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kiwriteswords · 3 months ago

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Unveiled

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This has been on my to-write list forever...hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Mild Injury, Mentions of Field Work, Secretive Behavior, Slight Jealousy, Light Swearing, Mentions of Emotional Vulnerability, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage, Canon-Typical Themes.

Sypnosis: You and Aaron Hotchner have always been experts at keeping work and personal life separate—so much so that the team doesn’t even know you’re together, let alone married. But secrets can only stay hidden for so long, especially when small details start catching everyone’s attention.

The BAU bullpen buzzes with the usual hum of activity. Cases to close, profiles to refine, and endless paperwork to finish. You settle into your desk with a practiced air of nonchalance, tugging the sleeve of your blazer slightly to cover the delicate wedding band now gracing your finger.

The slim band--simple, not flashy, was perfect for both your personality and the line of work you were in. You could count the times on one hand how often JJ had to get her ring fixed or cleaned from the damage being in the field caused. You did not need diamonds or an extravagant engagement or wedding. You had everything and more with the man who had the matching band upstairs.

You glance across the bullpen, up to Aaron’s office. He’s buried in a stack of reports, his expression unreadable, as always. His left hand is occupied with a red pen, and the thin gold band is barely visible but there nonetheless.

Your lips twitch into a subtle smile as you recall the whirlwind of the weekend: the drive to a secluded courthouse, the soft vows spoken just for each other, the quiet, private moment that bound you and Aaron together in a way only you two could understand--with Jack present, of course. Eloping had been a mutual decision, spurred on by years of hiding, countless near-misses at being caught, and the realization that you were done living for anyone but each other.

Ever the lawyer Aaron was and ever the practical woman you were, you knew marriage was essentially just paperwork. Personally, it did mean a lot more to the both of you in terms of commitment, so that’s why you both decided to do it on a whim, to begin with, but there wasn’t a need for the white dress or all the bells and whistles that you both found overkill. The slim gold bands were enough. The vows were enough. The love you shared was more than enough.

Now, the fun part began.

You turn back to your desk, shuffling through files with purpose as the team begins trickling in. The usual morning energy hums around you, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight thrill of knowing what you’re both hiding—and knowing it won’t be hidden for much longer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful as ever. “Doesn’t this day feel extra special for some reason? Like the world’s just radiating good vibes?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe it’s just you, Penelope. You’re the good vibes.”

She beams, clearly pleased with the answer, before skipping off to annoy Morgan. You catch Aaron’s eye for the briefest second, and the corner of his mouth twitches—a rare, subtle sign of amusement.

The team trickles in gradually. Rossi strolls past your desk, sharp as ever, with his coffee in hand. His sharp eyes flicker to your hand, and he slows just slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Nice ring, kid,” he says, voice casual but curious. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious enough settle down.”

Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but you quickly recover, offering him an easy shrug. “I like to keep my private life... private.”

Rossi had been the hardest over the years to keep at bay. Somehow, it became second nature to be so…secluded in your personal life. It wasn’t that you or Aaron were not sharing with the team, but you never felt the reason to shake things up. You, with your budding career, and him, with his reputation as a leader, why change that?

Rossi hums thoughtfully, clearly filing that information away for later. You glance over at Aaron again, his focus still trained on the file in front of him. His poker face is maddeningly perfect, but you know he’s listening intently.

It isn’t too long after that a new case brings you to the round table room. You can’t help but feel that there is still an unspoken buzz in the air. Rossi’s comment made you jumpier than you’d like. Not that you’re hiding anything, but the idea of change…makes you uneasy.

Aaron sits to your right, perfectly composed as always, flipping through the latest case files. His left hand holds a pen, the thin gold band on his ring finger catching the light with every movement. You glance at it, a quiet rush of warmth filling your chest. Your husband. It’s still a surreal thought. You could feel the faintest hint of amusement radiating from him, even if his face betrayed nothing. The quiet thrill of your secret filled the air between you.

You refocus, nodding at something JJ says about an update from the field office, but you can feel Rossi’s eyes on you. He’s seated across the table, his sharp gaze catching every detail. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face, but he says nothing—yet.

“Anyway,” JJ continues, looking up from her notes, “we’ll need to coordinate with local law enforcement to finalize those interviews.” She glances over, and her eyes snag on your hand mid-gesture. Her words falter for a split second before she quickly recovers. “Morgan, you’ll take the lead.”

Morgan nods, clearly only half-listening. His focus has also shifted—to Aaron, more specifically. His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Hotch, you got something new going on?” His tone is casual, but his grin betrays his curiosity. “That’s one hell of an accessory you’re sporting.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, his voice calm and measured. “I wasn’t aware my ring warranted commentary, Morgan.”

Morgan smirks, glancing at Rossi. “Oh, come on, man. You walk in here wearing a wedding band out of nowhere? You can’t expect us not to say something.”

Rossi leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And here I thought I was the only one paying attention,” he says, his voice rich with amusement. “Seems our unit chief had quite the weekend.”

The rest of the team snaps to attention. JJ’s head jerks toward Aaron, her eyes widening as she looks between him and you. Penelope, sitting at the far end of the table, gasps audibly.

“Wait,” Penelope exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re married now? When did this happen? Who’s the lucky lady? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“I’m not the only one,” Rossi interjects smoothly, his gaze now fixed on you. “Looks like Y/N had a busy weekend, too.” He nods toward your left hand.

