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brunchable · 1 month ago

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Christmas Present | B. B.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader Themes: Christmas Meet-Ugly, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers(ish), rom-com Summary: You and Bucky are fighting over the last deluxe holiday gift set. The petty bickering escalates into a full-blown argument in front of shocked holiday shoppers, causing store security to intervene. As punishment, the frazzled guard handcuffs you together in the security office until you both "calm down." A/N : This oneshot is part of my 4K Follower christmas themed celebration. I hope you enjoy this first one! Thank you so much for reading my stories! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was supposed to be a quick trip. Grab the deluxe toy train set, pay, and leave. That was the plan. But life had other plans, and those plans came in the shape of a six-foot something man with a smirk as sharp as the jawline above it.

You reached for the last box on the shelf—your prize, your golden ticket, the sole reason you braved the chaos of twenty-third shoppers.

"Excuse me, I believe I was here first," you said sweetly, gripping the box.

"Excuse you, sweetheart," the man countered, one metal hand already gripping the other end of the box. "I had my eye on this before you decided to swoop in like some holiday vulture."

"Holiday vulture?!" you spat, yanking the box closer to your chest. "I don’t see your name on it, Terminator."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Name’s Bucky, not Terminator. And I’d be happy to write it on the box for you... after I take it home.”

“Not happening,” you hissed, tugging harder. The box creaked ominously under the strain.

“Let go,” he growled.

“You let go!”

By now, a crowd of amused onlookers had formed, phones out, capturing every moment like a live-action reality show. One kid shouted, “Go lady! You’ve got this!” while a woman in a reindeer sweater whispered, “This is better than The Bachelor.”

“Look, lady,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for you—”

“Oh, really? That’s what this feels like!”

“But my friend’s kid specifically asked for this,” he finished, as if that were a valid excuse.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, so did my niece. And unlike you, I didn’t wait until the last minute to shop.”

“Your cart’s full of candles!” he shot back, pointing to your precariously stacked haul.

You gasped, scandalized. “They’re scented candles and they make great gifts! Not that you’d understand.”

“I understand they’re not as hard to find as this!” he said, gesturing wildly to the now-doomed train set.

The tug-of-war escalated, your battle waging in the aisle of festive chaos. The crowd grew, complete with commentary.

“Bet five bucks on the lady!”

“Ten on the guy with the arm!”

And then—CRASH. The box tore clean down the middle, spilling its contents across the floor. Tiny train cars scattered like shrapnel, and a miniature conductor figure flew into a nearby stroller, making the baby cry.

Gasps echoed through the store as you and Bucky froze, still clutching your respective halves. Somewhere in the distance, someone yelled, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

A whistle cut through the air. “Alright, break it up, you two!”

You turned to find a middle-aged security guard glaring at you like an exhausted babysitter. His name tag read “Carl,” and he looked about one tantrum away from quitting.

“We were just—”

“I don’t care!” Carl snapped, his moustache twitching with barely contained rage. “Both of you. Security office. Now.”

The security office smelled like stale coffee and regret. You sat handcuffed to Bucky, who, despite his protests, looked far too comfortable with the situation.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, yanking futilely on the cuffs. “We’re adults!”

“Debatable,” Carl deadpanned, sipping from his 'World’s Best Grandpa' mug. “You two are staying cuffed until you learn how to act like it.”

“I’m not a criminal!” you protested.

“Not what the footage shows,” Carl replied, spinning his chair to reveal the grainy security camera feed of you and Bucky mid-squabble. The freeze-frame of you squawking like a bird while clutching a toy train in a death grip was particularly unflattering.

“I’m offended on her behalf,” Bucky said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, elbowing him.

“You’re the one who tore the box!”

“You’re the one with the metal arm. That thing’s basically a wrecking ball!”

Carl slammed his mug down.

“Enough!” He massaged his temples like a teacher on their last day before retirement. “You’re staying here until I feel confident you won’t burn the store down.”

“Burn the store down?” you repeated, aghast, throwing your hands in the air as much as the cuffs allowed.

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Carl muttered, eyeing both of you like feral raccoons fighting over a sandwich. With an exhausted sigh, he locked the door behind him and muttered something about “needing a damn coffee break,” leaving you and Bucky alone in the tiny, overheated room.

The silence that followed was so oppressive it felt like the room had shrunk. Only the faint, mocking jingle of Jingle Bells played faintly from the store’s speakers as you and Bucky sat shoulder-to-shoulder, stewing.

Bucky, apparently unable to sit still, started bouncing his knee—a rapid, relentless motion that made your entire chair vibrate like a washing machine on spin cycle.

“Stop that,” you snapped, glaring at him.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, his knee bouncing harder.

“Your leg,” you hissed. “The whole chair is shaking! Are you trying to make me seasick?”

His lips twitched, clearly enjoying your misery. “It’s a free country.”

“Not for your knee, it’s not!”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be bouncing my knee if I wasn’t chained to someone with candle obsession issues,” he shot back.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who went full WWE over a toy train set!”

“You’re the one who tore it in half, lady!” he said, pointing accusingly.

“I was fighting for my family’s honor,” you retorted dramatically, crossing your arms as much as you could.

“You mean your candles.”

“It’s called being thoughtful, you Grinch impersonator!”

His knee bounced harder, and you grabbed his leg in desperation, making him pause. “Seriously, stop! I’m going to throw up, and then you’ll really regret this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But only because you look like you might actually hurl, and I don’t need Carl coming back and cuffing me to the radiator this time.”

“So,” Bucky continued after a beat of silence, “Do you always fight strangers over train sets, or is today special?”

You glared at him. “Do you always shop last minute and ruin people’s holidays, or is that your side gig?”

He snorted. “Ruining holidays? That’s harsh. I’m saving them.”

“By what? Sabotaging shoppers?”

“By making sure my best friend’s kid gets the one thing he asked for,” Bucky replied, voice softening slightly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.

“Okay, that’s… kind of sweet,” you admitted reluctantly.

“What about you?” he asked. “Candles for everyone?”

“No,” you mumbled. “The train set was for my niece. She’s… had a tough year.”

Bucky nodded, silence enveloping the two of you yet again, the tinny chorus of Frosty the Snowman blared overhead, and the absurdity of your situation finally hit you. You started giggling, and to your surprise, so did he.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, still grinning.

“This,” you said between laughs. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been part of.”

“Right,” he agreed, laughing harder.

For the first time since being forced to sit there, you weren’t arguing. Well, unless you counted arguing about whose laugh was uglier.

Carl finally returned, jangling the keys like a janitor who had seen too much. His Santa hat was slightly askew, and his mustache twitched with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. He looked like someone’s adorable grandpa who had just been told the grandkids set fire to the Christmas tree.

“Alright, you two,” he grumbled, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re free. But before you go…”

He planted his hands on his hips, his gut straining against his red vest, and glared at you like you’d just stolen cookies from the jar.

“I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years, and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of nonsense. But this—” he waved a hand between you and Bucky “—takes the fruitcake. Grown adults fighting over a toy train set like it’s the last turkey on Earth? Really?”

You started to open your mouth to argue, but Carl cut you off with a stern wag of his finger.

“No, no. Don’t even try to explain. You’re both guilty. Guilty of being Christmas disasters. And you…” he pointed at Bucky, his stubby finger trembling with indignation. “You’re what? Pushing 40? Shouldn’t you know better?”

That’s when Bucky’s lips twitched. And twitched again. And suddenly, he was laughing. Not just chuckling—a full-on, shoulder-shaking laugh that echoed through the tiny room.

Carl’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said between gasps for air, “but… I’m being lectured by someone who looks like Santa’s understudy.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re like a cute little Christmas elf—just missing the pointy shoes.”

Carl’s face turned as red as his vest. “I am not cute!” he barked.

“You kinda are,” Bucky said, grinning.

You smacked his arm. “Stop antagonizing him!”

But even you couldn’t suppress a giggle as Carl threw his hands in the air. “You know what? I’m done. Get out. Both of you. Before I call other mall security and have you escorted out by the Grinch Squad.”

Bucky saluted dramatically. “Merry Christmas, Carl!”

Carl muttered something about needing a stiff eggnog and waddled back to his desk, leaving you and Bucky to stumble out of the security office.

“Well, that was fun,” you deadpanned, starting to walk away, only to stop when Bucky called out.

“Wait! Hey!”

You turned, eyebrows raised. “What? Did you leave your dignity back there?”

He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the first time since the ordeal started, he actually looked... awkward.

“I, uh… was just wondering what you’re doing after this.”

You blinked at him, genuinely caught off guard. “What am I doing? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, serious,” he said with a little shrug, his smirk less cocky and more boyish now. “You’re, uh… funny. And kind of cute, when you’re not threatening to strangle me over toy trains.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“This—” you gestured dramatically between you both “—is the foundation of your flirting strategy? Chaos, insults, and shared custody of a train set?”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he teased, grinning now.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just spent an hour handcuffed to you while debating whether or not to throw you out a window, and now you want to… hang out?”

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like this was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

“Because this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “I barely know you, we’re still enemies by all accounts, and—”

“You haven’t said no,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a pointed look.

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Damn him and his stupid smirk.

Finally, you sighed, half-laughing at the sheer absurdity. “Fine. But if this turns into another wrestling match over a menu, I’m walking out.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Whatever you want.”

As you both walked out of the office areas and back to the mall, you muttered under your breath, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Believe it, sweetheart,” he said, falling into step beside you. ��And next time? Maybe we’ll skip the handcuffs… unless you’re into that.”

You glared at him, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into an unwilling smile. Maybe chaos wasn’t such a bad foundation after all.

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room as Bucky groggily reached for the remote. Still half-asleep, he flicked on the TV, more out of habit than interest. The morning show’s upbeat jingle played, and he squinted at the screen, his brain catching up to the cheerful voices of the two hosts.

“—and now, for what might be the most hilarious Christmas shopping moment caught on camera!” the female host announced, barely suppressing her laughter.

Her co-host, a grinning man in a Santa tie, chimed in, “Oh, this is a good one. Forget Hallmark—this is real-life rom-com material, folks. Roll the clip!”

Bucky froze mid-stretch as the screen transitioned to shaky footage of himself and you, locked in a dramatic tug-of-war over the train set in the middle of the toy aisle. The commentary from the crowd was clear as day.

“Go lady! You’ve got this!”

“Ten bucks on the guy with the metal arm!”

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, sitting up straighter, dread pooling in his stomach.

The video jumped to the box tearing in half, scattering train pieces like confetti, followed by the baby wailing and someone shouting, “SANTA WOULDN’T APPROVE!”

The hosts erupted into laughter.

“Okay, okay,” the woman said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m calling it now—this is the meet-cute of the decade. I can hear the Hallmark writers typing this into a script.”

Her co-host nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Two strangers, both fighting for the same toy on the eve of Christmas eve—classic enemies-to-lovers setup.”

They both howled with laughter as the clip transitioned to grainy security footage of you and Bucky cuffed together, bickering like an old married couple.

“And this is where the movie writes itself,” the man said, pointing to the screen. “They’re forced to spend time together, cuffed in the security office. Sparks fly. Cue the heartwarming ending!”

The woman leaned toward the camera, her expression conspiratorial. “So, the real question is… did they exchange numbers? Did they get coffee? Did they—”

Bucky groaned and buried his face in his hands as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, flipping it over to see a message from Sam:

Sam: Congratulations, you’re famous.

A second message immediately followed:

Sam: Also, what happened next? Don’t leave me hanging! Did you at least get her number?

Bucky tossed his phone onto the bed with a groan, only for it to buzz again. This time it was Steve:

Steve: They’re right. This does sound like the start of a love story. Please tell me you didn’t blow it.

“Unbelievable,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face as the TV hosts continued speculating.

“What do we think, folks?” the male host asked, gesturing dramatically. “Should we start a Twitter campaign to find out what happened next? I need closure!”

“Absolutely!” the female host replied. “If you’re watching this, toy train couple, please—reach out. America is invested.”

“I’m never leaving the house again.” Bucky groaned louder, sinking into the pillows.

His phone buzzed again.

Sam: Famous AND trending. Look at you.

Bucky grabbed a pillow and smothered his face with it, his muffled voice barely audible: “I hate Christmas.”

He sighed and shifted, his pillow falling to the floor—he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his irritation melted away as he looked to his right, where your figure was still peacefully curled under the covers. Your hair was a mess from the night before, your cheek pressed against the pillow in a way that made you look adorably innocent—though Bucky distinctly remembered you weren’t so innocent a few hours ago.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. He let out a breath, shaking his head as he muttered to himself, “Actually. . . Maybe I don’t hate it too much.”

tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish

@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fynnwolff @Janonymus0 @veronicapaula

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briefinquiries · 5 months ago

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Tyler Owens x Reader: Don't Take Him

Request: Anonymous said: "hi! oh my gosh i love your tyler x reader writings so much. could you do one where the reader is watching the tornado wrangler's livestream while they're chasing and suddenly it cuts out & she's worried something happened to tyler? with just fluff and angst and all that? thank you <3"

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst

A/N: I'm afraid i'm officially down bad for tyler owens (and glen powell). send help.

The notification popped up on your phone while you were cooking dinner in the kitchen.

The Tornado Wranglers started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

You rolled your eyes and smirked. Tyler and his stupid channel, you thought.

After wiping your hands on a dish towel, you swiped your thumb across the notification, letting it take you to their feed.

Boone’s face was the first you saw. His goofy, contagious grin flashed across the screen. “Alright, it’s rollin’,” he said, flipping the camera to show Tyler in the driver’s seat. “How we feelin’ today, T?”

Tyler beamed, his smile causing his eyes to crinkle the way you loved so much. As annoying as it was to constantly be competing with tornadoes for Tyler’s affection, you had to admit that his passion was admirable.

“Oh, we’re feelin’ pretty good, Boone– why don’t you show the viewers what we’re chasin’ today!”

The screen panned over towards the windshield, showing the storm ahead. The footage was a little grainy, but the impending storm in the distance was obvious.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” Boone marveled.

“Now y’all got fireworks last week– this week what do you say we give rockets a go?” Tyler said, just as Boone turned the camera back on him.

“Idiots,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head. You rested your phone against the utensil jar, propping it up so that you could continue to maneuver around the kitchen and listen at the same time.

After a while, you got lost in the recipe you were trying, tuning out your boyfriend and his friends.

“Alright, Boone– Lilly?” Tyler said as you continued to chop the vegetables on the cutting board in front of you. “You ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready!” you heard Lilly chime back.

“Here we go, folks– as always, don’t try this at home!”

You briefly turned your attention back towards the video as they began actively driving into the tornado, your view limited to Boone’s shaky camera work as Tyler’s driving undoubtedly turned chaotic.

To avoid motion sickness, you looked back towards the food in front of you.

“She’s gettin’ close, boys!” Lilly yelled.

You heard their collective cheers and hollers.

“Anchoring time–” Tyler said.

There was a brief pause before you heard Boone. “Hit the button, T–”

“I am hitting the button,” Tyler said firmly.

“Tyler–” Lilly said. It was the hint of urgency in her tone that had you looking back towards your phone again.

“It’s jammed–” Tyler said. “Here, gimme the screwdriver.”

Boone had clearly ceased thinking about camera angles. All you saw was the edge of Tyler’s face in the corner of the screen.

“Tyler, we gotta lock it down–”

“I know, Boone. I’m tryin’ here– the damn button’s stuck again.”

“Guys–” Lilly warned.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the frame.

“Guys, it’s getting closer.”

“I know–” Tyler said. “Boone, move your hand.”

“C’mon, man, let me try–”

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck–”

“Look out!” you jumped at Lilly’s sudden scream, followed by the sound of a loud bang, that echoed even through the screen.

“Oh shit–” Boone yelled, camera flying.

You grabbed your phone urgently, but all you could see was the ceiling of Tyler’s truck. Suddenly, gear was flying through the screen– almost as if the truck was flipping. You held your breath, panic and dread flooding through your entire body as you watched helplessly.

“Hang on to someth–” Tyler’s voice was suddenly cut off along with Boone’s feed.

The Tornado Wranglers live stream has ended.

Even after their video went dark, you continued staring at your phone– like you were hoping Boone would pop back up any second, laughing like this was some sick, twisted joke.

Except you waited– and waited, and Boone never popped back up.

And neither did Tyler.

Frantically, you pulled up your contacts and clicked on Tyler’s name. You had an unspoken agreement that no matter what he was doing during a chase– if you called, he answered.

So that’s exactly what you did.

But your nerves weren’t settled. In fact, you stopped breathing all together when Tyler’s phone went straight to voicemail– something he swore he’d never do.

Hoping that he just had bad service, you called a second time– and then a third. But each time you heard Tyler’s voice telling you to leave a message at the beep, you felt the pool of panic inside of you rising higher and higher.

“C’mon Tyler,” you muttered to yourself.

Stupidly, you let your hopes get up when Lilly’s phone actually rang. But when that went to voicemail too, your hopes just about shattered. You didn’t even bother to try Boone– he may have been the camera guy, but he almost never had his own phone within reach.

After your fifth attempt to reach Tyler, you finally did leave a message.

“Hey, it’s me. I was watching the livestream when it cut out and I–” your voice cracked, causing you to stop and take a shaky breath. “Listen, I just need to know that you’re okay. So please call me back.”

With that, you hung up the phone, setting it on the counter after finally realizing it probably wouldn’t be beneficial to try calling him a sixth time– no matter how badly you wanted to. You stared ahead out the window that was over the sink. It was blue skies where you were– just a few wispy, thin clouds overhead. Nothing that remotely resembled what Tyler had just driven through.

You didn’t even know where he was chasing today. You’d meant to ask when he’d called you last night from his motel room, but you’d gotten distracted by the dog whining to go out and ultimately forgot. Now, you had no way to contact him and no idea where he was…

Suddenly, a sob bubbled in your throat. Before you could filter or control it, you were letting out a shaky gasp– shoulders shuddering as you gripped the edge of the counter and doubled over.

You felt it everywhere– from your mind down to your toes, your entire body reacted to the cruel, impossible idea of something happening to Tyler.

Maybe he was fine, you told yourself. Maybe Boone just dropped his phone and the feed cut– But even as the thought crossed your mind, you knew it was ridiculously unlikely. You saw those things go flying– you heard Lilly’s scream.

Maybe the car flipped, maybe it was crushed.

Maybe Tyler was pulled right from his seat, tossed into the oncoming storm.

