#like make decisions that drive the company into the ground | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st4rfckerz · 2 months ago

Text

October 3rd - Spanking

I’m Yours (dbf!james)

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mdni 18+, spanking, James is kinda mean

James had just finished a long day of work, his hands slightly stained with grease and his body aching from bending over engines all day. He stepped out of his old worn out car, a faint cloud of exhaust following him. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the nicotine giving him the much-needed boost to his system.

He decided to drive over to your house to enjoy a cold beer and some company with your father, his best friend. He parked his car in front of your house, the engine of his old, rusty Chevy rumbling to a stop. He climbed out, his tall frame looming over the car, and took one last drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing brightly before he flicked it to the ground, stomping it out with the toe of his worn-out work boot.

As he approached the door, his eyes scanned the surroundings. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over everything. The neighborhood was quiet, with only the occasional bark of a dog or the hum of a distant car to break the silence. He could already hear the faint sound of a football game on the TV, a familiar and comforting sound to him. He knocked on the door, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The door creaked open, revealing you standing there, a surprise to James, who had been expecting to see your father. James's smile widened, and his eyes raked over your body, taking in the outfit you had chosen to wear.

“Well, if it ain't the princess herself," he said, amusement lacing his voice. “Is your dad not home, or did he send you out to fetch his beer?”

You rolled your eyes, not falling for his joke, and replied, “Nope, he had a feeling you'd come over, so he went to get more beers.” You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head to one side in mock suspicion. “You always make him run out of beer, you know that, right?”

James chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. “I don't believe that for a second.” he said, walking past you into the living room. “Your old man's just a lightweight. Always has been.” He dropped down onto the worn-out couch, making it creak under his weight, and leaned back, stretching his arms out along the back of the sofa.

You sat down next to him on the couch, your body close enough to feel the heat radiating from his. “Well, we have some time before he gets back,” James remarked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Without warning, he leaned in, his lips parting as he prepared to capture yours in a kiss. You tensed, unsure of how to react, but you managed to place a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“No, James I can’t.” you shake your head. “I’m going to a friend's house later.” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and a hint of something darker.

James's eyes widened, and he sat up a little straighter, genuinely surprised. “A friend’s house?” he asked, his gaze raking over you once more. “Who is this friend?”

“He’s just a friend. You don’t know him.” you explain.

James snorted, unconvinced. “Right,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what are you going to be doing with this friend?” You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Nothing, James. I'm just going to hang out with him, like I do with all my friends.”

James's eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer to you, his voice taking on a stern, almost fatherly tone. “You're falling for a trap,” he said, his jaw set in a firm line. “I've been around the block a few times, and I know what I'm talking about. You're too young and dumb to be messing around with boys like that.”

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but firm. “I know what's best for you, sweetheart. And it's not some kid trying to get into your pants.”

You pulled away from him, indignant at his claim. “No,” you said firmly. “I can make my own decisions, James. You can't tell me what to do.”

James's eyebrows furrowed, and he sat up straight, his hand dropping from your hair. "What did you just say to me?" he demanded, his voice rising in volume. You hesitated, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You hadn't expected him to react so strongly.

“Come here,” James growled, his voice harsh and commanding. Without giving you a chance to react, he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you over his lap, your body landing with a thud, your face turning an even deeper shade of red.

“You don't fucking talk to me like that,” he said, his hand moved swiftly, pulling down your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, leaving your ass bare and exposed. He rubbed his hand over one cheek, the roughness of his palm contrasting with the smoothness of your skin.

“You need to learn some respect, you hear me?” he murmured, his voice low and threatening. His hand came down hard, the sound of the slap echoing through the room as he spanked your ass cheek, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

You yelped, your hands automatically flying to cover your reddening ass. But before you could even register the pain, James's hand came down again, this time on the other cheek. The slap was followed by another sharp yelp, your body jerking involuntarily at the sudden, unexpected punishment.

As the spanking continued, you couldn't help but feel a strange, foreign sensation stirring within you. A warmth began to spread between your legs, and your breath hitched in your throat. The pain was intermingled with arousal, a confusing cocktail of emotions that left you feeling both humiliated and excited.

Between the sharp strikes of his hand, James's voice rumbled in your ear, his words thick with authority. “You don't need anyone else. You got me, and I'll always be here for you,”

“Remember how dumb you got on my cock the last time I was over? You're mine, and you'll always come back to me.”

The reminder sent a shiver down your spine, the memory of the last time he had been over flooding your mind. The way he had filled you up, the way he had taken control, and how you had begged for more. It was intoxicating, the power he held over you.

You whimpered, the pain and arousal becoming too much to bear. “Please, stop, James,” you begged, your voice shaking. He pulled you up from his lap, your shorts and underwear still around your ankles. His hand wrapped around your jaw, gripping it firmly.

“You're mine, say it,” he growled, his eyes burning into yours.

“I’m yours James.” you say meekly, your eyes shiny and glossed over. With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a searing, possessive kiss. Your body trembled in response, both from the lingering sting of the spanking and from the heat of his touch.

James’s hand moved down, easily finding your wetness. He smirked, his fingers gliding through your folds, teasing you mercilessly. “Looks like you're enjoying this, aren't you, baby?” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with lust.

Just as he was about to push a finger inside you, the sound of an engine outside caught his attention. He stilled, his eyes widening as he recognized the sound of your father's car.

Quickly, James pulled his hand away from you, helping you to pull up your shorts and underwear. “Get up,” he commanded, his voice firm. “Your dad's home.” You nodded, your cheeks still flushed, and stood up, smoothing out your clothes and pulling up your shorts and underwear.

The front door swung open, and your father walked in, a wide grin on his face. “Anyone hungry?” he called out cheerfully, holding up two boxes of pizza.

He didn't seem to notice the tension in the room, or the fact that you were both still flushed and disheveled. He set the pizzas down on the coffee table and walks into the kitchen to fetch some plates.

As your father turned to walk into the kitchen, James took the opportunity to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “You're lucky.” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and threatening. He released you and followed your father into the kitchen, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself as you listened to the sound of the two men laughing and joking in the other room.

Maybe next time.

#nai writes ୨୧ #kinktober 24 #dbf!james #james kelly smut #james kelly x reader #james kelly #james kelly x you #hayden christensen #st4rfckerz

152 notes · View notes

static-radio-ao3 · 6 months ago

Text

@jegulus-microfic // may 22 // prompt: control // words: 1169

“We should eat soon. Do you have any preference?” James asks as he glances into his rearview mirror.

“No, I'm easy,” Regulus replies. He swipes at his phone again, mindlessly opening the calculator before closing it again. He's been alternating between the calculator and the weather app for the better part of an hour now, nothing else to do on his phone and a deep reluctance to have an actual conversation with James.

He looks up at James when there’s no response. It takes a second for his own words to register and with a sigh he adds, “I meant easy to please.”

Again, the double meaning snatches James’ attention. “I'm just not picky,” Regulus grounds out.

“Yeah,” James scoffs. “I can tell.”

Regulus drops his phone on his lap, turning his head to give James his full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” But evidently it is not nothing, because James waits barely a second before continuing with, “It’s just that you barely waited for the bed to get cold.”

“Excuse me?” Incredulity bleeds into his voice.

“I heard that you went out a lot.”

“With my friends.” Late nights wallowing on the couch were only accepted for so long until they started tugging at him with impatient hands, dragging him out of the house and into this club, then that one.

They told him that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, but Regulus never did take anyone home. Any pair of hands that didn't belong to James made his skin crawl.

“And we all know how your friends feel about you,” James says harshly.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your damage, James?” Regulus twists in his seat, staring holes into James’ side profile. His messy hair and wire-frame glasses. His cheeks are flushed with anger, but Regulus doesn’t think James has anything to be angry about.

“What's my damage?” James asks, eyes flitting over to Regulus. “What are you, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Regulus laughs, short and joyless, before dropping back into his seat. His eyes fall shut as he lets his head thud against the headrest. “And I remember, suddenly, why this didn’t work.”

“Yeah? Was it your incessant need to be in control?”

“No, actually. It was your complete and utter inability to listen.”

“Oh, I think I hear you loud and clear,” James scoffs, and Regulus resists the urge to just crawl out the car window. He’s slight enough, he thinks he could fit. As a matter of fact —

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“You heard me, stop the fucking car.”

“Regulus, you're not walking all the way to Sirius' house. We still have three hours to go.”

“I don't care. Stop. The. Car.”

“What's your damage?”

“My damage is that I'm stuck in a car with you with nowhere else to go!”

It's silent for a beat. Then two.

“Well, I'm sorry you feel that way,” James says eventually, before harshly twisting the dial to turn up the volume.

They drive to the roadside restaurant in silence. Or well, as silent as can be with the music playing loud enough that Regulus can’t hear himself think. Just as well. He wasn’t thinking anything nice.

James makes the executive decision to pass by a drive-through, probably to prevent having to spend more time in each other’s company than strictly necessary. Regulus can’t say that he minds.

No words are exchanged as they eat, but when Regulus reaches for his drink in the cupholder, James speaks again.

“Do you still like vanilla milkshakes?” He inclines his head toward the cup in Regulus’ hand. James always teased him about choosing the most boring flavor, but vanilla is a classic and Regulus stands by it.

Regulus has the urge to make a snide comment, but he swallows it down. Glances over at James, tense in his seat, both hands on the steering wheel. It unnerves Regulus a little, seeing James like this. He is supposed to be loose limbs and easy smiles. Not… this.

“Yeah, do— do you still like those cherries?” Regulus asks, holding out his cup for James in case he wants the maraschino cherry that sits on top of the whipped cream. James plucks it out of the swirl with ease, like they never stopped doing this.

“Do you still go to the diner down the street?”

They used to go often. The 24/7 diner, red and white tiles on the walls, cracked leather in the booths. They spent late nights there, when studying took priority over cooking and everything else was closed. Appearing again on a Saturday morning, soaking up the alcohol that still lingered in their systems. Salty and sweet kisses shared next to the jukebox.

“No, it—” Regulus catches himself before he says something embarrassing like it hasn’t been the same without you. “It’s been a while,” he says instead.

“I see.”

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, black spots swimming in his vision. Then, before he can chicken out, he asks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Does your mom still collect those novelty plates?”

James laughs at that, the sound of it comforting and familiar, and he seems to relax in his seat. Even if just a little.

“She’s actually moved on to novelty shot glasses. My dad had to get rid of five plates he’d bought in advance. I still have them, though. I just know she’ll return to the plate thing soon enough.”

They pass the time like that, dragging up memories and habits, questions flowing between them. Regulus finds that he likes it. He’d missed James’ easy nature, his way of telling stories. He also finds that he is secretly relieved that James hasn’t changed a lot in the time they spent away from each other.

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

Do you still forget to clean your glasses? Do you still keep a picture of you dad in your wallet? Do you still like your coffee the same way? Do you still—

Say yes, say yes.

“I got the internship, by the way,” Regulus says at some point. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but stretching fields of green are slowly giving way to houses again. “The—”

“—one at the publishing house?” James cuts in excitedly. His head whips to the side to look at Regulus, joy evident in the little crinkles around his eyes. “No way!”

Regulus’ heart stalls and stutters. A heavy beat in his chest. Say yes, say yes.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he breathes.

Silence stretches between them and for a moment, Regulus thinks the conversation has died down again. It was nice while it lasted.

But then, so soft like he hoped Regulus might not hear, “I remember everything about you.”

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

“James. Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

Say yes, say yes.

Thankfully, James doesn’t need to be told a third time.

#exes jegulus! brought to you by the fact that i wanted them to say “what’s your damage”#not to be confused with the messy exes jegulus microfics #which is a different universe #sorry for the car setting #it’s the talking on the ride home effect #anyways do you think they got arrested for public indecency?#feeling kinda tempted to write a part two where they mess up the backseat #but we'll have to see if the smut fairy visits me #do you guys remember when i wrote a whole pwp? i can't believe i did that #anyways!! tags!!#regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing

318 notes · View notes

anon-e-miss · 2 months ago

Text

At Waiting's End - 7 Consequences

Camshaft was uneasy. Though Optimus Prime had been an ally in the evacuation, he was still a Prime and Camshaft had seen the degradation Cybertron had suffered under Zeta and Sentinel and he did not trust the Matrix of Leadership’s decision making at all. The mech would need to prove himself because carrying the Matrix was a mark against him and not a boon. It had been a long time since Camshaft had been in Iacon. He had never gained access to the Primal Palace from which the Autobot base had emerged. His handlers had been more concerned with technologies and trade secrets and not the cult of the Prime. One of ten thousand refugees, Camshaft did not go unnoticed, Autobots cast him a long look here and there as he explored the grounds. They left him be, which was exactly what he wanted.