You glance at Aaron, a silent exchange passing between you. His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

Penelope’s sharp intake of breath breaks your focus. “Wait a second,” she says, leaning forward, her gaze darting between you and Aaron. “Y/N, is that... a wedding ring?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady as you respond. “What about it?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “Hold up,” he says, nodding toward Aaron’s hand again.

All eyes turn toward Aaron now. He calmly finishes jotting a note before closing the folder in front of him. “Is this relevant to the case?” he asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

Rossi tilts his head, his sharp gaze bouncing between you and Aaron. His lips curl into a knowing smile. “Interesting,” he says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Very interesting.”

JJ’s brow furrows as she glances between the two of you. Her eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn. “No,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then louder, “Wait a second—are you two—?”

You glance at Aaron, and he gives you the slightest nod. With a small sigh, you lean back in your chair and let the corner of your mouth lift into a smirk. “You really don’t know?” you ask, your voice laced with amusement.

Aaron follows up, his tone carrying a faint edge of dry humor. “I thought you were better profilers than that.”

The room goes completely silent as the pieces click into place. Emily gasps, pointing between you and Aaron. “No. No way. You two? Are you telling me you’re married to each other?”

Morgan bursts out laughing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating this whole time, and none of us knew? I don’t believe it. You two are way too good at this.”

Penelope’s jaw drops. “What?! Oh my God, I feel so betrayed! How could you keep this from me? I should’ve been your bridesmaid—or at least in the loop!”

Aaron raises a hand, his calm authority cutting through the chaos in the room. “We made the decision to keep our relationship private to maintain professionalism,” he begins, his tone firm but warm. His eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on each team member before continuing. “This team works best when there are no distractions, and we both agreed that our relationship couldn’t interfere with that.”

He pauses, glancing at you. There’s a moment of silent understanding between you before you speak up, your voice steady but lighter than his. “It wasn’t about hiding, exactly. It was about making sure we stayed focused on the work that matters. But,” you add with a small, wry smile, “we eventually realized we didn’t need to keep it a secret anymore.”

Aaron picks up where you leave off, his tone softening slightly. “Especially now that we’re married,” he says, letting the weight of the words settle over the room. “We didn’t make this decision lightly, and we both value the integrity of this team above all else. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

The room falls quiet again, the team absorbing the revelation. You can see the wheels turning in their minds as they piece together the years of subtle interactions, quiet glances, and the seamless way you and Aaron have worked together all this time.

JJ breaks the silence first, her expression shifting from shock to a warm smile. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations. You both deserve to be happy.”

Morgan leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, I’ll give you two credit—this is the best-kept secret I’ve seen in a long time. But man, Hotch, you’ve got some explaining to do. Married? Without us knowing? I’m hurt.”

Rossi chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it sooner,” he says, his tone amused but approving. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two make sense.”

Reid almost looks relieved, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t pick up on things like this.”

Penelope is the last to recover, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! This is so romantic!” She gestures wildly between you and Aaron. “Secret agents in love, sneaking off to get married—it’s like a spy movie! Please tell me there are pictures. I need pictures. And cake! Why isn’t there cake?”

You laugh, finally letting yourself relax a little as you glance at Aaron. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one the others might miss, but you recognize instantly. Beneath the table, his pinky brushes against yours, a subtle reminder that you’re in this together.

“Alright,” Aaron says, his commanding tone bringing the room back into focus. “We still have work to do, and I expect everyone to stay focused on the case.”

Morgan leans back in his chair, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah, boss. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Rossi smirks. “Don’t worry, Derek. Something tells me there’s more to this story, and we’ll get the details eventually.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Aaron as the team begins to settle down, still buzzing with excitement. It’s out in the open now—no more hiding, no more secrets. Just you, Aaron, and the life you’ve quietly built together finally shared with the people who matter most.

The case wraps up after a grueling few days. The unsub is in custody, and while the tension of the investigation still lingers, the mood on the jet back home is noticeably lighter. The team is scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Rossi are in their usual seats, discussing the finer points of profiling techniques, while Spencer is engrossed in a book.

You find yourself seated with JJ and Emily at the small table near the galley. Emily is flipping through a magazine, and JJ is scrolling on her phone, but their attention shifts to you when you pull out your phone and casually unlock it.

“You know,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a small grin, “since you all feel so left out, I figured I’d show you some photos from the elopement.”

Emily’s eyes snap up from her magazine, and JJ’s face lights up with interest. “Finally!” Emily exclaims, leaning in. “I thought you were going to make us beg.”

JJ nudges your arm. “I’ve been dying to see these. Penelope’s already planning a post-wedding celebration for you two.”

You chuckle and swipe to the photo album. The first image you show is a candid one—a shot of you and Aaron outside the courthouse, his hand resting gently on your back, both of you mid-laugh. JJ lets out a soft “Aww,” and Emily whistles low under her breath.

“Look at you two,” Emily says, her tone teasing but fond. “Who knew Hotch could look so... human?”

You laugh, swiping to the next picture, a close-up of your intertwined hands with your wedding bands gleaming in the sunlight. “He’s full of surprises,” you quip.

As you share a few more photos, some with Jack, some Jack actually took of you and Aaron.

