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ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

Note

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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profound-bouquetbird · 4 months ago

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hey there! so! How about some Daisuke cuddling headcanons? Sorry if it’s banal, haha. Otherwise maybe headcanons of him a shimeji? Those are like tiny characters that walk all over your screen and interact with your desktop! Hope ya have a great day! Bye!

Starting off with this one to gain the motivation to write for the six other requests in my inbox 🫡

I will be doing both of these hcs because I'm just chill like that 😎

I'm writing this on my laptop so my writing style will be changing a little bit 😔

❥ I saw a couple of people saying that Daisuke's main love languages would be acts of service and physical touch, and I whole heartedly agree

❥ This man has to be touching you one way or another

❥ Simple hugs? Count him in. Brushing hands? He's happy with that. Hand holding? He'll basically tape your hands together if he could (he has done it once, your hands felt sticky and gross for hours)

❥ That being said, he's not at all opposed to cuddles

❥ To go to the basics: spooning. He probably likes being the big spoon because I see him as a guy to be hugging a pillow in his sleep (same, Daisuke, same). But if you want to be a big spoon, he'll gladly switch places, although he likes it more when you're in his arms

❥ A more often occurrence for cuddling is you both facing each other. He just likes looking at your relaxed face! Is that such a crime?

❥ Another popular cuddling position for cuddling is when a person lays their head on their partners chest. He's not a huge fan of this pose, preferring to just wrap his arms and legs around you or having your limbs tangled with each other's to the point you can't differentiate his limbs from yours. The only time I can see him in this pose is when the two of you are watching a movie where you both are invested or when he's playing video games on his phone. Though even then he'd prefer you to lay fully on him

❥ As for the shimeji... He'd be the type to try and help you with everything, or the more interactive shimeji's. He'd pull out pictures out of your computer and set it in a better spot, even if it isn't the best spot for you...

---

These are a little shorter since I'm still suffering from writer's block 😔

But hey! At least I wrote something

#mouthwashing daisuke x reader #mouthwashing daisuke #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader #x reader

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nerdygirlramblings · 2 months ago

Text

Off to See the Wizard (2)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence

Your introduction didn't cause pandemonium, per se, but your effect on the rest of the team was immediate. Soap sat straight up, his eyes alight like a kid who'd been set loose in a toy store. Kyle's whole demeanor unwound, his smile softening, his eyes going glassy, as if all the tension holding him together was suddenly released. Simon tried to make himself smaller, take up less space, maybe disappear into the cushions of the couch he was on. It was clear they didn't know you were coming, and they seemed as excited - well, all but Simon, who seemed terrified - about it as you were.

Things settled down quickly after that as Price reminded everyone this arrangement was for the sake of their next mission. That took some joy out of the introduction, but the electric thrum of excitement was there. You were finally in the same place as your boys.

Your first full day is rather boring. You are only a little startled to hear voices in the hall at 4:30 but then realize the guys are simply getting ready for their morning training. You also slightly regret picking the room next to the bathroom, despite how helpful it will be when you need to shower while the others are around.

You spend your morning setting up your mobile command center with the tech you brought. You arrange the monitors to match your usual setup, pulling up the background files and current mission data across your screens. You send an encrypted message to Laswell updating her on your status. You know she wants someone she trusts here, and encrypting the email is probably overkill, but you didn't get to where you are by assuming anything about safety. You'd been a black-hat hacker before Laswell scooped you up, so you know it's possible.

When you left, she told you you'd have the same decision-making abilities in the field as she does. You've never had that much power, and you want to show Laswell her trust is justified, so your message is a concern about transports and what you'd like to do instead. You want to get her take on it before simply changing things. In your mind, roping her in on these kinds of decisions now means she'll be less likely to challenge any decisions you make when the boys are in the field.

The highlight of your first day is the knock that comes around 1:00, startling you a bit, just as you're realizing skipping breakfast after such an interrupted schedule the previous day was not a smart idea. The only person you know who knows you're here is John, so you quickly open your door, smile already in place. But you're pleasantly surprised to see Kyle instead.

"Hey doll, Cap said you should come eat." He leans against the doorframe, smiling gently at you. "Looks like you're all set."

"Got everything but the curtain," you reply cheekily.

He grins in response. "We may call ya' Oz, but you're so much better than the man behind the curtain."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and duck your head. You aren't behind a screen anymore; you're going to need to be more aware of your reactions to the boys if you don't want them reading you like an open book. "You said something about food," you murmur, shuffling paperwork around on your desk.

"Yea. The Captain was hopin' you'd join us," Kyle replies.

You glance up at him in the doorway. "Do I have a choice?" you ask cheekily. You need to eat, but you can't let them think you're so easily commanded. It sets a bad precedent and is at odds with what they know of you from previous missions.

Kyle's smile slides into a smirk. "He did say I might need to convince you."

You aren't sure what he might try to do to convince you, and your mind immediately jumps to some inappropriate fantasies. You're so flustered you quickly stammer, "No, you don't need to do that." You minimize your open programs, leaving a blank desktop, despite the fact you're the only person with access to this office. You turn to Kyle moments later. "I'm ready."

Kyle steps fully into the hallway, gesturing you to lead the way. You pull the door closed behind you, checking to make sure it locks. "You do remember I got the ten cent tour yesterday and don't really know where much of anything is, right?"

Kyle puts a gentle hand on your lower back, in the same way John did last night, unconsciously. He leads you through base, and you watch other groups of soldiers notice you for the first time. Some openly stare while others watch you on their perifery.

You're not sure what they think of you or if they even know who you are, but you don't like their prying eyes. Kyle doesn't seem to like it either, wrapping his arm more possessively around your waist as he guides you to the mess.

Walking through the door, it's easy to find the rest of the 141. For one thing, Simon is massive. Even seated he's nearly a head taller than most of the other people in the mess. For another, you know of their reputation, but the soldiers here have seen it first-hand and keep a wide berth in the mess. You don't know if the distance is out of fear or respect, but it means your boys have a table to themselves near the back of the room.

John and Simon are facing the door, eyes constantly scanning the room. You don't know if this is how they always are, or if they're looking for Kyle and you. You catch John's eye before turning to the food line, but Kyle steers you towards the others. As you approach, he calls out, "Look who I found? An' she's here without any coercion!" Simon looks at you and away again quickly, what is going on with him? Soap turns around, grin stretching across his face.

"Oz, mah girl, finally get ta see yer pretty face! Where've'ye been heedin'?" He pats the space next to him.

You slip onto the bench. "I've been in my office, Soap. Setting things up so I can support you while you're gone." He seems to deflate a little at the reminder that they'll be leaving soon, leaving you. You try not to read into it.

You turn and look at John, who's now across from you, and Kyle, who took the spot on your other side. You don't fail to notice that though your back is to the room, the two most imposing members of the 141 have their eyes on everything in the room, and you're flanked on either side by some of the youngest ever members of such an elite task force. Consciously or not, they've made sure you're well protected.

"So what do you recommend I get?" you ask, glancing around only to realize no one has anything to eat yet. "Wait, did you all eat already?"

John chuckles. "Nah, Oz. We were tryin-a be polite and wait for ya. 'Sides, Laswell said you'd likely skip meals, so I figured eatin' with ya would make sure yer fed." He stands, as does Kyle and Soap. "Now you sit tight with Ghost while we grab some scoff."

You watch as the others get up, leaving you with a Simon who looks anywhere but at you. You notice he has a plain black balaclava on, and he'd been wearing one yesterday too. You wonder if anyone on base knows what he looks like. You don't know what to say as you sit there in awkward silence. This is so different from your usual dynamic with Simon, it makes you uncomfortable.

Minutes tick slowly by, and you look over at John chatting with some other soldiers, Kyle and Soap with a few trays between them. Across from you, Ghost is still silent. And you finally snap.

"Simon?" You try to keep the hurt from your voice as he finally drags his eyes to yours. "Did I do something wrong or offend you somehow?"

part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

an: I'm trying to get Soap's accent, and it's hard because it's all in the vowel sounds, which have to be spelled out. Forgive me any glaring issues.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #johnny mactavish #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick

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fuctacles · 5 months ago

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<<😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺😺>>

if i didn't respond to your comment it's bc desktop tumblr didn't let me, I still love and appreciate y'all

Maybe tomorrow he'd bring his book here, and keep the cats company while he reads. Would they like it if he read it out loud?

Oh lord, the crazy cat lady energy must be rubbing off on him already.