“They’re treating that slut like a hero,” a voice sneered. Cocking his helm to the side, Camshaft approached. Fury quickly built in his spark. Was this the mech Prowl had mentioned? The mnemosurgeon.

“Didn’t he shoot down that trine?” Someone else asked.

“That’s his story,” the Tagonian sneered. “I can’t believe Jazz is buying that that’s his bitty. You’d think he’d be smarter than to get conned into raising someone Con’s bastard.”

“You think he was clanging with a Con?” The Seeker asked.

“How do you think the Cons got through Praxus’ legendary defences?” The mech asked. “Obviously that traitor was...”

Crack!

The smartmouth’s friends jumped back as Camshaft hit him with a vicious right hook. He fell to the ground, visor shattered. Angry flashed from yellow optics and he tried to lunge at Camshaft but the spy spun and kicked him in the chassis, sending him flying. Camshaft pinned him down with one ped. Revealing himself to be exactly who Camshaft had thought him to be, the mnemosurgeons needles slowly extended from his servo, meant to be used as a weapon of course. Glaring into his optics, Camshaft smashed his ped down on that servo, spearing his palm with the blade hidden in his heal. The mech screamed. As one of the mech’s friends approached, Camshaft cocked his helm.

“I have no quarrel with you,” he said. “On the surface. You do keep this cretin’s company and that is a point against you.”

“Uh... we aren’t actually friends or anything,” the Seeker said, raising his servos.

“Coward,” the mnemosurgeon growled.

“You would do well not to speak,” Camshaft warned him. “If I hear you have spoken my creation’s designation or eluded to him in slanderous conversation again I will rip out your glossa and then drive those needles you violated him with through your optics.”

“You are Prowl’s originator?” A mech with a scope on his shoulder asked. He had a refined accent that suggested he had been educated in the Towers.

“Yes,” Camshaft replied. He gave the mech a look of challenge. Camshaft knew his creation had not felt welcome among the Autobots.

“Well,” the Seeker said. “You’re terrifying.”

“That is a sensible reaction,” Camshaft replied. “Should your security forces wish to speak with me, I am staying with Jazz.”

They did not try to detain him, no doubt because they were terrified. If that cretin wanted to file a complaint against him, Camshaft would welcome it. Was it Chromedome that he called himself now? Prowl had told Camshaft two designations for the same mech and he could not remember which was current. It did not matter. He was the sludge beneath Camshaft’s peds. He had never suffered a consequence for his abuse of his needles and now he had. Camshaft did not mind facing the consequences of this small act of vengeance, if it suited the Prime to dispense them. It would have suited Camshaft well enough to kill the afthole but he was too well-practised to kill openly. Should Chromedome not abide his order, Camshaft would consider escalating his vengeance but it would not be public and it would not be traceable to him. He was far too professional to be caught out so easily.

“Cam?” Camshaft froze. His processor pinched not unlike Prowl’s did when he had a crash brewing but Camshaft’s never went so far. Slowly he turned. How could it be? “Holy Pit, it really is you.”

“Downshift,” Camshaft whispered the designation. How could it be? He had met this mech in Polyhex, spying on Straxus’ operations. How could he be here in front of him after so long?”

“It’s been a long time,” Downshift said, smiling. “I’ve been thinkin’ o’ ya since Megs hit Praxus, wonderin’ if ya was there.”

“I was in the catacombs,” Camshaft explained.

“I’m headin’ to a security call, can I buy ya a drink, this dark-cycle?” Downshift asked.

“I... sure... yes,” Camshaft replied.

“Great!” Downshift exclaimed. “Maccadam’s, 8 o’clock?”

“I will see you there,” Camshaft promised.

Downshift smiled again and disappeared around the corner, going to the security call Camshaft assumed actually involved him. It seemed like a good time to go home. What was he thinking? Maybe he would just... no, Camshaft could not lie to himself so easily, he knew damn well he would be going to that bar. What was he thinking? He had told Downshift had been called home on urgent business. That business had been the carrying Camshaft had uncovered. After Sideways had stolen Barricade from him, Camshaft had been unwilling to risk losing another bitlet and he had followed Praxian tradition and had gone home to emerge his creation. From then on, Camshaft had remained in Praxus, raising his creation, guarding him from those that considered his glitch a fatal flaw. He had never considered tracking Downshift down. That was not what Praxians did. Yet, Downshift was half Praxian. Smokescreen looked entirely Praxian but in reality, his code was made up of more Polyhexian code than it did Praxian. Prowl had no idea.

“Originator, are you alright?” Prowl asked when he returned home.

“The Autobot Security Forces may be calling,” Camshaft explained, though that was not the reason he no doubt looked ashen.

“Why?” Prowl asked. He held Smokescreen tightly. Oblivious, the little bitlet continued to nurse. Bluestreak, sitting on a pillow at Prowl’s peds, looked up from his book.

“I came across a loathsome mech speaking ill of you and my grandcreation,” Camshaft explained.

“Who?” Jazz asked, stepping from the kitchen. His originator, Punch, was with him.

“Chromedome was the glyph Prowl used once,” Camshaft replied.

“What was he sayin’?” Jazz asked.

“It is of no matter,” Prowl spoke up. Jazz canted his helm to Camshaft. He wanted his answer.

“He called him a slut and suggested Smokescreen had been sired by a Decepticon,” Camshaft explained. “That he aided the Decepticons in annihilating Praxus.”

“That piece of scrap,” Jazz growled. “I knew ya had issues but I ne’er knew it was that bad.”

“Prowl... you never told him?” Camshaft asked. “Now would be the time since I may have mentioned it when I was kicking his aft.”

“Jazz, Chromedome used his needles on me,” Prowl explained, as sparkling safely as he could. “It was not invited. It happened more than once.”

“‘M gonna kill ‘m,” Jazz growled.

“Do not,” Prowl ordered.

“If yer worried ‘bout Jazz gettin’ into trouble, what wit the bitty, I can take care o’ it,” Punch offered.

“No one is killing Chromedome,” Prowl said.

“Bitlet,” Camshaft said. “He is worth the paperwork.”

Prowl disagreed. It was not in his nature to fight bullies. He had learned to ignore them, they had just been too numerous in Praxus. But Chromedome had effected Prowl’s inclusion in the Autobots, having enlisted after him and he had effected Prowl’s sense of self and security and that was unforgivable. Feeling like an outsider, Prowl had fled the moment he had learned he was gravid, afraid somehow he would lose the bitlet, despite the fact that he had loved Jazz dearly. Vorns of bullying and harassment had made Prowl feel too vulnerable, especially with the onslaught of maternal code. Camshaft did not believe one beating was adequate punishment, only utter ruination or death would sate the originator’s wrath. He was, however a patient mech and he was willing to wait to sate his energon lust.

Jazz resolved the matter with the Autobot Security Forces. His glyphs, being the third in command, carried a great deal of wait and Chromedome was now finding himself the target of an investigation, instead of the victim of a crime. Camshaft showered but he did not polish. This was not a date and he did not wish to give Downshift the wrong impression. Prowl seemed worried as he readied himself to go but Camshaft reaffirmed his promise that he was not going to trouble Chromedome. His creation knew something was off and Camshaft did not believe he was terribly reassured. Camshaft brushed his crest against his creations as he snuggled with his bitlet and his mechling. Bluestreak was theirs, if not legally, in spark and that was what counted. He did not have the glyphs to tell Prowl that he the acquaintance he was meeting was his progenitor, so he did not. For the moment, Camshaft did not know if he would even tell Downshift. So much time had passed, what would even be the point?

“Oh frag,” Camshaft moaned loudly.

Downshift mouth was on his neck, his servos on his aft and his spike, buried deep in his core. His legs and arms were wrapped around the other mech as they moved together. Arching his back, Camshaft hooked his leg over Downshift’s hip and urged him deeper. Bowed over him, Downshift held Camshaft’s servos above his helm as he kissed his face, his neck, his wells. They were not even intoxicated. Downshift had bought a round of drinks and then invited Camshaft back to his habsuite to talk more, though they had not managed much talking. It was just like the first dark-cycle they had met. The attraction, physical and sexual, had been instantaneous and all encompassing.

“I never stopped thinkin’ bout ya,” Downshift told him when they rested later, intertwined.

“I as well,” Camshaft replied. He dimmed his optics. How was he going to dig himself out of this mess.

#anon-e-miss writes #valveplug #maccadams #mechpreg #tf prowl #tf jazz #tf punch #tf camshaft #tf downshift #at waiting's end

38 notes · View notes

cozzzynook · 1 year ago

Text

I think if Bumblebee ever got sparked the paternity would be between an odd mix. One he could never reveal to his friends as it would brand him a traitor.

He truly does believe in most of the autobot cause but he’s come to learn the original decepticon cause had its points too.

And so it made it all the more easier to find himself in the bed of not one but two decepticons.

Not just any decepticons.

Two of the most powerful and terrifying decepticons and bots known in the galaxy.

Blitzwing and Shockwave.

Bumblebee finds himself disappearing from all optics the moment he finds out of sparkling’s gestation.

His autobot brethern continue battling while keeping an optic out for him not believing his note of, “I’m sorry but I’m resigning. Please don’t come searching for me. One day I will return but until then, may the odds be in your favor.”

Such a cryptic letter so unlike the friendly and outgoing bot alarmed the others but with a war going on they cannot spend every moment in search of him. No matter how much they want to.

On the other side of things the decepticons have noticed the absence of bumblebee but none are more concerned than both Blitzwing and Shockwave.

Neither were oblivious to Bumblebee sleeping with the other they simply shared his time, company and affection when granted on their own respective times. Shockwave would bring Bee to his quarters strictly late into the night and the next Bee would find himself in Blitzwings quarters.

There was a silent agreement between the two to keep their little companion safe and out of harms reach both during his time with them on and off the battlefield.

They were clever in holding back when facing him, as powerful as their shared scout was they were stronger. They appreciated his intelligence and clever tactics to make up for lack of strength and size but it would only go so far and do so much.

So discovering Bumblebee was gone without so much as a word to them and infiltrating the autobot base to find the vague letter left them completely blindsided. Something neither, especially Shockwave, liked.

“His spark signature isn’t showing on any of my private systems,” Shockwave informed the triple changer.

“I haven’t found him in my searches of the sky either,” hot-head growled to the focused and searching mech.

A whirr and Shockwave was greeted with the unusual and worrying sight of a down faced Random.

“Its not like him to do this..do you think someone took him?”

Shockwave was silent for a moment before turning away and clicking faster at the computer.

“To better cover ground we search when I find a precise location.”

“And if you don’t?” Icy wondered in his thick accent.

“That course of action is improbable. I will find his spark location,” Shockwave declared with certainty, “and if someone did take him,” his red optic glared dangerously at the screen as he spoke with a dark tone, “They’ll wish their spark never left the well.”

The drive was long but Bumblebee found himself stopping to rest once more. He’d never found himself having to rest before being sparked but now as he takes a moment to catch his breath and soothe his aching chassis, spark chamber and joints.

He didn’t think the symptoms would start to pile up on him so soon but seeing as he wasn’t just sparked with one but two, he guessed they were taking even more out of him than he originally thought. All the more reason for him to leave as soon as he did.

He could feel the growing curve of his chassis and he could feel his hips already starting to spread. As dangerous as he knew it would be he couldn’t find it in himself to stay. His teammates would be so disappointed and he wasn’t sure what to make of Shockwave and Blitzwings reactions.

As much as he grew to foolishly trust and love them he knew their odd found relationship was no place for news of an upcoming sparkling. He can admit to himself the fear of their rejection and finding out of the growing sparklings within him helped seal his decision to leave.

As much as he adorned loved even, his time with the two, he could never trust them to put their own sparkling much less him above the cause. He didn’t want his sparklings anywhere near Megatron and as much as it pained him to admit he didn’t want them around the others either.

With their sire being decepticons life would not be kind to them around other autobots. He didn’t want the people he knew and loved as family looking at his sparklings with disgust nor did he wish for them to grow anywhere near the war.

He would head to the forgotten base within the deep mountains and take all the energon left behind and open a gate to the closest neutral territory he could find. From there he would make his way further into the neutral zone for added safety.

There were plenty of former autobots and decepticons that lived together who achieved peace on other planets. He could settle there and raise his sparklings. No one would ever look there for him and he doubted Shockwave or Blitzwing would remember or care of his disappearance after a few more weeks let alone months after he was gone.