Aaron walks by, a cup of coffee in hand. He pauses when he notices the three of you huddled around your phone. “Are you showing them the photos?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up at him with a playful grin. “They demanded proof.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leans slightly over the table. “You should show them the photo from last year. The one from the Amalfi Coast.” There’s an amused glint in Aaron’s eye’s that makes you want to roll your own, but you satisfy everyone anyway.

JJ blinks, looking between the two of you. “Wait. The Amalfi Coast? Together?”

Emily narrows her eyes, clearly piecing something together. “Hold on. Didn’t you both take time off around the same time last summer?”

Before you can answer, Reid speaks up from his seat across the cabin, his voice laced with disbelief. “You mean the trip to Italy? I remember you both mentioned visiting Italy, but I never connected the dots that you were there together.”

Morgan, catching the tail end of the conversation, leans over the back of his seat. “Hold up—that’s what you were doing last year? You two were off in Italy, sipping wine and living the good life, and we had no idea?”

Rossi chuckles from across the cabin, shaking his head. “It’s impressive, really. I mean, a courthouse wedding is one thing, but hiding a vacation together? That’s next-level stealth.”

Emily laughs, gesturing toward your phone. “Alright, show us this Amalfi Coast picture. I need to see the evidence.”

With a shake of your head, you scroll back to the album from the trip. You find the photo Aaron mentioned—a picture of the two of you standing on a sunlit terrace overlooking the ocean, the breeze catching your hair while Aaron stands beside you, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a linen shirt. You hand the phone over, and JJ and Emily lean in closer.

“This is so unfair,” JJ says, shaking her head with a smile. “You two look like you walked out of a travel magazine.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t put this together sooner,” Emily adds, smirking. “I mean, Hotch in a linen shirt? That should’ve been the giveaway.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you we were better at keeping secrets than they gave us credit for.”

You grin, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Well, now you all know. Mystery solved.”

Reid looks up from his book, still shaking his head. “I feel like I should’ve noticed. The behavioral cues were there...”

Morgan snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. They had us all fooled.”

JJ hands your phone back, smiling warmly. “Well, for the record, I’m glad we know now. You two really are perfect together.”

Aaron catches your eye from where he’s standing, his expression soft but steady. It’s a look that speaks volumes, and you know you’ll both carry this moment—this quiet joy of finally being yourselves with your team—for a long time.

As the jet hums softly beneath you, you settle into the warmth of the conversation, knowing that the life you’ve built with Aaron is now shared with the people who matter most.

When the jet touches down, and the team unloads into the bullpen, you barely have time to gather your things before Penelope corners you and Aaron. She’s been dropping comments all case long—about needing details, demanding photos, and lamenting her exclusion from what she’s now referring to as The Most Romantic Secret Ever Kept—but this time, there’s no escape.

“Alright, you two!” Penelope exclaims, her hands on her hips as she plants herself in front of you both. Her eyes sparkle with determination. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited through an entire case, and now you owe me. Spill it. All of it. When, where, how? I need the full story.”

Aaron glances at you, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “I told you this would happen,” he murmurs under his breath.

You chuckle softly and look at Penelope. “Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “We’ll tell you—briefly.”

Penelope’s expression brightens instantly. “Finally!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Aaron crosses his arms, his authoritative posture intact but his tone softer than usual. “It started a few years ago,” he begins, glancing at you. “Not long after you joined the team.”

You nod, picking up the thread. “It wasn’t planned. We just... clicked. We kept things professional at first, but over time, it became harder to ignore. Eventually, we decided it was worth exploring, but we agreed to keep it private.”

Penelope’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Years? You mean to tell me you’ve been dating for years, and I had no idea?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly. “We were careful,” he says simply. “We didn’t want our relationship to interfere with the team dynamic or the work we do.”

“And we didn’t think anyone would benefit from knowing,” you add. “It was easier to keep it between us.”

“But how?” Penelope presses, leaning closer. “I mean, we’re profilers! How did you manage to keep it under wraps?”

You exchange a knowing look with Aaron before answering. “We’ve always been good at separating our personal and professional lives,” you say. “At work, we focused on the cases. Outside of work... we had each other.”

Aaron nods. “We were deliberate about our interactions here, and we made sure not to let anything slip.”

Penelope looks genuinely impressed, though she’s clearly not done grilling you. “So, no one ever suspected? Not even Rossi?”

You laugh. “Oh, Rossi definitely had his suspicions,” you admit. “But he never said anything outright.”

Aaron smirks faintly. “I think he enjoyed watching the rest of you try to figure it out.”

Penelope groans dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You two are like... spy-level secretive. I don’t know whether to be mad at you or impressed.”

“Be impressed,” you say with a grin. “It’s less stressful.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at both of you, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re ridiculously adorable together. And because I’m still planning a post-wedding party. You’re not getting out of that.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Penelope finally relents, though she shoots you both one last look that clearly says she’s not done asking questions. As she flounces off to her office, you exhale a soft laugh, turning to Aaron.

“Well,” you say lightly, “that went better than I expected.”

Aaron’s gaze softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice low. “She’ll be back.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you head toward your offices. It’s out in the open now—your story, your love, your life together. And though you’ve enjoyed the secrecy, there’s something freeing about finally being able to share it with your team.