The cats certainly are. He looks down at his black attire now speckled with cat hair, and sighs. He should have asked Steph where the lint roller was before she left. With great effort, he stands up from the comfy couch, vowing to himself to only do a cursory search with no unnecessary peeking.

The entrance seems like an obvious start since people like to de-hair themselves before leaving the house. The dresser next to the door is cluttered with typical things - sunglasses, hand lotion, chapstick, some loose change, and jewelry. No roller in sight. So he goes to the kitchen instead, because kitchen is where everything goes. The cats are watching him curiously from their chosen perches around the house.

"Stop it. This is all your fault."

He finally finds what he's looking for on a windowsill next to a dead fly. He starts cleaning his clothes there, next to the fridge, and its colorful display catches his attention.

There's an Ewok magnet that looks handmade, holding up a birthday card, and a few holiday photos, capturing smiling people in swimming costumes. Some of them look older, like the photo of a kid in a wizard robe, or a pair of bloodied-up teenagers in sailor costumes, which must be a very obscure reference because Eddie hasn't seen it at any costume party before.

The caption under the photo reads BFF but someone added a circle of smaller F's all around the photo, turning them into a frame. Which, if Eddie's connecting the dots correctly, would imply that it's Robin and Steph. The quality isn't the best, but at first glance, he's assumed it must be a family member, maybe a brother, but he remembers her saying she's an only child.

He tracks the other photos, but most of them are new, of the Steph he already knows. There might be more around the apartment, though.

But he's already rolled his shirt and he'll be back tomorrow morning anyway, so he quickly works on his pants' legs, gives the cats a wave, and leaves.

While walking back, he's apparently so lost in his thoughts, he gets startled by his own uncle.

"The cats still alive?"

"Do you want?! Me?! To die?!" Eddie screeches, eyes wide and a hand on his heart, the other holding him upright against the wall. "Why the fuck are you sitting there in the dark?!"

Wayne looks pointedly at the lamp next to him, then to his nephew. Aside from his reading nook in the corner though, the living room has no other light sources right now, but Eddie just throws his hands in defeat, deciding not to argue. Especially not when his uncle finally folded and was reading Blade Runner.

"Must have been thinking some guilty thoughts, huh?"

"Excuse me?" Eddie takes a step back from his course towards the kitchen. His uncle was flipping a page in his book, clearly not reading but not looking up from it either.

"To get scared like that. Did you do something bad, son?" He finally looks up, and Eddie doesn't like it. He looks exactly like his friends just before teasing him about something. "Saw something you shouldn't have?"

Eddie folds his arms and sticks his nose up, hoping the evening darkness hides his warming cheeks.

"I don't know what kind of panty raiding you do up there, but I'm not a pervert."

"Panty riding, huh?" Wayne raises his eyebrows in interest. "That what you boys do in college these days?"

"Do you want a sandwich? Some tea maybe?" Eddie has already turned his back to him and is switching the light on in the kitchen. "And the cats are fine, thanks for asking!"

"Yes and yes. Thank you!"

Eddie prepares them sandwiches and teas and grabs his own book so they can read in silence waiting for the evening news. It's nice to have this, a break from busy and loud college life, just sharing silence and love for books with his uncle.

That is, of course, until Wayne looks at his watch and puts the book down to exchange it for a remote. Eddie likes to keep his nose in the book until the news become too distracting or he catches something interesting being reported on. His uncle has other plans for him this time.

"You know it's alright to like her, right?"

Eddie lowers his book, slightly incredulous that Wayne is still talking about it. He looks at him with wide eyes.

"You really want me to fuck your neighbor, huh?"

Finally, his uncle gets a taste of his own medicine, almost choking on the tea that he unfortunately decided to sip on at that moment. Eddie: one, Wayne: zero.

But later, the score evened out again, as all Eddie could think of while trying to sleep were the pictures on the fridge, and plowing his uncle's neighbor into her mattress until she screamed.

The next morning, with not enough sleep under his belt, Eddie skips two sets at a time, because he totally absolutely royally forgot about the fucking plant.

He fumbles with the keys, can hear the inquisitive meows on the other side of the door, and once he's in he takes a beeline to the kitchen, ignoring the little creatures following him like they have been starving on the streets and he was a fresh batch of tuna factory waste.

The plant looks normal, the same as it did 24 hours ago, and he waters it as per instructions while trying not to even brush its leaves because he truly believes his touch might kill it. His track record with plants indicates so. Only then does he turn to the meowing bunch at his feet.

"Hello, little demons. Time to feast."

The cats are fed, their mouths making unpleasant wet noises against the equally wet food, and Eddie has a moment to take a curious walk around the place, in search of more photos.

He finds a wedding photo, with Steph in a pink dress and stunning make up dancing with a man with curly hair. There's one from a barbecue, where Steph is being hugged by a tall man with a mustache. She's wearing jean shorts and a sweater in this one, and somehow, looks a bit off. It looks older than the wedding one.

But a true treasure chest is the huge frame he finds above a small bookcase.

It's a collage titled 'The fucking journey' that seems to be a collection of Polaroids from a multitude of workplaces, with the same two people present. Year after year, one job after another, until they got where they are today.

It starts with a 1983 and the sailor costumes he's already seen. They are less bruised and more tired in this one. Knowing where to start, Eddie's eyes track from one photo to another, observing Stephanie's features, her wardrobe, and her hair change until she becomes the woman she is today.

There was no boy in that photo on the fridge. It's always been her. Growing into herself.

Is this what his uncle was talking about? Well, not talking, but being annoyingly vague about it, like he wasn't sure what he was talking about himself.

Fear not, Uncle Wayne. Eddie's going to pick up every pamphlet and every zine he can put his hands on, to educate them both about who their neighbor is, how to navigate the topic and respect her the way she deserves.

ko-fi

#crazy cat lady stevie #steddie #transfeminine steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #tw: age gap #age gap steddie #stevie harrington #stevierything #mine

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luveline · 9 months ago

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coworker!james is fueling me rn thank u miss jade!! can i pretty please request a coworker!james drabble in which someone at work, a higher-up of some kind or someone visiting from another company being kind of cruel to reader, and jamie discovers that maybe there are several people who have just not been very kind to her, and she doesn’t really understand why he’s upset for her? please and thank u

—Why is James so upset? And how do you calm him down so quickly? fem, 1.2k

The horrible heat of the first week of British summer time finally breaks. It was an eventuality. Nothing good ever lasts for James —he must’ve been enjoying it too much. The sun is gone, the clouds are grey, and the office radiators pump a meek heat into the room.

The dreary skies outside depress him. “I miss the sun,” he sighs, putting the tips of his fingers together and bringing down his hands, base of his palms apart to stretch the sore inside of his wrists. They pang.

“Sunny again next week,” Remus says reassuringly. “Just in time for your review!”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“I must remind you, Jamie.” Remus stands up, and he gives James a loving squeeze on the shoulder, voice close to his ear, “Because you need to pretend you like your job, at least for the next few days. Come and get some coffee with me.”

James waves his hand. “In a second.”

When James met Remus, Remus couldn’t take touch. Didn’t like it or want it, couldn’t accept so much as a compliment, but things change, and years of knowing one another makes squeezing and pinching easy work. Remus flicks him without cruelty and exits the nook, leaving James on his own.

He glares at your empty seat, confused. When did you leave?

Doesn’t matter. Coffee. James is in desperate need of coffee as Remus recommended to warm up. He exits out of his desktop and shucks his suit jacket back on, taking a hand to run through his knotted hair as he walks. Past the desk banks of the account managers and the reception bank to the hallway that runs into the break room and adjourning kitchen. The office is a weird maze but the worst part is having the big ‘conference’ room right next to the break room, so the people inside working can judge you for eating, and vice versa.

The conference room door is propped open.

James recognises you from behind, your hair and tight shoulders. He should recognise the stress, having caused so much of it.

“It’s just not good enough.”

“I know.”

“You coast by, doing half the work of your fellow accountants.”

“I… I was sick for a week, I know it affected my turnover. But nothing went unfinished, sir.”

“No, because your colleagues picked up your slack.”

“Sir, I– I promise I work hard.”

Your voice is so oddly unlike yourself, a tone James is unfamiliar with. He’s arrogant and agitating and has no business interrupting, but he knocks the conference door anyways.

“Hi, Mr. Vida. How’s it going?” James asks.

“James, it’s fine. We’re just going through L/N’s review.”

James pulls one of those boyish smirks that men often share when they should be grimacing instead. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” He hangs on like he has something else to say.