Maybe he was hit with flying debris, his body mangled and bruised and broken–

“No,” you whimpered to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no– please– please don't take him, please don't take him.”

You weren't even sure who you were pleading to, all you knew was that you couldn’t imagine Tyler not being okay. He was the strong one– always steady, always certain. He was your rock, the person you leaned on for absolutely everything. And the idea of him being hurt somewhere was unfathomable. Tyler didn’t get scared– Tyler didn’t get hurt. Tyler drove into oncoming tornadoes and stayed strong.

To your absolute despair, all you could do in the upcoming hours while you waited for any sort of news, was hope to God that was still the case.

Eventually, you found a home on the kitchen floor– back against the cabinets and knees hugged tightly to your chest to try and withstand the dread raging inside of you.

…

Tyler put his truck in park outside of the house before running a hand through his damp, windblown hair. After the day he’d had, he’d never been happier to be home.

It wasn’t the first time he’d flipped in the truck. Thanks to the roll cage, they wound back upright with next to no damage– but Tyler knew it’d been his fault. The stupid rods had malfunctioned again– something Tyler had been meaning to take a look at for the past month. Except every time they got stuck, he’d managed to fix the jam before the storms actually hit. But this time, he’d been too late.

Luckily, his two passengers were even bigger adrenaline junkies than he was. The truck had barely landed back on its wheels before Boone was hollering and pounding his fist against the ceiling in excitement. And Lilly wasn’t far behind him. Meanwhile, all Tyler could do was look down at his shattered cell phone and hope to hell you wouldn’t need to reach him for the rest of the night.

As soon as Tyler walked through the front door of your shared house, he noticed signs of you everywhere. The lamp near your reading chair was turned on, and the blanket you always used was strewn across the couch messily. He noticed the mug resting on the coffee table, thinking to himself that it was almost certainly half full of the tea you always insisted on making at night but never finished.

He smiled to himself, as he bent over to untie his muddy boots, eager to spend the rest of his night holding you close.

He had barely managed to toe off his final boot when he heard shuffling from the kitchen.

“Tyler?”

He could instantly tell that something was off– your voice sounded so muffled and choked up.

“Hey,” he said, turning to offer you a smile. But it faded from his face at the sight of you. Your body was trembling, shoulders slumped and arms wound tightly around yourself. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy from what looked like hours of crying.

“Baby?” he said.

In response, you covered your mouth and hunched over just in time for a sob to escape your lips.

Instantly, Tyler’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying forward. He hesitated, hands hovering near your shoulders. He’d never seen you like this– so fragile and broken and obviously devastated over something. But he had no fucking idea what it was– which meant, he had no fucking idea how to fix it.

Your hair had fallen in your face, but he could still see the tears rolling steadily down your rosy cheeks as you gasped for air.

“Hey,” he repeated gently, tilting his head down so that he was closer to your height.

“I-I saw– And I thought–” you stammered frantically, jumping to the next sentence without finishing the first.

In that moment, Tyler decided against his earlier hesitation and risked reaching for you. Just standing there and watching you fall apart went against every instinct he had– he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from anything that could cause this kind of harm.

But as soon as his hands grazed your shoulder, Tyler knew that he’d made the wrong choice. The moment he made contact, you lunged forward– hands planting themselves on his chest before you gave him a shove.

“You asshole!” you yelled through a sob.

Tyler staggered backwards– more from being caught off guard by your sudden burst of anger, than from how hard you pushed him.

But he barely had time to recover before you were lunging for him a second time. Using what little energy you had, you shoved him again. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted.

Tyler took a simple step back, eyes scanning the length of you– trying to decide what the hell he should do. When you attempted to push him for a third time, your arms barely had any energy left in them.

“Hey–” he breathed, gripping your wrists when they landed on his chest a fourth time.

“Let go of me!” you yelled, wiggling from his grasp. “You’re an asshole, Tyler!”

“Stop,” he begged, releasing your wrists to wrap his arms around your shoulders. You fought his hold, fists colliding with his chest instead. But this time, he didn’t let go.

“No!” you sobbed, but he could already feel you slowing down. Not like your shoves or fists hurt before, but with each pound, the impact grew lighter and lighter.

“Stop,” he repeated, forcing you to his chest, despite your resistance. You were pushing him away– but everything about your demeanor screamed that you needed his comfort.

Finally, whether it was his persistence or your exhaustion, you gave up fighting and let your body melt against his.

Tyler planted one palm between your shoulder blades firmly and used the other to cup the back of your neck, anchoring you to him securely. As soon as Tyler tightened his hold on you, you erupted into a fit of sobs– like all the dam inside of you needed was just a little bit of pressure to break. The trembling turned into violent shaking, and you began gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.

And Tyler had no fucking idea what to do–

So, he did the only thing he could do, which was hold onto you tightly and let you stain the front of his plain gray shirt with your tears.

“I got you, baby,” Tyler whispered as he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head. “You’re okay, I got you.”

Eventually, he heard you take a ragged breath and pull away just enough to look up at him. Tyler cupped your jaw with his large hand and used his thumb to stroke your cheek. “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You bit down on your quivering lip before speaking. “I-I was watching– I was watching Boone’s livestream when it cut out– and then, your phone– I couldn’t reach you. I- I called like– so many times, but you didn’t answer– I thought– I thought something had happened– I thought you were hurt– or-or worse–”

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled, guilt spreading through him at the thought of you having to see whatever got streamed from the accident earlier. He was the reason you were so distraught in your shared kitchen at eleven o’clock. He was the reason your eyes were red rimmed and swollen. He was the reason your cheeks were stained with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I was gonna get a phone call– from the hospital or- or your mom or something– I didn’t think you’d- I didn’t think you’d come home, I thought you died,” You broke on the last admission, like something inside of you had cracked. You collapsed in on yourself, hunching over and wracking with heaving sobs.

Tyler pulled you back into his embrace, like he was the only thing preventing you from drowning. Gradually, his soft touch and gentle murmurs brought you to the surface again.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeated, lips ghosting along your temple. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“But- the truck– it flipped–”

He nodded above you. “It did– I couldn’t get the screws bolted down in time. But we have the cage, the truck rolled right back upright. Everyone is fine. I mean, Boone might have a few loose screws, but there’s no tellin’ if that’s from the rolled truck–”

Your tone immediately hardened as you sharply pulled back again. “Are you seriously making jokes right now, Tyler?”

And truthfully, Tyler wasn’t entirely sure how to react. He looked down at you pathetically, chest aching to see you so upset. You being this angry with him was uncharted territory.

“You could have died!” you said loudly. “I know you think you are, but you’re not invincible, Tyler! This isn’t some movie where you get to drive into tornadoes completely unscathed ten times out of ten. This is our lives! I-I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

”Everything’s okay–”

“Everything is not okay! I’m not okay! Do you know how helpless I felt? Watching that stupid livestream? I tried to call, but– but you didn’t answer, I couldn’t do anything but wait here! I mean, what if that had been me? What if you’d seen a video of me crashing my car– and then had no way to reach me? What if you had to spend all night wondering if you were going to get a call that I was dead in a ditch God-only-knows-where?”

For once, Tyler had no response. Because the truth was, he knew everything you were saying was right. He’d be equally angry and frustrated and horrified if the tables were turned.

You wiped the tear falling down your cheek, lip quivering. “I– I can’t live in a world without you in it, Tyler. I really can’t–”

In the deafening silence, he sighed. “I know,” he said quietly, stepping forward to bring you back into his embrace. He was surprised when you willingly let him wrap his arms around you, head falling to rest on his chest.

Tyler’s hand ran through your hair. “I know. I’m okay, baby. I’m right here, I got you.”

He was okay. He was alive and he was right here– you could hear his heartbeat beneath you– feel his breath against the side of your neck. He was alive and unharmed.

You kept your eyes closed and tried to memorize the sound of his heartbeat. You let it seep into the cracks of your heart and heal whatever had been broken in the last few hours of worrying– wondering if he was alive. You focused on the way his arms felt around you– impossibly warm, and so, so safe.

Gradually, your breathing and your mind slowed. Until all that was left was Tyler.

Your voice was shaky when you finally pulled away. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you exhaled. “I didn’t like not being able to reach you.”

Tyler’s hand stroked your hair gently, “Baby, I’m so sorry I made you worry– my phone broke when we rolled. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, I promise.”

You nodded slowly and placed your hand against Tyler’s chest.

“You okay?” he asked.

You blinked a few times, realizing how tired you were. “Yeah–” you said, nodding. You felt Tyler’s heartbeat beneath your palm.

Each beat reminding you that he was here and he was alive and he was okay.

“Can you–” your voice cracked slightly, making you wince. “Can you please just stay with me the rest of the night? I just–” you glanced down at the floor, embarrassed to admit how much you needed him. “I just need to be close to you tonight.”

Tyler’s eyes softened. “Of course, baby. Where else would I be?”

You nodded slowly.

Tyler grabbed your hand and led you towards the couch. He took the blanket you’d left sprawled out from earlier and wrapped it around your shoulders before pulling you down beside him. He laid back against the cushions and made a spot for you. Without even hesitating, you curled up between his legs and rested your head back against his chest.

“I need you to promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. “I know you love chasing, and I’d never ask you to give that up, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

You felt Tyler sigh beneath you, his chest rising and falling steadily. “I promise.”

“And I need you to promise me you’ll get those damn screws fixed. That’s like the third time this month you’ve told me that they’ve jammed.”

You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled softly. “I will. Believe it or not, I didn’t like rolling in my truck, either.”

You lifted your head from his chest so that you could get a good look at Tyler’s face. Even after all these years with him, he still managed to leave you breathless.

“Well then maybe it’s time you take a break and just stay home for a little while,” you teased, lips curling into a soft smile.

The corner of Tyler’s lips tugged upward as his green eyes sparkled under the dim light. “You know what, that might not be a bad idea.”

You raised your eyebrow skeptically. You knew you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and yet, that was exactly what you did. “Really?”��

Tyler’s hand tucked a loose strand of your hair from your face before his thumb grazed across your wet cheek. He nodded sincerely. “Really.”

You were a mess– eyes puffy, lips cracked. You were exhausted and so shaken up from everything that had happened. And who knew how long Tyler would have to put extra effort into helping make you feel safe.

But right now, wrapped in his embrace on your shared couch, all you needed was him.

#tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #twisters imagine #twisters fanfic #twisters fic #twisters #tyler owens x reader imagine #tyler owens x reader fic #twisters x reader #twisters x reader fic #twisters x reader imagine

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misshugs · 9 months ago

Text

₂The Cameragirl² || snc

After an eventful night in the haunted asylum, you and the guys began looking at the footage, only for you to start making cocky remarks that might've set a spark you weren't expecting.

contains: just fluff and reader trying to be funny (but failing miserably), cheeky comments from reader, cursing, slight flirting? idk i suck at it

a/n: "part 2" of The Cameragirl, no need to read the first part though! but for context: you got choked by a ghost and you almost died but colby saved you by giving you mouth to mouth

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

word count: 2.3k

[u n e d i t e d]

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You don't exactly remember when you fell asleep, you're just sure that right after you fell on your bed you were knocked out.

It wasn't something that happened often, but boy you were tired due to last nights events. Beause of that and because of your commonly terrible sleeping habits, Sam and Colby didn't even want to bother you much.

They did however check on you after they woke up hours later, making sure you were still breathing. The experience has somewhat made them paranoid about what could happen to you.

Although they cleansed you before returning, they'd much prefer to be one hundred percent sure you were alright.

The problem was, you were a light sleeper. After they finished checking up on you, your eyes opened up slightly. Groaning a bit from the ache in your body from the fall you had a couple of hours prior. You stretched yourself nonetheless.

Yawning, you sat down and rubbed your eyes. Taking your phone from your nightstand, you looked at the hour. 01:17 PM. Sighing softly, you stood up and fixed yourself up before walking out of the room.

Looking around, you heard mumbling from the other room. It was the office. You walked inside and saw them both looking back at the footage.

You furrowed your brows. Usually, you were a part of this process. Why did they begin without you?

Since they haven't noticed you yet, you started walking closer without making any sounds. As quiet as you possibly could, you basically stood behind them, watching the footage.

"What're you doing?" You asked, gaining a scream from Sam and a jump from Colby, almost falling off the chair. A smile grew wide on your face after that reaction.

"Fuck! You scared me!" Sam exclaimed, putting his hand on his chest.

"Oh my god, my heart." Colby said, hiding his face in his hands.

"That's for beginning without me." You said, crossing your arms on your chest.

"You were sleeping so soundly after all that happened, we didn't want to disturb you. And... we were curious... sorry." Colby admitted. You sighed.

"It's alright, I guess. What's this part?"

"We just started watching the part where... it happened." Sam said, looking at you.

"Ooh, okay. Then go back, my head's a little fuzzy, I can't remember clearly what happened, I want to know." As you said that, they nodded and ran back the video.

You didn't miss much anyways. They rewined right when they began arguing about it not being a good idea and whatnot. They haven't seen the whole night or anything, they just skipped right to the end.

After the arguing and the preparation for everyone to go into their respective corridors, the challenge began.

They paused the video. "Even though it made sense, it was still strange for you to be so persistent about it, was it not?" Colby said, looking at you. "Also, can you please sit down? There's a chair right there. You're stressing me out."

"No." You quickly answered.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't want to, it's my fight or flight mode. It's easier to run while standing up." You giggled softly, which gave them both a sense of peace that you couldn't even imagine.

You were their everything, and thinking that their everything could've ended up like that made them so overprotective that they would've absolutely slept with you that night... to keep you protected, of course.

"Also, my legs feel numb, I don't want to cut the circulation again, it felt weird last time." You admitted.

Sam quickly stood up, concerned. "Are you okay? Do you need an oxygen mask again or something?? Water?"

"Wha- no. Calm down. Jeez." You said, grabbing his shoulder and making him sit back down. "Anyways, about the video. Um... I do remember having this urge to do it. I don't think it might've been anything bad, but I did have this... feeling, I guess."

"Maybe it wasn't you?" Colby said, raising a brow. "Maybe something was making you feel that way, just so that you were left alone... like it happened." You thought about it.

"I... guess it's an option." You shrugged.

"It could've also been a possession. It is said that people tend to quickly switch emotions when one is possessed." Sam continued. "Or... it could've also been the fact that you were so indifferent about it all."

"I'm just used to it, it's not like I don't believe."

"Yeah, but since we were making our reactions so... extra in comparison, maybe the spirits were trying to target you?" Colby added.

"...yeah, it does add up. Well, continue. Let's see what truly happened. I genuinely can't remember." They nodded and the video rewined.

As you began walking through the corridor, you began to speak on the video, it was almost automatic when you heard your voice that you started whining. "Oh, fuck no. Nevermind. This is so cringe. I remember this."

They started laughing and kept on watching although you pleaded for them to skip it. You tried to stop it yourself but Sam quickly held you back, hugging you and your arms, unable to move.

You didn't have the strength at the moment to try and get out of his grasp, but you tried anyways.

Not like it mattered. Not like you minded, actually. In the way he was holding you back, he basically let you sit on his lap while watching.

You didn't mind at all.

"You guys know I suck at youtube, I was trying to be funny, it didn't work." You laughed a little bit while your voice also seemed on the edge of breaking, mainly fake crying.

"What do you mean? You did great." Colby said, hiding his smile underneath his hand. Listening to your cute attempts on making jokes. It melted him.

"I can see you trying not to laugh, Colby." You fake cried again.

"Whaaat? I would never." He said. Sam didn't hide anything. His smile only giving away how much he was actually enjoying this version of you. If only you were open enough for them to be able to record and replay more of this.

A couple of minutes into the video, you started panting, heavy breathing could be heard. It was when you began to explain that you could barely breathe. "It feels... hard to breathe." You said in the video, your lips visibly shaking.

As you began walking faster, you could see through the video that you stopped on you tracks. Blinking your eyes as you looked at, what you remembered to be, a figure.

You tried to breathe.

"Holy shit. Holy shit! Did you see that?" Sam said, letting you go and pausing the video and quickly going back a couple of seconds. You stood up from his lap to let him search quickly.

"What?" Colby asked. Confused, you got closer. He started playing the video once again, this time, slower. You could see the light on your neck moving.

"Holy fuck. Look at that. It looks as if something is like, pushing on your neck. Like pressing onto as if you're getting choked." Sam explains, pointing at the marks on your neck where there seemed to be a dent suddenly forming.

"Oh my god." You said as you touched your neck, remembering what happened barely a couple of hours ago. Colby had his mouth wide open after watching that.

"That's... that's poltergeist activity right there. It's undeniable." He said, looking at the both of you. You nodded, shocked at how much power this entity seemed to have. "We need to get you properly cleansed, we can't be having another demon up someone's ass." He contined, looking directly at Sam, who seemed offended. You chuckled.

As they continued the video, they heard the soft 'help' that you could barely spit out, your voice breaking in the midst of it. The quick movement of the camera as you turned around only to be thrown to the floor. Seconds later, watching as you tried to crawl back but your body seemingly giving up as quickly as you tried to do so.

It broke their hearts, even more so knowing you tried to scream for help. And so, the camera kept rolling for what felt like an eternity.

"How long did it took for you guys to come look for me?" You asked, seeing as the video kept going.

"So far, it's been five minutes..." Sam said softly, painfully watching the screen.

"Oh my god, I was dead for five minutes?"

"Don't say it like that." Colby looked at you, almost sad. Fear went through his body at the thought of not have gotten there on time.

"It is true though... oh, there are my heroes." They smiled softly as you said that. As you heard the conversation they had while you were unconscious, you scoffed. "You guys thought it was a joke?"

"Hey, listen. We've had our jokes and giggles with extreme pranks before, it could've been a possibility." Colby put his hands up in defense, looking at you truthfully. "Honestly, I was wishing it was."

"Sam. Call 911. This is real." Colby said on the video. Before you could completely understand what was going on, you saw him kissing you.

Well, saving your life, but touching lips nonetheless.

Your cheeks started switching colors. You obviously don't remember much, but your brain didn't thought about the fact he had to give you some oxygen back.

Your fingers touched your lips softly as you were watching. They seemed to be immerse on watching what happened, thankfully. You don't think you could handle their stares right now.

Trying to calm yourself down, you saw yourself waking up. No further from that, you saw as Sam helped you up for a split second before the camera was turned off.