The thought pained him and he felt a flutter from his spark chamber that brought him comfort he desperately needed. Yet pushed aside after a moments more of rest.

“I promise, little ones, I love you both. More than you’ll know what to do with.”

With a little more energy and a fresh reminder of his resolve he slowly transformed and headed off, arriving at the base a few days later. Grateful for the energon he greedily drank as he rested near the control panel. He would give himself a moments rest before opening a bridge and leaving through it.

His mind and spark couldn’t stop debating hurrying and resting on the other side and sitting to rest just a bit longer. In the end he found himself almost dozing after consuming more energon than someone his size would normally consume.

He felt his spark racing the moment he awoke and he rushed to open a bridge the moment he collected enough energon in a pouch and waited for the bridge to fully open.

He was mere moments away from stepping towards the gate when a space bridge opened behind him.

The sound of two heavy footsteps halting him into place as his body froze into place. Optics wide and spark racing he felt familiar eyes on his back as his door-wings twitched in fear as they lowered to cover him slightly.

His body finally seemed to spring to life as he half turned to look at the two he least expected to come through the gate. Watching as they both kept their eyes solely on him and the glowing gate behind him.

His fuel tank lurched almost moving him with it as he slowly inched towards the gate trying to seem as if he was just getting a better look at the two.

Silence engulfed them as their optics stayed on one another.

Bee hadn’t planned on them searching for him and now here they were. Having found him at the worse opportune time.

How was he supposed to get out of here now?

How could he play this off?

Did they know?

Is that why they came?

‘Just what am I going to do now?’

266 notes · View notes

magnifythesun · 6 months ago

Note

CCO Anthony Padilla and President Ian Hecox of Smosh

ooooooo let's goooo!

post writing notes: YAY OKAY IVE DONE IT!!! so i read this and immediately assumed you meant a business au and i for the life of me have not been able to think of what kind of business they would run in this fic SO it is "the company" and they make money and also have shareholders and they call their employees their "crew" and dont ask me any details i was unable to figure it out!! but i think this turned out pretty cute?? more angsty than i was anticipating but with comfort i promise.

also i stayed g rated since i wasn't sure what rating you were comfortable with but Company(TM) President Ian and CCO Anthony could get it on i think if anyone wants that in the future lmao, just don't expect any details on what the hell they're selling sorry lmao! also i know nothing about business

bonus points if you can spot the direct reference to the wikipedia article for the term CCO.

---

The responsibility of being in charge of the company weighed heavily on Ian. It had been at its worst when Anthony had left, the fear of driving the company into the ground, of not being a good enough leader, of failing to thrive without his right-hand man.

When Anthony had returned, it was like a breath of the freshest air. Although Ian maintained his position as President, Anthony taking the role of CCO was possibly the best business decision Ian had ever made. Anthony had always been best with the marketing and business strategy, with an eye for the best trends to get their company booming. A huge weight felt like it was moved off Ian's shoulders. He could just focus on the top-level stuff and taking care of his employees and leave the marketing, which Ian had always hated, to Anthony.

Still, this didn't mean Ian didn't get stressed anymore. Ian loved his work, but sometimes it became overwhelming, the way his mind spun around, worrying about the whether he'd assigned the right person to the right project, whether his employees were happy, and so forth. Over the course of each work week, the panic would build up inside, setting him on edge until he would lie awake at night, staring up at his bedroom ceiling as his mind flew.

Reprieve came from an unexpected corner.

There was a routine now. At the end of the work week, there was always a meeting, and he and Anthony would attend. Ian would mostly listen, too stressed and sleep-deprived to think of any meaning contribution. Plus, Anthony was better at leading the meeting anyway, as it was mostly about that week's sales. Afterward, Anthony would talk him down from all his worries, and Ian would be able to breathe until the next week began. This week was no different.

At the end of the meeting, everyone filed out, excited to book it home for the weekend, leaving Ian and Anthony alone in the big meeting room. Ian let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging, letting the last shards of his confident facade crumble and fall. Anthony glanced over at him as he shuffled his papers back into order.

"You alright?" He asked this every week.

"You know me," Ian waved a hand dismissively, "I get in my head."

"You're too hard on yourself, man," Anthony tapped the papers on the desk with finality. "Didn't you hear anything I said just now? Our sales are up, stockholders happy, and we even get to give a big bonus to the whole 'crew,' just like you always talk about doing."

Ian shook his head like he could knock the words away, standing up to face the big window that was letting in the light of the late afternoon sun.

"This year is going great, Ian! Why won't you let yourself celebrate this success that we've built?"

Anthony sounded tired. Ian couldn't blame him. They'd had this conversation every week for the last six months. However, this time, Anthony's words just couldn't shake the dread inside him.

This year, things were going great. But it wasn't that long ago when it had been the whole company on Ian's shoulders, margins in the red, the heavy weight of responsibility for all of his people's livelihoods crushing him into the ground. What's to say this year's success wouldn't be short-lived? Was there already something he wasn't seeing, some sign of trouble to come?

And what if, when things got rough... What if Anthony...

A gentle warm grip on his wrist startled him out of his thoughts. Ian turned, surprised. They'd had this conversation a million times, but Anthony always talked him out of it, sitting over at the table while Ian paced out his anxieties. He'd never come to join him by the window, and certainly had never—

Anthony tugged him slightly so that they were facing each other directly, the sunlight filtering through Anthony's hair so that the light brown highlights he'd gotten sparkled. Ian, for a blessed moment, couldn't think of anything else at all. Then, Anthony's hands took his own.

"I," Anthony started, not seeming sure of himself, "I get this feeling. Every week, I reassure you about the company. About how we're doing. About how our 'crew' seems really happy about where we're at, how we're seeing success at levels we could barely dream of back when we first started this." Anthony paused, his face filled with such genuine worry that Ian felt the hot sting of guilt roil in his stomach. "But, Ian, telling you all that doesn't seem to help you for very long."

Ian sighed, looking off to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"I think I do," Anthony cut him off, reaching up to grab his shoulders instead. "Ian, I don't even know if I can say this in a way that will fully convince you, but I—," He pushed through with growing confidence, "I'm not leaving this company again."

How did this man always see right through him?

"I'm not leaving you again," Anthony said, quieter, and Ian couldn't stop the tears that were coming to his eyes. "Ever. Do you understand?"

Ian reached up and swiped the tears away. "Yeah," He said, shakily.

"I'm not leaving." Anthony shook him slightly, the look in his eyes so serious that it began to chip away at the pit in Ian's stomach that had sat there for years.

"Right. Yeah," Ian nodded his head.

"I'm not. We're gonna be running this thing for years," Anthony smiled, "Into the ground if necessary."

Ian laughed, "Okay, okay. I believe you." And he actually did. Another, heavier weight that he hadn't realized he was still carrying felt like it was melting away. "Alright, good."

They stood there just a little too long, Anthony's hands warm on Ian's shoulders, the sun bringing out each delicate shade of brown in Anthony's eyes. And again, for a moment, Ian couldn't think about anything else.

"Right, so." Anthony let go and walked back over to the table. Ian took in a slow, deep breath and let it out as Anthony grabbed his papers and shoved them in his briefcase. "I don't know if you even realized with your President head so far above the clouds, but we just wrapped a fiscal year!"

Ian rolled his eyes. "Of course I know that."

"Just checking!" Anthony beamed at him. "So, wanna celebrate? How about soup at your place?"

That startled a sharp laugh out of Ian. "That's the biggest celebration you can think of?"

"Look," Anthony held up a haughty finger. "As your CCO, I think making soup tonight will allow us to achieve our long-term objectives."

Ian scoffed. "Yeah, your long-term objective to have me cook you soup," Ian said dryly, grabbing his own briefcase and heading toward the door.

"No, hey, hear me out!" Anthony followed him out. "I've got a whole pitch for it and everything!"

#my fanfic #asks #ianthony #☀️🔍#my apologies for the long delay between prompt fills! i started a new job last week and i have been adjusting lol #hope you all enjoy!! <3

30 notes · View notes

take-everything-you-can · 2 years ago

Text

Mother's Day First's

A/N : So I know this is going to be posted a day late but I work nights. This idea came to me like.. How would Eddie deal with that first Mother's Day without his own mom? What about the first one he shares with his wife ? What about all those that come in-between? but honestly I could write this is so many different ways and I love that about Eddie Munson, just an inspiration Gremlin. I Wrote it this way from a bit of my personal life so I hope that this is something that you guys enjoy.

18+ MINORS DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader

WC: 4.8K

TW: A Bit of angst ( mentions death of a parent, car accident, love lost, grief, a sad Wayne, A very Sad Eddie) Some fluff ( Memory lane, moments of pining, cute dad Eddie, flirty, baby girl Munson) And the slightest smut ( Breeding kink)

Also a very special thank you to the person who started my love for writing Eddie fics in the first place and for beta reading this piece @blueywrites and a shoutout to @lesservillain for letting me fill her inbox with all my little ideas!!!! Last but not least thank you @newlips for being the amazing person she is and designing these amazing dividers :)

A frantic phone call from Chief Hopper had made Wayne bolt from the trailer park to the police station. In under thirty minutes, he would become a parent, unprepared and the farthest from okay. The rain on an early December night had created a sheet of Black ice within a bend towards the outskirts of the small town. One unseen as screeching tires hit, causing an overcorrection and a flip of the small vehicle. There were no airbags in the car as Al had gotten the car from a used lot a few months before getting locked up again. Eddie watched as his mother took her last breath, a miracle he had only sprained a wrist. He had fallen asleep as his mother was driving them home, being unbraced for impact had saved his life.

When Wayne walked in he found a small raven-haired, rain-drenched, tear-stricken, round-faced Eddie silent and sitting straight in the chair next to Hopper's desk. It was only then that Wayne let himself cry, Looking at Eddie yet hearing the most heart-wrenching news from Hopper he let the tears flow as he waved to cut the conversation short. He took Eddie in his arms, a stronghold, and the emotion Eddie thought was gone for only a second came flooding back running a river down the back of Wayne's worn flannel, a grip that Wayne held onto for days to come.

December was rigid as the trees began to shed their leaves, making way for the blooms of spring in the coming months. Birds had started to make their way south a few weeks prior when the heat started to drop and the Hawkins air started to become stale. Now Snow started to stick to the ground, the crunch a telltale sign to Wayne that soon everything in sight would be coated. He was just happy to have an extra heater for Eddie as they made their way to the porch and up the steps and into the small living room of the trailer Eddie had started to call home.

A drop of his backpack on the floor was the only thing Wayne could hear through the closed door of the room he had emptied so Eddie could have his own space. His nephew had spent weekends or spontaneous nights when things got a bit rough at home with him but the permanent move was starting to harsh his confidence in whether he could do this or not. How do you raise a child when you’ve never been in the company of one for longer than three days? Angela had entrusted Wayne long ago he would be a good father; he just figured it would be from his own seed or at least when he could prepare, but death doesn’t care if you’re prepared or not. Death comes for all races and genders, whether you choose to love freely or not it has no care if you're ready for it or not. No Death will make that decision for you. Death chose to take Eddie's mother and leave Wayne To fend the demons off for Eddie with no armor and no sword, at least until Eddie could fend them off himself.

The weather, in May of 1976, had been damn near perfect in Wayne Munson's opinion. He could go fishing without having to come in from the heat beating him down most of the morning. Something he decided to do the second Sunday to keep Eddie’s mind off of his first year without Angie. Eddie begrudgingly agreed knowing it was more for Wayne than it was for him. Every year Eddie watched as Wayne would bring Angela flowers and a small cake from her favorite restaurant across town. Every single Mother's Day. He had done those things before Eddie could remember them but this year was the first that Wayne also didn’t have her and even though she had been Eddie's mom, to him it felt like Wayne needed this more than he did. Like someone who loved his mother far longer than he had a chance to. Wayne Munson was truly a father figure way beyond before he was forced to be one. It would take a few years to admit it to Eddie but he had pined for his mother since their school days, being the shy man he was, he never could muster up the courage to ask her out, at least not before Al had anyway. It was something that ate him up inside until the day she left this world. Eddie always knew. In some ways, he had almost hoped they would just get it over with already and spill their feelings to each other. Eddie hated that he felt that way about someone who wasn’t his actual father. Aren’t kids supposed to always want their parents to always stick together? To love each other through it all? He felt like his father didn’t deserve the love that Wayne and Angela had given him but it was true. He deserved love but not theirs, it was too pure for him, too unselfish and undeniable for anyone close. Something he would know nothing about.