“I think we’re about finished.”

Mr. Vida is a predictable man. He ushers the woman away to make room for the man. His misogyny is unsubtle and unfortunate, your expression laced with hurt as you gather yourself and stand to leave.

“Not looking forward to mine,” James says easily. You round the door, and he sends Mr. Vida a suck-up smile before he goes. He should stand up for you in a way that matters, but he’d felt it imperative to remove you from the situation, rather than escalate.

He’s on your tail, coffee forgotten as you scurry back to the desks. “Hey,” he says, finding himself in a half-jog to keep up, “wait, wait, are you okay?”

You slow. “I’m fine,” you say, so mildly perplexed that he doesn’t think for a moment you’re playing it cool.

“He was getting a little heavy with you.”

You frown in agreement, but otherwise move on, rolling your chair back with your foot to open your desk drawer. “I guess so. He’s like that.”

“Is he? I’ve never had him that mad at me.”

“He’s not that bad.” You pull a blister pack of painkillers from your drawer and pop three out in a row. “Have you met his boss? Oh, have you ever spoken to the manager of the account managers from the Brussels office? She sucks.”

James doesn’t have the wherewithal to pretend he wasn’t following you. He stands with his hands vice-like on the back of his chair. “What did they say to you?”

“Who, Mr. Vida’s boss? Or the Brussels manager?”

“Both.”

You sit and fish a bottle of water from your bag. “I actually filed a successful grievance again Mr. Vida’s boss, he kept calling me sweetheart. I know,” —you wince— “that’s a bit much, but it was really obvious he was looking down at me, so.”

“And the Brussels manager?”

“She emailed me thinking I was much more involved with the lab than I actually am. She kept calling me stupid.” You take one of your tablets and wash it down with a swig of water. “But,” you add, smiling at him, “I did manage to solve her problem.”

“What do you mean, she called you stupid?”

Your smile slips. “She called me a bunch of stuff. Professionally, you know, but she kept asking why my foresight was so sorely lacking. You know what they’re like.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t, no. Nobody’s ever called me stupid. Or sweetheart.”

You smile genially. “Perks of being a girl. Or stupid.” You laugh at yourself softly.

“You’re not stupid.”

You sober at his solemn tone. “I know,” you say. “I’m just joking.”

“Nobody should be talking to you like that.”

“I know, James, but what am I supposed to do?”

He doesn’t know. What can you do? Nothing. What can James do? What should he do?

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

Your frown deepens. “It’s not your fault. It’s really fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s not, though, it’s–”

“James?” you say.

“What?”

You stand up. You stand close to him, looking into his face. “Don’t be upset,” you say, mirroring his softer tone, “it’s okay. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

“Well, luckily this time I had you to come and rescue me,” you say. “But it really is fine. I can look after myself, even if I shouldn’t have to. Okay?”

Your hand finds his arm. You squeeze his wrist and his entire torso lights up, everything, his chest, the backs of his shoulders, like goosebumps but warmer and with a softer fuzz to it. Your eyes meet his, an encouraging smile playing on a pretty mouth. For the first time that day, he feels pleasantly warm, like he’s had that first hot sip of coffee.

The pads of your fingers are so, so soft where you catch his bare skin.

“Okay,” he says instinctively. He’d say the sky was red if you asked him to, in that moment.

You rub the back of his thumb with yours before letting him go. You sit down and finish your drink, and it takes James a good two minutes at his own desk to remember he’s not the one who needed comforting.

He opens his emails to write a formal complaint against Mr. Vida for poor work conduct. He doesn’t think twice about hitting send.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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uracutieraka · 1 month ago

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When did you get so pretty

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2

Keigo x Younger!f!reader

SMUT!, yearning, dirty talk, needy!hawks

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

synopsis: You've missed Hawks the past few weeks. But you don't know if he's even missed you. Why has he been borderline ignoring you?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night after the gala, Hawks had to leave early in the morning.

Hero work and what-not.

You weren't unfamiliar with him getting so busy you only see him in passing at the agency, but you were unfamiliar with these past few weeks behaviors.

Hawks had been distant.

Unable to hold eye contact with you, nor a conversation even.

Anytime you tried to talk to him it had seemed he would get a phone call and have to fly off somewhere.

You had grown bored of being alone in your apartment. At your life. Being single.

You had gotten a sweet, sweet taste of what it was like to be in love and now you just couldn't seem to feed your insatiable cravings for it.

You literally had the hawks begging for you.

What are you supposed to do with yourself after a high like that?

Go back to normal? Hell no.

On the other hand, Hawks was your boss, and close friend.

Maybe he regretted it?

He was drunk after all.

Maybe he changed his mind about not caring what people would think.

After all he had a reputation to uphold.

You had been in your room for hours, overthinking every interaction you'd had with him since that night.

A loud buzzing broke you from your thoughts.

You grab your phone off your desk and pick it up.

'Hey' a quick but simple word had your breath caught in your chest.

'Hey' you finally huffed out.

'Can you come to the office? I have some paperwork I need help with,'

you felt kind of disappointed with his mindless nature of the things he says.

'And, I hate to admit it, but I miss you.'

It was like a new life had been breathed into you.

'I missed you too Keigo.'

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

45 minutes go by and you find yourself entering the familiar work place, pushing the top button of the elevator you make your way to the floor with Keigo's office on it.

Finally the elevator stops, and you couldn't be more eager to get off it and go fill out paperwork.

And speak to him.

Pushing open the door youre welcomed by a warm light filling the room, recognizing it as his lamp your eyes scan across the papers strewn across the desktop.

He looks up at you, smiling a bit before he pushes himself out of his seat.

Moving about the room he retrieves the all too familiar seat youve spent more late nights in than youd ever admit to, helping him fill out paperwork, just chatting on your rare and few slow days of work, or waiting around for him until the early morning hours, just to make sure he came back alive and okay.

“Here,” he motions toward the seat. “Sit down. Get comfortable.”

And you do.

He retakes his seat and hands you a few papers. You naturally put your head down and get to work filling them out.

Time seems to slip away on nights like this.

Hours and hours of paperwork work go into running a successful hero agency, and you knew that.

It also meant hours and hours of time you got to spend with the man.

Finally you look up from the papers infront of you, trying to initiate any kind of conversation.

After a second Keigo looks up, locking eyes with you. He takes a breath in and pushes his pile of papers away from him.

He puts his elbows on the desk and dramatically drops his face into his palms, sighing loudly.

Looking up he finally speaks.

“Look, about that night,” he starts but you dont think youre ready to hear what words inevitably are going to leave his mouth, so you cut him off.

“Im sorry if i made you uncomfortable! Or ruined our friendship! I understand that you want to keep things casual!”

He looks at you in shock.

“W-what? I was going to say I really enjoyed it and wanted to know if you did too?”

You now look back at him, your eyes are so wide you look like a scared cat.

“Huh?” You grumble out, embarrassed at your lack of a filter a few seconds before.

“That night? Did you have fun?” He pops a sarcastic brow at you, giving you a devious smile. Now hes just doing this to be a brat.

You take a deep breath in, finally going to speak.

“Yes.,” You say, its quick and embarrassingly needy.

He hums as if hes looking to find the right words.

But before he can you speak again.

“But, why have you been avoiding me?”

Keigo clears his throat and readjusts in his seat, not expecting a serious question.

“I uh,” hes looking anywhere but you. “Ive had some things going on that im not allowed to talk about. And uh, a villian brought your name up so i had to stay away from you for a while but we got him.”

The way he admits to this secret is so shy and awkward. Like he was a small child admitting to eating the last cookie.

You stare at him blankly. Not expecting him to behave like he is.

Youre used to his goofy and weird side, not his shy and embarrassed one.

“Oh.” Is all you manage to say.

“Yeah. Im- look, im uh, really sorry for not saying anything, like not even giving you a hint or anything. I just couldnt risk this guy finding out, or finding you.”

You knew these things would come with being close to him, but normally since you two were so close, it was someone else that would be brought up in threatening manners by villians.

You two were side by side and had been for a few years, so normally villians just targeted both of you.

But now there was a new found since of, pride?

Like youre really so important to the Hawks that if a villian even mentioned you he would do anything he could to protect you, even if it meant hurting your feelings temporarily.

A sly smirk overtook your face and you gave him a familiar but challenging look.

“So, im really that important to you that villians use me as leverage? Ha! Thats a new one!” You swing your legs over the arms of the chair, putting yourself in a bridal position with the piece of furniture.