"And that's the footage alright. Wow." Colby sighed and looked at Sam, and then at you.

"That was... something. I can't believe we caught that on camera... it's proof, yeah, but... you were seriously hurt." Sam says, looking at you. "Are you... okay with this?" He asked, you looked at him, confused.

"What? You mean for posting it? Oh yeah, I don't mind. Don't worry about it. I'm safe and sound anyways." You said, smiling as you put your hands on your hips.

"Just making sure you're okay with it." He said and you nodded, understanding his kind gesture.

"So..." You began, gaining the attention of them both. "Are you gonna keep the part where Colby kisses m- uh, gives me mouth to mouth?" You quickly correct yourself, trying to act cool. Not leaving your stare from the screen.

"What?" They smirked at your sneaky comment.

Fuck.

"What?" You asked back looking at Sam, seemingly ignoring their cocky smile as much as you could.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"If you're gonna keep the mouth to mouth on the video."

"Not that, when you stuttered." Colby obliged, making you nervous.

"...I said Colby?" You raised an eyebrow, looking confused although you perfectly knew what they were talking about. They shook their head.

"You know what we mean." Sam says, reclining back on his chair, getting comfortable as he looks at you, amused by the situation. Mimicking Sam's actions; Colby lied back, a hand underneath his chin, smirking back at you.

Like Gods. They looked like Gods.

It was driving you insane.

You sighed, "I'm just saying. A bit upset that that was my first kiss with any of you- I mean, not like I was... waiting for one anyways, of course. Ahem." You started mumbling at the end, looking away while scratching the side of your neck.

It wasn't anything strange for all of you to have some sort of stupid flirting in between conversations, but usually they were extremely noticeable jokes.

These? Oh. These weren't jokes. These were genuine mistakes.

And a part of you hated these silly accidents. Mainly because they knew.

"There seem to be a lot of mixed signs in what you're saying." Colby said, smiling at Sam then looking back at you. "I'm a bit confused in what to believe here."

You shrugged. "Believe what you want to believe, good sir."

"It's just that I don't know if we're on the same page, you know?" Colby continued, looking at Sam. "I only know he's with me."

"Oh, for sure." The sexual tension only filling the room even more. Usually, the jokes were seemingly too overboard and hence, you could tell they were that, plain jokes.

Usually.

Just like your silly little mistakes, these weren't jokes.

"And what does that mean?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, we know what we want. We don't know if it is what you want though."

You sighed heavily, seemingly loosing yourself for a moment as you whined. "Dear God, why are y'all so hot?" You looked up, dozing out of existence after thinking about their looks, their positioning, their everything.

Wait.

WHAT DID YOU JUST THROW OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?

You accidentally said your thoughts out loud.

How does that even happen?!

When you realized what you've done, your eyes went wide, quickly looking at them. "Oh. Fuck. I didn't just- oh God." You didn't even wait to see their reaction as you began walking away. They quickly stood up, and you quickly sped up.

You started laughing but you were absolutely dying inside out of embarrassment. "Come back here!" Sam yelled as he got a hold of you and hugged you from behind, quickly throwing you over his shoulder.

"Let me gooo!" You yelped, moving your legs as you laughed purely by reflex. He held your legs in place. You were blushing hard.

"Nu-uh. We're gonna have a chat, young lady." Colby said, crossing his arms as you looked at him with a pout on your face. Sam turned around and slapped your ass, walking back to the room. You yelped, not expecting the sudden movement.

"A nice, long chat." Sam said as you sighed.

Oh boy. It's gonna be a long night.

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how do you guys like the banner? i got creative(ish)

also pls tell me what you thought about the fic, cause i don't really know if i did good with the idea, i did want them to review the footage but i also wanted a bit of tension or something extra to make it spicy, i'm not sure if i did a good job tho...

thank you for reading!

-nikkõ

smol taglist: @lemonnightmare @yourfavoritefangirl @stardollswrld

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

Text

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with.

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels.

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to.

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today.

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there.

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you.

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you.

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet.

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp.

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor.

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat.

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it.

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.”

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down.

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.”

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you.

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit.

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid.

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow.

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy.

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped.

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it.

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?”

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting.

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest.

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you.

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it.

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you.

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again.

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples.

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up.

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid.

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek.

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you.

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite.

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture.

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car.

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 74 of that fic about human Bill but he's not in this chapter so forget about him: Ford and Dipper go cryptid hunting!

This is pretty much a standalone chapter so if somehow you stumbled on this without seeing the rest of the fic, u can just, read it by itself as a standalone Dipper and Ford adventure. It's funny. Promise.

####

The camera turned on to reveal Dipper, illuminated sunset orange and cast in heavy shadows, holding the camera out at arm's length. "Welcome back to Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained, anomaly #175: the Fremont Nightwigglers!" He held up a paper title card in his free hand. "I'm Dipper Pines, and today I'm honored to introduce our special guest star—" he turned the camera around to focus on Ford from behind, "—the one and only Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD times twelve—"

Ford laughed self-consciously. "Dipper, nobody's going to recognize my name outside of a few highly specialized academic fields—"

"—the scientist who developed the Theory of Weirdness—"

"That paper isn't even ready for peer review yet, and I can't take all the credit—"

"—and the coolest dimension-hopping monster-fighting mystery-investigating great uncle in the world!"

Ford paused thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll take that one."

"Tonight, we're on the trail of the Fremont Nightwigglers." The recording cut to CCTV footage from a much higher-budget cryptid-hunting show (which Dipper had recorded by aiming the camera at the TV). The footage showed two marshmallow-like creatures that seemed to consist solely of heads, long legs, and feet—smooth, ghostly white, and featureless except for black eyes. They wore denim jeans that covered their bodies from ankles to waists, and their legs seemed to bend jointlessly, like an octopus's arms or an elephant's trunk. "These weird armless creatures have been seen up and down the west coast states, leaving behind a wave of jeans thefts at clothing stores; but by the time local law enforcement has ruled out any human suspects, the true culprits are always long gone."

The recording cut back to Dipper, who'd taken the lead so he could turn around the camera and aim it at both himself and Ford. "Based on investigative research done by Dr. Pines in the 80s, we believe the Nightwigglers have a migratory route several years long that passes through California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada. More research is needed to find out if they travel as far as Alaska or Mexico. Locals believe each Nightwiggler creates an individual burrow around a communal gathering spot to hide in during the day, and at night they assemble in the communal spot to travel or forage in nearby towns."

Ford threw in, "Based on what the townspeople told me about their habits, they've been in Gravity Falls much longer than usual. It typically takes them a week or two to pass through the area, but this year there have been sightings for more than a month. Perhaps we'll find out why."

"And thanks to a hot tip from an in-the-know local"—the recording cut to a few seconds of footage of Wendy proving she could do a handstand on the split-rail fence around the Mystery Shack—"we know which assembly spot they're currently camping around! Tonight, we're trying to get the first deliberate footage of a Nightwiggler..." Dipper lowered the camera and turned toward Ford, "Hey, what'll we call a group of them? A flock? Herd? Meeting? If we're the first investigators to officially document the species, we get to come up with the name , right?"

Ford considered the question. "What about a wobble of Nightwigglers? Since their legs are so... wobbly."

"Sure, that works."

"Is this really your 175th episode?" Ford asked. "I've missed quite a few."

"Ye—well..." Dipper lowered the camera. It recorded his shoes as he walked. "So far I've got a list of 175 anomalies I want to do an episode on, but I've only recorded and posted thirty-something. I think you've seen them all except the two I've done this summer." He sighed. "I'm... kinda disappointed by it, honestly."

"Why? You should be proud of your work so far! You're the only person in the world who's caught footage of the Hide Behind."

"By accident."

"Because you learned how to identify its call, chased it through half the forest, and were prepared with the right equipment to record it. That wasn't luck, Dipper—that was your hard work."

"I guess," Dipper said grudgingly. "I just... wanted to have a lot more produced by now."

"Wh—You started these last June? That's about one every two weeks. That's a very impressive output."

"I made most of them last summer, I hardly did any over the last school year or this summer."

"You've been focusing on your studies, that's good."

"Yeah, but what about this summer? All I've done so far is borrow some of Robbie's music video footage to make an episode about zombies and record some footage I haven't edited yet about Pacifica's alpaca thief. I didn't even get any footage of the haunted doll crane game before it disappeared. Most of the time I've been just... hiding in Soos's room playing Bloodcraft: Overdeath"—(under his breath Ford muttered "Blood-craft over death?")—"or hanging out with Wendy and her friends, or helping Soos with the Mystery Shack, or just trying to avoid..." He trailed off, suddenly conscious of the camera still aimed at the ground. It had started recording footprints drying in the mud after the recent rain: soft indents like the pads of paws, but with no distinct toes, about the size and length of human feet. Dipper lifted the camera to better record the trail they were walking down.

"Well... there's nothing wrong with taking a break during the summer," Ford said. "Especially considering that your last summer was... quite a bit more exciting than most kids'—"

"That's just it!" Dipper said. "Last summer I did so much! I investigated your disappearance, I filled half of your third journal, I helped stop the apocalypse, I wrote a book with Mabel about solving mysteries and doing fun stuff, I recorded like twenty Guides to the Unknown... Compared to that, this summer I feel like I'm—falling behind."

"Falling behind what?"

"I don't know. But—I just—I... feel like..." He trailed off with a frustrated sigh. "I don't know."

Ford offered, "Maybe, like you're not living up to your own potential?"

"Yes! That's it," Dipper said. "I'm not trying to grow up too fast, I'm just worried I'll grow up before I've done all the stuff I'm supposed to do now. Like I'm already running out of time."

"Hmm..." Ford let out a long, thoughtful sigh. "Dipper, I'm probably the wrong person to be giving this advice, considering that I'm not exactly... the paragon of moderation when it comes to pursuing professional ambitions. But—remember that you're only thirteen. Right now, you don't need to be worried about graduating valedictorian and starting up an anomaly-hunting show and doing groundbreaking research into previously-unknown strange and wondrous creatures," Ford said. "You just need to focus on graduating valedictorian first. That's all I did with my high school years, and after that I still managed to rack up multiple PhDs before age 30. You've got plenty of time!" He said this with the confidence of a man who didn't realize having his life derailed by a manipulative alien villain was the only reason he didn't burn out hard by 1984. "Outside of that, just... worry about being a kid."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. Thanks, Grunkle Ford," Dipper said. "I keep worrying, though. I keep thinking, what if I'm wasting all my time on stuff that... just... doesn't matter? What if nothing I'm doing is actually important?"

Ford was silent a moment. "That's... a very existential question for your age. How long have you been worrying—"

Dipper hissed, "Grunkle Ford!" He jerked his camera up. "Is that fire?!" There was a faint orange glow in the distance between the trees.

"I think it is!"

Dipper whispered, "That's where I found the Nightwigglers' abanadoned campsite last time!"

"Did you see any signs that they knew how to start fires? Remains of a campfire?"

"I didn't notice anything."

"It could be a Scampfire..."

As quietly as they could, Dipper and Ford edged through the trees, Dipper all the while pointing the camera toward the light, until they found a narrow gap between two trees from which they could peer into the clearing.

There were three or four dozen Nightwigglers milling about in little clusters. Several had lit torches—sturdy sticks with the ends wrapped in fabric—which they carried by sticking the ends of the torches into their jeans' pockets.

"Dipper, look at the tops of their torches," Ford hissed. "Is that shredded denim?"

The camera zoomed in on the nearest torchbearing Nightwiggler. "I think so."

"We already knew they wore clothing—but they can make tools, too? How advanced are they..."

Ford trailed off as the clustered Nightwigglers separated, spreading out evenly into several rings. As the camera recorded, they began emitting a synchronized muffled humming; and then they began dancing, kicking their legs and turning in circles together. "Whoa," Dipper whispered. "Is this some kind of ritual?"

"What's its purpose?" Ford whispered back. "Recreation? Religion? Some sort of cultural event—?"

"Hold on. I think I recognize the song."

Ford and Dipper fell silent, watching in silence as the dance repeated a couple of times.

The Nightwigglers were doing the Hokey Pokey.

"Fascinating." The camera lurched sideways, and then turned toward Ford. Ford had stolen Dipper's journal from out of his vest pocket and was hastily taking notes on a blank page. "I had no idea Nightwiggler culture was so influenced by human culture. An hour ago, we didn't even know Nightwigglers have a culture. When could they have observed and learned the Hokey Pokey? It's not exactly a nighttime dance—do they spy on humans during the day?"

Dipper said, "What if we learned the dance from Nightwigglers?"

Ford stopped writing, looked up, and stared at Dipper, mind blown.

Dipper jerked the camera back toward the Nightwigglers as they filed out of the clearing. "Hey! Where are they going now?"

Dipper and Ford waited until the last Nightwiggler had left; and then they quietly followed.

####

After several minutes of silence except for the sound of footsteps, Ford said, "Are we headed toward Mabel's Fault?"

Dipper groaned. "I got enough of this place last week."

"Agreed."

"Hey, you know Bill said we should rename it 'Bill's Fault'?"

Ford huffed. "Did he really? I don't believe it."

"Yeah. He tried to play it off like, 'oOOoh, I just want creEDit—'"

"That sounds like him—"

They came to a stop as the camera spied the Nightwigglers standing in the clearing around the fault, then they quickly moved off the path into the brush and crept closer. "What are they doing?" Dipper asked as they inched up to the tree line.

"I don't know—they're packed too tightly together for me to see."

"I've got an idea. Hold this." The camera bounced as Dipper passed it to Ford, who watched as Dipper climbed up one of the pine trees around the clearing.

"Careful! There aren't a lot of low branches that can hold your weight."

"It's okay, Wendy showed me how to do this." Dipper held out his hand for the camera.

Ford passed it up to him. "What do you see?"

The camera foused on Mabel's Fault. "The Nightwigglers closest to the fault are taking off their jeans, ripping them into two separate legs, and... tossing them in the fault? Have you ever heard of this?"

"Never."

"Like a dozen have done it so far."

"Perhaps that's why they have to steal so many pairs of pants? But why..."

Dipper gasped. Tiny Nightwigglers had begun squirming out of the fault, each wearing a single denim pant leg, crawling around like inchworms with half the pant leg trailing behind them. The bigger Nightwigglers picked up the little ones with their feet and swaddled them in the excess fabric. "They're—I think they're baby Nightwigglers! Coming out of the fault!"

"Amazing! Is this how they reproduce?" Ford asked. "Is that why they travel the west coast—are they following the San Andreas Fault and the volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest?"

"Maybe that's why they've been in town so long," Dipper said. "Mabel's Fault wasn't here the last time they passed through."

"We'll have to find out what other towns they stay in the longest. How far is Fremont from the fault line—?"

"Hey," Dipper said, "A bunch more Nightwigglers took their jeans off. They're tying them in a circle." One of the torchbearer Nightwigglers knelt down and bowed forward, setting the jeans ring on fire; and it was tossed into the fault. The Nightwigglers that weren't carrying infants formed a circle and began Hokey Pokeying toward the fault.

"That definitely looks like a ritual," Ford said, "but why? To celebrate the births...?"

The ground rumbled. Dipper gasped and slipped several feet down the tree before he caught himself. When he refocused the camera, Mabel's Fault was several feet wider, and a fiery glow was rising up from within.

An enormous Nightwiggler, fifteen feet tall, climbed out of the fault. It wore a crown of flaming denim and tattered pants formed by stitching together many pairs of decades-old jeans. The Nightwigglers bowed down.

"Good lord," Ford breathed. "What is that? Did they summon it, or—or was it always down there?"

The giant Nightwiggler watched regally as its subjects danced around it. As they spun around and completed another repetition of the Hokey Pokey—that's what it's all a-BOUT—the giant punctuated the end of the dance with a ground-shaking stomp.

Dipper lost his grip on the tree. He and the camera crashed to the ground with a yelp.

"Dipper! Are you alright?!"

"Ow... fine, probably just bruised."

The camera caught Ford kneeling to help Dipper sit up, and then Dipper grabbed the camera again as he stood. He pointed it back at the clearing.

Every single Nightwiggler, babies and giant included, was staring at them with wide black eyes.

Ford said, "Uh oh."

The giant let out a bellow like a muffled hunting horn.

The Nightwigglers charged.

Dipper and Ford ran away through the brush, screaming.

####

Dipper pointed the camera at his face. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks and arms were covered in small branch scrapes. "Still works," he reported to Ford.

"Great," Ford said. "That thing's hardy."

The camera jerked as Dipper tried to set it on a tree stump.

"Well, we got away with our lives," he said. "But... not without some losses."

He got the camera settled and backed up. He was wearing his vest zipped up around his hips like a skirt. Ford's trench coat was conspicuously buttoned up, and his legs were bare between his coat and boots. They both looked sheepish.

Ford said, "We've acquired some invaluable anthropological data, though."

"I'm calling this investigation a triumph," Dipper said.

Ford offered a hand. "High six!"

In the background, a skinny-legged Nightwiggler wearing Dipper's shorts darted through the trees.

####

(It's about time Dipper get a little personal attention. Hope you enjoyed and I look forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

#dipper pines #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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pedroscowgirl · 3 months ago

Text

Breaking the silence

Aaron hotchner x fem bau!reader

part one is here

Warnings: smut minors DNI

p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral!f receiving, riding him, a bit angsty? (conflicted between spence and hotch), power dynamics (he's your boss)

lmk if i forgot something (i prob did)

masterlist

summary: After much contemplation, you’ve finally made a decision about who you truly want to be with. Although traces of guilt still linger in your mind regarding your choice, Aaron has a unique ability to ease those feelings. wc: 7.4k

A/n: I'm so down bad for this man yall... also I didn't proofread this yet

The briefing room felt colder than usual, the soft murmur of voices blending into the background. The case details flashed on the screen, a series of abductions that led us to a small town in the Midwest. Normally, you’d be fully focused on the profile, mentally piecing together the unsub’s next move, but today, your mind was elsewhere.

Hotch was standing at the head of the table, his posture as controlled and rigid as ever. His deep voice filled the room as he outlined our next steps, but your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. The way his jaw tensed when he was deep in thought, how his eyes would flicker toward me for just a second before shifting back to the case… It was impossible to ignore what had happened between us.

That night in the office—when the line between boss and agent blurred—kept replaying in your mind. The feel of his hands on you, the raw intensity in his touch, the way his control finally cracked. And now? Now it was like we were strangers again.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Hotch’s voice cut through the haze in your head.