After a long day and an even longer week, the bullpen finally clears out. The soft hum of computers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights are the only sounds left as you and Aaron prepare to leave. You gather your things, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he approaches with his jacket draped over his arm.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the elevator. There’s an unspoken ease between you; the weight of secrecy finally lifted. When the elevator doors close, Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with quiet humor, “we don’t have to stagger our exits anymore.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No more waiting ten minutes so no one sees us leaving together?”

“Or arriving,” he adds. “No more separate cars or pretending to run into each other in the parking lot. We’ve been doing that for years. I think it’s become muscle memory.”

The thought makes you smile as the elevator dings, and you step out into the cool night air. You walk together to the car, and the rhythmic click of your shoes is the only sound. When you slide into the passenger seat, and Aaron starts the engine, the hum of the car fills the silence.

As he pulls onto the road, you glance over at him, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Do you ever think about all the close calls?” you ask, your voice quiet but teasing.

Aaron’s lips twitch in amusement. “All the time. Like that day you got hurt in the field.”

You know exactly which day he means. It’s burned into your memory as much as his. “You mean when I dislocated my shoulder chasing that suspect?”

He nods, his tone softening. “I remember standing over you, trying to keep it together while the EMTs worked. I wanted to pick you up and carry you to the ambulance myself, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay professional and keep my voice steady.”

You smile faintly, your heart tightening at the memory. “I remember how calm you sounded, even though I could see it in your eyes. You hated every second of it.”

Aaron glances at you briefly, his eyes filled with something deeper. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Morgan even asked me later why I seemed so shaken. I had to play it off as just another day in the field.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you were convincing enough. I think I was more worried about you slipping than about my shoulder.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his focus on the road. “That wasn’t the only close call. Remember Kansas City? The hotel?”

“Oh God,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. “I thought for sure Morgan would figure it out. He knocked on my door right after you left.”

Aaron smirks, glancing at you briefly. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was up late working on the profile,” you reply, grinning. “Which wasn’t a lie, technically. I just left out the part where you were with me.”

Aaron shakes his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “How about all the times we shared a room and no one noticed?”

You laugh, sinking back into your seat. “That was a miracle. Every single time. Can you imagine if anyone went looking for you in your empty room?”

“Or walked past at the wrong moment,” Aaron adds, his voice tinged with humor. “I can’t believe we managed to pull that off.”

You grin at him, your tone teasing. “We probably wasted so much of the Bureau’s money on extra rooms we didn’t need.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I think we’ve earned it, considering the hours we’ve put in.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Still, we were playing with fire. Like that time Rossi knocked on your door in Denver. I thought for sure he’d notice something.”

Aaron chuckles, his tone more amused now. “Rossi always noticed. He just didn’t say anything.”

“Probably because he enjoyed watching everyone else flounder,” you reply with a grin. “He was always a little too smug.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as the memories wash over you both—the near-misses, the stolen moments, the countless times you had to act like nothing more than colleagues. Now, with the secrecy behind you, the memories feel more like a badge of honor than a burden.

Aaron pulls into the driveway, turning off the engine before glancing at you. His expression is soft, his voice quieter now. “No more sneaking around,” he says. “No more separate cars or extra rooms.”

You smile, reaching for his hand. “Just us.”

The two of you walk inside, your home warm and inviting as you settle in for the night. The conversation drifts back to the little things you had to do to keep your relationship under wraps—the cover stories, the excuses, the times you almost slipped. But the laughter and warmth you share now make it all worth it.

As the night deepens, you both revel in the freedom of no longer having to hide. It’s just you and Aaron, building the life you’ve always wanted… with Jack—together, out in the open, and exactly as it should be.

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@sleepysongbirdsings

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grimm-writings · 1 year ago

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pathetic

…ft! dan heng, topaz, argenti, seele x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, pining, reader is oblivious as HELL!!!, seele’s slightly suggestive

…wc! 210 ; 319 ; 258 ; 305 = 1092

…notes! pathetic crushing… i cannot and will not ever stop vouching for pathetic pining in this house !!!!!!!

Dan Heng is painfully aware of how he looks right now. If it wasn’t March giving him the biggest shit-eating grin, it was Himeko trying hard to look polite as she hides her giggles, or even Mr Yang pretending he isn’t paying attention.

You. You really haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing to him.

Every time you visit him in the Express’s archives, Dan Heng would light up. He wouldn’t do that for any such person usually. His excuse is that you bring him snacks. You would never complain, saying that you’d take this Dan Heng over the one with a poker face and sarcastic bites, even if he is just as cute.

How can you say that so casually?

One particular visit, he couldn’t take your sweet words any longer. His hand envelops yours before you could turn away from him. The way you look back at Dan Heng makes his heart swell in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

He couldn’t get the words out.

His grip loosens and he lets you go, albeit with confusion on your face.

The door closes with a quiet goodbye, and Dan Heng throws his head back in frustration, staring at the decorated ceiling above him.

How can he go on like this...?

Topaz is not the kind of person to sit idly by waiting for something to happen. She knows what she wants, and what she wants takes the shape of you.

You’re just so adorable! Really, the way you act so clueless whenever you flirt with her is just so endearing! How could she not melt?

…Well, it used to be easy. Flirting, complimenting you, relishing in how you react; she even asked you out to dinner, and took you to the nicest place possible! …But you’re still so shocked every time. You still didn’t pick up on any of her advances.