Wayne had packed a small cooler and relined his favorite fishing poles all in the early morning hours as he let Eddie sleep in. Not too long, just long enough that the sun had started to peak its way over the large tree that sat behind the trailer and started to peak its rays through the window in the kitchen.

“Alright boy up and at’em, the fish ain’t gonna catch themselves.” Eddie groaned as Wayne ripped the old quilt back rushing to shield his eyes as the room became too bright, too fast. Yet he got up as he was told and threw on some clothes from a pile that Wayne had set in his room after doing laundry the night before.

Sitting at the edge of Lovers Lake Eddie throws a cast out as far as he can and watches as Wayne gets situated a few feet away from him.

“ You remember when you were like six years old and me and your dad brought you out here and threw you off the dock to teach you how to swim?” The memory shocks Eddie for a second as he wanders through the lane in his memory trying to recall the days that he spent few and far in between with his father doing something other than stealing cars and keeping watch. He chuckles to himself as he recalls the day Wayne is referring to.

“ The day I almost drowned? Yeah, I remember that.” Wayne smiles to himself.

“ I would have not let you drown boy and ya know it. I remember it as your dad threw you off that dock and you turned into a damn fish. Like you were just meant to be in the water, it took us hours to convince you to come out.” Eddie sits and watches as the fish continues to ignore his line as Wayne clears his throat “ I remember that when we got home you went running to tell your mama that you had met a mermaid in that lake. She asked you if the mermaid had a name since everyone has got a name right? You remember what her name was?” Eddie shook his head as he began inspecting the ground as it grew blurry with each passing second. “ I think you said her name was Marie, your mama said that was the prettiest sounding name she’d ever heard come from an underwater lady.” He lets out a defeated sigh as he takes in Eddie's features. Tears fell silently off his cheeks wetting the shirt he was wearing. He missed his mom and he knew nothing could bring her back no matter how hard he prayed. The longer that prayer went unanswered the less he spent time asking for it. A grief that would never go away.

“ I miss her too.” The deep sound coming from Wayne startled Eddie out of his thoughts as he looked up to find that Wayne too had tears threatening to spill over his lashes.

A silence took over, comfortable and familiar. A feeling that Wayne and Eddie had grown accustomed to over the few months they had spent together. The sun began to set and Wayne had caught a few fish. Eddie on the other hand, every time he had caught one he felt too bad to keep it and said they had a life to live so he had to set them free. Wayne didn’t mind, he just saw another reason to love Eddie. A strength that Eddie would grow to thrive on, is kindness, a trait that came solely from his mother.

Heading back to the trailer park or so Eddie thought until Wayne took a right turn instead of a left. He sat waiting to see if Wayne would catch the mistake he made but the longer he sat the more he realized Wayne had made no mistake. Wayne was heading across town to a small little cafe called “Tully's”, A small hole-in-the-wall place that served one of the richest red velvet cakes you could ever get your hands on.

“Wayne, what are we doing?” Eddie only asks when he sees that old path Wayne had started to head down. A path they made a few months prior following that shiny black hearse.

“We are going to give your mother her flowers and cake? What do you think just cause she can’t be here with us we're just gonna stop tradition?” Eddie doesn't know what to say. He shakes his head to Wayne as the truck comes to a stop just outside the cemetery fence.” You want to come to tell your mama hi or do you want to stay in the truck?” The tears seem to answer for him they haven't fallen but Wayne understands. “ It’s okay, I'm just gonna sit with her for a few minutes and update her on life and I'll be right back. okay? '' Wayne takes the flowers and cake to the third grave within the second row and sits them both in front of an engraved headstone. Eddie watches as he’s careful to sit at the edge of where her coffin lays, legs crossed and a cigarette sitting between his fingers. Talking to his mother like she is answering all his questions. Why can't he get out of the truck? Why does he feel like his body is stuck? Before he could wonder anything else Wayne had opened the truck door and slid into his seat with a single swipe under his eye, he started the truck and they headed home.

Eddie Still can’t believe that the first Mother's Day without his mother has passed.

The first bloom of tulips and mums had started to spring up in Forest Hills as the temperature began to rise. April had brought so much rain it was a surprise that in May of 1981, the plants were still standing. Eddie is dreading the day as the sun starts to crawl across his floor and climb onto the bed sheets. Wayne had brought home a Tully's cake and sat it on the counter along with some long-stem roses he had bought Angela's favorite. Fishing was a no-go this year as the forecast called for rain most of the day but as Eddie walked outside to sit on the porch for a smoke, he found Wayne finishing off one himself, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, just a gentle breeze.

“Good morning sunshine,” Wayne muttered as He took in the sight of Eddie. Wild curls and deep purple bags under his eyes. A small smile on his lips as he heard the birds speak to one another.

“Is it a good morning?” He mumbled as he patted his sweats down for a lighter, finding it in the left pocket. Wayne let out a hearty laugh.

“Your mom wasn’t a morning person either, always saying that if the owls are up at night she should be too. A weird one your mother was,” A fond tone that made Eddie's heart squeeze.

“She liked owls?” Wayne’s eyes grew wide as he nodded his head.

“Oh she loved them, even had a small one tattooed on her shoulder when we were about your age, said they were always the most beautiful creatures she’d ever laid eyes on till she met you.” With the sentiment, Eddie snuffs out the remaining embers on the lit cigarette between his fingers and tells Wayne to wait there on the porch for a second. Stumbling through the small hallway to the bedroom he opens his closet and pulls out a bouquet of lilies one he had picked up on his way home from band practice. Rushing back to where Wayne sat he presented the flowers to Wayne.

“Oh those are beautiful, your moms gonna love those. You did good boy.” Eddie’s cheek burned pink under the gaze of his uncle.

“Um, no Uncle Wayne I got them for you.”

“You got them for me? Why would you get me flowers?” Eddie thought about it for a few seconds taking a seat next to Wayne hoping he would be able to get out what he was trying to say before embarrassment choked him up.

“Well see here is the thing, In the sixteen years that I’ve been on this earth I’ve come to realize that you don’t have to be here.”

“What are you talking about Eddie?” he lets out a sigh running his hands through his hair doing nothing to tame the wild frizz.

“All I'm saying is thank you for being here. For taking me in, you didn’t have to, you wanted to. Just thank you for being my dad and my mom these past few years.” Wayne sat silent for a few minutes until he could keep his own emotions in tow.

“Now don’t give me all the credit, your mama is looking out from above, but thank you for being a good kid, yeah you have some issues but at sixteen you will make mistakes but you are a good kid Eddie no matter what your dad or anyone else thinks. So no son thank you.” Eddie scratches the back of his neck trying to relieve the sheer embarrassment of compliments given by his uncle. “Hey, have I ever shown you what your mom looked like at your age?” Eddie shakes his head as he follows his uncle into the trailer and waits for him on the couch as he brings over the biggest photo album Eddie has ever seen. Wayne begins to flip through the pages until he comes across an old Polaroid of three kids standing against a set of lockers in the hallway of Hawkins High School. Scribbled in cursive at the bottom it says Al, Wayne, and I Ditching Science. Smiling as he watches Eddie take the photo. “You have her eyes and her smile ya know?” Eddie smiles to himself and flips to the next page its got a few of a party being held, Eddie’s baby shower to be exact and he stops at a picture of His mother smiling from ear to ear with a forkful of cake as Wayne has a hand on her stomach, eyes wide and on the bottom in the same cursive it reads, Eddie kicking wayne for the first time. This earns a small laugh from Eddie as he continues to flip through the yellowing pages and stops again once he comes to a picture that was taken about a week before his mother passed away. It had Eddie sitting next to his mother and she had headphones wrapped around his ears as she held up a peace sign on the bottom. It says Eddie is learning what real music is and notes that the song she was making him listen to was The Best Of My Love by The Eagles. Tears begin to burn as they refuse to fall. She had always told Eddie to listen to the lyrics to songs, something he did more and more the older he got. A small pat on the back from Wayne looked on to the photo on the page telling Eddie it was one of her favorite songs and how she would play it on repeat Eddie laughed remembering all the times she would blast music through the house and he never once asked her to turn it down, not when she would dance with him in the kitchen and sing into spoons. Memories he cherished always. Wayne left to take the gifts to Angela's grave leaving Eddie at the trailer, even though it had been a few years he was still somehow not able to make the trip to see his mother.

It was starting to feel like spring was hauling ass into summertime. A long April made the butterflies and bumblebees hum to life as the new green buds began to bloom in the early days of May 1989. After marrying the girl of his dreams Eddie found out shortly after that he was going to become a father. And the last six months of his life had been nothing if not chaotic in the best ways. Waking up at three am had become something he looked forward to letting you get in a little bit more sleep where you could. Eddie was the kind of father to his daughter you dreamed about, attentive and caring of all the things that drew you to him in the first place. As Eddie heated a bottle to feed the little one crying out in hunger a spitting image of you he swore, but if you looked at her long enough you’d see she was all Eddie. Big brown eyes wide and curious, small cupids bow in her top lip, and a nose you just wanted to reach out and press. She even had a small birthmark on her left shoulder blade, one to match Eddie's except he was on his right side.

Eddie reached over the bassinet wall as he lifted her into his arms wiping away the crocodile tears she had shed in wait for her bottle. He hummed to her as he offered it to her, a willing nudge to her bottom loop had her latching in an instant. A smile on his face anytime she accepted his help. That's all he ever wanted was for someone to look at him the way that his girls looked at him, with love and adoration. To feel wanted and needed not like he was just something to just toss to the side once you become bored. You had been the only person to make him feel truly wanted other than Wayne and he was now looking down at the labor of love created from that. His daughter had pushed the bottle out of her lips and he looked to see the amount taken but unhappy with the outcome he urged her to drink a bit more.

“Come on angel you need just a little more alright? Just a little, not a whole lot.” He hadn’t noticed that you had come to stand in the doorway watching him sway back and forth slowly as he tried to get your daughter to eat. Angela Marie was the name he had asked to call her as soon as he saw her and who were you to tell him no? A perfect name for his perfect angel he said the night you labored for hours that seemed to never end. But the moment she made her debut in this plane of existence your heart instantly knew this was his Angela Marie.

You walk over to your husband sliding a hand across the small of his back as he hums in satisfaction.

“Why are you up right now?" He turned to you yet his eyes never left his daughter's face.

“My space heater went to feed our child and it got kind of cold in there alone.” He chuckled a low laugh as he burped Angie on his shoulder.

“Oh, but any other time I'm too warm for you.”

“I said you were too warm like one time, are you ever gonna get over it? “ He shook his head as he laid Angie back into her bassinet slowly but surely drifting back to sleep as he rocked it slightly. A smirk on his face as he turned to you walking out of her room and into your own.

“ What?” Knowing that smirk could be the death of you as your hormones were still all over the place and alone time was non-existent for the last six months. You had just started to get some of it back since Angie had started to sleep through the nights more often.

“Close your eyes.” You sat in your shared bed and did as he had asked listening to him shuffle through a few drawers having lost whatever he was looking for.

“You need some help?” you laugh.

“ No, just be a good girl and keep those eyes closed for me alright?” Your stomach did a somersault hearing the words but you kept your eyes closed until he asked you to hold out your hand.

“Okay, you can open them now.” A small box sat in your hand as he got into his side of the bed, smiling up at you.

“Go ahead and open it.”

You take and flip the lid and there in the ring are three stones one is Citrine on the other side there is a Ruby and between both sits a beautiful Opal. A Birthstone for you, one for Eddie, and one for your angel.

”Happy Mother's Day baby.” You lean over and kiss Eddie as if he is a man going to war. You leave him breathless as you take the ring out of the box and place it on the ring finger of your right hand letting it mirror your wedding set. Eddie places a hand upon your cheek and you lean into it finding comfort in the warmth of his skin. He kisses you with a desperate need to show you just how much he loves you but you already know that he shows you in little ways every day. He will find you no matter how long he’s been gone if he leaves the house the second he’s back in it he kisses you the same as when he goes to leave a promise of I’ll be right back. He leaves you little notes on the mirror in the mornings, so when you take a shower the steam reveals his I love yous. Any gas station he goes into he will come back out with a kit-kat just because he knows the way you like the taste of the chocolate once it melts a little after holding it. He shows you in the way he feeds your daughter just to give you those precious extra minutes of sleep. He shows you all of these things and you show him now in this moment that you appreciate them all. He treated you as if you were the mother of his children long before you were one. Something you learned that Wayne has taught him. Your girl is your everything, if you treat her with love and respect she will give it to you tenfold.