You blinked, realizing the rest of the team was already standing up, ready to move. “Yes, sir,” you mumbled, quickly gathering your files and standing.

As we filed out of the room, you could feel Hotch’s gaze linger on you, even if only for a split second. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, but neither of you had dared to acknowledge what had happened. Not at work. Not anywhere.

The case had you working late into the night. Morgan and Rossi were canvassing witnesses, while Reid was piecing together the behavioral patterns of the unsub. You were stationed with Hotch, going over surveillance footage from the surrounding areas, but being alone with him felt like a trap.

You hadn’t talked since that night. There hadn’t been time, or maybe you’d both been avoiding it. But the tension was there, unrelenting.

“We’re missing something,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you stared at the grainy footage on the screen.

Hotch remained silent beside you, but you could feel the weight of his presence. His stoic demeanor had always been a source of strength for the team, but now, it felt suffocating.

“You should get some rest,” he finally said, his voice low, though it carried that same authoritative edge.

you shook your head. “I’m fine.”

His gaze flickered to you, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You’ve been distracted,” he said softly, his tone not accusing, but concerned.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t wrong. You had been distracted, but not by the case. “I’m good, Hotch,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt.

But then, his hand was on yours, a brief, barely-there touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. You glanced up at him, and for the first time since that night, his composed mask cracked just slightly.

“I didn’t mean for things to… get complicated,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tension that mirrored your own.

you took a breath, steadying yourself. “Neither did I.”

For a long moment, we just stood there, the soft hum of the surveillance equipment the only sound in the room. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against your hand again, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

you felt your heart race, the memory of his lips on yours, the feel of his body pressed against you, rushing back with overwhelming clarity. “Neither can I,” you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into his professional shell. But instead, he took a step closer, closing the small distance between you. His hand slid from yours, moving to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I can’t afford to be distracted,” he murmured, his voice tight with restraint. “Not here. Not now.”

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite the warning. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t stop the pull between you two. There was something about Hotch, something about the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and yet still found moments like this, moments where he could let someone in. And now that you’d seen that side of him, you weren’t sure you could let it go.

Before you could think better of it, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand. “We’ll figure this out,” you said softly, echoing the words he’d said to you that night.

For a second, his eyes softened, and you could see the vulnerability there, the part of him that so few people ever got to see. But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened again, the walls slamming back into place.

“We have to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He dropped his hand from your face, stepping back and putting the distance between you again. The moment was gone, the heat dissipating as quickly as it had ignited. But you knew, just as he did, that nothing between us would ever be the same.

The team gathered for a debriefing the next day, the tension from the case still hanging in the air. But beneath that, there was something else, a tension that existed only between Hotch and you. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the task at hand, but you could feel him watching you, just as you watched him.

Spencer noticed your silence, giving me a concerned look, but you brushed him off, unwilling to explain the mess you found yourself in. After all, how could you? How could you explain that you were torn between two worlds, the professional and the personal, and that the man at the center of it all was someone you weren’t supposed to feel this way about?

But as the day wore on, and the weight of the case dragged you deeper into its complexities, you realized something: no matter how hard I tried to bury your feelings, they weren’t going anywhere.

And neither, it seemed, was Aaron Hotchner.

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

The flight back from the case felt longer than usual. The team was asleep, no surprise, given the weight of the case we had just wrapped. Except for Spencer. Normally, you would have struck up a conversation with him by now, engaging him in one of his countless facts or theories. But today, the silence between you was heavy.

He sat next to you on the jet, his fingers fidgeting with a deck of cards, absentmindedly shuffling them. You could feel him glancing at you, his hazel eyes filled with questions. You hadn’t talked about your feelings. Not properly. And now, with the growing complexity between Hotch and you, you felt even more tangled up inside.

"You’ve been quiet," Spencer said softly, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

you shifted in your seat, trying to force a smile. "Just tired," you replied, though it was a poor excuse. The truth was that you didn’t know how to explain the emotional storm raging inside of you.

Spencer wasn’t fooled. He’s a profiler after all. "Is it because of Hotch?"

His question caught you off guard. you blinked, turning to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. How much did he know? How much had he noticed?

"What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

Spencer’s gaze was steady, though there was a softness to it. "I saw how he looked at you. During the debriefing, before we left for the case… There’s something between you two, isn’t there?"

The air between you thickened with the weight of his words. I couldn’t deny it. Not anymore. You had spent days trying to push it aside, trying to compartmentalize the emotions you felt for Hotch, but Spencer was right. There was something between Hotch and you. Something you hadn’t fully understood until that moment.

But how could you explain that to Spencer—the man who had been nothing but kind, gentle, and patient with you? The man whose kiss had felt like safety, like home, even as your mind was spinning with confusion about Hotch.

"Spence, I…" you hesitated, searching for the right words. His eyes were so sincere, so trusting, and you hated the thought of hurting him. "It’s complicated."

He gave you a small, sad smile, his fingers still fidgeting with the cards. "I figured. I mean, it’s Hotch. He’s… well, he’s him."

you let out a breath, grateful for Spencer’s understanding but also pained by it. He was making it so easy for you to talk to him, and that only made things harder.

"Our kiss…" you began, your voice quieter now. "It meant something to me. You mean something to me."

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening. "You mean something to me too."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. "But I don’t know what to do about Hotch. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t expect to feel… anything for him. But now, I can’t stop thinking about him either."

The truth spilled out before you could stop it. The tangled mess of emotions that had been building up inside you was now laid bare between you. And the look on Spencer’s face—God, it broke your heart. He didn’t deserve this. He deserved someone who wasn’t so conflicted, someone who wasn’t caught between two people.

"I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the cards in his hands. "I know."

For a moment, the silence between you was unbearable. You could feel the weight of your indecision pressing down on both of you, suffocating the easy connection you had once shared. And you hated it. You hated that you had brought this confusion into our relationship. But most of all, you hated that I didn’t have an answer.

Finally, Spencer spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. "Do you love him?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t accusatory—it was simply Spencer trying to understand. But the weight of it made your heart clench.

Did you love Hotch?

you didn’t know. What you felt for him was intense, powerful, something you hadn’t been able to shake since that night in his office. But love? Was it love, or was it something else—something darker, more complicated?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I care about him. A lot."

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there with his cards, his mind clearly processing everything you had just told him. When he finally looked back at you, there was a sadness in his eyes, but also a quiet acceptance.

"I’ve always known you and Hotch had… something," he said softly. "I just didn’t want to admit it."

The guilt twisted inside you like a knife. "I never meant for it to happen, Spence."

"I know." He smiled gently, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s okay. I just… I want you to be happy. Even if that’s with him."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. How could he be so selfless, so willing to put your happiness above his own? you didn’t deserve that kind of kindness. Not when you were the one causing this mess.

"Spencer, I—"

Before you could finish, he reached out, pulling a strand of hair behind your face. "I care about you," he said softly. "And I’m not going anywhere. But you need to figure this out. For yourself. For both of us." He gave you a kiss on your cheek and you nodded, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. He was right, of course. you needed to sort through your feelings, to understand what it was that you truly wanted.

---------

The restaurant buzzed with the warm sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. You sat at the edge of the booth, tucked between JJ and Reid, who were deep in conversation about something scientific you couldn’t quite follow. Normally, you would have been engrossed, eager to hear Spencer’s detailed explanation of whatever fact he was spouting tonight, but your attention was elsewhere.

Across the table, Hotch was nursing a glass of scotch, his dark eyes occasionally flicking in your direction. Each time they did, your heart skipped a beat, your stomach tightening with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between the two of you since that night in the office.

You tried to stay focused on the conversation around you, tried to pretend like the heat you felt was just the warmth from the restaurant and not the lingering burn from Hotch’s gaze, but it was impossible. The way he watched you, with that quiet intensity, made it hard to breathe. It felt like he was silently pulling you toward him, and no matter how much you tried to stay anchored to the moment, you couldn’t escape it.

"Are you okay?" Spencer’s voice pulled you back into the present, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at you.

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I’m fine Spence, don’t worry."

Spencer nodded, his gaze soft and understanding. He knew you too well, better than you sometimes liked to admit. But tonight, there was no space for that softness. Not with the way Hotch kept looking at you like he was undressing you with his eyes, peeling back layers of professionalism you’d tried so hard to maintain.

You took a sip of your drink, the cool liquid doing little to calm the heat rising in your chest. You needed to step away—needed a moment to collect yourself before you did something reckless. Without saying much, you slid out from the booth, excusing yourself from the table and heading toward the patio outside.

The cool air hit your skin like a welcome reprieve. You took a deep breath, leaning against the railing and looking out at the dark street below, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The evening had been so casual, so light, but underneath it all, there was this tension, this pull that kept drawing you back to one person.

"Couldn’t handle all the noise in there either?"

Hotch’s voice broke through the quiet, sending a jolt through your body. You hadn’t realized he’d followed you outside, but now, standing just a few feet away, he seemed impossibly close.

You turned to face him, your pulse quickening at the sight of him in the dim light. The way his broad shoulders filled out his jacket, the sharp angles of his jaw catching the glow from the streetlamp, it was all too much. "Needed some air," you managed to say, your voice softer than you’d intended.

Hotch stepped closer, his presence commanding, as always. "It’s been a long week," he said, his voice low and steady. "You did good work."

His compliment should have made you feel proud, but instead, it only added to the tension. The way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you, it wasn’t just about the case. There was more behind his words.

"Thanks," you replied, your breath catching slightly as he moved even closer, his body now just inches from yours.

The night air suddenly felt too warm, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was, how easily you could reach out and touch him. You shouldn’t. You knew that. But the temptation was overwhelming.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he looked back up, there was a heat in his eyes that made your knees weak. "We shouldn’t be out here alone," he murmured, though there was no real conviction in his voice.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the pull between you both growing stronger, the line between what was right and what you wanted blurring more with each passing second. "Maybe we shouldn’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The space between you felt charged, electric. Your body hummed with anticipation, every inch of you hyperaware of how close he was, how much you wanted to close the gap. His hand brushed against yours, and the simple contact sent a shockwave through you, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Hotch…" you started, but the words caught in your throat as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you gently toward him. The touch was subtle, controlled, but it was enough to break whatever restraint you’d been holding onto.

You found yourself pressed against the railing, Hotch standing over you, his gaze dark and intense. His hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake as he moved closer, his body almost flush against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

"We can’t keep doing this," he whispered, but the way his breath ghosted over your skin told you he didn’t really mean it.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his face inched closer to yours. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your lips. "Then why are you here?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with tension, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, might retreat back behind the walls of professionalism he always kept up. But instead, he leaned in, his lips just barely grazing yours.

"Because I can’t stay away from you," he admitted, his voice raw and low.

The confession sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think better of it, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like you were both testing the waters, but the moment his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, everything else faded away. The world around you disappeared, and all that was left was the feel of his mouth on yours, the heat of his body pressing against you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as the kiss deepened, all the tension that had been building between you finally breaking. His lips moved with a fierce intensity, like he had been holding back for far too long, and now there was no stopping it.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a confidence that made your heart race even faster. Every touch, every press of his fingers against your skin, set you on fire, the overwhelming need for him consuming you.

You gasped softly as his mouth moved to your neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. Your head fell back, giving him better access as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer.

"Hotch…" you breathed, barely able to form the words as he continued to kiss you, his hands sliding under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers across your skin.

"We shouldn’t do this here" he muttered again against your skin, but the way his body pressed against yours, the way his breath came faster, told you neither of you were stopping.

The sound of laughter broke through the fog in your mind, pulling you back to reality for a moment. You suddenly remembered where you were. the team just inside the restaurant, Spencer probably wondering where you had gone.

You pulled back slightly, your breath shaky as you looked up at Hotch. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your pulse quicken all over again, but there was a flicker of hesitation there too.

"Spencer’s going to wonder…" you trailed off, not finishing the thought, the guilt creeping in.

Hotch’s jaw tensed, his hands still resting on your hips. "I know," he said quietly, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, filled with a conflict that mirrored your own.

You wanted him. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. But as you stood there, Hotch’s hands still on your body, the heat between you still burning, you realized that no matter what choice you made, things would never be the same again.

The cool night air still clung to your skin as you stepped back into the restaurant, your pulse racing from the kiss you had just shared with Hotch. Every inch of you still felt electrified, your body buzzing from the intensity of the moment. You were trying to play it cool, act as if nothing had happened, but it was hard when your heart was pounding in your chest, and the heat of Hotch’s touch still lingered on your skin.

You glanced sideways at Hotch as he walked next to you, his face composed but his jaw tight. Neither of you spoke a word as you rejoined the team, but the silence between you was filled with unspoken tension. It was as if everyone in the room could sense that something had shifted.

Morgan was the first to notice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a playful grin. "Well, well, look who finally decided to come back," he teased, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. "What were you two doing out there? Planning world domination?"

You forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. "Just needed some air," you replied, sliding into your seat next to Spencer, who was watching you with quiet curiosity.

Hotch didn’t respond. He simply took his place back at the head of the table, picking up his glass of scotch as if nothing had happened. But you could feel his presence, strong, commanding, and impossibly close, even though there was now a table between you.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual response. "Air, huh? Looked a little more intense than that." His teasing tone carried an edge of curiosity that made your stomach twist.

You shot him a quick glare, trying to will the heat creeping up your neck to disappear. "Just some air, Morgan. You’re reading too much into it."

Before Morgan could press further, Garcia piped up, her bright voice cutting through the tension. "Come on, Derek, leave them alone. Not everyone needs to be in on your gossip." She shot you a wink, though there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes too.

Spencer smiled at you, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if searching for the truth beneath your words. His kindness, his understanding, made your heart ache. But the guilt that twisted inside you wasn’t enough to erase the pull you felt toward Aaron. The two men couldn’t have been more different, and yet, you found yourself caught between them, unable to make sense of your own feelings.

Morgan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, leaned forward, his playful smirk returning. "Well, whatever you were doing out there, just know we all have bets going about who’s sneaking off with who tonight."

JJ shot him a look of exasperation. "Derek."

"What? I’m just saying. We all see how you two keep sneaking off," he said with a grin, his eyes darting between you and Hotch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. "It’s nothing like that, Morgan."

But your words felt hollow, especially when Hotch’s gaze flickered briefly in your direction. The weight of what had happened outside was too fresh, too raw, and you could feel the shift in energy between you both, even if no one else knew the truth.

Morgan was still watching you with a knowing smirk, clearly not convinced by your attempts to brush him off. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Come on, something’s up. You’ve been acting weird all night."

You glanced at him, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would get him off your back. But before you could respond, Hotch’s deep voice cut through the noise.

"Morgan, leave it."

The command was calm, but firm. It wasn’t a request. Morgan straightened up in his seat, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I’ll drop it." He shot you a quick glance, his curiosity still simmering just beneath the surface, but he let it go—for now.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for Hotch’s intervention but also hyper-aware of how close you had come to unraveling under Morgan’s scrutiny.

Spencer’s hand brushed against yours under the table, a small, innocent touch that made your heart clench. You turned to him, his soft gaze meeting yours. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was steady, grounding you in a way that made you feel both comforted and guilty at the same time.

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

You were barely out of your clothes and into your pajamas when the knock echoed through the quiet of your hotel room. For a moment, you considered ignoring it. You were too exhausted to deal with any more emotional turmoil, but something—someone—pulled you toward the door.

When you opened it, Hotch stood there, his expression neutral as always, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight. His jaw was tight, his eyes searching yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hotch?" you asked, confused by his sudden appearance. "What’s going on?"

He hesitated for a moment, his hand gripping the doorframe as if steadying himself. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken beneath the surface.

You stepped aside, letting him in. The door clicked shut behind him, the soft hum of the hotel room suddenly feeling deafening. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, but you had no idea what had brought him here tonight.

He stood in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, his posture rigid. "I saw what happened on the plane," he said finally, his voice calm, but you could hear the weight in his words. "With Spencer."

Your breath caught in your throat. Spencer had kissed your cheek after your conversation, a simple gesture of affection, but it had felt like so much more in the moment. You hadn’t realized Hotch had seen it.

"Hotch, I—"

He cut you off, his voice still infuriatingly neutral. "I think you should be with Spencer."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. His tone was so matter-of-fact, so calm, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t unaffected by this. For a man who always kept his emotions tightly locked away, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen before.

You stared at him, your heart racing. "What?" you whispered, stepping closer to him. "Hotch, no…"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering away from yours for the briefest moment before returning to your face. "He cares about you. I saw the way he looks at you, and I saw how you two talked on the plane. He kissed you." His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something raw. "Spencer can give you what you need. What I can't."

His words twisted inside of you, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. How could he think that? After everything that had happened between you, after all the tension and moments you had shared, how could he believe you’d choose someone else?

"Hotch, you don’t understand," you said, your voice trembling slightly. You took another step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm, desperate to make him see what he was missing. "I want you. That’s what I told Spencer."

The silence between you felt thick, charged with emotions you could no longer ignore. His eyes softened just slightly, the stoic façade he always wore cracking at the edges.

"I told him," you continued, your voice gaining strength. "I told him that I care about him, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he should believe you. But then, his hands slid up to your waist, and the tension between you snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.

Without another word, you leaned in, capturing his lips with yours in a kiss that was filled with all the frustration, the longing, the desire you had been holding back for so long. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, like you hadn’t kissed him in ages, like you were trying to prove everything you couldn’t put into words.

Hotch responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a need that mirrored your own, his touch igniting a fire inside you that you hadn’t been able to extinguish since the first time you kissed.

His body pressed against yours, pinning you gently against the door as his mouth devoured yours, the tension that had been simmering between you finally finding release. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slid under your shirt, his touch hot against your skin.

"Hotch," you gasped, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, but he didn’t give you time to recover. His lips were on your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, making your pulse race.

"I shouldn’t want this," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and filled with restraint. "But I do. God, I do."

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, your body pressing against his in a way that left no space between you. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, your voice breathless as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your waist and over your hips, pulling you even closer. His fingers dug into your skin, his touch possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You kissed him again, hard and hungry, your lips moving against his with a desperation that mirrored his. The tension between you had finally reached its breaking point, and now, there was no turning back. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, your back—exploring every inch of you with a need that made your head spin.

Your shirt was pushed up, his hands sliding under the fabric to touch your bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You gasped softly as his fingers brushed against the curve of your waist, your entire body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control.