For once, Topaz is at a complete loss. What is she to do? Grab you by the shoulders and shake you around telling you that she’s completely enamoured with everything about you, and though that includes your cluelessness, she can’t take much of it anymore?

She could nearly keel over. Complete overkill. She needs to be smart about this; clear, but also suave and mature. Yeah, she can do this!

That’s how you find Numby making their way up to you, and there they drop a card in front of your feet. They curiously look up at you as you read, although you could sense another pair of eyes watching you closely.

‘You’re cute! Go out with me! Love, Topaz!’

Topaz could nearly explode from joy watching your face heat up. Finally. Finally! You get it now, don’t you?!

Her heart steps as you throw the card away and lean down and pet Numby. “Oh, Numby. Someone must have put you up to this for a prank, huh? You should find your way back to Topaz!”

Said companion of the Warp Trotter has already fallen to her knees with her face in her hands. You’re more work than she bargained for… but she’ll be struck down by an Aeon before she gives up on you! Just watch her!

Argenti doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Truly, he’s making all the right moves. He’s following examples from stories and myths, step by step. It’s not his fault that they always end up going wrong somehow. Maybe it’s just harsh luck…

He’s on one knee, taking your hand in his own. Like you are royalty, he kisses the back of it, and looks up at you.

“Thank you for saving me!” You beam, and Argenti’s brain freezes.

That’s how it all goes wrong, every single time.

He’s hopeless, how the knight of beauty stands up, turns around, and immediately feels his knees buckle and he’s down on the ground again. Maybe he’ll stay like this for a few minutes when he finishes crying.

He feels you kneel at his side, and prod against his armour. “Argenti…?” your sweet, sweet voice calls out to him quietly.

“Worry not. I am simply fighting the dirt in your honour. Keeping the worms off of you.”

You pause. He wouldn’t dislike being buried here like this. Then he hears your confused laughter. “Alright then! Thank you very much, sir knight!”

You pet his hair and stand up again, making your way back to a safe zone.

Yes, Argenti thinks, I will stay here and fend off the insects for you, my dear. And that is the only reason why I can’t move…

He certainly refuses to believe it’s your patience and kindness. How silly would it be for a knight of beauty to become so immobilised by it! How silly indeed…

Seele encourages you to stand up again. A simple sparring doesn’t do too much harm every now and again. She isn’t Luka; she won’t beg you for a match, but practice is good, and practice is better if it’s with a friend.

Haha. Keep telling yourself that, Seele.

Is it obvious yet she really wants you to just defeat her already? She knows you have it in you. Yeah, you’re more on the air-headed side, but you’re a reliable teammate! Maybe it’s the fact you refuse to actually hurt her…

You apologise again when you’re back on your feet. She doesn’t want any apologies, dang you! Can’t you see she’s just desperate to get you to at least brush your knuckles against hers as her scythe comes in conflict with your blade?!

…So that does it. In her mental ramblings, you manage to get her on the ground beneath you. Your thighs cage her under you as you push her down. Aeons, your smile is so wide.

“I got you!” you exclaim.

Seele can’t help the small laugh that escapes her. She hopes that her face is only red to you because of your fighting. You’re so close to her face. You could just kiss her right now…

“Yep, you really did!” is what comes out, shakier than she would have liked. How did you get her so weak? You’re not even making a big deal over straddling her like this…

You shimmy off her eventually, offering your hand out. “Time for lunch?”

Seele doesn’t move for a few seconds, before letting you pick her up. If not a kiss, she can at least get some quality time. The way you smile at her is enough for her.

…How you pushed her down will definitely haunt her dreams for the next week or so, though.

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 6 months ago

Note

Need more This or That especially with Nando x wife reader!!!

A Quiet Heart and a Racing Legend

Wors Count: 812

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x wife!reader

Summary: Y/n a shy individual steps into the spotlight for a televised interview, accompanied by her husband, Fernando Alonso. With Fernando’s loving support and playful banter, the interview turns into a heartwarming experience, showcasing the deep bond and shared humor between the couple.

______________________________________________________________

You had always been shy, preferring the quiet corners of life, far away from the spotlight. But today, you were sitting on a plush sofa, facing a camera crew, with millions of people ready to watch the interview that was about to unfold. And beside you, exuding calm confidence, was your husband—Fernando Alonso, the two-time Formula 1 world champion.

Fernando noticed your nervousness and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch was warm and familiar, and it instantly made you feel a bit more at ease. You offered him a small, nervous smile, which he returned with a grin that could make the sun look dull.

The interviewer, a woman with a friendly face and a notebook full of questions, leaned forward, clearly excited about the segment she was about to introduce.

"Thank you both for joining us today! We've got a fun little game to play—it's a classic 'This or That' challenge. Y/N, are you ready?" she asked, her tone warm and encouraging.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks flush slightly. "I think so," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fernando leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. "Don't worry, cariño," he whispered, "it’ll be fun. And I’ll help you out if you need it."

The interviewer smiled at the obvious affection between the two of you. "Alright, let's start easy! Y/N, would you prefer a quiet evening at home or a night out on the town?"

You hesitated, glancing at Fernando for a moment. "Definitely a quiet evening at home," you said, relaxing a bit now that the question was something you could easily answer. "I think we both enjoy our peace and quiet after all the noise of the race weekends."

Fernando nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. There's nothing better than some good food, a movie, and just relaxing together. And I get to hear Y/N's commentary on whatever we're watching, which is always the highlight," he added with a wink, making you blush and laugh softly.