The love you had for Eddie, you needed him to feel that too. Slow thrusts and small whimpers that escape your mouth tell him all he needs to know. Groans in your ear from him trying to keep his love from spilling over send shivers down your spine tightening the hold around him. “God you're just so good to me huh? Letting me fill you and pump you full of me. You want another little one, don't you baby?” The words send you into orbit as you gush around him, pulling him deeper and deeper in your hold as you tighten his stills only to thrust sharply a few more times punctuating each thrust with his words. “Let. Me. Give. You. Another. One.” and with that last thrust he paints your walls thick, something he hadn’t done in three months. Yes, you had gotten him off but for the first time in three months, he was right back inside you and your walls were home to him. Kept his darkest and dirtiest secrets confined, the secret of want and warmth he had spent years searching for. A prayer he thought God answered only for abandoning his other.

Sleep found you both quickly wrapped in each other until the clock began to wail beside Eddie. A slap to the snooze button and you were already stirring but he tightened his hold on you feeling that small warm nuzzle that lasted for a few moments before the heat became too much and he would let you pull away.

Walking with Eddie towards the truck in the parking lot meeting Wayne for lunch at a small cafe across town. The red sundress you were wearing complemented the small black sabbath onesie Eddie had dressed angela marie in. A squeeze of your hand that was in eddies let you know he loved you, a signal he used when there were too many people around or didn't want to say it aloud. You would always reply with two back an answer of I love you too. You take Angela in your arms as he goes to hug Wayne and you pass her back so you can do the same. A Small Happy Mother's Day from Wayne has you reeling out thank yous, not only for you but to thank him for raising someone as amazing as Eddie. A phenomenal husband and father. Only then does Wayne take Angela Marie Fully into his hold cooing to her in his gruff baby voice of how she is the most beautiful little angel to grace this planet. A quick lunch and a cup of coffee end with Wayne picking up a Red Velvet Cake and a second box he holds until he reaches the truck with you all in tow. As he opens the door he slides the cake onto the passenger's side and hands one of the boxes to Eddie along with a second set of flowers he had picked up from the store, Lilies were your favorite something Wayne smiled at when Eddie told him remembering a time when Eddie had given him his own set of lilies. The box held a yellow cake with buttercream frosting, a favorite of yours since Eddie first brought you to Tully’s on one of your first dates. He had preferred red velvet until that day. Eddie turned to Wayne but what he said surprised him more than anything.

“I’m gonna come with you to see Mom. I think I want Angel to meet her gammie.”

A silent trip to the cemetery as your car followed Wayne's truck through the dirt path that led to the fence he once couldn't bear to see. Walking over carefully he sat at the edge where his mother lay with you beside him and Angie in his lap. You had your hand in his as you squeezed once and he returns it with two. He takes a deep breath as he lets Wayne set the cake and flowers next to the stone engraved with her name and a message of Be the best You. A phrase that almost takes his breath as he can hear the words ring true in his ears, a quote his mother had told him every day. “All you can do is be the best, you Eddie.” A small hand grips his finger as if giving him the signal you had made for each other out of instinct.

“Angel Marie this here is your Grandmother Angela Evelyn Munson and she was the love of your papa's life.” A tremble in his tone was more cathartic than sad. He had only been here a few times since that day with Wayne. The first time was when he was drunk after graduation and he just wanted to let out some anger and maybe get some answers but he never got them, the next time was to tell his mom he met someone new, someone, who gave him this strange feeling like any time she looked at him his stomach would fall. Kind of like he was on one of the rides that would come through town when they held a small county fair, and the third was the day he found out you were pregnant, he just wanted to know if his mom would have been proud of the man he had become and Wayne assured him she would, but it wasn't the same and he knew that.

This led to today the first time Angela Marie would meet Angela Evelyn and he could have sworn she was right in front of him, he couldn't see her but if he could just reach out and touch her that would be enough he couldn't, no because when he looked down and that tiny hand that had wrapped itself around his finger he knew he was wrapped around hers too.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson dad #dad eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie munson blurb #mae blurbs #stranger things smut

260 notes · View notes

writingwarden · 1 year ago

Text

Between The Second Hand Smoke and The Glass on The Street

John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary- What happened between escaping Las Alma's and Alejandro's safe house.

TW-Canon typical injuries, small amounts of blood, panic attacks, inaccurate medical knowledge

Word Count- 1,590

[A/N]- Full A/n at the end

Slamming on the gas pedal the truck lurches forward, driving away from the sound of gunshots, from the Shadow Company’s bullets that tried to stop the two soldiers from getting away. Silence filled the cabin for the truck save for the sound of the engine and the occasional grunt of pain as the man in the passenger seat tried to get comfortable. Ghost wanted to ask him questions but there were too many thoughts in his mind. I could have lost him and Why did this happen? were the main two, although the feelings of anger and betrayal hung in the air like a thick fog. He knew he shouldn’t dwell on these thoughts. He should be focusing on getting to one of the colonel’s safe houses and plan their next move. And he definitely knew he shouldn’t dwell on the thought that he could have lost the only person that truly understood him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by movement beside him. Glancing from the corner of his eyes he sees Soap pull something from his vest, a flask. Soap untwists the cap with his uninjured arm and takes a long swig.

“Want some, L.T?” Soap holds out the flask to him.

“Depends on what's in there Johnny.” He knew a small sip wouldn’t affect his ability to function in the slightest. But he was a very picky man when it came to his choice in alcohol. He was like that with every drink, if he was being honest.

“It’s water actually, ran out of the good shit right before we blew up that oil rig.” he explained, still holding the container out for Ghost to take. Ghost hesitated before grabbing it and taking a sip. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear it was holy water. The liquid brought a small relief to him. He hadn’t even realized just how much he needed the water. He took one last sip and handed the container back to Soap. “Keep an eye on the road.” The cabin descends into silence once again as Soap leans back into his seat and shuts his eyes.

The quiet left Ghost in his thoughts again. The dark road provided no solace, Alejandro’s safe house still hours out, they most likely wouldn’t arrive until right before dawn. Exhaustion leads his thoughts back to their dark place. He had to leave Soap behind. Instincts had led him to take off by himself but not before yelling at Soap to get out of there. He knows Soap could hold his own but those slow ticking minutes between watching him go down the hill and waiting before he heard his voice over the comms were far from the worst but were almost the longest minutes of his life. When he saw Soap approach the church he could’ve collapsed to the ground. But he didn’t because he knew they had to complete the mission. They have to make sure Shepard and his Shadow would pay for this.

It hit him like a freight train. He could’ve lost the Sergeant. He thought back to the city and the smoke despite the rain. All that blood stained glass that littered the street, some his and many from the Shadows he had to take down; how much from the innocent? How much of it had been Johnnys? He looked at the man who looked no more than a body in the passenger seat. His breathing shallow and the wound slowly leaking blood, staining Johnny’s clothes and vest. He couldn’t take it anymore, his mind in overdrive, vision blurred, far beyond reason. All the events of the past week were catching up to him at the worst time.

Deciding he could no longer safely drive he pulled onto the side of the road. It was empty and he was sure they weren’t being followed. It was a stupid decision. They should keep going, they had a place to be. They were on borrowed time. His mind screamed at him; he was going against all logic. No longer able to control his panic, his ability to breathe escaping him now. Every breath he took was short and unable to fill his lungs. He turned to Soap, feeling half blind every time he had to look at him, and gently shook the man. Soap shot up and looked around. He looked at Ghost and concern covered his face.

“What’s up? Where are we?” He questioned.

Ghost had no solid answer for him. “We need to bandage that,” he pointed at the gunshot wound and hoped the scot wouldn’t notice the obvious panic coming from him, “Need you fighting ready.”

Soap looked at the wound then back at Ghost, he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, right. Let's get on with it then.” He shuffled so the damaged arm was nearest to the man in the skull mask.

Ghost pulled the medkit from his gear and took out disinfectant, bandages, and tweezers. He knew the bullet hadn’t gone all the way through, meaning he’d have to dig it out. Looking at Soap's face, his breathing paused in his chest. The man was looking at him fondly. Why?

Recovering from his paused state he looked away, “This will hurt.” He murmured, knowing the other knew this already but he still felt the need to warn him. Ghost ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Soap, who bit down on the fabric and prepared himself. Ghost poured the disinfectant on the wound, a string of muffled curses came from the injured man. Ghost whispered an apology and took the tweezers into his hand. Knowing what would come next, Soap leaned his face into the seat. Ghost took the tweezers and dug into the wound, ignoring the muffled yelling and tight grip on his leg, he pulled the bullet out. They were incredibly lucky that the bullet didn’t break into fragments or cause Soap to lose the arms mobility. He quickly poured more disinfectant and dressed the injury.

Ghost leaned back to observe his handiwork. It would do for now until they could actually get him to medical. Soap was still writhing in pain, a few tears escaping his closed eyes. “Johnny, How Copy?” He hoped to distract the man before they were back on the road. Hoped that talking to him would quell the raging anxiety stirring in his chest.

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right as rain.” Soap breathed out. Pain still ever present in his body language, the adrenaline and stim from earlier had worn off leaving sharp pain. Ghost turned back to the medkit and searched for painkillers. Finding some he ripped open the package and handed the small pills to Soap. The scot took them and downed them without water, face contorting now to a look of minor disgust at the taste. Soap reached for the flask and downed the last of the water.

Ghost turned to survey the road and woods surrounding where he had pulled the car over. Rain was still a heavy constant against the windshield. The steady thunder as the droplets hit the roof of the truck. Taking slow shaking breaths he turned the keys over, the vehicle roaring to life. Taking another look at Soap he found the other man to be staring back at him. Soap had that look that he gets when he is running a diagnostic in his head. Those blue eyes staring directly into his soul. Ghost looked away, afraid of what the other might find if he looked into Ghost for too long.

“It’s going to probably be another hour before we find somewhere to figure a plan out.,” He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and they were on the road again. “You should sleep until then. Try and get some of your strength back.” Ghost couldn’t stand the idea of being back in silence. He prayed the other man would stay awake and fill the air with chatter. Even if it was about what had just happened.

“I don’t think I could even attempt to sleep right now.” Soap says, tiredness ever present in his voice. He turned away from Ghost and watched the trees pass. The silence was back. Why couldn’t he bring himself to talk. To reach over and grab Soap’s hand. Glancing over he watches the other man’s chest move up and down steadily. To hell with it all he thought. Ghost reached across the bench and grabbed the Scotsman's wrist. There was a steady pulse as Soap looked over at Ghost, slightly surprised.

Johnny laced his fingers through Ghost’s gloved ones, realization in his eyes. “Simon…” the name so soft coming from him opposed to the harsh tone that it was usually used.

Ghost kept his eyes on the dark road. The rain was slowing down, the first hint of dawn visible through the thin cracks in the clouds. A new day that surely promised stress and violence for the pair of soldiers. He said nothing. What could he even say? Feelings had never been his strong suit. He learned long ago that the things he loved would always end up mangled and full of grief. He couldn’t do that to Johnny.

Soap didn’t say another word. Not a single syllable breathed into the early dawn. Only two scarred hands tightly entwined. The pressure in which they were locked silently said what the men could not. The grip was a reassurance. That whatever comes next they would face together in full.

[A/N]- Sorry if the ending seems rushed, I have been very sleep deprived and just need to get this out to y'all! Feedback is always welcomed!!

#soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod mwii fanfic #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mctavish fanfic

38 notes · View notes

ohnococo · 11 months ago

Text

Give and Take | Toji x Vampire!Reader

You don’t need to ask which thing he was impatient for, you knew by now it was all of it. Toji craved your pussy the same way he craved your bite, and the feeling was mutual. Still, you didn’t like being told what to do. “Be a good boy.”

You need to feed as much as any other vampire. Lucky for you, you have donors like Toji, a man that offers more than most.

Warnings: fem!bodied reader, reader is a vampire, mild blood, blood drinking, rough sex, biting, vaginal sex, creampie, aftercare, porn with moderate plot

Notes: Realised I never posted this one here (if you follow on ao3 it's old news)

Out of the endless benefits of living in the modern age, the biggest one seemed to be how relentlessly unusual everyone and everything was. At least, compared to the rigidity of what had been considered normal in the past. You hardly have to keep up appearances nowadays. No one cares that you never leave your house before sundown, that you keep your distance from your neighbours, that you seem to have a lot of late night visitors, or that they always leave looking a little worse for wear.