Hes silent for a moment, processing the sudden 180° in your behavior before giving you a similar look back.

“You are. Y’know, its honestly really annoying.,” he stands from his spot behind his desk and makes his way so hes behind your back. Your neck leans back to look up at him, and hes already looking down at you, hands on his hips.

“You know why its annoying?”

“Why?” Its a meek whisper almost.

He leans down, putting his rough hands on your shoulders for support.

“Because when I had to stay away from you for so long, all I could do was think about you.”

Hes now rubbing his thumbs in circles on the base of your neck.

“Whys that annoying?” You couldnt hide the bit of nervousness in your tone, scared maybe he really didnt like you.

“Because when all i can do is think about you, my mind starts to wonder…” hes running his hand lightly down your shoulder, than your arm, and tracing it back up again to start over.

“Wonder what?” You are now purposefully whispering.

He moves to be infront of the chair normally, grabbing your ankles and pushing them off the arm rest, signaling for you to sit normally.

You move and sit facing him.

He leans down be in front of you.

He’s so close you can see the faint scars you recognize from past fights. Now healed. Its almost symbolic.

The pain and hurt a person goes through can just fade away to seem like it almost never happened.

You find yourself lost in this train of thought, so much so, that you dont even realize youve lifted your hand to cup his cheek. Its almost as if it was a reflex, or maybe a way to prove this was actually happening, who knows.

He leans into your palm and lets out a small sigh, as if maybe hes doing the same as you, trying to figure out if all of this was really happening.

Its interesting, just a few years ago you were some total fan girl and now here you are, in his office in the late hours of the night, with him literally in the palm of your hand.

“Y’know,” he speaks up. “Before a few weeks ago i didnt even notice.”

“What?” Its as if he only said half a thought out loud, which is something he tends to do often.

“That I was actually in love with you.”

You move at the sudden admission of romance.

In love with, you?

Keigo ‘Hawks’ Takami just said hes in love with you.

“You- you- HUH?!” You move so now youre standing up hands waving around in the air.

“Is that not what this is?” Hes now standing as well, a look of hurt is on his face.

“No it is. It definitely is. Im just,” you breath in and now stand straight looking at him. “Im caught off guard is all.”

His face eases for a second before he changes to a quizzical one.

“Im confused.”

“Youre confused?” You ask.

“Yeah, because obviously youve been in love with me since however long because i saw the posters in your room, and we spend almost all our time together, like you even come into the bathroom with me when i shower, and yet i dont know why i didnt know sooner.”

Hes dead serious.

This man is just now figuring that out?

And hes a prohero?

Gods, help us all.

You deadpan at him now, throwing a hand on your hip sassily.

“It took seeing some old posters in my room from like 5 years ago to figure it out?”

Hes now giving you a shocked expression.

“Well its not like you said anything!”

“Out of respect for you! And anyways i should be the confused one! You spent 2, nearly 3 weeks, basically avoiding me, which i now know why, but then you call me to do paperwork and confess your love for me!”

“Well I’m just figuring it out since that night!”

Its an argument, but theres no ill-intent, you know that, he knows that, you guys do this often enough.

“What?”

He now looks embarrassed, a blush is on his face.

“I think that maybe i’ve felt like this for a while but I just didnt realize this is what i felt. Ever since i saw you all done up that night and relaxed, i guess it just clicked? I guess?,” he clears his throat. “Like that ive felt like this for a while.”

“Well ive known how i feel.” You feign arrogance, to lighten the mood.

He chuckles a bit, stepping towards you.

He closes the distance.

Pushing some of your hair behind your ear he whispers to you. “Yeah? And how exactly do you feel?”

You give him a small smile.

“Im definitely in love with you.”

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth, hes so close you can feel it on your skin.

“Good.”

He closes the distance, his lips meeting yours.

Its hungry and desperate.

You feel a primal like desire rising in your belly, reaching up your hands find their way to sit on each side of his face, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

A slight moan leaves his mouth at the sudden movement.

He backs up until you hit his desk.

He leans down grabbing the underside of your thighs, then hoists you up onto the tabletop.

He readjusts to stand between your legs, restinf his forehead on yours he breathes out a few words.

“All that thinking i did, fuck, i need you so bad y/n.”

Hes so desperate for you it makes you weak in the knees.

You chuckle slightly and pull his face back to lock lips with yours again.

After a moment you whisper in his ear.

“Not as badly as i need you keigo.”

He gives you a wide eyed look before you see something in him completely change.

It's as if something in him snapped, he grabbed your face pulling you back in once again, harsher and more hungry.

He pulls you to the edge of the desk, so you and him are flush against each other.

your arms are wrapped around his neck and his hands are on your thighs, he glides them up to rest on your hips.

He grinds against you, slowly, almost like he's making sure it's ok too do it.

You grind back on him, letting him know its ok to do so.

He begins, slow, honey like movements of his hips, and you do the same, matching his pace, rocking forward into him.

Your tongues clash in each others mouths, soft moans leaving the both of you.

You can feel him through his pants, and it's not like you really needed any more proof of how big he was, you had already gotten an idea a few weeks ago before your last heated make out session was interrupted.

He pulls away, breathing hard.

"Can... can I take your clothes off?"

It's shy and sheepish, surprising coming from the man who was so eager and bold just minutes ago.

"Please."

He licks his lips before moving to pull your shirt off.

He then unbuttons your pants, pushing them down to your knees, you make haste to step out of them fully.

Lastly he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra clasps, stepping back slightly he pushes the straps forward, letting the bra slide off your arms and onto the floor.

You're now only left in your underwear.

He looks down, then up, then down, almost like he's taking a mental picture, but it doesn't make you feel any less awkward. You bring your hands up to cover your chest.

He quickly pulls them off and shakes his head 'no'.

He grabs your hand and brings it to his belt clasp, you take this as a hint to undress him.

Doing so you unbuckle his belt, then undo his pants. pushing them down, keigo kicks them off to the side.

You then lift the bottom of his shirt, in a slight way to let him know you want him to be the on to take it off.

He does.

Now you're both In the same predicament you were in at your apartment.

Underwear was the only thing separating you from him.

He walks forward, quickly closing the gap again.

You guys are standing in his office almost completely naked, kissing, he's running his hands all over you, you're doing the same to him, grabbing his biceps and running your hands up and down them.

He lifts you up setting you onto the desk again.

He drops to his knees and pulls your underwear down until they're hanging off one of your ankles.

Pushing your legs apart, He groans burying his face into you.

His tongue circles your clit a few times before he finally locks onto you.

He's eating you out like a man who's been starving for years.

You're moaning and tugging his hair between your fingers, holding the loose strands out of his face.

After a few minutes of this he stops, standing back up he wipes his face.

Leaning down he kisses you again.

You move your hand forward and tug at his waistband on his boxers.

He pulls them off quickly.

You break the kiss to look down and finally see him fully.

It's big, like you predicted.

You reach out and touch it, wrapping your fingers around it, you look back up at him to make sure it's ok you're even doing this.

He kisses you.

You kiss back and begin pumping his length for a moment before scooting forward to the edge of the desk.

You run his tip up and down yourself for a minute, using the wetness as a lube.

You finally line him up to your entrance, rocking your hips forward it pushes in a bit.

He hisses and you moan a bit.

He moves to be closer to you, pushing himself in further and further until he's all the way in.

You both moan when he does.

He's still for a moments so you decide to speak.

"Keigo. Need you to do sum'thin' please." Its breathy and sounds so sweet and pretty coming from your mouth.

"Sorry pretty girl, j'st needed a second."

His voice is strained and gravelly.

He begins moving at a steady pace, not too slow nor too fast.

You throw your head back and moan softly.

Keigo can't believe his eyes.

You are the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen.

You looks so pretty under him too.

He feels like he's being baptized in your beauty.

a sultry and soft call of his name breaks him out of his trance like state.

"Keigo, f-faster."

He picks up the pace and wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them up around his waist.

you lean back so you're propped up on your elbows.

"F-fuck! Feel s'good Kei."

"A-ah!"

Moans, and cries of the mans name fill up the room.

He stops for a moment, pulling you off the desk before he bends you over and pushes you back over the top of it.

Your feet are on the ground still, but now you're ass up for the man.

He moans loudly before speaking.

"God damn, you're so fucking sexy baby. Gonna make you mine."

You wimper pushing yourself back in a pathetic attempt to get him back inside you.

He takes the hint and pushes himself back in.

He reaches over, wrapping your hair around his hand, pulling back he forces you to arch in a 'c' like shape, your head is on his shoulder, while he's still in you.