The interviewer chuckled. "Okay, Nando, this one’s for you. Would you rather be invisible or be able to fly?"

Fernando pretended to think deeply about this. "Well, I already go quite fast, so flying would just be overkill," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "I’d choose invisibility. Then I could sneak up on Y/N whenever she’s lost in a book and see her jump," he teased, nudging you playfully.

You rolled your eyes at him, but there was a smile on your face. "You already do that, and it's not nice!" you protested, poking him in the side. "He thinks it’s funny when I get startled, but one of these days, I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine."

Fernando laughed, clearly enjoying your shy but playful side coming out. "Oh, I’m sure you will. But we both know I’ll be ready," he said, still grinning.

The interviewer looked delighted with the easygoing banter between you two. "Alright, Y/N, here’s a tricky one. Would you rather always know what Fernando is thinking, or have him always know what you're thinking?"

You bit your lip, considering the question carefully. "I think... I'd rather always know what he's thinking," you said finally. "Not that I don’t trust him, but sometimes he has that look on his face, and I just want to know what’s going on in his mind."

Fernando raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Oh really? And here I thought you enjoyed the mystery."

You shrugged, feeling a bit more confident now. "Well, maybe. But you’re not always as mysterious as you think you are, Nando."

The interviewer laughed along with you both. "It’s clear you two have a lot of fun together. Last question—Fernando, would you rather win one more world championship or spend an entire month on a deserted island with Y/N?"

Fernando didn’t even hesitate. "The island with Y/N, of course," he said, his voice sincere. "Championships are great, but they’re not what makes life truly special. It’s the moments we share that matter the most."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt your shyness melt away completely. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Nando," you murmured, feeling both embarrassed and touched.

He looked down at you, his expression softening. "It’s true," he said simply, and you knew that he meant every word.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, and as the cameras were turned off and the crew began to pack up, Fernando turned to you, his eyes full of warmth.

"See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, it wasn’t. Especially not with you beside me."

He grinned and leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Always, cariño. Always."

#fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fluff #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing

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slasherscream · 1 year ago

Text

He’s Just Not That Into You

pairing: jordan li x reader

summary: a hopeless romantic, you keep looking for love in all the wrong places, with all the wrong guys. that is, until you meet jordan li, who takes pity on you and tries to help you learn when a guy just isn’t into you.

gif credit: artemidosgifs

“You good?”

"Huh?" Dazed and drifting, you look up from your incredibly important task of peeling off the label for the worst tasting artisanal beer ever created.

You quickly remember why you focused on the task in the first place. The lighting at this party sucks. It's mostly dim, to try and hide all the unsavory things happening in every corner of the house. The brightest bits of it are all flashing. Neon blue. Neon red. Neon green. As if anyone has ever looked good in neon green lighting. That plus the never-ending movement of people dancing is enough to make you sick.

"Are you good or are you starting to tweak?" Your eyes adjust enough to see who's talking and you sit up straighter. Jordan Li. Number #2.

She's wearing her ever present scowl that makes you study extra hard in Brink's class. You don't ever want to be in the position to have to ask for clarification on an assignment or further guidance. Brink's so busy being renowned that he's a pretty absent teacher, if you're not one of his favorites. Everything menial falls to Jordan.

"I'm good! Totally good. Just vibing, y'know."

Jordan stares down at you, looks back out onto the sea of partygoers, "What vibe do you think you're matching?"

“Excuse me?”

"You've been sitting here for almost twenty minutes. You've barely moved. Did you take something?"

"No! I.... I didn't take anything. I'm just enjoying the atmosphere."

Jordan rolls her eyes, takes the beer bottle from your hand, and then takes your hand itself. She pulls you to your feet, easy, despite the way you go limp at the last second to try and stay seated. Without a word she begins to pull you through the crowd. Bewildered, you follow.

She doesn't stop till you're outside on the porch. Surprisingly, no one else is lingering. But the air has a chill that's pretty biting for an early day in fall. You take a deep breath. You hadn't realized how loud the music really was. How overwhelming every smell. The itch that crawled across your skin with each jostle of a body coming too near.

"Yeah, you look like you were really enjoying the atmosphere." Jordan drawls, leaned up against the railing, observing you.

Your first instinct was to say 'fuck you' to that, obviously. But at the last second you remember she is your TA and is probably doing all the actual grading for every assignment you turn in.

You force a smile, "Thank you. Guess I was feeling pretty anxious."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Should... I mean, I was... invited? If that's what you're asking. Although I think crashing parties is pretty typical college stuff, even if I wasn't-"

“Not what I meant.” Jordan interrupts, “I mean you don’t usually go to parties. I never see you at any of them.”

“Maybe we just run in different circles.”

“Not really. You’re in the top ten now. What did you jump to, number 6?”

“Seven, actually.”

“Really? Well, won’t be long. Number 6 is a dick. He’ll be easy to knock out with the type of stats you’re pulling this year.”

Somehow, this compliment bewilders you more than anything. Jordan must see it on your face, because she rolls her eyes again.

“I keep an eye on the competition. Even if you are just a sophomore.”

“Okay, Junior.” You narrow your eyes at her. She narrows hers back, which feels like overkill, because she was already glaring.

“So, what are you doing here?”

“Did they hire you to be the bouncer for this party?”