"Hotch…" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he answered in that deep, sexy voice that made your whole body heat up.

"I need you so badly."

His eyes darkened at your words, and without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly and laid you down on the bed. The way he moved—so strong, so sure—made your heart race even faster. He hovered over you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your body, before his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head.

You felt exposed under his gaze, but it only added to the excitement coursing through you. His lips found the soft skin of your neck, kissing, nipping, and trailing lower with each breath. When his mouth reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, looking up at you with a smirk that sent a wave of heat through your core.

“God, your tits are so hot,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, and it took you by surprise. You were so used to his professional, composed demeanor that this raw, vulgar side of him was both shocking and incredibly arousing.

The dirty words made your body respond instantly, a fresh wave of wetness pooling between your thighs.

His mouth latched onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before pulling it between his lips. A gasp escaped your throat, and your hand flew to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands as he groaned against your skin. The vibration of his voice against your breast sent shivers down your spine.

He alternated between your breasts, his hands kneading your flesh while his mouth worked you over, sucking and kissing every inch of you until your entire body was humming with desire. His hands were warm and firm, and every touch sent sparks of pleasure through you, heightening the need that had been building between you all night.

When he finally moved lower, kissing down your stomach with a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses, your heart pounded in anticipation. He paused when he reached the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you with that devilish smirk again.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft, but filled with desire.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, unable to hide the desperation in your voice.

He hooked his fingers into your shorts, pulling them down slowly, torturously, and when he revealed your white lace underwear, his eyes lit up with amusement.

“You knew I was coming here tonight?” he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill through you.

You smiled up at him, biting your lip as you watched him. “Maybe,” you whispered, the teasing tone in your voice barely masking the fact that your body was already aching for him.

He groaned softly, his hands brushing over your hips before he slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, dark and intense as they took in every inch of your naked body. The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine.

And then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips soft against your skin. Your breath hitched, anticipation building as he moved closer to your center, teasing you, making you wait. His hands slid up your legs, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, and when his mouth finally met your core, you gasped, your hips jerking toward him instinctively.

Hotch groaned against you, his tongue working slowly, deliberately, as if he was savoring every moment. The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and the way his tongue circled your clit had your entire body trembling.

“Oh God, Hotch,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair again as your back arched off the bed. The pleasure was intense, almost too much, but you couldn’t get enough. Every stroke of his tongue sent you higher, building the tension inside you until you thought you might explode.

He gripped your thighs, pulling you closer as he buried his face deeper between your legs, his tongue working you over with expert precision. You were already so close, your body teetering on the edge of release, and when he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you were done for.

The pressure inside you built to a breaking point, and with a cry of his name, you came hard, your entire body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Hotch didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through your release, prolonging the pleasure until you were completely spent.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you collapsed back against the bed, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Hotch slowly pulled away, his mouth and fingers leaving your body as he kissed his way back up your stomach, over your breasts, and finally to your lips.

You kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The fire between you hadn’t dimmed, it had only just begun.

“I need you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your body as he positioned himself over you. “You have me,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

And with a fluid motion, Hotch gripped your waist and pulled you on top of him, flipping your positions in one swift move. You straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips as you looked down at him. The sight of him lying beneath you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes dark and full of lust, made your pulse quicken. He seemed so in control and yet, completely undone by the sight of you.

You reached for his tie, slowly loosening the knot. Your fingers trembled as you slid it free, tossing it aside before your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. You took your time, savoring the moment as you unbuttoned each one, revealing more of his chest with every flick of your fingers. When his shirt was fully undone, you pushed it open, running your hands over the firm muscles of his chest, your palms lingering over the warmth of his skin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his skin, kissing and sucking at the exposed flesh. You trailed your mouth from his collarbone down to his chest, leaving small, dark marks in your wake. His breath hitched, and you felt his hands slide up your thighs, gripping them tightly as he groaned.

"Fuck, naughty girl," he muttered, his voice dripping with desire. His grip tightened in your hair, tugging your head back just slightly so he could look into your eyes. "You wanna mark me up, huh?"

The man who was always so stern, so composed, had completely unraveled beneath you, and you reveled in the control you had over him.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. "Maybe I do," you teased, your breath hot against his skin.

His eyes darkened even more, filled with a raw hunger that sent your heart racing. Without another word, he pulled you down, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His tongue found yours, demanding and unrelenting, and you moaned softly into his mouth as your body melted into his.

His hands slid from your hair to your waist, gripping you firmly as he kissed you deeper. You could feel the hardness of him beneath you, and the anticipation of what was to come made your entire body throb with need.

"Ride me," he commanded, his voice low and full of desire. The authority in his tone sent a thrill through you, making your stomach flip with excitement.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, your fingers working to unbutton and unzip his pants. You tugged them down just enough to free him, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw him, thick, hard, and more than ready for you. The sheer size of him made your body clench with anticipation.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You positioned yourself above him. And as you lowered yourself onto him, the stretch was immediate and intense. He was so big, filling you up completely, and you gasped as the sensation took over, your nails digging into his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips as he watched you intently. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with restraint. "You feel so good."

You paused for a moment, needing to adjust to the fullness of him. The pressure of having him so deep inside you made your head spin, and you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. The pleasure was overwhelming, but you needed a second before you could move.

But Hotch wasn’t in the mood to wait.

His hands gripped your hips more tightly, and with a low growl, he began to move you, guiding your body up and down his length. The sudden movement made you cry out in pleasure, your hands bracing against his chest as your body rocked with his.

"Aaron…" you whimpered, your voice barely more than a gasp as the sensation of him inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The stretch, the fullness, the way he hit every perfect spot inside you, it was too much and not enough all at once.

He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he set the pace, thrusting up into you as he moved you on top of him. "God, you’re so tight," he growled, his voice rough and filled with a raw intensity that made your entire body tremble. "Look at you, taking me so well…"

You couldn’t respond, your mind was too clouded with pleasure, your body completely lost in the sensation of him filling you over and over again. Every time he thrust into you, it sent a bolt of electricity through your core, making your thighs quiver and your breath come in ragged gasps.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you, threatening to consume you whole. "Hotch," you gasped, your head falling back as your body rocked against his. The tension inside you was coiling tighter and tighter, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

His hands slid up your waist, guiding you with steady, relentless movements as he watched you with hooded eyes. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You gonna come for me?"

The words sent you spiraling. The intensity of his gaze, the heat of his hands on your body, the sheer pleasure of having him so deep inside you, it was too much. Your body tensed, your thighs trembling as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

"Aaron!" you cried out, your body convulsing as you came hard, the pleasure so intense that it left you shaking. Your hips bucked against his, your nails digging into his chest as your vision blurred, and all you could feel was him.

He groaned, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he thrust up into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His muscles tensed beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he reached his peak. "Fuck…" he growled, his hands digging into your hips as he came, his release filling you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the aftermath of your pleasure to speak. Your body was still trembling, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you collapsed onto his chest, your head resting against him as you tried to steady yourself.

Hotch’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as his chest rose and fell beneath you. His hands slid up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, his breath still heavy in your ear. "You’re incredible," he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender.

You smiled against his skin, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "So are you," you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest as you caught your breath.

Hotch’s hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin so you could look into his eyes. There was a softness there, a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "You mean so much to me," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "More than you know."

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling over you. "I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #hotchner smut #hotch smut #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner imagine #thomas gibson #thomas gibson smut

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polite--cat · 16 days ago

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my top favourite moments from this year's secret santa:

georgie bringing up alex repeatedly due to how they are married in real life

unfortunately he completely skipped over the great joke, "you've got the posing down to a T"

liam's true and genuine enthusiasm for his gift was SO CUTE. oscar did well!!

"whenever i take my driver cover off i'll be thinking about your butt" alex i love you

valterri guessing george because the frogs on the goggles look like him 😭

more footage of estie looking joyful in haas teamwear YIPPEE

plus, him talking about being an RC car freak, he's such a dork and i LOVE HIM!!!

yuki not knowing anything about mate was both funny and painful 😭brother you cannot have some "before you sleep" there is SO MUCH caffeine in chimarrão

i'm sorry but the contrast between lance's complete lack of charisma, to the video immediately cutting BACK to franco because he's too magnetic was very funny 😔

the whole franco saga in general was just great, he's a content machine and a STAR

lando joking with zhou he'd get him a knockoff dior but actually getting him a very sweet gift he appreciated was very him, i love it

getting to see the timeline of the chili costume bet was great, it really immediately motivated him

THE COUPLES PADEL LESSONS. i would say galex conspired but alex guessed george... suggesting he didn't know who george had. so they both INDEPENDENTLY decided to get them the same gift... more proof that they're married (and zak brown has a type)

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smuttysabina · 7 months ago

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When Editing Goes Wrong

(Pokimane's Editor (You) x Pokimane, 3.3k Words) Tags: Excessive masturbation, gooning, sex surprisingly enough, anal sex, oral sex, foot sex, butt sex, obsessive behavior, a stunningly brave tale about the perils of editing for your masturbation material, absolutely degenerate behavior all around, also like damn dude you really couldn't resist telling her huh? Current events, breeding

You had done it, you had acquired your dream job, being the video editor for your favorite streamer; there was just one small problem, an afterthought really, an understatement. You were totally and utterly addicted to every inch of Pokimane's body. Her luscious hair, her gorgeous eyes, her perky lips, her smooth skin, her bodacious breasts, her toned arms, her delicate hands, her smooth stomach, her shapely hips, her puffy mound, her thick thighs, her tempting feet, so perfectly shaped and formed and begging to be licked- Oh dear, you did it again, another hour gone and several tissues filled. You were supposed to be taking Poki's raw, uncut footage and removing all the parts those filthy gooners would enjoy too much, obviously some slightly erotic shots would be left in to titillate them, but not enough to make her haters online accuse her of being a slutty tease. The issue was that there was simply too much delicious content to sort through, and you were unable to resist slamming your meat for hours on end to all of the content she was sending you. You would hump your hand for hours on end to your own private compilations of lewd moments, groaning Pokimane's name as you worshipped her in the only way you knew how. Of course, this made getting videos and vlogs out on time somewhat difficult, since editing actually public-friendly videos did in fact take some time, so things were getting to the point where you might have to start asking for extensions...

You sweat nervously as you hurriedly type out a message to Poki, explaining to her that you would be unable to get her video out this week, that you had hit some unexpected snags while cutting down her content. Nothing to be worried about of course, just a normal hazard of splicing together all of those disparate clips, you should have the vlog out in time by next week, for sure! Your typing is made a touch more difficult by the fact that you were doing so one-handed, even messaging your goddess got you all worked up. Her response of course, is as kindly and supportive as always, "No worries, these things do happen! I am looking forward to receiving the vlog by Wednesday of next week." Next Wednesday? You look at your calendar and groan in despair, it was going to be hard to fit editing time into your schedule with all the gooning you had been planning on doing... But you managed it, somehow. The thought of disappointing your goddess, as arousing as that was, had goaded you into putting the effort in, and you had made what you knew was a masterpiece. You smile proudly as you send the vlog to Poki, you were sure her fans would love it, and they did! "Good job on that last video Editor, that extra time sure helped, didn't it?" Your goddess praises you, so of course you have to hump your hand in celebration, you finish several times to that simple sentence.

The next few weeks pass by without much incident, with you throwing together videos in time for the deadline while still blasting rope to Pokimane constantly. Your videos had been doing extremely well judging by the viewer-count, your subtle blend of inside jokes and community memes with vaguely provocative shots had been largely popular with the fanbase. Of course, you kept the most delectable cuts to yourself, so while those degenerate coomers online were filling their pants to some risque stills, you were pumping furiously to the good stuff. The editing for the upcoming week's video was running into some blockages however, since for whatever sadistic reason Poki had chosen to include almost half an hour's worth of video pointed down at her bare feet as she wanders around her apartment chattering away. You had been unable to resist such potent stimulation, and had been beating your meat almost continuously to her feet. So lost in your lusts were you, that when Poki messages you, you feel inclined to answer honestly, "What's the hold up on next week's video? Its almost Sunday and I haven't gotten it yet?" Your orgasm-fried brain misfires as you try to conceive an excuse, but the thought of telling her the truth is simply too exciting to resist. So you tell Poki that you had been too busy blasting rope to her perfect feet, pumping and edging to her delicate toes and smooth soles so much that you were unable to fit in any editing. You climax when you hit send, obliterating several tissues as you end your hours-long session with a catastrophic orgasm; then of course you realize what you had done, and start panicking. Not that you should have worried though, as Poki swiftly responds, "Understandable, but please try to stop jacking off long enough to do your job." Suitably chastened, you comply; but not before squeezing another fap in.

Over the next month, you start to notice a subtle change in the content Pokimane sends you. Whereas before the more sensual shots would go by swiftly, now she seemed to... linger a bit on certain areas. Normal people would not have perceived this development, but as someone who had spent the past year consuming endless hours of her content, it was obvious. Poki would now spend on average an extra second giving you a view down her bodice, show off her meaty ass for just a little longer, playfully flex her toes before moving onto something else. Of course, you react to this novel situation by offering her with yet more of your seed, while still barely managing to get a video out on time every week. Editors truly have it rough!

Then it happened. In the middle of a vlog about household products, Poki was busy blathering about her automatic cat feeder when she suddenly pauses and stares at the camera. "I know you're watching, Editor. I just wanted to give you a special thank you for all of your hard work." Then she pulls up her shirt to reveal her breasts, wiggles them around, before yanking it back down again and continuing her spiel where she had left off. You gawp in absolute shock, sure that your mind had been playing tricks on you, that your fantasies had bled into real life, that this was actually just a surprisingly accurate wet dream. But no, as you rewind and replay the section, Pokimane had in fact flashed you, she had shown you her slightly tan breasts, each perky while still carrying some heft, graced with a dark-brown nipple upon a wide areola. Your response is entirely predictable, you pound your fleshlight for an entire day straight, not even stopping for food or rest as you honor your goddess's bountiful blessing. When you collapse, it is only from sheer exhaustion, your body and balls utterly drained by the sight of Pokimane's boobs. Upon awakening, you discover that a large amount of time had passed, and that you had a minimal amount of time to complete your deadline. Working like a man possessed, you furiously throw together a video, not even touching yourself once where before you would have savored every tantalizing moment. Through some holy miracle, you are able to send Poki the week's video on time, a feat that she seems suitably impressed by, "I thought you would have to be late again this week, good job Editor."

The next week's content is lacking in such stimulation however, simply a return to Pokimane's usual slight teasing, which still excites you, but leaves you yearning for more. Which was no doubt her intent, because in her next footage, she abruptly turns around, bends over, and pulls down her pants. The mere sight of Poki's monolithic ass in the nude has you painting the underside of your desk before you can fully process what you are seeing. Her fat cheeks wobble provocatively before she languidly reaches back and spreads them and reveals her glistening slit- By the time you have regained control of yourself, you are literally covered in cum, and far, far past your deadline. Panicking, you open your messages and hurriedly inform her that this week's vlog would be delayed due to a medical emergency you had to deal with; yes indeed your health had truly been threatened by what you had seen! Pokimane's response seems amused, "Don't lie to me Editor, you were too busy blasting rope to my ass, admit it." Moaning, you have no choice but to agree with her, informing your goddess that you had been unable to resist relentlessly pleasuring yourself to her; begging her for forgiveness, "It's fine, just be sure to have two videos done by the end of this week, or I'll have to find a new editor, got it?" The mere thought of being cut off by your queen has you in shambles, and you grovelingly assure Poki that her will would be done.

Through a herculean effort, you manage to complete your task, sending two videos of the highest quality to Poki, "Good job, I'm impressed! Next week I will not be posting though, so enjoy your time off." Most employees would celebrate having an entire week off, but being denied fresh content has left you morose; no matter, you still needed to enjoy her last gifts to the fullest. Then a notification pops up that you had received the usual weekly content file from Pokimane, and curious, you open it. Inside there is only one file, an hour long titled: 'For My Editor'. Thoroughly intrigued, and not a little excited, you start to watch it. The video starts with Poke modeling in a sleek black dress, nothing unusual there, as she poses and shows off her angles until she pauses and looks into the camera, "Hello Editor, after working so hard last week, I decided to help you get through this one." Whereupon she confidently pulls her dress over her head and tosses it aside, revealing her voluptuous body to you in all its glory. Pokimane leans forward, cupping her breasts with an arm while making slow stroking motions with her other hand, "Jack off for me, Editor. Pump, pump, pump," she growls huskily. Then she explores her body for you, fondling her weighty breasts, running her hands down her fertile tummy, teasingly rubbing her slit, turning around so that she can show you how heavy her ass is as she bounces it with her hands. All the while she encourages you to pleasure yourself to her, motioning with her hand for you to masturbate, "Edge for me Editor, I want you all worked up for the real show..." Poki opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue, rolling her eyes back in a perfect ahegao face for a full minute before ending with a devilish smirk. Her teasing grows ever more obscene as her own arousal heightens, "Imagine how wet my mouth would be wrapped around your cock, how soft my boobs would be, how tight my ass would be, how breedable my pussy is..." She moans ecstatically, her fingers squishing against her lower lips as she masturbates, as she angles the camera downwards towards the floor. Poki crouches in front of it, breathing heavily, her face flushed, "How would you take me, Editor?" She gets on her back, spreading her legs for you so that you can see just how sopping wet her pussy is, how it would be to pump between her meaty thighs, "Missionary?" Before rolling over and hoisting her thick ass in the air, pressing her chest against the ground to show you her sensual arch, "Doggy?" She gets up onto her knees and turns around, lustfully humping their air while groping herself and licking her lips, "Or would I need to put all the work in?" Poki leans forward, purring, "I want you to fuck me, Editor. I want every last drop of your cum, understood?" Wet slopping noises grew louder as her face became more and more red, as she nods encouragingly as the camera, "Do it, now. Cum for me, Editor. Cum in me!" Then Pokimane lets out a little gasp before moaning unashamedly, her eyes rolling back as she climaxes right in front of the lens, shuddering with pleasure until it is over. She sighs sensually, "Enjoy your week off..." before giving you a wink and ending the video. Needless to say, you did not get much done that week.