These days it hardly took convincing to find your donors, and you were no longer limited to where you could wander in the dark of the night. You didn’t need to worry about being exposed either, as often as people had once feared you, they were now more likely to laugh in the face of someone who said they’d met a vampire of all things. It made it easier to not have to run or kill when it wasn’t necessary.

It was also much safer for you to feed in private. Feeding gave you a high that could leave you making reckless decisions if not in a controlled environment, and the comedown afterwards would have you dazed, vulnerable should the wrong people come across you. As for not leaving a body behind, that was personal preference. For you, there was something exhilarating about making someone throw away all sense of self-preservation in exchange for an opportunity to have your mouth on their neck, wrist, or elsewhere.

In fact, if you were to place markers on the eras of your life it would be easy to do so by which donors you had at the time. Some of these generous (and brave) souls stood out to you much more than others, and among those more memorable patrons, few were quite like Toji. You’d discovered he was someone with no fear, someone who had shed his skin many times, and someone with whom you did not have to hold back for once.

You’d drank from him the very first night you'd met him, shown him who you were and outright told him what you were capable of. Still, he’d held back in the beginning. After multiple sessions he finally realised that you could handle all of him.

It had taken even more encounters for you to understand he could handle all of you.

There was no shame in admitting when you’d grown attached to these donors - you enjoyed their company in one way or another or you wouldn't waste your time. Especially not nowadays when you were more or less spoilt for choice. That fondness (as well as an appreciation for the sacrifice they made) left you with certain ground rules for these encounters: you didn’t feed too often, you didn’t feed too much at once, and they themselves had a duty of care for their own health leading up to it.

It was always clear to you when they hadn’t been looking after themselves, and you would turn them away on occasion, but never Toji. He always seemed to be perfectly ready for you, but you still went through with the formalities as you waited for him.

Water, snacks, bandages, paracetamol - arranged nicely atop silver trays and crystal dishes on your coffee table to make it look slightly less like he’d arrived at a blood drive. Not that Toji needed half of it, or cared about the appearance of it all. Outside of that your home is just as welcoming as any: fire lit in your lounge, lights dimmed, carafe and filled glass of water on the end table next to the chaise you were sitting on in waiting. Your silk robe covers your nakedness so you can at least have a facade of decency when he arrives - that will all go out the window quickly enough, of course, but there was always some semblance of ritual to your feeding sessions.

You smile when you hear a knock at your door, just one heavy tap, and you’re already salivating with anticipation. Even before you get to your door, you’re keenly aware of the soft thud of his heartbeat and as you open it to greet him the heady scent of his skin greets you first. You could tune these things out if you wanted, but it’s all an important part of the experience for you. So you breathe deeply and smile, taking in every bit of him.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime.” He removes his shoes at the entrance as you close the door behind him.

It really did feel like any time with Toji, compared to others at least. It was the benefit of having a man who recovered so well, otherwise you made your donors wait weeks to see you.

“Which room?” He’s straight to business, walking past you and guessing where you want him correctly as he only half pauses on his way to your lounge. He’d end up in your bedroom later either way, but not until he’d cleaned himself up after how you would leave him.

“Lounge.” The usual spot, though you sometimes switched it up. Not tonight.

“Right.”

You’ve caught up to him just before he’s entered, and he scans the room quickly before laughing. “I don’t know how you get blood out of velvet.”

He means the chaise, somewhere the two of you have made a mess of more than a few times.

“I don’t get blood out of anything.” You’d lived long enough and acquired enough funds over time to not have to worry about things like that - outside of finding a trustworthy cleaner.

“How much money do you have again?”

He knows you won’t answer that, but asks anyway, always keen to catch you off-guard. Instead you gesture to the chaise, “Whenever you’re ready.”

He feels no need to make a ceremony of this, and pulls his shirt over his head with one hand, tossing it onto the floor. You were generally careful when you drank, despite the high that eating generated for you, but with him you felt no need to be so delicate and he knew that. For Toji, there were no illusions about the undercurrent of violence in the act of drinking his blood, nor about the places that the blood would flow to and how well the two of you would take care of that.

“Have you eaten well? Had enough water?” It was courtesy to ask.

He nods and waves his hand in the air, as if dismissing the line of questioning, then pulls down his pants and underwear in one go before they’re tossed aside as well. Despite the electricity in the air with the anticipation of what is to come, there’s still a sense of ease at the casual nature he lends to these encounters. He always presents himself to you as plainly as if he were offering you a cup of tea.

When he sits down on your chaise, he rests his arms to his side, wrists up, and tilts his head back, letting you have your pick of where you’ll drink from. You enjoy the variety, and often leave him covered in the telltale wounds of an evening with you, but you’ve already decided that tonight you would have his neck alone.

You move slowly to stand in front of him, stopping between his legs and looking down at him. Another question, another formality, and then you’ll begin. “Are you well rested?”

“I will be after tonight.”

When you drop your robe, the sound of his blood pumping faster at the sight of your naked body is music to your ears. As you climb atop his lap, his hands are on your hips to offer help you don’t need, but the touch is welcomed nonetheless. You grab him by the jaw, tracing your thumb over his lips, wanting to make sure his blood is rushing for you before you open him up. His body is quick as ever to respond to your touch, and his cock stands to attention against his own stomach. You press your body to his, capturing his lips with yours and smiling as he parts them for you. His taste is familiar enough to conjure up sessions past and you give in to the feel of him beneath you, the sound of his heartbeat growing louder to your sharpened senses as you kiss him and slide your body against his.

He wraps his arms around you, thrusting lightly and groaning with the tease of friction from having his cock pressed against your stomach. You part your bodies just enough to take it in your hand, stroking it slowly, listening to his rushing blood as you do, and angle it so you can slide your pussy along the shaft, rubbing the thick head against your clit. As you kiss and nip along his jaw you’re careful not to break skin with your teeth, not wanting to add another mark to his pretty face, and when you reach his neck you nuzzle against his warmth. The feel of his pulse against your lips has you clenching, and you raise your hips enough to have the head of his cock pressing at your entrance.

When he moves his hands back to your hips, ready to guide you down onto him, you redirect, going back to rubbing yourself against his shaft. The veins in his neck throb beneath your lips, and you swear you can taste him before you've even touched teeth to his skin. You tug at his hair roughly, revelling in the contented hum he lets out as you crane his head even further to the side so the musculature of his neck is well displayed. You suck and lick at the muscles and tendons, leaving your share of soft, playful bites in lead up to the one you’d called him here for. His hands squeeze at your ass, spreading your cheeks before releasing them, giving them a few slaps.

“Don’t make me wait.”

You don’t need to ask which thing he was impatient for, you knew by now it was all of it. He craved your pussy the same way he craved your bite, and the feeling was mutual. Still, you didn’t like being told what to do.

“Be a good boy.”

Neither did he. “When have I ever been good?”

Toji slaps your ass hard before gripping you tightly, raising you up just enough for him to angle his hips and press the head of his cock to your entrance. You hook your feet over his thighs for purchase, tensing and keeping him from pulling you down onto him like he intended to.

He throws his head back and lets out something between a growl and a laugh. He’s quick to get frustrated with your teasing, strong enough to defy your will, but still weak to his need to be inside of you - whether it’s cock or cum or blood he’s filling you with.

You chide him, swirling your hips and dipping them low enough to have your entrance just kissing at his tip. “You’re plenty good for me, Toji.”

There it is again, the rushing sound of his blood, the heavy thud of his heart, that much faster from the way you say his name. He’s given you what you wanted, and he’ll give you ten times more, so you let him have his wish. You relax against his hold without him expecting it, and he pulls you down onto him all at once. You don’t let all of his focus go to his cock though, plunging your teeth into his neck, savouring the initial rush of hot fluid into your mouth. Things like this always earn you the closest a man like him could come to sounding pathetic, whimpering at the feel of his blood being slowly sucked out, at the feel of your pussy gripping him like a vice.

You rock against him lightly, making his mind fight for focus. It only takes a moment before he’s pushing his hips right up into you, hands squeezing you tightly enough that you’d have bruises if you were still human. Once your mouth is filled enough to swallow him properly the high hits, and he knows it all too well. Your thoughts are hazy, even as your senses sharpen, and a low hum of energy starts from your throat and spreads through you. Toji runs a hand up your back and your nerves stand to attention, electricity coursing through your body straight from where he was touching you. It was always as if the blood now inside of you sensed where it had come from and his touch acted as ignition for the fire within.

Toji knows how feeding works for you now, and lets that first wave wash over you, slowly running his hands over your body all the while, building your frenzy as you drink. Then, it all hits you and leaves your body aflame. You wrap your arms around him, gripping him tight and he braces himself as you tug at his neck with your teeth, leaving more than the tiny puncture wounds you had reserved for all others. As the blood trickles faster his hips are snapping up against yours and you squeeze at whatever of his muscled body your frantic hands can grab, as though on the verge of ripping him apart.

He holds you tight as he fucks up into you and you ride him in time with his thrusts. Your perfectly matched rhythms have his cock throbbing, sending waves of heat through you. You’re frenzied, hips slapping against his as you continue to build a pace determined by the very rhythm of his blood pumping and coursing from his heart, through his veins, and into your mouth. You pull your teeth out of his neck, lapping and sucking, and moaning with the taste as you get your fill, unable to stop yourself from biting him again and again along his neck, marking him further and giving yourself more to drink. The wounds never last, never scar or leave remnants past a month or two, but you revel in them while you can - scratching at his shoulders to add more. It spurns Toji on, drives him almost as wild as you were right now, and he grips your ass tightly enough to make you feel something other than the burn of his blood and cock warming you inside out.

There was an indescribable high in being able to throw away all caution as he bounced you up and down. You weren’t counting seconds as you drank, counting how many gulps, how much blood down to the millilitre lest you go too far. You weren’t measuring your strength, listening for the first hint of tearing muscle or creaking joints, watching for that flash of fear that would come if you didn’t pull back just in time. No, you only needed to feed and feel and fuck. Toji was more than capable of knowing what he could handle.

When that point comes he tangles his hands in your hair, tugging until you release enough for him to pull your teeth from him. You place your hand over the still bleeding bite, choking him as you ride him. You’re putting pressure on the wound, allowing it to coagulate, but it’s all the same to him, really. He healed faster than any human you’d ever met. Fucked faster too. Something he never lets you forget as he brings your bloodied mouth to his, tasting himself on you as he thrusts up into you, never faltering. The speed of his thrusts borders on supernatural, just like yours, but you’d long stopped wondering if he was really human. He tasted just like the rest, it was only everything else that was different.

Your sense of time is lost, along with your sense of anything around you that isn’t Toji, and the way he doesn’t shy away from running his tongue over your fangs as you kiss him has your pussy gripping him even tighter. It brings him almost as close to madness as you are, and he presses the tip of his tongue to your teeth until it draws blood. You capture his tongue between your lips, sucking at it, savouring the small droplets of blood. As his cock throbs insistently, so too does the blood inside of you, waves of pleasure washing over you as you clench and cum on top of him. Neither of you stop until he’s milked dry inside of you and even then you’re still going. He lets you keep riding your way through to overstimulation, though he’s past that point - tensing and hissing at the intensity, until your fuse is blown and your limbs get heavy.

As the drop comes, feed now finished, your head lolls back and you go limp in his grasp. He manoeuvres you so your head rests on his shoulder and lets you melt fully into him while he settles you both, pushing your hair from your face while you lie on top of him. Even after you’ve cum his blood has you feeling warm, body buzzing as you let yourself settle into your most vulnerable state.

The softness you felt after these encounters juxtaposed the frenzied state you were in upon first taste is what makes these relationships so important for you. The fact that Toji seemed to match that just as well as he had everything else seemed to only enhance the feeling that fresh blood gave you. He holds you close, rubbing your back softly and when his fingertips trail up your back you don’t fight the chills going through you.

“You okay?”

You laugh, a sound joyful enough for Toji to take it as an affirmation, whispering a soft ”Good…” into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

It would always amuse you, him suddenly treating you with so much tenderness, despite knowing that even in the relatively vulnerable state of the comedown of your feed you were still twice as strong as any man. Well, maybe not twice as strong as Toji, but there was a comfort in knowing that he wasn’t going to test that. No, without fail Toji did what he always did. Let you take, let you give, let you ride those waves of satiety again and again as he kept your cold body warmed, then he would go home until the next time you called for him.

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #jjk fanfic #toji #toji x reader #reader insert

23 notes · View notes

wonderfullwonderfull · 6 months ago

Text

Science and society: what is the usefulness of knowledge?