“Jesus, ‘m just making conversation. You looked like you were gonna hurl in there. What? Did your friends drag you here then ditch you?”

“My friends would never do that. That violates the party safety rule. Arrive together, leave together.”

“Oh of course.” She says, nodding in a way that feels sarcastic.

“I actually came without my friends.” You say, standing up straighter. Proud of yourself for stepping out of your shell even if it ended on a sour note.

“You did?” Jordan raises an eyebrow. You deflate a little at the shocked tone. Even your TA thinks you’re lame.

“Well…. I was supposed to meet someone here. But they… I dunno, I must’ve missed them. Or whatever.”

“Who were you supposed to meet?”

You hesitate for a second, but they impatiently gesture for you to go on. So, begrudgingly you admit to, “Uuuuh… Andre?”

“Andre?” In the blink of an eye they shift, and take a step closer. As if he wants you to see the disbelief on his face as clearly as possible. “How do you know Andre?”

“What happened to we run in the same circle?” You snap back. “Andre’s top ten.”

“Andre’s a fucking nepo baby.” Jordan scoffs

“Aren’t you friends?” You frown.

“Andre barely shows up to class, he knows why he’s top ten, trust me.” Jordan says. “Andre invited you?”

“Yes, Andre invited me. We were at the club last week and you know…talked.”

“You were at the club? You’re changing it up like crazy this year, huh L/N?”

“Lot of good it’s doing me.” You sigh. You twist the sleeve of your top, wrinkling the fabric. You’d spent hours picking out the perfect outfit that looked like you weren’t trying too hard, but brought out all your best features.

Jordan’s face twists, you’d almost mistake it for sympathy, “Did you see Andre at all tonight?”

“Did he come here with you?”

“Would you like me to lie or tell you the truth?”

You sigh, moving to sit down on the porch steps, emotionally and socially exhausted. “It’s okay, I already know the answer.”

A moment of silence before Jordan moves to sit beside you. He offers back up the beer he took from you earlier, “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Eh, you have it. If you’re not a germaphobe. Thanks for rescuing me.”

Jordan shrugs, takes a sip and almost spits it right back out, “God it tastes like fucking piss.”

“You weren’t very nice to me during the rescue, so you didn’t deserve a warning.”

“Well fuck me, I guess.” He laughs, staring at you. He let’s out a sigh of his own, “So which line did he use?”

“Huh?”

“What did Andre say to you?”

“He didn’t use a line.” You protest.

“Andre doesn’t know how to do anything but use a line. Wait! Lemme guess,” Jordan looks you up and down before glancing at a few rings on your hand. “Were you wearing those?”

You stare back at him.

“Well?”

“Yes, I was, why?”

“Did he come up to you with one of them and ask if you dropped it?”

“.....Maybe. I repeat, why?” You ask, stomach twisting.

“Cause he slipped it off your finger with his powers so he’d have an opening. It’s his go to for girls that look shy. Seen it a million times.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, actually. Fuck me!” You groan, laying back against the steps and throwing your hands over your face. “You’re really good at comforting people, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told to work on it.”

“Clearly not enough.”

“Just didn’t want you to fall for the bullshit any more than you already have.”

You scrub your face harshly, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat. “Sorry. Do you like apples? I can put a nice shiny one on your desk Monday morning as a thank you for the solid.”

“Are you about to cry?” Jordan asks, bewildered.

“No.”

“Over Andre Anderson?”

“No!” You sit up, glaring at him. He glares back. “Not exactly. It’s just… I don’t put myself out there a lot. So it sucks. That I tried… and all I got was a guy who fed me a line he’s used a million different times on a million different girls, who then ditched me at a party he invited me to. I should’ve just fucking stayed home.”

You sniffle and then remember who you’re actually talking to and how awkward it’s going to be to see their face Monday morning for class if you keep spilling your guts. You stand up abruptly, already planning on apologizing for whatever you said while you were “drunk” tonight. You’re opening your mouth to make your excuses, already taking steps away from the stairs when Jordan reaches out, grabbing you gently by the wrist.

“Wait! I’m… sorry, I mean-”

“Why are you sorry?” You sniff, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I could’ve… I could’ve been nicer. About telling you. About Andre.” Jordan pulls you to sitting back down beside him, slowly, so you can pull away if you really wanted to.

“It’s okay. I should’ve known better.” You say quietly.

“Hey, no. I made it sound like he’s super obvious about it but he’s honestly pretty smooth. His only hobbies are picking up girls and cocaine. He could make… fucking, I dunno, Ellen Ripley blush if he had the prep time! It’s really not your fault.” The comment surprises a wet laugh out of you and Jordan smiles, bumping your shoulders together.

“Thanks, but he probably was obvious. I just… don’t see stuff like that coming very well.” You laugh bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“I apparently just can’t tell for shit when a guy is actually into me! Or just… entertaining himself.” You sigh.

You and Jordan sit in silence for a second. You have no clue what’s going on in his head. You see him tapping his finger on the beer bottle, the sound of his rings the only noise for a moment.

“I could help you.”

“Help me what?”

“I could teach you how to spot when a guy is just being an asshole or when he’s serious about you. So this doesn’t happen again.” Jordan shrugs, taking another swallow of the beer, flinching again at the taste.

“Piss kink or short term memory loss?”

“Offer retracted.” Jordan laughs.