Or the next week for that matter, so busy were you blasting fat reams of jizz to your Goddess's instructions; so lost in an endless cycle of cumming for Pokimane that you only stopped when she messaged you again, "I guess you've been too busy stroking for me to get any work done, so here's a little incentive for you. Finish a video, and I'll give you an hour of my time, deal?" Of course, you had no choice but to obey, even with images of your queen's naked body prancing through your addled brain, you still managed to pump out a video in a reasonable amount of time; as well as an unreasonable amount of loads. A few hours after sending the video, you hear a knock on your apartment door, and more than a little annoyed at being interrupted while worshipping your goddess, you go to open it. Imagine your shock then when you find Pokimane on the other side of it, wearing a sleek outfit of deep red, dolled up to perfection. Pushing past your gawping form, she stalks inside, wrinkling her nose at the stench of semen she plops herself on your much-stained bed before licking her lips and giving you an expecting look, "Well? You have an hour, how would you like to fuck me?" You let out a piteous groan as you shamble forward, your cock already bulging and dripping, your mind unable to believe that your goddess is before you, but your body knows what to do. You dreamily turn her around and pull down her panties, humping Poki's fat ass as she amusingly informs you to go in raw, "After all, I am on birth control, and I doubt I have to worry about any STDs..." So you mount Pokimane like an animal for an entire hour, grunting like a beast while she passively waits for you to finish, you don't stop pumping for a single moment, nor do you ever stop filling her up with your cum until it leaks out of her cunt. Before you know it, her phone is buzzing loudly, and she commands you to stop, your hour is over. You notice she is limping slightly as she leaves, "Fuck I am so full..." she murmurs, before cheerfully saying, "I'm looking forward to your next video, Editor" and leaving.

The subsequent months pass by in a blur, you swiftly and skillfully produce a video for Pokimane, and soon after she arrives at your door, ready to be used. And god, do you use her. You lick and fuck her feet until they are squishy with your semen; you pump between her mighty thighs, breeding her continuously as she moans beneath you; you mount her fat tits more often that you can count, humping her chest until her breasts are smothered with cum; you make her suck you off, making her clean the fluids of your coupling off your cock so many times you know the contours of her mouth better than she does; you violate her anus with her cock, often without any lubrication, groaning as her tight coils milk your dry within minutes; you plow her from behind, again and again and again, unable to resist her thick ass you simply give in and fuck; you spend several hours simply jacking off onto her perfect face, until her hair is soaked and her face white; you make her ride you in every position imaginable, bouncing and swaying on your cock while her breasts flop around her chest, as she tirelessly drains you of load after load; you masturbate to porn together, until you are both staining the sheets afresh with your cum; you ask her to peg you, which she does with great enthusiasm while your cock sprays like a firehose; you dress her up in all sorts of cosplays, roleplaying a wide variety of scenarios that always seem to end up with you breeding her while howling her name; you fuck her while watching the video she sent you, so that you are pumping to Poki porn using Poki's perfect pussy, achieving a gooner's nirvana.

All the while you continue to churn out videos like a machine, all of which rack up an ever growing quantity of views and interactions; you are single-handedly (because the other hand is busy) driving up Pokimane's numbers on Youtube. You reach your zenith after editing while your goddess's head bobs between your legs, sucking you dry even as you complete your masterpiece. Eventually though, you begin to tire of it all, your videos begin to do progressively less well, and you feel a growing indifference towards Poki. You had flew to close too the gooner sun, your wings had been burned by the intensity of your fulfilled passions for her. No longer did her every message and word carry the power to compel you any more, no longer was she your Aphrodite, now she was simply a high priestess, the pedestal of goddess left unoccupied as your ardor cools. None of which goes unnoticed by Poki, so that one day she messages you, "I think we may need to go our separate ways Editor, let's discuss this at your place," and you agree. She patiently explains that the quality of your videos had declined recently, and that she was firing you, "Send me a copy of all the recordings you made of us together though," she smirks at your shock, "what, you thought I wouldn't notice? That much content will be useful for when I launch on Pornhub." You shudder at the thought of Pokimane gracing the porn scene with her presence, much seed would be spilt that day... "Also, I shot your reference to a friend of mine who needs a good editor, so expect to hear from her soon." You thank her profusely for this generosity, and she smirks in response, "Once more before the road then? I know how much you love fucking me..." So you spend the next hour pumping Pokimane full of your semen, and making her suck the resulting mess off of your dick; she even stays an extra few minutes to make sure it is extra clean. You hear her mutter as she leaves for the final time, "Well that one lasted a while..."

You spend the next week in a morose stupor, lost without a goddess to worship, unable to even achieve an erection. Even when Poki glibly announces on stream that she had to fire her pervert of an editor, you don't get hard even from this humiliation. Your depressed mood continues until a fresh notification pops up on your work account, piquing your interest; it reads, "Hello, I was looking for a new editor, and Imane recommended you to me! I need to have this video out by tomorrow, so please get it done ASAP! -AriaSaki" Curious now, you open up attached files, and feel a faint stirring in your crotch. Several hours later, and you send the video to her, your cock leaking from your constant edging, eager for her response. You don't have long to wait, as a short video arrives soon after, you open to see the goddess talking excitedly to you, while wearing little more than short-shorts and a blue pushup bra, "OH MY GAWD, thank you so much Editor! This looks so freaking good, let's discuss terms tomorrow okay? Thank you thank you thank you!" Before ending it with a beaming smile. You are smiling as well, as semen drips down from the underside of your desk, anything for your goddess AriaSaki...

And so the Editor finds a new job, and the cycle continues...

#smut #otv smut #pokimane smut #ariasaki smut #imane smut #poki smut

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fullfriendnerdclutch · 4 months ago

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Archive: Rent-a-Cop Part 1 - 3

"It’s supposed to do what…? …Are you serious Captain?” Officer Grant Johnson sighed looking at his commanding officer with incredulity.

“Johnson, remember you volunteered for this. Now if the professor’s machine works like he says it does, its value to the force will be immeasurable," The Captain typed in some more information onto the panel, going back and forth between some hand-written instructions, furrowing his brow.

“Fine… So you scanned me in or whatever, now what?”

“Just a minute! I need to finish calibrating the damn thing or God knows what it’ll do to you!” Johnson rolled his eyes but nodded, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair impatiently.

“Okay okay… Just remember we do well enough without some freaky gizmo though. I’ve put away some of the baddest guys in this city in my day…” Officer Johnson patted his gut with a chuckle. “…I suppose I have been getting a bit soft though,"

“Well why don’t we see what we can do about that?" The Captain lifted what looked to be a simple wireless microphone.

“Load profile: Grant Johnson.” The machine behind them made a small noise, Officer Johnson looked to it then the Captain and shrugged.

“Reduce age by half, increase muscle mass 300%, and reduce body fat ratio by 80%—”

The Captain cut off and gaped at the sudden change in his subordinate. Gone was the weary looking Officer with the pot-belly looking forward to an ever closer retirement. In his place was a mountain of a man, who looked half bodybuilder/half cop. Johnson just stared at the Captain.

“…What? How long do we wait?”

“What do you mean what? You’re huge!”

Officer Johnson narrowed his eyes at the Captain then looked to his arm, pulling back the sleeve and flexing his massive biceps; it must have been around 24 inches.

"It doesn’t look any bigger… definitely not 200% bigger. And what was with the command to halve my age? You trying to send me back to highschool?” He chuckled a deep, rich, masculine laugh.

The Captain stammered a moment before looking back to the hand-written notes, thumbing through them before speaking into the small microphone again.

“Recall self prior to last command," that did it. Grant yelped, looking back to his arm, giving it a small poke then looking back to the Captain.

“Holy shit! Captain! Look at me! I can’t believe it! That machine is nuts!” The Captain frowned lightly but nodded.

“Yes, yes. The possibilities are endless, but we’ll need to make sure we note any Officer’s previous self to their changed self… I think we’ll just keep this to ourselves until we can learn a bit more about it.”

“Aww– Fine… Too bad though, with this thing I’d be right back in the swing of it. All those bastards I’ve spent my career taking down would just be the beginning; I could be back on the beat full time.”

“Well, we’ll see. For now lets get you back to normal, lock this place up and head back upstairs. Don’t want anyone in the precinct getting nosy down here…”

The captain returned Officer Johnson to normal then the pair left; all without taking note of the surveillance camera silently blinking above their heads.

In the security room, rookie cop Noah Bartlett stared at the camera footage. He’d been benched and given desk duty after none other than Officer Grant Johnson had accused him of being on the take…

Nevermind the fact that he was, afterall there were several local crime bosses who paid good money for any tip or advantage they could get against the cops….

An idea slowly formed in Noah’s mind as he looked to the wall at the master security keyring and a smile grew on his face… He wondered how much they would pay for a chance to rent that machine and use it on Officer Oh-So-Perfect Johnson…

"You understand, Captain Diaz?"

The older cop replied in a dull monotone "Yes,"

"Yes....what?" the rookie replied, smirking vindictively

"Yes Master Noah,"

"Good," he pulled the machine's microphone close to his mouth and read off a little notecard he had prepared

"Captain Diaz won't consciously remember the events of the last 10 minutes or so. Captain Diaz will return to his office, wait one hour then call Officer Johnson in, and then follow the previously given instructions,"

With that, the Captain wordlessly walked out, while Officer Bartlett quickly reset the room to how it was, before hurrying back to his desk in the security room.

Rico Antonetti was one of the mid to upper level mob figures in the city and he and Officer Noah Bartlett had worked out a few arrangements before getting caught by one oh-so-squeaky-clean Officer Grant Johnson.

Noah had reached out to the mobster and informed him of the department's prototype machine. Rico was skeptical so the two worked out an appropriate demonstration.....

Precisely one hour later, Noah looked up to see Officer Grant Johnson on one of his monitors, step into the Captain's office and take a seat

"Listen Johnson, we've got a tip off about some new little bordello Antonetti has setup downtown. It might be bogus, but I need you to go in and investigate,"

"Sure Cap, let me get a team together and we'll be able to hit the place by tomorrow nig---"

"NO! Er......no, that will be too late, these places move around and we don't know how many ears Rico has in the department. If we want to hit him while this info is good, we need to do it tonight and I need you to go by yourself,"

"Uhh....that sounds more than a little bit risky, don't you think, Captain?"

"Yes, or at least it would be, if we didn't have our department's new toy," the Captain said sternly

"Oh....yeah, I guess so then. If you think it's that serious...."

"I do, let's get you prep," quickly replied the Captain as he stood up from his seat and opened the door briskly

Noah almost giggled with glee as he watched the two depart the Captain's office and head to the storeroom where the Professor had dropped off the machine. Everything was going according to script so far

"Alright Johnson, you ready?" The Captain picked up the wireless mic, flipping the machine on

"Yes Sir," Grant smiled, giving his somewhat rotund belly a gentle pat goodbye

"Load Profile: Grant Johnson." once more the machine whirred to life, humming softly and awaiting input. "Subject will recall self following this set of commands: Reduce age by 60%, increase muscle mass by 200%....."

The Captain's voice and face then seemed to go a bit slack and he took the microphone and opened the door to exit the room

"Err...everything alright, boss?"

"Yes, wait there, I need to check something,"

Captain Diaz quietly made his way down the hall to the security room, he opened the door where Officer Bartlett sat grinning

"Welcome Cap, I'll take that," he reached out, grabbing the mic and looking back to the video feed of the new, younger, buffer Officer Grant Johnson sitting patiently

"Subject will not recall self following this new set of commands. Change sexuality to homosexual. Increase libido by 300%. Reduce work ethic by 75%. Add behaviors: narcissism, arrogance, exhibitionism, bullying, domineering, perversion, and of course, corruption," Noah watched as the posture and attitude of Officer Johnson shifted. The man in the monitor crudely rubbed his genitals through his uniform pants and impatiently checked his wristwatch before noting the mirrored window in the room and stepping up to flex in front of it

"Perfect, now reduce subject employment standing to rookie, erase all experience of previous service and update it to 3 months," the stripes on Grant's uniform vanished, "Subject will continue flexing in the storeroom until Captain Diaz returns," there was no change in the cocky behavior on the monitor, but Noah knew Grant would stay like that as long as needed now

"Load profile: Carlos Diaz. Subject will believe that Officer Grant Johnson has always been as he is now and has not been changed by the machine. Subject will load in each member of the department's profiles overnight tonight and make the same changes to their recollection as well. Subject will not consciously remember the events of the last hour and will return to scold Officer Johson for being where he shouldn't be, then send him out,"

Captain Diaz silently left the security room and Officer Bartlett returned to his monitor. He watched smiling as the Captain entered the storeroom and clearly yelled something at the now rookie Grant Johnson. Officer Johnson replied by gripping his own groin and flipping the Captain off as he left.

"Now then, tonight should go on as planned,"

Grant drove down the street slowly. It was dark and while he may not have given a shit about what he was doing, he was still a cop. He saw the kid on the corner signal to someone as soon as he showed up. But that was fine, let 'em get their shit out of there, it would be less work on his part.

He parked a couple houses down from the address his tightass Captain had given him for this supposed brothel and slowly approached. From the front it looked like any other kind of shared housing in one of the city's projects

He eyed the door, strangely it was left ajar. He carefully slipped inside, having to squeeze his muscular form through rather tightly so as not to risk moving the door any further

The first floor was dark but as he peered up the stairs, he saw the second level was well lit......if anything's going down, it's up there

He thought he moved quite silently but in reality he was rushing and the house creaked under his weight with each step. When he reached the top, he saw a hallway full of closed doors, save one left half open with light pouring out of it

He crept towards it, growing annoyed at what a waste of time this was turning out to be. He paused by the door when he heard a young man speaking on the phone

"Yeah....yeah he's comin' so I called like you told me to....yeah, you're sure about this?.....Naw naw, I'm good for it.... Alright, alright, then do whatever it is you're gonna do, I'll let you know,"

The young man hung up the phone, Grant furrowed his brow at what he'd heard.....it sounded like something might actually about to go down....Looks like showtime. He stepped forward, kicking the door open and entering the room with his gun drawn

"DON'T MOVE!" yelled Grant with his deep baritone voice with that hint of coarseness from his smoking habit

The room looked like a simple one bedroom unit, hardly the sex den he was expecting. On the bed seated a rather handsome college-aged jock, he had his arms raised and was watching the police officer, but he didn't seem startled. Grant frowned and looked around the room before stepping to the man and patting him down; finding no weapon, he put away his firearm.

"We got a tipoff about prostitutes working out of this address to supply the mob. You know anything about that?"

The young jock paused for a moment looking at Grant just long enough to begin annoying him, before finally answering tentatively

"Of course Officer.....that's what I'm doing here," Grant just stared a moment......did this little twunk just admit to being a whore?

"You're a hooker?"

Sensing Grant's confusion, the young man smiled and nodded. He stood and approached the cop

"Yeah.....Rico said I was your favorite after last time, so it was my job to......cover your protection fee...." the jock's hands were a bit rough but his puppy eyes really caught his attention and radiate this submissiveness Grant cannot resist. He softly stroked Grant's chest and stomach, causing the ripped Officer to moan and shudder in delight

"Oh...oh yeah, now I remember you," Grant's stated with more conviction, his memories betrayed him as it created false imagery of the time he's sitting in the mob-run nightclub with all the male strippers dancing to tease him

The rather handsome hooker simply smiled impishly, his hand caressing lower, which caused Grant to growl in beastly burst of lust, pushing the young man back onto the bed

An hour or so later, Grant called in to Captain Diaz, the tip had been bullshit it seemed. The Captain was pissed but Grant didn't care. Meanwhile, Officer Bartlett popped open a bottle of wine when he received a call from one very convinced and very interested crime boss....

-------

Check out my spin-off from this beloved series originally made by coyote-r

More to come later this week

#male shapeshift #male muscle growth #archive #coyote-r #older to younger #criminal tf #police tf #revenge tf #rent-a-cop series #tech tf

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imnotditzy · 1 month ago

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Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: 😟)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

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mreowsu · 8 days ago

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DRABBLES, ONESHOTS / itoshi sae x fem!reader

part two

Have you ever wondered why and when Sae started wearing his baby bangs up? :)

cw my writing. español conversational monologue is google translated, please correct me for any mistranslations and I apologize in advance. both are 14-15 in this since I speculate the reason started all the way back. hopefully, once the mangaka reveals more of sae's backstory in españa, he isn't far too emo yet at this age.

wc 2.5k

Sae had never been one for vanity. His appearance was something he wore like his jersey—unremarkable in his eyes, but a source of endless fascination for others.

He’d stick to the basics—clean-cut, effortless, and sharp enough without even trying. Though, his fans obsessed over every detail, from the sharpness of his jawline to the way his bangs, short and neat, fell softly over his forehead, framing his teal eyes. To Sae, all of this was incidental—just another part of his preference for simplicity.

It was one of those days, during a rare quiet (courtesy of you) evening at the academy dorms. Dinner had been a casual affair, with nothing much to do afterward, and as you wandered back to your room, the brightest idea struck you: why not pay a visit to—bascially, your only friend—at the other side of the academy housing?

When you were both scouted at the ripe age of 13 to play in Spain, both of you had left behind everything you knew—your families, your home, your language. The sudden plunge into an entirely different environment had been jarring. The culture, the food, the constant buzz of español around you—it was overwhelming. High expectations pressed down on your shoulders, with the academy’s reputation and dreams of a professional career constantly looming.

There was no support system to fall back on. Your parents were thousands of miles away in Japan, unable to offer more than occasional video calls and mailed letters. The club staff and academy members tried, in their own way, to act as mentors and parental figures, but it wasn’t the same. The homesickness, the struggle to adapt, and the pressure to perform all felt crushing. Conversations had been stilted and awkward, especially with the two of you still learning to speak in broken, halting español. But over a year later, you’d found a rhythm. When no one else understood, he did. You both knew what it felt like to miss home, to feel like an outsider, to be surrounded by noise but still feel alone.

As cliche as it sounds, in the end; it was you and, annoyingly, Itoshi Sae against the world.

The male dorms were quieter than you expected, a stillness hanging in the air that made your footsteps feel far louder than they were. You had no business being here, not really, but that never stopped you before. And besides, Itoshi Sae didn’t seem to mind your intrusions. Or so you told yourself.

The sharp knock you gave was met with his voice, calm and cool as ever.

“Come in.”

You opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, the glow of his laptop casting shadows across his face. His bangs shifted with the turn of his head, teal eyes flicking up with an expression that was neither surprised nor annoyed—just Sae. Acknowledging you before returning to whatever analysis or footage he was engrossed in.