He moves his hand to wrap around your throat.

He kisses your jaw as he begins moving his hips.

Slowly at first, but then his hand gets slightly tighter around your throat and he suddenly begins thrusting faster and faster.

you move to drop your hands on the desktop.

His arm extends with your movements, as his had that was on your throat now makes its way back into your hair, yet again. He's still thrusting in and out of you hard.

He continues the same pace for a moment before yet again pulling out of you.

He guides you towards the large window in his office. It overlooks the city down below.

"What- What are you doing."

"Gonna show everyone what's mine."

You go to speak again but before you can, he pushes back into you. Simultaneously pushing you against the window. He has your cheat pushed against the cold glass.

You know from this height nobody could actually see you without binoculars.

But the thrill of getting caught like this made it all the more alluring to you.

He is moving a a fast pace again.

Slapping and squelching is ringing in your ears.

He's moaning loudly, as his strokes are getting sloppier and sloppier.

"Im- Im gonna cum."

"D-do it.," you reach under you to touch yourself while he's pumping in and out of you. "M'gonna- cum too, fuck kei!"

"Good- good job baby, a-ah! Fuck cum- cum for me." he's breathless and his words are broken up through choked moans.

"M' summing!" you chant out.

He pulls out of you, pumping himself briefly before moaning your name loudly followed by a "Me too baby!"

He slowly stops pumping himself and his breathing gets heavier.

You stand up, on shaky legs and turn to face him.

Your eyes scan over the office, clothes are every where, papers scattered on the floor.

You look down, a huge stain on his carpet from the messes you two had just made.

You wrap your arms around your chest and move away from the window.

"So, uhm, this is a huge mess."

He now looks around the room.

"Yeah..."

"Well I guess we better get cleaned up!"

He stares at you blankly for a moment.

You speak up.

"Then maybe you'd want to come over? And stay the night at my place? Maybe we could shower?" A devious grin spreads on your face and you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

A similar grin fills his face too.

"I mean, if that's an invite, who am I to turn it down?"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Omg y'all sorry it took me so long to do this second part!

taglist

@asteruuu

@ava-cjkk

@gotacoinslot

#x reader #mha #fanfic #mha x reader #hawks smuh #hawks smut #mha hawks #mha smut #bnha #my hero academia #my hero acedamia #boku no hero acedamia #mha fanart #mha liveblog #boku no hero academia

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fatliterature · 2 months ago

Text

The Streamer

Something was happening to Carlos.

Before it began, he was an early 20s hoodie-wearing streamer boy. See his tub of protein powder on the shelf behind him, his laundry basket in the corner, his gym bottle reflecting the blue LED lights of his room. He had all the gear, the lights, the mic, a good brb animation, his subscriber count wasn’t crazy but he was happy with his progress. What is uppp guys uhhhhhh I’m gonna stream some Fortnite tonight guys… but I also wanna watch some stupid videos on YouTube maybe? See his face framed by his hood. He’s cute, he has big dark eyes and thick eyebrows, lots of potential. This is the night he makes a mistake. Okay okay okay lemme get up my YouTube okay I have uhhhh. He shares his screen with the viewers. There is a kind of guilty pleasure in seeing a streamer’s screen shared for a few seconds, a weird wallpaper, a messy desktop, how many notifications? He opens the browser and brings up YouTube. It’s the usual recommended videos, they look like yours, games, video essays, meme compilations. But what’s that? The bottom right hand corner. There is a recommended video. It’s on his ‘watch again’ list. The screen changes but it’s too late. The chat starts to react. Uhhhhh what are you all talking about? There’s a long pause. Belly play video. Belly play video. Bro…. Belly play video? WTF LMAOOOOOOOOO. Bro is watching belly play videos whatttt. OMG. No. No, no, no, no. Chill. Someone uhhhh somebody sent that to me as a joke chat literally chill. It’s fine. They’ll move on. They’ll forget it. Jesus why would the algorithm do him dirty like this. Last time he ever shares his screen on his YouTube homepage. Plus, it was TRUE, somebody had sent him it as a joke, and he had loved it, he’d laughed and watched it again, and again, and again. Each time laughing less, each time getting a little quieter, totally perplexed, and… curious. OKAY guys, we’re gonna go to Fortnite. He thinks the moment is forgotten. But someone watching him won’t forget.

It’s a few months later. And chat is driving him crazy. He had started eating on stream, just snacks and whatever. But someone in the chat was making it into a thing. 600 calories! The first time they did it he barely noticed. But the next time he ate… 450 calories! Was that the same person in the chat? 1800 calories!!! OMG yesss! Okay, so every time he ate something, they were gonna comment the amount of calories it had, kind of a weird joke. Also, what the fuck, this meal has 1800 calories? He finished his soda. 400 more calories! Keep it up king! Fuck. Something about this was making his brain feel funny. Chat why is everyone calorie counting me? Let me live! He looked away from his game for a second and read the chat. We love it king. You should eat more. Everyone spam 5000 CALORIE GOAL in the chat right NOW. 5000 calorie goal!! 5000 calorie goal king Carlos!! You can do it! BANG! He looked back at his game. Game over. You placed #80th. Fuck! How long had he been staring at those words? Alright guys, clearly I suck at this game tonight. His heart beat a little faster. You wanna see me reach 5000 calories by the end of the stream? Get me to 5000 subscribers! Then maybe I’ll think about it you fucking weirdos.

It’s a few months later again. This is where it’s safe to say, something was happening to Carlos. He tried not to think about it too much. His audience of subscribers had grown, a lot. And they seemed to be in on the joke. It was a joke by the way, the calorie counter at the top of the screen, which had made the chat go WILD when he first put it up to make them laugh. Carlos found that the more he leaned into the joke, the more his subscribers grew. The more he did what they wanted, the more they came back for more. The more he ate, the bigger he got. And he had definitely gotten bigger. I mean chat, look at me, you’ve made me blow up it’s not even funny, I don’t move off this chair and you want me to RAISE the daily calorie goal are you insane? He jiggled a little when he laughed. His brain felt funny a lot of the time now, it made him feel kind of foggy, to play along with this. But what was he doing? He had actually gained weight… and he had yes, gained a lot of subscribers too. And they loved it, they loved it more than the games he was streaming. His breathing got a little faster. What if my subscriber count just kept getting bigger? What if I kept it up? Could this be like, my gimmick? I just let my chat decide how big…. His breathing got a lot faster. Up until this point, he had denied the semi erection that happened every time he started thinking like this. He tried not to think about it too much. But he wanted those subscribers, he wanted his platform to grow… he wanted…to grow. What? Chat I think you guys are messing with my head. A long pause. We just want you to be who you truly are - Calorie Carlos! Omg yes. Calorie Carlos… our fat streamer boy. Carlos felt dizzy. Calorie Carlos! Our growing streamer pig lmaoooo. Okay, his erection wasn’t going away. What the fuck was happening. He tried not to think about it, as he reached for the keyboard. He tried not to think about it, as he raised the daily calorie counter to 6000 a day, he tried not to think about it, as he lifted his hoodie, jiggled his belly for the camera, and changed his name to Calorie_Carlos.

It’s a year later. The games Carlos plays are almost irrelevant. The calorie counter glows in the corner of the screen, it makes sounds and animates as it tracks his every meal, and every time it updates the chat goes wild. The more he gave in, the more he shared his growing belly and showed himself eating, the more every stream filled with responses. Encouragement. Looking good Calorie Carlos! Looking BIG. Keep growing! This changed the landscape of his chat. It…. turned him on, it KEPT him turned on. And eventually it began to change the landscape of his brain. Good streamer. Good piggy. Never stop. He couldn’t get away from it. The hazy brain fog that happened when he read these things, it became how he spent most of his days. Show your belly in the next 1000 calories king. Good fat boy! Eat more for us. What effect did this have on Carlos? He stopped worrying about why this turned him on, the validation he received from so many subscribers meant his mind was filled with encouragement and gluttony, it struggled to find space for anything else. His personality began to change. See his tubs of ice cream on the desks around him, his neglected gym gear pushed into the corner and hidden under empty pizza boxes, his 2 litre bottles of soda reflecting the pink LED lights of his room. He is Calorie Carlos. What is upppp guys uhhhh URPP tonight I’m getting a HUGE fast food order and I’m gonna rate it all as I eat it, I know you all wanna see this massive belly when it’s full ha! Well, you’ll just have to keep watching.