(I note that this essay is primarily focused on my experience in the USA)

I've been thinking a lot lately about what impact I will be making in the world with my life. For a long time I had the view that all science is by nature "good" and that any pursuit of new knowledge is worthwhile. While this is a simple and straightforward view of morality and knowledge, it is something that is extremely prevalent among people I work with.

Now I completely understand the inherent desire to feel like you are doing good in the world. Anyone with empathy or even common sense hopes that they do more good in the world than bad. This is an intense desire in me, and due to my sample size of 1 (me) I have to assume that this is true for most others. People want to feel like they are benefiting society and those around them. I want to feel like I am benefiting society and those around me. This desire is strong and will allow people to pursue intense cognitive dissonance in how their career and life choices affect those around them.

In the course of my physics PhD so far, I have encountered many who intend to work for military contractors. There are several motivations given for this, however I believe the primary factor that actually drives so many physicists to military is the wide availability of jobs and the high pay. While I despise class reductionism and the ignorance of intersectionality, I do think class and economics is the driving factor in most of these colleagues decisions. Why spend 18 months searching around the country for a job that will offer 80k when you can go work for the military contractor down the street for 200k tomorrow. These jobs are extremely easy to get with an advanced physics degree, and their availability draws those who can not afford a long job search. The reasoning is straightforward and clear for many: it is the only high paying job available for them.

For many, I can accept this reasoning. I personally will never work for a military contractor (which I will elaborate on), but I can understand the desire for economic stability and the difficulty to reject an offer so prevalent and advertised. However, most, if not all, physicists I met who work with military companies will not use this economic argument as justification. There are instead a few other justifications that I hear. All of them I believe are symptoms of phantasm and cognitive dissonance. I will address them in the order of ascending danger and insidiousness.

First, is the classic neoliberal argument of national security and "the ability to defend ourselves". I will not address this argument. Many more qualified than me have written amazing essays on how the neoliberal idea of defense only perpetuates colonialism and capitalistic exploitation. While this argument is easily discredited by evidence, it is at least straightforward, if not honest.

Second, is the social credibility granted to those who work within the military defence industry. While only the poor proletariat is send to fight directly on the ground risking themselves, all involved in the military benefit by its deification in America. While veterans are ignored economically, the social credibility given to those who assimilate into the American imperialist project gives mobility to those who might otherwise be exploited. While it may be unexpected, a very large number of those working in the military industry are queer, neurodivergent, or otherwise ostracized by society. For many, the false-egalitarianism of the united states military industry gives those with the technical ability, but not the social ability, to climb the ladder of society. Lockheed martin doesn't care if you are a faggot, they just want someone to engineer their bombs. This is an extremely dangerous justification. Clearly, lifting yourself up by endangering others is no true liberation. It is the "liberation" promised by caplitalist society. "Put your boot on whom we tell you to, and we will have you live comfortably" says the Boeing executive, says the capitalist, says the imperialist, says the statist. This dissonance and rejection of empathy, creating a life of comfort at the cost of pain of others. Again, those more read and more impacted have said this in much more well written ways. However the message is clear: there is no queer liberation in America until there is queer liberation in Palestine. There is no acceptance of neurodivergence in America while we use our military to turn away asylum seekers at the border. There is no racial mobility while we use the fruits of our labor to kill the wretched of the earth. This justification is in reality entirely about economics and class. The classic method of elevation in capitalist societies: step hard on those beneath you and you may one day climb just an inch higher.

The final, and I believe most insidious justification I often see and hear is that of the universal good of science and knowledge. I myself used this philosophy for most of my life. While I have never personally done any work for the military industry directly, my justification for going into physics is that basic research helps all. Why worry about imperialism when you publish your research for any to read? Why worry about what your bosses are doing as long as you are advancing humanity's knowledge.

This is easily discredited by many. So much harm has been done to people in the name of "science" and "knowledge". Tuskegee, Nazi "science", eugenics, early anthropology, war chemistry, nuclear bombs. The list goes on and nearly anyone can easily list five failures of science as a guiding philosophy. All knowledge is not equally good, not all knowledge is good. Is the creation of the covid vaccine equivalently useful to humanity as a bioweapon made in a lab? Is the Haber-Bosch process equivalently useful as mustard gas? Is nuclear power equivalently useful as atomic bombs? Are solar panels equivalently useful as crytpocurrency farms? Clearly not. Each of these examples are intimately linked to each other. In all of these cases you can argue that the science discovered in the former will naturally lead to the latter. It is all just knowledge, neither good nor bad.

I find this argument disingenuous. While no physicist went out to discover the strong nuclear force, certainly it was a conscious decision to harness it as a weapon. Science is not a random selection of facts that you pick out of a hat. All science is pursued actively. Every day I go to my lab I make a decision that I am going to try to use magnetic materials as platforms for quantum information. I don't go into some random room with lasers and magnetic resonance machines and magically come out with a computational qubit. Those working for BAE systems do not walk into work and just randomly come out with a design for a missile system. Anyone who works in science knows: pursuing knowledge is an active process. You must envision what you want, and pursue it with vigor. Justification for knowledge is always either given before the science starts, or not given at all. No one accidentally creates a weapons delivery system, then has to decide whether they will publish it. No, this decision was made well before funding was granted.

This is a fact I have had to deal with in my PhD program. I will state, while accepting I myself may have some cognitive dissonance in this, that graduate students should not be held accountable for the science they do in the lab. Anyone in academia knows that 90% of PhD students do not pick specifically who their funding comes from or what the goals of their research are. These are decided between their primary investigator and the funding agency. I must tell myself this every day, knowing that my funding comes from the department of defence, knowing that my results will be used for technology I vehemently hate. Should I be held accountable that the science I do may be used for illegal spying and surveillance when all I want is to characterize a material? Should the blame that rests with the department of defense be passed onto me? I hope not, but I honestly do not know.

I sit here thinking about this as my close friends from undergrad go off to work in public defence, legal aid, and community-driven nonprofits. For a long time I thought that the pursuit of science was equal in worth to these careers. However it has been made clear to me that science can easily be one of the most harmful careers. So what is to be done? Personally, I am too far along my education to make a meaningful change. I have too much debt and have invested too much time to switch to a more directly impactful career. And I truly love physics. Discovering the nature of reality is a magical feeling that is addicting. Nothing measures with the experience to be the first person ever to learn something. Should I just accept that my own happiness is worth the career? Should I lay down and use my knowledge of semiconductors to build a weapons guidance computer? I still think not, but the way forward is uncertain.

I myself will attempt to, if not do good, at least not perpetuate the bad. While I sincerely thing quantum computing can do massive good for the world, it can clearly do harm as well. I hope I can find a position where I can do good, but at the very least I can avoid doing bad by working for Lockheed.

Science is grey. Much good and happiness has come from the pursuit of knowledge. Much harm has come from it as well. At best we can do what we think is right in the moment and attempt harm reduction in our work. I may not be able to choose who used quantum information science, but I can at least choose not to be the one building a quantum computer for the air force. I can choose to not do the harm that is clear to me. Does this make me a good person? A bad person? No. In addition to me not believing in "good" or "bad" people, science is just science. It is as good as what is done with it. While I can not be able to tell what will be done with my discoveries in 200 years, I can see what will happen in the next five. And I can choose to not work for those who will clearly abuse science for the sake of profit and power.

In closing, I am reminded of Darwin and his theory of natural selection and evolution. While a clearly complex person who has held both despicable racial views, he also created the most widely accepted theory of science in the modern day. The knowledge of evolution has been used to create medicine, and abused to justify eugenics. Can we blame or credit Darwin for this? I say no, the knowledge gained is only as good as it is used, and those who use it must be those who carry the responsibility of their actions. Can Darwin be blamed for the capitalist justification of "Social Darwinism?" Even without Kropotkin's takedown of it in "Mutual Aid", even if social Darwinism became a mainstream view, the responsibility remains only with the fascists who use it. Those who discovered the knowledge nessesary to formulate this argument had nothing to do with how it is used. We can not blame scientists for their discoveries when it is not them who abused them. We can not credit scientists with praise for their discoveries when it wasn't them who used them for good. Darwin did not invent modern eugenics, he did not invent modern medicine. Darwin is not good because of his discoveries, he is not bad because of them either. He is just Darwin.

I hope that, even if my discoveries are abused, that I will still just be me. I have given up on the idea of scientists as a universally good career, as people selfless and honorable. We are just people. Knowledge is just knowledge. It is how we use it that must be judged, and how we justify it that must be analyzed.

I hope this did not come off too verbose and long. In many ways this is me trying to come to terms with the fact my career is not the noble pursuit that I envisioned as a bright-eyed undergrad. I still think science is a worthwhile pursuit and worthy of public support and funding. However, I will no longer excuse the actions of those who ignore their responsibilities in their creations.

#philosophy #ethics #epistemology #science #physics

12 notes · View notes

ursa-tan · 1 year ago

Text

Metamorphosis

No ship, just fluff!

Requested: No

When Howdy closes the Bugdega unexpectedly, all of his neighbours are extremely worried. The reader is a puppet in this, ever so slightly shorter than Frank and Eddie, who are both ~4 feet tall.

I'm getting fics out so fast because I broke my phone and have nothing else to do until I can get it fixed - then I can go back to doom-scrolling TikTok

Word count: 3,455 Reading time: ~12 mins

TW: None

Somehow, Julie had managed to drag you into helping her out with a party she was planning. Really, she had dragged everyone into it. Drag was the wrong word actually, you (much like everyone else) had volunteered yourself and then got assigned a job. The job in question? You were to bake a cake - or cupcakes, or anything you wanted really, but you had decided to bake a cake. Normally it's something Poppy would've done, but Julie had asked her to help with something else, so you were stuck on baking duty.

You had made the decision to get Wally to help you. He was an artist after all, how hard could baking be? And at the very least, you could get him to decorate the cake and keep you company while you baked it.

"Wally!" You shout, standing outside of Home. He had promised to be out at 11:30 am sharp and it's currently 11:45. You could all see the clock tower from your respective homes, so he had no excuse to be late.

A loud creak and banging of a door sounds from inside Home, closely followed by the sound of Wally's voice. It's too muffled for you to make out anything, but you can hear that it sounds relatively impatient. The sounds are then quickly followed up by what sounds like Wally running and nearly falling down the stairs. It’s a sound that makes you wince slightly.

The door whips open, although it’s obvious Wally wasn’t the one to open it. He’s still standing a little way away, signature cardigan half on as he tries to do his shoes up.

“What happened to ‘11:30 sharp’ huh?” You ask, hands on your hips as you stare down at him.

“Sorry neighbour, something came up,” He mumbled, fully pulling his shoes on and finally exiting Home.

"Ok, well, I take that its all sorted now?" You ask, looking down at him as you begin the short walk towards Howdy's Place. You make sure to take smaller steps so he can stay by your side. Its not like you're that much taller than Wally, just enough so that you have to slow down ever so slightly.

"Yes, all sorted," He smiles, not looking up at you. He keeps pace with a little effort, having to walk slightly faster than usual.

The both of you chat pleasantly as you walk. It's the same thing that happens every time on the short walk. A pleasant little chat where you and Wally catch up on each others life. What is usual, however, is everyone crowded outside of the bugdega, chattering in hushed voices.

"Is everyone ok?" You ask, concerned as you come to a stop between Eddie and Barnaby. Wally slips in next to you.

"Howdy hasn't been seen since yesterday," Eddie mumbles, toying with Frank's fingers as he does, "He hasn't even called anyone, were all a bit worried."

Frank nods, humming in agreement with their husband. "Poppy tried calling him this morning, but he wouldn't pick up."

You look down at the ground for a moment, catching Wally's eyes as he tilts his head to look up at you. There's a look of curiosity in those deep black pits, one of concern too. It drives you forwards, taking the largest steps you can without seeing strange until you reach the door.

Realistically you know its impolite and completely improper, but you have to try it - so you place your hand gently on the handle and give the door a small push. It doesn't budge at all. You push again, hoping the door is just stuck in its frame for whatever reason, but again it doesn't budge.

"It's locked," You mumble, not turning around. No one answers, you're not sure if its because they had already tried or if they're ashamed for not having tried it. There isn't time to wait for an answer - not in your mind at least. Howdy never shuts the bugdega, ever, especially not without saying something to someone.

You press your face against the window, cupping your hands round your eyes. It gives you a slightly better view into the darkened space behind them. You look for the faint white glow of the fridge, but you can't find it. The fridge has been turned off - or maybe not turned back on after it turned itself off? Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Howdy is responsible, he wouldn't let his stock go bad, even if he was sick! Something in your gut is sitting horribly wrong.