“You again.” he said, his voice neutral, almost bored.

“You should be honored, really,” you poised, breezing past his room like it was yours too. “And unfortunately, you’re my only option Sae.” You drawled.

“Lucky me,” he said dryly, though he didn’t tell you to leave. “You know, most people knock and wait for an invitation.”

“You’ve never needed to invite me before,” you said, settling onto the edge of his bed. “Why start now?”

He didn’t argue, but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. For all his complaints, you knew Sae appreciated having you around. You were the only piece of home he had here, just as he was for you.

No matter how much the world outside demanded of you—how high the expectations, how foreign the environment—in moments like this, with him, you could breathe.

Sae's dorm was a plain space that reflected the utilitarian nature of the academy housing, yet much derived of personality compared to yous: sparsely decorated but immaculate, everything in its place. A couple of freshly folded jerseys on the shelf, a framed photo by the bed—nothing excessive, just functional and quietly personal. It was so… Sae.

“Well, you’re early.” He remarked, shutting the laptop and leaning back in his chair, his eyes briefly meeting yours before shifting to the clock on his desk.

“Dude, it’s literally evening, and everyone just finished dinner,” you exasperated, rolling your eyes.

He shrugged, a faint smirk at his lips. “For you, that’s early. You usually show up when you’re about to pass out from boredom.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to be offended, before mirroring his smirk. “Damn right I did.”

“Of course,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You need to lighten up,” you teased, flopping around his bed unceremoniously. “This place feels like a showroom. Do you even live here?”

He rolled his eyes, standing up to retrieve something from his shelf. “It’s a dorm, not a hotel. What do you expect?”

“A little personality wouldn’t hurt,” you quipped, watching as he settled back into his chair.

He glanced at you, expression calm but faintly amused. “If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

You grinned, knowing full well you aren’t going anywhere. “Nah, I think I’ll stay. Someone has to make this place feel alive.”

Sae sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“Right… So, what’s the plan?” You asked, kicking off your shoes and leaning back on your elbows. “Am I supposed to sit here in silence while you work on drills in your head?”

He stood, walking over with that signature calmness of his, and sat criss-cross beside you on the bed. The mattress barely dipped under his weight, as if even gravity couldn’t unbalance him.

“Maybe,” he teased, voice soft but laced with dry humor. “Unless you have a better idea.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone and shoving it toward him. “How about we pick a movie? Something that isn’t Taxi Driver for once.” As much as you loved the movie, it was getting repetitive, and you were starting to feel like you knew every line by heart.

Sae glanced at the phone, then back at you, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “You don’t like it anymore?” he teased, his voice the usual mix of indifference and amusement.

“I love it, but I don’t need to watch it every time I’m over here,” you replied, scrolling through the options. “We’ve literally watched it four times this week.”

“Then pick something better.” He leaned back against the headboard, his posture as controlled as always, like he had no intention of exerting effort in this decision. But you could tell by the way his teal eyes followed your movements that he was paying attention. Typical Sae.

You sighed dramatically. “You know, it’s a lot more fun when you at least pretend to care.”

Sae raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking to the phone before returning your sigh ten times more dramatic, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Fine. But if it’s boring, we’re switching back to drills.”

You picked a new movie, something lighthearted, easy to watch, and settled back against the pillows, feeling oddly content.

The lights were killed, and the room slipped into a cozy darkness, save for the faint glow of the screen. Everything was ready to go and the movie started. But as it played on, your attention drifted back to Sae, completely absorbed in the film. His burgundy hair fell slightly over his eyes, distracting you for a moment. Without thinking, you reached over and brushed it back into place, the soft strands slipping through your fingers.

Sae’s eyes flickered incredulously toward you, but made no move to pull away.

He was uncharacteristically still as you perched beside him, fingers idly trailing through the silky strands of his hair. Your eyes flickered to his back and shoulders, noticing his now stiff posture. Though he didn’t speak, you could feel the subtle tension in his frame.

You murmured to appease him, “Sae, hold still.” The soft brush of your fingers through his hair seemed to ease the tension, so you continued with slow, deliberate strokes. When you brushed his bangs back, his eyes became the centerpiece of his face—sharp, vivid teals. They were like swirling oceans caught in the throes of a storm, deep and endless, with flecks of light dancing like sunlight on restless waves.

There was an intensity there, the kind that made you feel as though he could see right through you, peeling back every layer with a single glance. But beyond the sharpness, there was something softer hidden in their depths— like the stillness just before dawn.

Without the curtain of his bangs to soften the edges, his gaze became piercing, almost dangerous, like shards of sea glass—beautiful, but with a sharpness that could cut if you weren’t careful.

It was impossible to look away, not when his eyes held that kind of quiet power, commanding attention without a single word.

But then, Sae blinked.

He looked up at you with a slight frown.

"What are you doing?”

You felt the trance slip away, leaving you almost disappointed at how quickly reality snapped back into place.

You blinked back at him, brushing your hands off like you hadn’t just been lost in his eyes for longer than you cared to admit. “Nothing,” you replied innocently, tucking a few strands back into place and brushing his bangs, so they no longer fell over his forehead. “Your hair was in your face.”

“It wasn’t bothering me.” He said, though he didn’t pull away or stop you.

“Yeah, but it was bothering me.” You shot back, smoothing the strands until they stayed where you wanted them. His hair was surprisingly easy to manage, soft and silky under your touch. You backed up to admire your work.

His hair stood upright now, his whole face on display—sharp lines, ahem piercing eyes, the kind of look that stopped hearts if you weren’t careful. Gulp. “You look good like this. Cooler, maybe.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his attention seemingly back on the screen, but the slight tilt of his head toward your hand betrayed him. He wasn’t just tolerating it—he didn’t mind.

He scoffed, “You’re ruining it.” He finally uttered, voice flat. Though he didn’t make a move to fix it.

“Ruining what? You barely even care about how it looks.” You teased, letting your fingers drift through his hair one last time before settling back against the headboard.

His lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite. “Maybe. But now you have to watch the movie. No more distractions.”

“Fine, fine.” You smiled, turning your attention back to the screen. Yet something about the quiet approval in your gaze stayed with him.

From then on, Sae started keeping his bangs up.

It was a subtle yet significant change that didn’t go unnoticed. His fans speculated endlessly about the reason behind the new style—some attributing it to his growing maturity, others to a shift in his on-field persona. But smugly, only Itoshi Sae knew the truth.

* * *

The stadium roared with life as the final whistle blew, signaling another victory for the Re Al youth team. Sae, as always, was the picture of composure. His hair, damp with sweat, stayed stubbornly defying gravity in its upright style, the way he’d styled it before the game.

You watched from the stands, pride swelling in your chest amidst the thrumming energy of the crowd. Unlike your usual matches with the female Re Al youth team, tonight was all about the boys. Your district didn’t have a match, so you’d ended up in the crowd, cheering for a game you didn’t have to play in.

Sae’s teal eyes scanned the rows until they found yours. He didn’t need to smile or wave—just the faintest nod in your direction. It was so like him, subtle and understated, but somehow, and alarmingly, made your heart flutter all the same.

As the team took their victory lap around the field, Sae broke away, making a bee-line toward you. The crowd stirred, curious eyes following his every steps.

When he reached you, there was no hesitation. You leaned over the railing, your fingers instinctively brushing through his sweaty hair. His bangs, stiff from hairspray, you assume, and effort, softened under your touch, falling slightly out of place.

For a second, everything stilled. The roaring crowd, the flashing cameras—it all melted into a backdrop as Sae stood there, letting you fix him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The stadium fell into a stunned silence before the spell broke, erupting into cheers and whistles.

One of his teammates, whose name you didn't really care enough to remember, shouted from the field. "¡Oye, Sae! ¡No sabía que tenías un peluquero de guardia!" Oi, Sae! Didn’t know you had a hairdresser on call!

Hollering followed, and Sae shot them a quick, unimpressed glare. He turned back to you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks, leaning just a little closer. “You’ve made quite th scene,” he said, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled, your fingers still lingering in his hair. “Can’t help it. You looked like you needed it.”

For the first time that night, Sae let out the faintest chuckle—a soft, almost invisible sound that felt like a treasure meant just for you.

When he walked back to his team, his bangs slightly tousled from your touch, the teasing began almost immediately.

“No sabía que nuestro Sae-chan podía verse tan humano.” Didn’t know our Sae-chan could look so human. They teased, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“O tan mandilón.” Or so whipped.

“Ni siquiera puedo imaginar que pueda sonreír así.” Can't even fathom he could smile like that.

“¿Es esto lo que el amor le hace a un chico?” Is this what love does to a guy? One of them added with a dramatic shake of his head, sending the group into another fit of laughter.

Sae ignored them, of course. But as he glanced back at you one last time, there was something different in his expression—something warm and quiet, a look reserved, meant only for you.

Meanwhile, the crowd’s whistles and playful jeers had you feeling just as flustered. Your cheeks burned, and you could tell by the way Sae’s ears tinted pink that he wasn’t immune to it either.

It was a simple thing, really. A touch, a moment, a look. Nothing too out of the ordinary for the two of you. After all, you were just friends. But amidst the crowd’s cheering, the teasing of his teammates, in the way Sae’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, and in the way your heart raced, it felt like there was more to it.

And then the whispers started.

Backstage chatter, curious glances, and the media’s ever-watchful eye. They’d always known you and Sae were quite close, two prodigies from Japan.. childhood friends, even. But now... now, it seemed the world was starting to wonder if there was more to your bond than just friendship. Perhaps it was.. puppy love? Was there something more to the way you interacted? The teasing? The hair stunt you pulled? Was it all casual?

For now, that was all it was. Just speculation. But for Sae, maybe that small, fleeting interaction was everything.

Maybe.

And maybe that’s why, no matter how many times his teammates teased or fans speculated, Sae never explained why his bangs were always styled up.

* * *

sorry that i didn't write the way i usually do—in a poetic sense, anyway. This was just pure unfettered bluelock brainrot and the last epiodde from s2 had me going haywire i swear the animators were in the flow ong 😭🙏

#mreowriting #canon character x reader #blue lock #blue lock manga #reader insert #blue lock season 2 #blue lock x reader #blue lock anime #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #itoshi sae fluff

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sixosix · 8 months ago

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notes wc 500; just came back from watching the battle of the garbage dump movie and i was so moved that i wrote this in one sitting… literally thats it. which means there will be spoilers!!!!! of who wins lol

You weren’t sure where you exactly stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life.

Friend? Classmate? Acquaintance? None seemed right, yet everything else was too much to describe your relationship with him. You’d been with him when he took a sudden interest in volleyball, starry-eyed by the scarce footage he could secure of the Little Giant. You’d been with him as he couldn’t even bounce back a ball for the life of him, awkwardly toppling to the side from his red arms. You’d been there to tally scores of his matches with Koji and Izumi, cheering him on even when his knees buckled from exhaustion. You had been there, you had been there—what would the point be in stopping after all of that?

“You’re my best friend,” Hinata said one day. It was years ago, back when you stayed behind to help him practice, and he grinned so widely that you couldn’t help but mirror it. But that was long ago—your relationship has changed.

Best friend. That felt much better, but it still wasn’t enough.

Hinata Shoyo was the force in your life that you wish wouldn’t ever stop terrifying you.

As the teams and the crowd dispersed, you watched Hinata stand in the center of the court, panting and dazed, his brain lagging behind. He looked stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what the scoreboard displayed. They won. Hinata’s team won.

“Oi,” Kageyama grunted, shoving his shoulder, then gestured vaguely. “Don’t keep people waiting, dumbass. The match is over.”

He stumbled backward, whipped his head around, and brightened when he caught your gaze.

“Shoyo!” You threw your arms out, a laugh blown out of you as he tackled you square on the chest. “Shoyo, Shoyo—”

He exclaimed your name in the same cadence, smile so unbelievably wide that his eyes were screwed shut. “You came! Auntie told me you wouldn’t be able to make it!”

“This is important to you. Of course I’d come,” you said, affronted that he would even believe otherwise. “I always do.”

“Yeah?” he whispered.

His chest heaved heavily, sweat trickling down his neck, and his eyes were still aflame as if the adrenaline still spiked high, but you had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze flicking between his eyes. His silent and intense gaze made you feel that flutter in your chest that you definitely didn’t want to feel towards your best friend. “Hey, is that Kuroo-san? Should I get his autograph?”

Hinata scrunched his nose at your pathetic attempt at diverting his attention. “What? Why?”

“Bokuto-san’s here, too. Do you think they’d let me?”

Hinata wavered for a moment, casting a glance at his master. “Bokuto-san’s awesome, but I should still be your #1, alright? You came for me.”

You nearly laughed. He was waving a finger in front of your face like he was scolding you, and he looked so serious, too.

“Of course, Shoyo.”

He nodded, pleased and grinning. Then he took you by the hand and zipped through the crowd toward a cheering Bokuto and a solemn Akaashi. Your gaze cut to where your hands were intertwined. Even after a victory, he was indulging in your dumb excuses, grinning at you from time to time, and let you witness this supernova of a man.

The fact that it was your hand he held first after one of the most important matches in his life made you understand where you stood in Hinata Shoyo’s life. You were special to him just as much as he was to you.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hinata shouyou x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu fluff

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mooooonnnzz · 4 months ago

Note

HIIII I THINK REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN! in that case can I have something about celebrating your birthday with the pines and co :3 LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! It inspired me to start writing my own gf things, thank you!

Mable's Surprise Birthday Special

Platonic! Pines Family x Reader

★ BIRTHDAYYY!! FANFICC!!

★ its funny cuz u requested like a day after my bday and then a day before the twins bday like what a perfect timing!!

★ tw: fiddleauthor im kidding i love them sm i had to put fiddleford here

★ 4,5k words

★ gn!reader

★ a silly cute fic!!! i hc soos is a really good baker

★ req r still open!

“Welcome to Mable’s Birthday Special!” Mable noisily raved directly into the camera that she set up on a stand. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Mable, it isn’t your birthday! And you’re correct on that. But it’s a special someone's birthday!” She plopped herself on her pink chair, pulling out a large colorful book from below and slamming it on the table. Clouds of glitter powdered the air, a fit of coughs spewing out of her mouth. “Agh, glitter attack!” She croaked out, swatting away the sparkling glitter with her hand.

Now covered in rainbow glitter, she broadly smiled at the camera. “Now, what was I saying?” She pondered out loud, tapping her chin as she looked up. “Oh!” She jumped up, looking back down at the book that was labeled ‘[Name]’s Birthday Ideas’.

“My siblings birthday is today!” She opened the book, flipping through an assortment of pages before stopping and striking her hand down on a certain page. “Believe or not, this is all the data I collected on [Name] so I can properly throw a birthday party extravaganza!” She leaned forward, passion flowing out of her. “And today, we are going to throw the best party ever.”

The footage unexpectedly cuts to another shot where she, Dipper and Wendy were decorating the living room and kitchen. “Hello, my fellow Mabelins!” She feverishly waves at the camera. “We are in the living room!” Dipper peeks his head into frame, his eyebrows furrowing. “Mabelins?” He repeats slowly. “Yeah! Mabelines. That’s what I call my fans.” She motions to the camera. “Mable, no one is going to see this.” Dipper blankly said, rearranging the party streamers in his hand so they wouldn’t get tangled. “Dude, don’t say that. That’ll totally ruin her spark!” Wendy tittered, taping individual letters one by one on the wall.

“But it’s true. Who’s actually going to sit down and watch Mabel’s videos?” Dipper remarked, taking a measured step up on the chair then onto the table. “[Name] is definitely gonna see this after the party.” Mable leaned in closer to the camera, whispering: “Brothers, am I right?”

Grabbing the camera, she aimed it at Dipper who was jumping up from the table, trying to stick up the party streamers on the ceiling. Zooming in on him, she spoke in an Australian accent. “And now, we have an orangutan in his natural habitat.”

Dipper grumbled, stomping his foot down on the wobbly table. “Mab–Ahp!” Dipper fell, taking the table along with him. Mable howled out in laughter, running towards him and capturing him twitching painfully on the floor. “Woah, dude. Are you okay?” Wendy got on one of her knees, helping up Dipper from the ground. Dipper quietly fussed under his breath, sending a deadly glare to Mable who wasn’t even paying attention, too wrapped up in her laughing frenzy.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks, Wendy.” He dusts himself, picking up the discarded party streamers from the floor. “I’ll hang these up for you, dude. Don’t worry.” She takes the streamers from Dipper’s hand, much against his protests. “I can do them, Wendy. It’s okay!” He watched enviously as Wendy grabbed a chair and stood on it, taping the streamers randomly around the ceiling. “There!” She hops off the chair, putting her hands on her hips and admiring her work. “Now Dipper won’t have to be sent to the hospital on [Name]’s birthday.”

Dipper sighed out, grabbing a bowl of confetti and sprinkling it all over the floor to make a confetti runway. “Thanks so much, Wendy.” A glum look fell on his face and Mable couldn’t help herself and zoom in on his face. “Poor Dip. Too short for his own good.” Bringing her hand in front of the camera, she waves at it. “I’ll see you in the next part!”

The footage cuts off to Ford in his red turtle sweater and black jeans, an apron that says ‘Kiss the Chef’ adorning his waist. She aims the camera up at his face. “Say, Grunkle Ford. What are we making today?”

Uneasily smiling at the camera, he hurriedly stirred the batter. Some splattered out of the bowl and landed on the counter. “We are making a cake!” He tried to sound chipper but he couldn’t hide the distressed look on his face. Oblivious to his stress, she backs up, showing the messy countertop. Batter dripped from the counter and onto the floor where a little goopy pile had been ever so slowly festering. And upon further inspection, Ford had clumps of batter and flour stuck to hair. The white powder was dusted in streaks on his face and clothes.

“And who’s we?” She spun around for dramatic effect, making her own drumming effects. “Pumpkin, what are you doin’?” Stan walks in, walking past the spinning Mabel and peering his eyes over to the cooking cake in the oven. She stops nowhere near Stan and has to turn back around to show Stan in the frame. “This is my Grunkle Stan! Twin brother of my Grunkle Ford–,” She zooms in on their faces. “--If you couldn’t tell!”