#belly gainer #gainer boy #weight gain story #gainer stories

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syneilesis · 1 month ago

Text

[fic] Impact Factor

Impact Factor

Love and Deepspace | Zayne (Li Shen) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 4k words | ao3 link

god, i'm so lovesick. what have you done to me? You tell Zayne that you're co-authoring a research paper. He finds himself wanting and waiting to read it.

A/N: For @seraphiism 's 2024 writing event. I chose Lovesick by Laufey. I know. Zayne? Lovesick? Lmao I don't know if I pulled it off, but I have to write for Zayne at least once.

I gave this fic a single, cursory proofread. Any mistake is still my fault. Divider by @/saradika

“By the way, a professor of mine in college reached out to me last week and asked me if I was interested in co-authoring an article with her on the phenomenology of vocation of the people working in Hunters Association.”

The clacking of the keyboard is crisp and loud in the silverlined office, accompanied by the low hum of the airconditioner. Zayne's attention remains on the computer, updating your status condition. He makes a brief noise to indicate that he's listening, and when he takes his gaze away from the desktop he finds you watching him with a faint grin on your face.

“Do you want me to guess your reply?”

That faint grin grows wide and whole.

“What do you think?”

Zayne leans back and rolls his chair a little farther, reaching out to turn on the printer. The machine whirls to life, chatters.

“You accepted the offer, of course.” He returns to his laptop and clicks on the print icon. “You don't have the heart to refuse your professor.”

“Dr. Zayne, you know me so well.”

Something in the way you said it compels him to turn to you again. Your expression hasn't changed, but the fall of your hair frames your slightly narrowed eyes that sparkle under the bright fluorescent light, like rare midday stars. It staggers the beats of Zayne's heart for two seconds, seizes his throat, and in that sliver of a moment Zayne forgets to breathe.

“Maybe it's because you're transparent,” he says, after retrieving the prescription from the printer. He hands you the paper, and surprise stretches your features. He clarifies: “Supplements. Undoubtedly you will need it when you begin your research.”

“Nothing less from my doctor.” My. The word is malleable around your mouth. And then: “I'm transparent? Is that a bad thing?”

“It's not a flaw.” He signs the healthcare forms you passed onto him. “But neither is it a virtue.”

“Hmm. Then, I guess I'll watch myself.”

His head jerks at your response, and Zayne has something to say to that—something like your not needing to be conscious of how open you are—but then your watch beeps and you apologize for the sudden departure.

Alone in his office, Zayne sinks into his chair and closes his eyes.

▼

That exchange, brief yet odd, lingers in Zayne's mind, like a stone at the base of his brain, next to the stem and cerebellum. He can feel its weight, its matter, solid and bothersome that at one point Greyson stops and asks him, “Are you okay, Dr. Zayne? You seem to be distracted today.”

A flash of memory; the word transparent, your answer. Were it not for the emergency mission, he would have hastened to add that transparency is closely associated with sincerity—and that is a virtue. He imagines a version of you as secretive as a glacier, as closed-off as a fortress, and the dissonance it invites rings discordant in the history between you—you who have always reached out to him first.

His hands itch for the phone that's secluded in one of his drawers, away from distraction, from memory. Zayne is, after all, duty first, the rest a distant second.

“It's nothing,” he tells Greyson. “I'm fine.”

“Maybe it's time for a vacation? You've been busy—busier than usual—lately.”

“I'll take a vacation at the end of the year. Right now, you're needed in the meeting room for a briefing.”

When Greyson clears the area, Zayne turns and sees Yvonne near the entrance of the lobby, studying him, her face arranged in a way that invites him to defend himself for some reason. But he resists the irrational urge.

He meets her scrutiny with a long and stoic gaze, and she shakes her head, wordless, then continues on with her work.

Left in the hallway, Zayne sighs and goes back to his office.

▼

“Dr. Zayne!”

Shapes of different colors coalesce into your reflection on the glass that displays the myriad cakes Zayne's been deliberating upon for the last fifteen minutes. The figure looms larger and larger, until it sidles up next to him and he straightens up, turning to his side.

“What a coincidence,” you continue with a glancing smile, hand on your chin as you survey the available pastries for purchase. “Are you buying desserts too?”

Earlier, Akso Hospital had a rare moment of slowness that allowed its personnel to indulge in a breather, which afforded Zayne to clock out on time. As a treat—and he will never admit this to anyone—he's stopped by the bakeshop on the way home, and to his surprise, here you are as well.

To your question he can only give a noncommittal sound; then to the cashier he points at the sea salt caramel vanilla slice that he's wanted to try for a while now. Both you and the cashier let out an intrigued Oh! before the purchase is processed at the register.

“Sea salt caramel vanilla,” you say with an evaluatory seriousness, “good choice.”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose.

“By the way, I've started on the research project. Been doing some preliminary reading since I don't want to disappoint my former professor. So far I'm doing well—the supplements are a great help!”

The supplements. He had an inkling that, as you are wont to do with every mission, you were rushing into this project with all your mind and body, tunnel-visioned, only the end goal visible in your sights. This unfortunately excludes concerns regarding your health, and Zayne is correct: all nighters and skipped meals, both of which erode the state of a person's health. When you are focused on something, that something takes the highest priority, and he can't always be with you all the time to remind you to take a break, or eat healthy food, or drink water. Which is why: supplements. They're not preventative, but at least they mitigate.

And it seems you're telling the truth: no tightness in your eyes and tautness in the shape of your mouth. In this case—in the case of your aspiration to conceal—you have not changed—or at least attempted to hold yourself back. Something in his chest loosens, smooths the tenseness out of his muscles that Zayne hasn't realized is there.

This is something to ponder, but not at the moment.

“I don't have to remind you that supplements are not substitutes for healthy food and proper sleep, do I?”

“Of course not! Even I know that.” But then your expression turns sheepish. “In practice, that's a little ...”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose again.

“But don't worry too much about me, Dr. Zayne! I'm taking care of myself just fine!”

“That doesn't instill much confidence.”

“How about this, then?” And you face him fully, a ready smile brimming with its own confidence and assurance, as radiant as an aurora. “If something happens, you will be the first person I'll turn to.”

At that Zayne pauses. The easy trust you bring between the both of you warms his neck, the back of it, climbing up, up, up to the tips of his ears and to his cheeks. He moves on to the cashier, his back on you.

“Try not to let that 'something' happen, but I know you're too stubborn to listen.”

A chuckle, and then: “I can't make any promises, but I'll try.”

This time, Zayne turns back.

“'Try' implies effort, so I am expecting effort.”

You snap a salute, grinning. “Got it, Doc!”

▼

The day after that, Zayne begins to read up on the subject of phenomenology.

▼

It won't be a couple of weeks until Zayne sees you again—but this time it's under the harsh hospital lights and the din of frantic footsteps and rolling wheels, the mixed scents of blood and antiseptic stinging his nose. A Wanderer surge disrupted the southern part of Linkon, and of the hunters dispatched you had been one of them.

Zayne glides around the moving bodies, steps never faltering until he finds you tucked in a corner, cradling your broken arm.

When his shadow falls upon your involuted frame, you lift your head and a rueful grin greets him. Your glass-sheen gaze doesn't escape his scrutiny.

He's wearing his white coat, and both of his hands retreat into its pockets, where he closes them into tight fists. If Zayne tilts his head a little more to the right, he can see a lengthy gash that lines along your temple and into your scalp, covered by your blood-crusted hair. He is painfully aware that this is part and parcel of your profession, the risk that endangers a hunter during a mission. A part of him is thankful that today it is only a broken arm and a couple of wounds. It could have been much worse, and Zayne refuses to imagine a scenario where you come into the hospital drained of vitality. A frustrated sigh threatens to spill out of him, but he endures, and just pointedly shoots you a disappointed look.

“So this is all the effort that you mentioned just amounted to.”

“To be fair I was doing well for a couple of hours until I had to rescue a civilian trapped in a damaged building.”

“That is commendable.” And he means it. But—“Follow that nurse with the brown clipboard. He's in charge of injuries like yours. Can you walk that far?”

Your uninjured hand braces against the wall and you pull yourself up, the motion not quite fluid but not a slow stagger either. Zayne would have assisted you, but it seems that you can do it on your own.

“It's my arm that's broken, not my legs.” A wincing smile, and you start to make your way forward. “I know that you have to take care of other people, Dr. Zayne, but thanks for checking up on me.”