"Did anyone notice the fridge isn't on?" You turn yourself back to the group, all of whom look up at you when you speak.

"It isn't?" Barnaby asks back, walking up to join you by the window, also pressing his face against it for a moment before pulling away. "You're right, it isn't..." He trails off, looking down at you in concern.

"Does anyone know what we should do?" It's Eddie's turn to speak up again, still messing with Frank's hand - this time smoothing his thumb over the wedding ring.

"Maybe we can take turns sitting outside and waiting for Howdy to come out?" Julie, who had been seemingly deep in thought up until this point, looks up at her best friend and their husband.

"We have to do something more than that," You say, once again turning back to look into the darkened Bugdega. Something is telling you that Howdy needs to be checked on.

"You can't get in, the door's locked, darling." This time, it's Sally's turn to speak up, as she approaches the door. She easily ushers you and Barnaby out of the way, head held high as she speaks in a quiet yet clear voice, shooing you both away.

No one speaks as she leans forwards, resting her cupped hands against the glass door to help her look inside. You're sure she quickly comes to the same conclusion as you, as she leans away and looks back towards the crowd. Surprisingly, she doesn't speak, only solemnly shaking her head and walking away to stand by Poppy.

Quiet chatter breaks out amongst the group once again, everyone seeming to break off into their own conversations as you collectively try and figure out how to get into the Bugdega.

You feel a soft tug on the back of your jumper just as you're about to say something to Barnaby. It's Wally, except he's not looking at you - another unusual thing to add to the list of the many things that have happened today. He's looking up at one of the windows on the second floor of the Bugdega, which is cracked open ever so slightly.

"Right," You mumble, patting Wally's shoulder. You know exactly what he's suggesting, even if he hasn't said it

Ideally, you'd want Howdy for this job. Even if he isn't the tallest neighbour, he does have very lanky arms and you know that you could easily reach the window if you stood on his hands. But he isn't here, so your next best bet is Barnaby.

"hey, Barn?" You ask, tilting your head away from the window and towards the massive blue dog beside you.

"Yeah, kid?" He breaks his eyes away from the Bugdega's door, looking at you. You can tell he's trying his best to hide his concern for the missing caterpillar.

"You think you could lift me up high enough to get into that window up there?" You once again look towards the window, pointing up at it.

"If you think you can squeeze in there," His words strike you, making you re-think your plan. The gap is pretty small, and even if you're one of the smallest neighbours, you doubt if you can squeeze in through a gap that small. "Maybe Wally could fit?"

The smaller puppets look up at the mention of his name, eyes moving slowly between you and the larger puppet. He doesn't seem to have heard Barnaby's proposition.

"You think you can fit through there Wally?" You ask, looking down at the little puppet.

He seems to hesitate for a second, looking up at the open window and thinking before looking back to you and Barnaby. He seems to be a little concerned.

"I'll follow you in," You say, smiling, placing a hand on his shoulder and keeping him close, "I just need you to get in there and open the window. Then we can look for Howdy together, promise."

"Ok neighbour, I'll do it." Wally nods, now waiting for Barnaby to pick him up.

"Right, up we go then." As Barnaby picks him up, the rest of your neighbours turn to face them. Wally is standing on Barnaby's hands, just about managing to reach the windowsill when Barnaby stands up on his tiptoes. You can see that it takes a lot of effort for them both to get Wally up there - the Bugdega is a massively tall building, and Wally has to hook his fingertips into the window to pull himself up.

"Ok kiddo, your turn," Barnaby mumbles, turning towards you and scooping you up next. It takes you a moment to get steady on his hands, but by the time you're as far up as he can get you, Wally has fully pushed the window open and is leaning out to grab your hands.

As soon as he can, Wally is gripping your wrists and pulling you up. He might not be very strong, but with the combination of being anchored at the windowsill by the waist and Barnaby giving you a final push from underneath, you manage to tumble into the window.

"Are we sure that's a good idea?" You can faintly hear Eddie ask from down below, probably feeling like breaking into Howdy's place isn't a great idea.

"It'll be ok Eddie." You hear Frank's vice next, comforting his husband. It's nice to know they always stick together.

"Ok Wally... Time to find Howdy," You mumble, standing up from where you were on the floor. Wally just nods, standing up and taking your hand. He seems a bit uneasy, and if you're honest, so are you.

All of the curtains inside are drawn, including the one in front of the window you just crawled through. Everything is also eerily quiet. You can't hear a single sound from anywhere inside the building, bar the soft tapping of the curtain as it flutters in the wind still coming from the open window.

You reach out and take Wally's hand, pulling him until his body is pressed into yours. The same something that told you Howdy needed to be checked on is also now telling you that you shouldn't check alone.

"Maybe we should check his bedroom?" Wally asks, looking up at you. His voice is still monotone but has lost that sleepy quality it usually has to it.

"Yeah... Seems like the right choice..." You mumble in response, beginning the slow search of Howdy's flat.

Much to your surprise, you don't find anything at all. There are no traces of Howdy anywhere you look. His bed is made, the kitchen is clean, and his bathroom sink is dry. As far as you can tell, it looks like Howdy kinda just... stopped existing.

"I think we should check the actual Bugdega... There's gotta be some evidence of him down there..." It's the first time either of you has said anything since you agreed with Wally on checking the bedroom. It feels wrong to break the near silence of the flat.

"Ok... I'm following," Wally murmurs, obviously not wanting to go first.

You have to move carefully down the stairs as you only have one of your hands to help support you. Wally is gripping tightly onto your hand as you both descend straight into the stock room. The smaller puppet is partially hiding behind you when you both step onto the cold concrete floor. You can hear the sound of your feet meeting the hard surface echo out.

"Howdy's in here..." Wally's voice is muffled as he hides his face in your back.

You hate to admit it, but you know he's right. Howdy is somewhere in the stock room - even if you can't hear him breathing or moving about, you know he's somewhere in here.

"Howdy?..." You call out, hesitant to make any noise in the near-silent room.

Wally continues to hide behind you as both of you explore the Bugdega's storage room. He seems to be trying to keep his face pressed into your back as you both explore. You can't blame him - if you had someone braver than you here, you'd probably hide your face in them... Probably Frank. Frank would think about this logically.

"Hey, Wally... Maybe we should find the keys and open the door to let everyo- AHHHH!" You interrupt yourself with a scream, loud enough to pierce the absolute silence of the storeroom.

Wally peaks out from behind you and promptly gasps in horror, probably already prepared for the sight due to your scream. You can hear someone pounding on the door faintly and the sound of someone else shouting in panic. You think you can vaguely make out the sound of Frank telling Barnaby to pick him up and help him through the window that you left open. But none of that matters.

In front of you is a massive cocoon. It's bigger than any of your friends and looks horrifically sticky in whatever light is keeping the storeroom from being pitch black. You hate to think about it, but you're pretty sure something inside it is moving. You reach forwards to touch it, despite it looking to be covered in some sort of goo, only to be tugged back by Wally.

"That looks like a cocoon," He mumbles, continuing to tug you backwards and away from it, "We should talk to Frank, they know a lot about bugs..."

"Ok, let's get Frank..." You're relieved that Wally brought it up, you don't want to be along in here any longer.

You both rush to find the keys and open the front door. Everyone seems to fret over how panicked the both of you look, especially Poppy. But you don't have time for that, not as you rush Frank in and towards where you found the cocoon. Wally doesn't know what to say, but you're convinced that whatever is in there ate your friend and shopkeeper.

Frank gets as close to it as he can without touching it, circling around it and inspecting it. They seem to reach a conclusion after a few minutes. They stand up and walk back towards you, wally and the neighbours who are now crowded behind you and murmuring quietly. Apart from Eddie, who is waiting outside because he hates bugs.

"I think you're right (Y/n), Howdy is in the chrysalis," They speak with clarity, standing up straight and puffing his chest out slightly, "I think Howdy is pupating."

"And... What does that mean for the big guy?" It's Barnaby's turn to speak now. It doesn't seem like anyone else can find the words, to be fair.

"He's becoming a butterfly!" Frank practically shouts, excitement evident. "O-Or a moth, of course! He could always be a moth."

"How long will it take? This whole," Barnaby pauses a moment to gesture to the chrysalis, "thing."

"Well, it can vary. Some species only take a few days to pupate and emerge, some take weeks or even months! And some even take years! I- We know nothing about what kind of butterfly- or moth! - Howdy is rather large, he could-"

"Frank. How long."

"O-Oh, uh, hmm. My best guess would be around a month, but i could be entirely wrong."

"Let's work with that then," Barnaby huffs, putting one hand on his lower back and one on his head. He lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again, "Someone needs to run the Bugdega while howdy is out of commission, we can't go a month without it."

"I can do that," You pipe up, smiling kind of nervously.

"Ok then kiddo. You sure you can manage that?" He's looking down at you like he doesn't think you can do it. You're determined to prove him wrong.

"Yes, I'm sure." You're not actually sure. Howdy is a lot bigger than you, has 4 arms, 4 legs and significantly more energy than you. But you have to try now, you said you'd do it.

And try you do. For the first week, it seems pretty easy. Very few things need restocking, and everything that does need to be restocked is light and easy to carry. You have to use a ladder to reach some of the shelves on account of them being built for someone who easily doubles your height and them some. But you manage. You run the bugdega.

However, as time goes on and the days roll by, the work gets progressively harder and harder. There's always something to do to keep the place in tip-top shape. You find that you barely have time to stop and eat, only ever managing quick snacks and things that you don't really need to cook. You also find that you're taking unwanted naps while tucked under the counter between customers due to staying up late to keep everything running smoothly.

On the upside, the apron makes you look cute. Even if Poppy had to make a custom one for you so you weren't tripping over the extra fabric.

"You look rough, kiddo," Barnaby chuckles to himself as he walks in, ringing the bell above the door and startling you from your half-snooze.

You jump up from where you were slouched on the counter, causing you to topple off the stool you had been sitting on and onto the floor. Barnaby pads towards you, leaning over the counter and chuckling when he looks down at the mess you've become.

"Have a nice trip? Don't forget to send me a postcard!"

"How does Howdy always have the energy to laugh at your jokes?... I'm utterly exhausted..." You pull an arm over your face, placing it so that the crook of your elbow rests over your nose.

"I'm just hilarious, that's all," The dog reaches over the counter and offers you a hand. You take it, albeit reluctantly, and allow him to pull you back to your feet, "funniest pooch around!"

"Normally I'd agree... But I'm not sure when the last time I got a full night's sleep was."

"Looks like never, if I'm honest," Barnaby doesn't stop when you're on your feet, keeping a hold of your hand and easily lifting you until you're sat on the counter, "If I'm being nice? Maybe about a week ago."

He chuckles as you lean forwards, your face buried in his chest fluff. His breathing nearly lulls you back to sleep immediately. It would've if it weren't for the familiar voice from behind you.

"Uniform looks good on you (Y/n), maybe I should hire you full-time."

It's Howdy, he's back and now significantly different. For one, he's not wearing a shirt, for another, he has a massive pair of butterfly wings coming from his back. Although those aren't the only things. He looks fluffier. Taller too. His limbs - from what you can see at least - fade into a darker, more forest green as they reach his hands. His antennae are also longer and curl around more, practically creating a small spiral. He also seems to be taller, on account of him ducking under the stockroom's door to get into the actual bugdega.

"You're back!" You call, scrambling off the counter with what energy you have and rush towards him. You stand on your tiptoes and hug him, burying your face into his fluffy belly.

"(Y/n)? You ok?"

"I tried running the bugdega while you were out. I couldn't do it." Your voice is muffled against Howdy's stomach as you hug him. You don't want to let go. Not only is your friend back, but now you get to go home and sleep properly for the first time in about a month and a half.

"I think you did a splendid job, the bugdega looks great." Howdy places a hand on your back, allowing you to rest against him for a moment.

Slowly, everything returns to normal. Sure, Frank won't leave Howdy alone unless Eddie physically drags them away. And yeah, Howdy has to have all of his clothes altered to fit his new stature. But over all, everything returns to normal, now with a slightly taller and prettier shopkeeper.

#howdy pillar #wally darling #reader #you #fanfic #fanfiction #julie joyful #sally starlet #frank frankly #welcome home #eddie dear #barnaby b beagle #poppy partridge #I guess technically mind horror?#Might get a little spooked #recently downloaded Grammarly #never realised how bad my writing was /j

31 notes · View notes