“Ford, the cake isn’t risin’.” He grabs a mitten and opens the oven. A blast of black smoke wafted into his face. “What?” Ford drops the bowl onto the messy counter, walking over to Stan who was coughing like a maniac while waving the mitten around to disperse the cloud of smoke. “How is it not rising? We added baking powder into the cake, didn’t we?” He snatches the mitten from Stan and slips it on. Grabbing the steaming pan, he placed it on the counter. “Is it supposed to be that color?” Stan grimaces at the muddied charcoal black cake. “How is the consistency still the same an hour later!” Ford scooped the slimy goo and watched it grossly plop back down on the pan. “Who’s taste testing the cake?” Mable curiously asked. Ford and Stan looked at each other before sticking their hand out, yelling, “Not it!”

The clip cuts to Ford and Stan violently spewing out the cake into the sink or trash can. “What are we doing wrong!” Stan forced out through gags. “I don’t know!” Ford heaves out into the sink. “What’s goin’ on?” Fiddleford saunters into the chaotic kitchen with Soos following behind him. “Hey, dudes!” He waves at Ford and Stan who are still coughing into the sink and trash can. “Hey, Grunkle Fiddleford! Hey, Soos!” Mable turned the camera over to the newcomers.

Fiddleford stepped into the kitchen, careful with where he put his feet down and went over to Ford’s side. He put his hand on Ford’s back and moved his hand up and down in a comforting manner. “Darlin’, what in the hell happened here?”

“Me and Stan tried making cake.” The mention of cake has Ford’s stomach churning once again. “Oh, yikes.” He breathes out, teeth bared. “Hun, why don’t ya sit down with Stan? Me and Soos can handle this, right Soos?” Soos’s head perks up at hearing his name. “Yeah! We can make a pizza cake out of real pizza with like, ten layers!” Stan cringes. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Stan sweetly smiles at Fiddleford. “Thank you, my love.” Fiddleford matches his smile, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Ewww!!” Mable shields the camera with the palm of her hand. “Cover yer eyes, Mable!” Fiddleford laughs. “You don’t have to ask me twice!”

Another clip plays and it's Mable marveling at a beautifully made and decorated tall 8 layered cake. “Now this is how you make a cake!” She dips her finger towards the cake to snag a bit of frosting when she was scooped up by Stan. “No, you don’t!” He moves her away from the cake, placing her back down on the floor. “I feel like out of all the people here, I thought you’d be so strict on not letting anyone touch or eat cake.”

“I just grow weak in the knees when I see a cake as beautiful as that one.” Mable stared at it starry eyed. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” His hand flop around the camera as he attempts to find the turn off button. “Okay, so how can I turn this o–”

The next clip is Soos delightfully munching on cake with Mable beside him. “We just couldn’t resist!” Mable says with her mouth full of cake. “I just wanted some cake, dude!”

Footsteps approach the kitchen and both Mable and Soos look at each other with fear stricken on their faces. Jumping off the chair, she grabs her plate of cake and shoves it into her sweater. Soos shoves the whole piece into his mouth, smearing the frosting and cake crumbs all over his mouth.

“Grunkle Ford, have you seen my–” Dipper stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide at the marvelous cake. “Is this the cake I heard Grunkle Fiddleford talk about?” He whispers, his eyes looking over to Mable and Soos who were rigid statues.

“This thing?” Mable jabs a thumb in its general direction. “I have no idea what this is!” She nervously laughs out, pieces of crumbled cake sludge out of her sweater and plops down on the floor. “Righhhtt…” Dipper takes a step back. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He sends a cautionary glance at Soos and Mable before walking out. “Phew!” Soos wipes his forehead with his forearm. “That was close, wasn’t it?”

“Super close.” She grabs on a piece of cake that was in her sweater and munches on it. She offers one out to Soos who happily takes it and shovels it into his mouth.

The clip choppily jumps to the entrance door to the gift shop. “Stan went out to grab [Name] cause we kinda left them alone in the mall. Sorry not sorry [Name]! But he’s getting them over here, so any minute they’re going to come in here!” Mable whispers to the camera. She’s hiding behind a can of monster eyes, the camera very obviously on top of the canisters. “Dipper is hiding in a box full of plastic peanuts. Soos is behind the counter with Wendy, they have party poppers in their hands. Fiddleford and Ford are in the living room. They’re act two.” She brought up two fingers and wiggled them.

Distance voices could be heard coming from outside the shack. “They’re here, they’re here!” She loudly whispers.

“Who’s idea was it to leave me in the mall?” Mable you ask. She snickered quietly and pointed at herself, the culprit of the idea. “We didn’t leave you at the mall? We were there with you.” Stan terribly lied and you saw right through it. “Grunkle Stan, I don’t know why you lie so much.”

The knob of the door jostles a bit, altering everyone that they were here before it opened. “Why is it so dark–”

“Surprise!” Popping noises came from Soos and Wendy and clumped up colorful strings fell on top of your head. Dipper tripped out of the box full of peanuts, running over to give you a self-Mable made birthday sash. “Oh!” You grab the sash, slinging it around you with a chuckle. “What is all of this?”

“Happy birthday!” Mable popped out from behind the cans, camera in hand. “Say hello to the camera [Name]!” You gave a shy wave. “Was this the reason why I was left behind at the mall?” You remove the colorful strings off your hair and throw it at Stan who sputters in surprise. “Yeah! And there’s one last surprise.”

“Happy Birthday!” Ford and Fiddleford jump out of the living room doorway into the gift shop, blowing a party horn into your face.

“OH MY–”

The frame freezes on you midway screaming for a second before it switches to a whole new piece of footage where Ford is covering your eyes, blindly leading you into the kitchen where your eaten cake resides. “Okay, ready?” Ford looks at you, a huge excited smile playing at his lips. “No, not really.”

Ford ignores you and peels back his hands and bestows you the beautiful sight of your unnaturally tall wobbling cake. “That’s a really tall cake.” You watch it dangerously wobble to the side. “Is the cake supposed to be wobbling?” You ask, looking around to see everyone’s mortified faces and two stray guilt stricken expressions. “What? That’s ain’t supposed to be happenin’…”

Fiddleford approaches the cake and oggles it, his eyes landing on a certain spot on the backside of the cake, a wave of fury flashes on his face before he calms himself down and very sweetly smiles at the little crowd gathered in the kitchen.

The camera catches Mable’s nervous gulp.

“Who was takin’ big chomps of the cake me and Soos made?” His voice betrayed his sweet smile with how snappy he sounded.

“Wasn’t me. I was with Dipper decorating.” Wendy coolly said. “Y-Yeah! We were.” Dipper solidifies his alibi, eyes locking with Mable’s anxious ones. “You can’t point any fingers at me! I was real busy gettin’ [Name] back from the mall.” Stan lifted his hands up defensively. “Again, out of all the options, why mall?” You grumbled under your breath.

“I was with you the whole time, Fidds.” Fiddleford smiled at Ford, his voice sickeningly sweet when he spoke to Ford. “I know, hun.” Then he changes back to finding the culprits who ate his cake. “He’s really serious about that cake we ate.” Soos spoke into Mabel’s ear loudly. Fiddleford’s gaze locked down onto Mable and Soos.

“Mable, sweetheart. Could ya quit recordin’ just for a quick second.”

The footage cuts to a somber Mabel sitting in a cold desolate corner with Soos on the other end. “I got put in the naughty corner! What is this joke!” Mable threw her hands up in the air dramatically, having them flop down to her sides with a loud melodramatic sigh.

“It’s only just for a bit, pumpkin! After we set up the table you’ll be back here! Same goes for you, Soos!” Stan’s gruff spoke from the kitchen.

“Okay, thanks Mr. Pines!”

“Ugh, we shouldn’t have ever eaten that cake.” Mable dragged a heavy hand down her face, pulling at it. Soos’s stomach roared in hunger. A laugh leaves Soos, his attention turning to Mable. “Do you still have some of that cake in your sweater? I’m kinda hungry.”

“I think so? Let me check.” She digs her hand into her shirt and pulls out a clump of cake that had strands of hair and sweater fuzz on it. “Our last one.” Mable whispered dejectedly.

“Mable, do you have your camera?” Ford peeks his head out of the kitchen to see Mable handing a mysterious ball to Soos, the camera in front of her. “You’re not supposed to have this, missy.”

“I know.” She frowns deeply when Ford snatches up her pink glitter camera. Ford fumbles with it a bit, the last shot before the scene switched was Soos taking a hearty bite of the ball of cake.

“Is this thing working?” Stan’s voice spoke from behind the camera. “Yeah, it’s working.” Wendy confirmed, tapping at the blaring red light to signal its recording. “Today is [Name]’s birthday! Right, sweetie?” He accidentally shoves the camera right at your face.

“Woah, okay!” You giggled, carefully pushing Stan away from you. “It is my birthday. I think you all are more excited about it than me.”

Wendy walks over to you with a party hat in hand. “It's like you’re asking for us to forget it.” She hands you the hat. “If any of you ever forget my birthday, you will not hear the end of it!” You glared at everyone, pointing at them in a smooth motion with your party hat.

“They’re not kidding, guys.” Dipper’s eyes have a distant traumatized look to them. “I have seen it firsthand.” Stan added, flipping the camera to his traumatized face before flipping it back onto you.

You snap the party hat on you with a smile. “I feel stupid being the only one with a party hat.” You walk over to the box full of party hats and grab an armful of party hats. “Tune in and find out if I’m able to put party hats on everyone!” You make a swooshing noise as your hand descends on the camera, palm covering the lens.

“Stan, that’s when you stop record—“

The next set of footage had everyone, even the ones who were grounded for a short while, all huddled up in a group, party hats on. “I got them to all wear party hats!” You cheered, picking up Waddle’s who innocently trudged into the kitchen. “Even Waddles has one.” You cooed at the pig before putting him back down on the floor. “Okay, everyone disperse! Time to start singin’ happy birthday.” Fiddleford announced.

Everyone surrounds the decorated table with the wobbling cake. Each shove and push to the table had Fiddleford sucking a nervous breath in.

“Okay, ready?” Ford held up three fingers and started counting down by three.

The whole room erupted into singing the second all of Ford's fingers were down. “Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday to [Name]! Happy birthday to youuuu!”

“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Mable thrummed her hand against the table. The cake shook and trembled and everyone watched with bated breath.

The cake stills and everyone lets out a sigh of relief. “Welp, wasn’t that close? Am I right?” Stan laughs, slapping his hand on the table. “Stanley!”

The cake plunges down, splattering everyone with its frosting and filling. Silence filled the room.

Waddles squeaks happily at the delicious treat, feasting on the piece of cake on the floor. You lick around your lips, grabbing a taste of the cake. “Mmm! This is good. Fiddleford, Soos, you guys really did a good job on making the cake!”

“Thanks [Name]!” Soos is wolfing down a piece of his own cake that had showered all over him. “Glad ya like it, sweetheart..” Fiddleford sighed out, plopping his head on Ford’s shoulder.

“My camera!” Mable cried out, darting over to her camera that was weighing down from heavy frosting. She fortunately caught it in her hand, wiping off the icing with the sleeve of her sweater and accidently turning off the camera.

The footage clips to the last video Mable took of the day. You were sitting down on a chair, a table full of gift bags and hand wrapped objects filled the table. “We are now opening presents!” Mable exclaimed, chucking a fist full of glitter in the air. “Ah, my eye!” Stan screeched out, sprinting into the kitchen to run water over his eye, bumping into the camera in the process. “Grunkle Stan! Be careful.” Mable held the camera stand, keeping it still. After a few minutes of hearing running water, Stan walks out with an irritated eye. “Open, open!” Mable chanted.

You pluck a gift from the table, flipping it on its back to read the name sharpied on it. “Okay, the first gift is from…” You squinted, reading it out. “Grunkle Ford!” You show the mysterious gift to everyone. Curious questions left their mouths as you opened the book shape gift. Shedding the last piece of gift wrapper, you saw what you had gotten. “A book on quantum physics?” You let out a pensive ‘hm’.

“You could never go wrong with math!” He proclaimed, sticking out a finger into the air. You awkwardly laugh. “Yeah, thanks Grunkle Ford.” You look under the table to see Waddle’s resting on his belly. “Here, Waddles. I got a new toy for you.” You whisper, waving the book in front of his face. He brings his snout to the book, sniffing it before letting out a snort. He grabs the book with his mouth and places it down on the floor, he pads around it for a minute and flops down on the book, snuggling into it.

“Next gift!” You pop your head out from under the table and grab the next gift by its handles. You stuck your hand inside and latched onto something. Pulling it out, you came face to face with a Mystery Shack coupon. You didn’t even need to guess who this was from. “Really Grunkle Stan?”

“Oh, shut it. There’s one more thing left in there!”

You place the card on the table and dig your hand back into the bag. You grabbed onto a bottle and took your hand out, your eyes widening at the wine bottle. “Um?” You warily look at Stan whose jaw is dropped on the floor. “Who put that there?” Stan marched over to you and took the bottle of wine from your hand. A few quiet snickers came from Dipper and Mable. “That’s my bottle. You get your own.”

“Uhm?” You look back down in the gift bag and flip it upside down. A wad of neatly folded cash plopped down on your lap. Your eyes brighten and you look over to Stan who’s smiling proudly to himself. “Is this real cash?” You grab the cash from your lap and inspect the dollar bills. “How in the world would I ever give ya fake money? Put some more faith in your Grunkle!”

You gleefully put the cash back into the side and place it beside you. “Up next is…” You grab a hold of a large square wrapped in Christmas wrapping. The name Soos was elegantly written on the wrapping paper. “Soos!”

“Yes!” Soos pumps his fist in the air. “You are going to love it, dude!”

Peeling off the wrapping paper revealed the gift to be your favorite music artist vinyl. “Soos! These are expensive, how did you get this?”

Soos glanced over to Stan and looked back at you. “I have my ways!” He smiled.

You put the vinyl in your bag with the cash and moved to the next present. Fiddleford’s gift was next and he had given you a beautiful heartfelt note accompanied with a photo of you, Fiddleford and Ford. You thought that was it when he told you to shake the envelope with a wink. A few couple hundred bucks fell out that had you gasping for air.

“There’s no way you just copied me, Fidds.” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at him. “We just had the same idea, Stanley.”

“Grunkles, Grunkles! Please, no fighting.” Mable stood in between them, her hands flat against their stomachs. “My gift is next and [Name] needs their full attention on it!”

Mable’s gift was a conflicting mess. You couldn’t decide if it was cute or oddly weird. She had given you a scrapbook, innocent at first, but opening the book showed that she had been harvesting everyone’s hair and gluing them in the book, crudely making a heart full of hair with your name spelt in cursive on the inside. The pages following had copious amounts of glitter, stickers and the strong scent of glue, but they were pretty normal enough, sharing memories of you, her and Dipper in some pages and then others had the family all together. Then there was a page that had you sit back and question your sister's mental wellbeing. She had a whole page dedicated to candid photos she had snapped of you while you weren’t looking.

She had a photo of you sleeping, brushing your teeth, talking to Stan, playing ddnmd with Ford and Dipper, etc. And to make it a little more weirder, she had made everyone write little comments of what was their favorite thing in the picture. At least what everyone wrote was normal…

“Mable, thank you very—“

“—Go to the last page!”

You flip to the last page that was blank. A puzzled look formed on your face and you opened your mouth to ask Mable what was this when you were pelted with a wave of confetti, glitter and sprinkles. A drawing of everyone holding hands launched out of the book and harmoniously started singing happy birthday. Mable started singing along, busting down her own moves, satisfied with the gift she gave you.

You were coughing up glitter and confetti for the next few minutes. Stan came up behind you to pluck the stray sprinkles that got caught in your hair. Waddles made the gracious effort to clean the floor by eating the sprinkles and a bit of the confetti.

Dipper’s gift was more sentimental. In a rainbow colored envelope, made by yours truly Mable, was a letter that Mable and him collaborated on and wrote together such a nice letter that you doubted if your younger siblings really had made this themselves. With teary eyes, you opened your arms wide and they didn’t waste a moment to run up to you and jump in your arms.

“That really sweet, thank you guys.”

You held them in your arms for a minute or two before they let you go and went back to their spot.

Wendy’s gift was a nice way to top everything off. Seems like she had roped everyone in it and made this whole poster board full of their favorite moments that you had shared with everyone. Branching from embarrassing ones that some were unfortunately captured by Mabel’s trusty camera to unforgettable beautiful memories.

“Who came up with this idea?” You ask with a laugh, looking at a pinned photo where you were mid horrified face when Stan was cannonballing into the pool. He was halfway in, water already sprouting out and ready to splash you and drown Dipper and Mabel.

“It was a mix of Grunkle Ford and Mable. They’re surprisingly creative when put together.” Wendy said, jerking a thumb over to Mable high sixing Ford. “You guys really went all out for this, didn’t you?” You smile softly. A mix of playful scoffs and ‘of course!’ filled the room. “Who wouldn’t want to go all out for you?” Stan wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you in a side hug. “I think we might need to drill that into yer head. Yer jus’ full of sugar, who wouldn’t want to give ya such an amazin’ birthday?” Fiddleford affectionately ruffled your hair.

Ford hugged your other side, slipping a note in your hand. “Is this another sappy note that’s going to make me cry?” Ford chuckles, nodding. “Group hug without us? What is Mable going to say?” Wendy joked. “She’s probably going to kill them.” Dipper laughed. “Who’s killing wh–” She turns around and gasps loudly. “Group hug!” She grabs Soos’s hand and practically hurls herself into the hug. “Dipper, Wendy. Get in here!” They join in on the hug.

“Happy Birthday [Name].” Dipper tried his best to at least give you a slight hug but everyone was so jumbled up together, all he could do was pat his head against your upper stomach. Everyone else joined in and told you happy birthday. Snuggling further into the hug, you smiled. “Thank you guys.”

A warning beep rings in the air. “What is that?” Soos asks. Another final warning beep. “Oh my god! My camera!” Mable shuffles out of the hug and darts over to her camera. The frame freezes on Mable reaching out for her camera with everyone staring at the cameras with wide owl eyes.

Pink glitter mixed in with blue plain text faded into the screen saying ‘Happy Birthday to the best sibling in the world!’ and the video ends.

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

dm or comment if you want to be added/removed!!

i also posted my first fic on ao3!! it's a fiddleauthor drabble cuz i just love them sm. so if anyone wants to check it out the title of it is Amore Mio Aiutami (Main Theme) n my username barbatoz!! :p i'll only post fiddleauthor and billford over there :3

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