n? “

you pause, perfectly still and unmoving as the coldness of his eyes burned his unknown intent into you.

“ y-yeah? “

he strides over to you, appearing only inches away within the briefest of seconds. one of his hands quickly finds a home against your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. your heart pulsates at a nearly impossible rate.

“ kiss me. “

“ what? “

“ just this once. to prove that we don’t have feelings for each other. “ he says, rolling his eyes at denki and bakugou, who were futilely trying to cover their smirks.

heat rises to your cheeks, cauterizing them with an unfamiliar flame. “ oh! uh! i—sure.“

what other choice did you have? after all, you did want to prove to everyone that there really was nothing between you and shoto. or maybe, just maybe, you were also trying to prove it to yourself?

no, no. that couldn’t be. it couldn’t.

he wastes no time. his skin, cold and smooth, fingers like porcelain streams, grasp your chin with a fast-paced elegance which sends a prominent shudder down your back. his lips hover just above yours, and the tension buzzing between you is ridiculously electric. he’s so close, your heartbeat rings in your ears and his breath shallowly fans upon your face as he peers into your eyes with his own. you allow them to fall closed.

as if on cue, his lips meet yours with a gentle, albeit fairly aggressive peck. but as soon as they do, your chest spurns with the fibres of your heartstrings, embroidering them tightly into the knots of his own tangled past. you know what he said. you know what you said—it was all to prove that you didn’t feel anything for one another.

but then why did it feel so oddly...right?

he pulls away, and your lips suddenly feel empty, deserted. the electric thrum still prickles at your lips, wanting, no—needing, more. you hate how much your body craved him, how desperately you wanted for his arms around you again. there’s too much emotion, an overwhelming influx. it is near impossible to even articulate it, at least not in a way which could ever hope to properly encapsulate the undeniable magic of the moment. you were being so damn melancholic, and that was saying something, even for you.

when his lips leave yours, you cannot help but be frozen in your simple state of bliss, utterly dazed with hazy remnants of how annoyingly addicting it was. your eyes gloss over with a sense of want, sparkling with the same glitters his icy eyes met yours with. his hand remains on your cheek, but his touch softens against yours.

your silent stare prolongs for more than just the fleeting moment, as if you were subconsciously grabbing at it with invisible arms, reaching desperately to bring each other back. that was when it hit you; the blinding realization that you did, in fact, want this. want him. and yet, you couldn’t help but hesitate. what about him? did he want this? no, no, he couldn’t possibly. after all, this whole kiss situation was only because he wanted to prove that explosive idiot wrong, that there was nothing between you two but teamwork and good quirk compatibility.

your heart stings at the minor epiphany, the thoughts piercing at your head in an endless swirl of emotions. second-guessing yourself, wondering why you even cared whether or not he thought of you that way. or at least, how he didn’t think of you that way. the tiniest shine of a tear begins to coat your lashes when—

his lips crash against yours for a second time, his hand now trailing towards your scalp, weaving through the fibres as his lips danced upon yours. your guard, your hesitation fully melting away in his arms.

but alas, you made the mistake of allowing yourself to forget that people were watching too.

“ ha! i knew it! i fucking knew it! “ kaminari’s playful voice rings like the most annoying song ( in this moment, i mean come on, you loved the guy, but right now? not exactly helping your stance of “ we don’t see each other like that “ ) as his head peaks out from the halls.

instantly you break away, pulling from each other as your hand flies to clamp over your mouth, eyes bulging wide at what you had just done. you had just kissed shoto. in front of, well, practically everyone! since when did mina and kirishima even get here?!

“ shit. “ shoto mutters deeply, thrashing his hands into his two-toned hair in frustration.

“ shoto, i—i’m so sorry, i didn’t know they would— “

“ no, no. don’t apologize. it’s my fault. i...i shouldn’t have gone for a second ki— “

“ honestly, i think i would’ve been more mad at you if you haven’t. “

“ WHAT?! “ your little audience shrieked. your palms clasped right over your mouth after the admission, face burning with embarrassment. the words left you before you could even think them through. had you really just said that? in front of everyone? how carefree can you be?

you stare into the ground, focusing on literally anything but him.

“ hey. look at me. “

you refused.

“ y/n. “ his hand goes up to your chin, making you look up at him. the pout on your face is so plainly obvious, it makes his heart twitch in a slight pain. you could almost swear you heard mina squeal faintly at the boldness of his action, considering the predicament you two were currently stuck in.

“ what? “

“ i...i think i would’ve regretted it more if i hadn’t kissed you again. “

“ you—what? “

“ i...i didn’t want to pull away. “

“ holy shit. “

“ shut up bakugou! “

“ i wanted...i wanted it to last a little longer. “

“ jeez, and i thought i was bad at confessing my feelings. pft. this is just embarrassing to watch. “

“ same here. i mean you did ask midoriya out by yelling ‘ i love you, dumbass! ‘ from outside his dorm window. “

“ hey, idiot! we don’t talk about that! “

“ shhhh both of you! shut up! we are witnessing an important romantic moment here! “

“ i...seriously? “

“ seriously. and i—i don’t know what the hell this feeling....is. but i....i just— “

“ it’s okay. “ you shoot him a reassuring smile, the same kind you always did in the midst of battle, that comforting smile that let him know you had his back. you communicated with your eyes, though usually they were bloodshot with adrenaline and smudged with ash, there truly was no need for words. not with him.

“ y/n...i— “

“ awwwww aren’t they the cutest? now kiss again! “

“ mina. “ he shoots her a lightly cold stare.

“oh come on! let us have our fun, yeah, icy hot? “ bakugou slings his arm over kaminari’s shoulder, whose grin matches that of his blonde-haired counterpart.

“ i thought i told you not to call me— “

“ shoto. “

he immediately turns to you, slipping into serenity at the sound of your voice.

“ ah shit, here they go again. we get it, you’re a cute couple! “

“ mina, i told you. we’re not a co- “ his eyes snap to yours, lips parting in a hesitant pause.

“ not a what, icy hot? “ the smirk exuding of utter smugness upon bakugou’s face only spreads all the wider.

he allows his hands to fall, taking yours within his. there is a brief, yet definite moment of silence before he speaks again. “ i mean... “

your gaze is focused on the way his hands fully envelope yours, and the unexplainable, tingly feeling you’re getting from it all. despite that, you could still very well see mina and kaminari excitedly waving and bouncing in all sorts of directions, as if they were...cheering you on? it was almost as if they were more fired up about all this than you were.

keyword; almost.

“ shoto, i— “

and suddenly his composure and poise breaks, and all that’s left is the rare sight of shoto todoroki, stuttered in a blushing, shaky mess. “ i mean, i wouldn’t be opposed to it. not—not like i desperately want to or anything, but at the same time i—i just—fuck, why is this so har— “

you rise onto your tip toes, hands encircling his neck as you kiss him. what unknown spirit possessed you with the guts to make the first move, it was fully unbeknownst to you. but you weren’t complaining, no. not in the slightest.

“ HOLY SHIT?? “

“ my baby’s all grown up now— “

“ dumbass, they’re not your bab— “

“ they’re mine. “

“ i— “

“ that is, if you want to b— “

“ well no shit, dumbass! “ you jump into his arms, squealing as you squeeze him tight.

“ good. because...so do i. “

“ i told you! “

“ shut up idiot! “

“ hey, so now can we start a fan account for you two on instagram? i’m sure it’d totally blow up! “ mina squealed with a wink, holding up her phone, already halfway through the sign up process.

“ mina! “ everyone groaned in a laughter-filled unison.

so that was it, you supposed.

you did have feelings for each other.

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