Behind him, a nurse calls his name, a signal to go back to his work. There are other patients who need his attention more than you do, and overall you seem fine, still put together. A broken arm can heal over time, given proper medical care. And Zayne knows, intimately, that Akso does not lack for anything.

Still. It's not entirely on purpose, but Zayne calls your name.

“I—” he begins, as you slow down to wait for whatever he's going to say. His throat struggles, constricting and opening in subconscious reflex. “I'd still rather not worry about you like this.”

In and around the space between you and him, the hospital remains astir—shadows and silhouettes slipping in and out of Zayne's sight—until they give way to the blossoming smile on your face, eclipsing everything from the back to the fore, a pinpoint mark on the map.

Later, even as he tends to his patients, your smile persists in Zayne's mind, an afterimage that refuses to disappear behind his eyelids.

▼

Exactly one week after that incident, Zayne receives a bouquet of jasmines and a box of banana bread. Attached to it is a pristine white card with a line written: Don't forget to take care of yourself too!

The card stays in his breast pocket well beyond his working hours, right next to his beating heart.

▼

Days pass, weeks, months, and Zayne finds himself browsing through phenomenology journals during his break in the hopes of seeing your name in one of them. He knows that you'll tell him once it's published, but there's a part of him that clamors for the first touch of knowledge, the letters that make up your name woven in the glowing screen of his tablet.

At the same time, Greyson and Yvonne have bitten into their suspicions—whatever they are, Zayne refuses to ask—and swallowed the succulence as if it's a juicy truth. Often he sees Greyson glancing at him with a shadow of a smile, a quick sleight of hand that when Zayne fully faces him his expression is already ironed out and professional. Yvonne is no better: all glimmering eyes and knowing grins and incessant questions about his mood. Once, he asked the reason for the barrage of questions and Yvonne ignored the frost in his voice and tittered, telling him that sometimes in life, they have to combat the monotony with exciting things.

It worries him somewhat that you and Yvonne and even Greyson have been getting along quite well for a time now.

But your name still doesn't appear, and it doesn't seem to be appearing in the foreseeable future. Still Zayne searches, his fingers already making a habit of typing your name in the bar, his heart beating for a yes.

▼

At some point, he's asked about your progress.

“It's been going well,” you answer. “Professor made some comments about the part in my results and discussion, so I'm going to revise that. I think we can submit it by next month if we maintain the pace.”

After a thoughtful pause, you rest your arms on his desk, cushion your chin on them, and angle him a sly look.

“Are you offering to proofread my work, Dr. Zayne?”

“I may need a box of red pens for that.”

That jolts a laugh out of you, and you recover by sending a mock pout his way.

“I’ll have you know that I was a diligent writer in college! I won in essay writing competitions!”

“Is that so? Then I suppose your first foray in academic publishing will be a successful ‘accepted with minor revisions’ reply from the editor.”

“Of course! Oh, fine, fine. I won’t ask you to proofread the manuscript. You can just wait until it’s published.”

A small, genuine smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

▼

Eventually, he receives a text that says, We finally submitted the article! Now we just have to wait 🫣

He excuses himself from a cluster of medical professionals talking about the latest breakthroughs in oncology and parks himself beside the long table of drinks. He texts back: Watch out for Reviewer #2. They’re always the culprit.

It takes a full ten minutes before you reply, and during that period of anticipation four individuals have come up to him and attempted to pull him into a conversation about his accomplishments and recent research—one even braving to entice him into applying to another hospital.

Zayne shakes them off as politely as he can (and to that one poacher he gives a cold and resolute no). When his phone beeps, he turns away and redirects his undivided attention to the screen. All your latest message contains is a single salute emoji and the single-word sentence Gotcha! A laugh startles out of him, which Yvonne—having developed an eagle eye for Zayne in the recent weeks—notices and she scurries over to Greyson, bowing their heads in hushed whispers, glancing at him every now and then.

He's realized what they'd been talking about whenever he's in their vicinity, and he's tempted to refute their assumptions and retaliate accordingly. But the stone-weight in his mind had transformed into a persistent itch that does not choose when it strikes. In most cases it's merely annoying, but on rare occasions it is, frankly, merciless. A good-night text echoes in his dreams, and Zayne wakes with a thick sweetness coating the inside of his mouth. A fleeting touch from your worried hand burns the skin of his arm, the heat seeping into the layers until it reaches the subcutaneous tissue, where it spreads all over his body through the veins. He has to evade your glare to hide the ruddiness of his cheeks. Capitulation is the only option he had to choose in the end, and the idea of surrendering to this melts away the reflexive inquiry of when and how and why—a trait he had to hone as a doctor and a researcher.

What else is left when all the signs are pointing to this one immutable conclusion?

▼

On the day and hour your article is published Zayne is in the middle of a delicate surgery that takes him five hours and two hysterical family members of the patient—even with Evol involved. He emerges from the operating room with good news and exhausted-yet-relieved colleagues, Greyson's smile emerging from the doors the first indicator of a successful operation.

The patient's mother clings to him in tearful gratitude.

He orients the family on the next steps, and as he signs the healthcare forms he discovers a new slice of wound on the back of his hand, thin but lengthy. He has long since accepted that his hands, his arms, will forever be spattered with scars, and if that's the price he has to pay for saving lives, then it's of no consequence to him.

(Once, he had caught your gaze glued to his hands, so he snapped his fingers, startling you into looking at his face.

“What was that for?” you demanded.

“You're not paying attention.”

“I was just—” you bit your lip, torn. A pause, then: “Did they hurt—each one of them?”

He glanced down and studied each scar. Too many, you'd probably think. But not once had they bothered him.

“I never even noticed them in the first place, so no.”

“Okay.” Your eyes were crystal glass and the deep breath you took was stuttering in all its inelegance. “Okay.”)

A sliver of a break provides him the opportunity to sink into reprieve, and his hand gropes for his phone on the desk, peeking out under a sheaf of documents that he has to fill out later.

A cursory look at the screen, and then Zayne is leaping for the computer.

The research article you and your professor had written is kept behind a paywall. Zayne spares a moment to shut his eyes in irritation. He's fortunate that his university library account is still active, so he utilizes that privilege to gain access to the article’s full version, made available by the university’s database.

When the file loads, he syncs it to his tablet, after which he leans back on the chair and settles to read. He can locate which parts you had a hand in writing, and the parts where your style comes out. It isn't his field, but he has read enough to venture that the insights of this paper are valuable. Unwittingly, a proud smile surfaces on his lips.

At the end of the article, in the acknowledgment section, something is curiously written:

The co-author is grateful for the moral and medical support of Akso Hospital's Dr. Zayne. Dr. Zayne, would you like to have dinner with me? As a date. Yes, I'm asking you out.

Zayne’s mind blanks out and the itch returns, scrabbling at the walls of his skull, loud and frenetic and overwhelming all his senses. His entire body warms and the sensation of crawling needles prickle at his skin. Everything is white noise; his heart threatens to jump out of his ribcage. He gets the ridiculous thought that he can't perform a surgery on himself.

The next thing he knows, he's driving his car at the same time dialing your number. The car speakers amplify the ringing tone once his phone is attached to the dashboard. Both his hands tightly grip the steering wheel.

When the call connects, he opens with “What would you do if I hadn't read your article?”

He can practically hear the smile in your voice; it resounds around the car interior. “That's not an option, Dr. Zayne. You would have definitely read the article.”

Laughter bubbles up inside him; he tamps it down. “Confident now, are we?”

“Of course!” A pause; a shuffle of feet. You must be heading to another room. “I hear car engine, where are you now?”

“On the way to your apartment.”

“Wait, don't—go to this restaurant instead. I'll text you the address. I have it all reserved and ready.”

He blinks once, twice, surprise slackening the muscles on his face. “... You haven't even heard my answer yet.”

“You can tell me at the restaurant. And then we'll celebrate with excellent food, excellent wine, and scrumptious desserts.”

“You sound so certain about receiving a positive response.”

“I'm optimistic that way, Dr. Zayne. I'm heading out now—I'll see you in a bit!”

You hang up, and the speakers beep into silence. Two seconds later Zayne presses the hazard switch. The car slows down and then comes to a halt on the side of the road. Other vehicles zoom past him. Without the need to drive, Zayne can finally give in to the urge to exhale aloud and let out a brief yet astounded laugh, forehead pressing against the leather smoothness of the steering wheel.

You've always been transparent. But Zayne has made the crucial mistake of neglecting the fact that you are also clever. If this were a competition, you've already won.

▼

You're already at the restaurant when he arrives, sat on the corner facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, the shifting lights outside dancing over your serene profile. Your elbows rest on the table, where everything is already set up except the food. A vase of red roses at the center completes the picturesque scene.

You lift your head and welcome him with a triumphant grin once he's a few steps away. And when he settles on the chair opposite you, you lean forward and stare at him expectantly.

“You could have asked like a normal person,” Zayne begins.

“I could have,” you agree, nodding, “but I like it this way. I like to get closer to you through the things you do.”

Another moment of Zayne getting caught off-center: the warmth flushing outward from the core of his body like vibrant ink on clean, clear water. He has to lower his gaze from the sheer brilliance of your certainty, the way your patience and care have allowed this moment between the two of you, something that he has never imagined culminating like this: two people sitting opposite each other, in this softly lit restaurant while the world bursts into festive lights outside it. The tender way your hand moves across the table, stopping right before the flower vase, as if affording him the liberty to arrive at a decision Zayne has already made, many, many months (years) ago, just buried under the strata of responsibilities, boundaries, and improbabilities.

Never the when, never the how, never the why. It is, only, sublimely, this.

Zayne sighs with a rueful shake of his head. “It's not yet too late—maybe I should answer by publishing my own research article.” But the hand meeting yours belies his words.

Your smile: pleased, pleasure, like the sun emerging from the winter sky.

He's too occupied with the touch of your hand and the radiance of your expression that Zayne misses the throwaway comment that tumbles past his lips:

“If we're talking about getting closer through doing the things the other does, then I suppose I should propose to you when we're in the middle of a Wanderer invasion.”

And then he realizes what he just said.

Zayne whips his head up, heart in throat, and scrambles for an excuse. “What I meant was—”

“Getting ahead of ourselves now, are we?” Your face is pure indulgence, pure bliss. Your hand squeezes his, not letting go. “Don't worry, Dr. Zayne; I'm looking forward to it.”

And that lustrous smile, sustained. Zayne relaxes and you release him to clap your hands together, delighted.

“Now then! Shall we have our dinner?”

▼

(You have, indeed, delivered in all aspects: excellent food, excellent wine, and scrumptious desserts.)

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shadamyheadcanons · 11 months ago

Note

For me, Shadow and Amy's dynamic is basically two different types of touch starved in a person

((If any of the gifs on this post aren’t loading for you on mobile--like they aren’t for me--you can download them or check the sources listed. As for desktop, they play just fine, but they won’t line up next to each other like they do on mobile. Tumblr is a comedy of errors.))

Yes! Absolutely. I’ve seen tons of fans say Shadow is prickly and would respond badly to hugs, but canon says otherwise. This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic 06]

Whenever I feel like being sad, I wonder if Bad-Future-06 Silver has ever been hugged.

This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic Unleashed, gif source.]

And I shouldn’t have to say this, but...yeah. These are very bad reactions:

[Sonic X]

[Sonic Generations]

Yikes. I feel bad for both of them.

But this?

[Sonic Adventure 2, gif source.]

This is Shadow’s only canonical hug in the games, and aside from jumping slightly from being snuck up on, he seems to like it just fine.

Just look at that smile! He’s happy. He finds it endearing.

It was a hug from a complete stranger meant for someone else, but he still drank it in--and, given that he’d effectively just lost Maria, he really did need it. It’s the combination of Amy’s gentleness AND her speech that changed his mind. After all, if someone as sweet as her sees something in the humans, maybe they’re not so bad.

My buddy who runs @shadowxamyweek recently reblogged a post about this hug, and their tags sum it up perfectly:

[ID: A screenshot of tags on a post. The tags read:

#official art #4kids #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #YEAH 😭 #listen I read nothing that has happened with them in SA2 as shippy - and i ship them #THIS HUG? THR SPEECH ON THE ARK? #those are two lonely kids #those are two left behind kids #those are two kids so desperate for affection #for two vastly different reasons #Amy loves with her whole chest and will never stop doing so- no matter what happens #and Shadow does too- that is key to remember- Shadow loves... so fucking much... that it hurts #you are RIGHT op when you say this is probably the first time someone has been gentle with him in a long long time #he doesn't even run away #in the game- when Amy flees- he takes a step after her- a moment's hesitation- a 'wait' #this kid NEEDED a hug #and i firmly believe part of the reason Shadow listens to Amy in the end is BECAUSE she is the only person who showed him gentleness #softness and kindness and affection #if only for a moment #fjdodhdofjgor THIS is what i mean when i say 'be gentle- be kind' #it MATTERS #it FUCKING MATTERS

End ID]

Shadow doesn’t hate hugs inherently; it’s just that no one hugs him in the first place...

...aside from one person.

Amy’s easily the most affectionate character in the cast. It’s cute at first glance, but there’s a common thread to every instance that puts a damper on it.

She’s always, ALWAYS the initiator.

She puts more into each hug than anyone else does.

She’s always the last to pull away.

The most reciprocated Amy hug I know of in canon is this one:

[IDW Sonic issue #22]

Which is absolutely adorable...but Amy still initiated. Because it’s always her job. Even the characters who like affection don’t need it the way she does...with one exception.

And this tiny detail just killed me. The little, “wait, come back 😟”

It’s the only time I know of when someone has actually stepped after her like this. In a game where everyone left Amy behind, he wanted to follow her. Mister so-called-prickly didn’t want the hug to end.

Because he’s the only one who needs it as much as she does.

He wants to be held as much as she wants to hold someone else, and no one else is warm and sincere enough for it. Compare these instances:

[IDW issue #6]

Sonic thinks Shadow is wrong about something, so he grabs Shadow’s arm to stop him, and Shadow aggressively wrenches it away and leaves.

[Archie Sonic Universe #23]

But when Amy thinks Shadow is wrong about something and grabs his arm to stop him, he gently removes her hand and thinks about what she has to say.

Even when he doesn’t want to be touched, he makes the distinction between “don’t touch me” and “not right now, please.” These are from two different continuities, of course, but I think the point stands. Amy’s special. He’s gentler with her than he is with other people, and that’s consistent across all canons.

Side note: how often does Amy get to feel special like that? I actually really like that Sonic doesn’t place others in a hierarchy of importance, and I wouldn’t change that about him even if I could...

[IDW issue #2]

...but Amy does play favorites. I want her to feel like she’s someone else’s favorite, too. I want her to have someone who puts her first and likes her best. I think Shadow’s more than capable of that. I believe he craves clinginess like hers deep down, even if he hasn’t consciously figured that out yet.

I have an entire tag for these two being affectionate. My favorite is probably this one.

Of course, there may be those who say I’m reading too much into one (1) hug. And you know what? Maybe they’re right! We need a bigger sample size. Sega, make more characters hug Shadow, please. Let Rouge comfort him after he confides in her about something. Have Omega give him an awkward metal embrace because he read on the internet that organic beings like that kind of thing. Make Shadow himself pull Silver into a hug when he’s breaking down crying from the stress of always having to be a hero. Show Tails accidentally grab onto him out of fear when they’re trapped in a lightning storm, and when he gets embarrassed and pulls away, have Shadow hold him for the rest of the storm and admit he’s not fond of bright lights, either.

[Sonic Boom]

That scene where Shadow and Amy rescue Cream and Cheese from Cryptic Castle? That easily could’ve turned into a cute group hug.

[Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)]

And I have seen some absolutely adorable fanart where he holds Cream’s hand while he and Amy lead her through Cryptic Castle to make sure she doesn’t get lost 🥺

Have Knuckles give him an empathetic bro-pat on the shoulder when he finds out Shadow’s the last one of his race, too.

[Archie Sonic Universe #89]

Have Sonic try to hug him, and then when Shadow inevitably pushes him away and says he doesn’t do hugs, have Amy arrive and latch onto Shadow instead while he tries to stutter out an excuse as to why she’s allowed to and Sonic isn’t.

The most affection Shadow has in recent history is stuff like this...

youtube

[Sonic Prime season 2 episode 1]

...where Sonic tries to hug him and Shadow immediately pushes him away, knocks him over, and tries to punch him in the face. Kind of says it all. Amy stands out as the only one with a good track record here.

[IDW issue #36]

Especially when you have him look at her like this when someone else is on the receiving end of that affection.

So in the absence of further evidence, I have no choice but to interpret this in the most Shadamy way possible. Your move, Sega.

#shadamy #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #not a headcanon #ask #anonymous #what is it with touch starved hedgehogs?#not the first time i've used the previous tag. says a lot about these characters #meta analysis #clingy

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