“Why are you offering in the first place?”

Jordan shrugs, looking out in the distance, “You’re… cool, y’know. Think of it as a welcome to the top ten gift. You’re only gonna get more and more attention now that you’re there. You’ll need to be able to sniff out bullshit or you’ll get eaten alive. No offense.”

“I’ve been in the top ten for the last six months.” You scowl.

“Mazel tov.”

“Dick.” You scoff, fighting back another laugh. You and Jordan make eye contact and both lose the battle, laughing together.

You take a deep breath once the fit passes, “This isn’t a top ten humiliation ritual of initiation thing, right?”

“I’m way too busy to waste my time doing stupid shit like that.” Jordan says, familiar glare falling back onto his face.

“Sorry, rough night, had to ask.” You say sheepishly. “Offer still open?” You smile, extending your hand out for a handshake.

“Yeah, offers still open, L/N.” Jordan rolls his eyes, but he does shake your hand.

“So, number’s one pretty obvious but we have to establish the basics because you told me you were hopeless.” Jordan sips her chocolate milkshake.

“Didn’t use the word hopeless, but sure.” You mutter, tossing a fry into your mouth and frowning at the lack of flavor. “Hit me.”

“If he calls off plans with you all the time he’s not interested. If he doesn’t give you as much heads up as humanly possible before he has to cancel a plan or bail then he might actually hate you.”

“You’re exaggerating.” You scoff, shaking extra salt onto your fries.

Jordan reaches over, stealing one of your now delicious fries to dip it into her milkshake. “It’s a type of power play. Too many reasons to name why a guy might feel the need to pull something like that but we don’t wanna get too complicated. All you need to do is memorize the red flags and run when you see them.”

“Okay…. follow up question, what would you consider to be ‘all the time’?”

“If you just started seeing each other and he cancels two dates in a row without desperately trying to make it up to you he doesn’t give a shit.” Jordan steals and dips another of your fries.

“What about emergencies? Like… I dunno, a funeral? What if his Aunt died? So he cancels that one date. Then the next one he tries to plan his car breaks down or something, you know?”

“He should call an uber and get to the fucking location of the date come hell or high water. That’s what a guy who likes you is gonna do. Don’t over complicate, L/N.”

“Oh and you don’t think you’re over-complicating the process of eating my fries?” You smack at her hand as it reaches for your plate for the umpteenth time during this lunch. “You could have ordered fries. Why didn’t you order fries?”

“Didn’t want any until I saw yours.” She tries again but you see the movement coming and block her hand, again. You did not notice the second, slightly sneakier hand that does successfully carry out the theft.

“Did you just juke me over a fry?

“Yeah, and I won.”

You toss a fry at her and laugh when she manages to catch it with her mouth. Asshole.

You sit on the corner of Jordan’s desk, watching as he finishes up some last minute work that Brink asked him to do before heading out. You’d offered to meet back up later but he just shook his head and said it wouldn’t take long.

“What if he’s just a private person?” You ask, kicking your feet lightly.

Jordan looks up from his laptop and frowns at you, “Why are you trying to invent exceptions to the rules? The rules are there to help you. Can you say that for me, L/N? Can you say the rules are there to help me?”

“The rules are there to help me.” You repeat back, mocking their tone.

“Thank you.” Jordan smirks at you, “Like I said, if he’s hiding your relationship from the world then he’s not serious about you. He should be introducing you to people. You should be on his social media. People should not be shocked you exist when meeting you. All that bullshit.”

“And if they’re a private person?” You challenge.

Jordan pushes away his laptop, turning to face you. “Fuck me. The types of guys you’re gonna be around as a hero are all gonna be doing the same stuff as you. There’s gonna be a certain level of our life that’s always in the spotlight. Minimum of two posts a week if he’s constantly posting in general.”

“I don’t post very much.” You counter.

“You should be posting more. Especially as a top ten. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be number 6 right now. You need to be more active on socials.” Jordan gives you a look before going back to typing. Two weeks ago that look would have put you on the verge of tears. Now you roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it.”

“It was an order as your TA, actually.”

“Oh god, an order? I’m shaking in my boots.” You tease, playfully kicking his chair.

“That just knocked your essay from a B- to a C, congratulations.” Jordan quips.

“You were gonna mark my essay a B-, you dick? You know damn well I don’t turn in B- work. Who do you think-”

The rest of the afternoon is lost to playful outrage. The papers get graded late. Yours comes back an A+. No one besides you has gotten a grade of + anything since Jordan became TA.

“Okay, so this is one with a grey area.” Jordan says.

“Oh no.”

“Shut up. If he never gets jealous that’s a red flag.”

“But-” You sit up from where you’re laid out on the blanket you threw on the ground to better soak in the last warm rays of September sun.

“I am not saying go out with some overly possessive fucking maniac.” Jordan cuts you off.

“Be specific, Jordan. You can’t give me rules with built in exceptions. I’ll fail. Is that what you want? You want me to fail, Jordan? That’s messed up-”

“Shut up-” Jordan laughs, shaking her head. “Listen to me, if a guy never gets jealous he just doesn’t care at all. The most namaste, enlightened dude on the planet will get jealous in the right situation. I’m not saying tolerate anything crazy. It’s just good if he like… responds, when you say you’re going to study alone with another dude at 9pm, in the guy’s dorm... while his roommate is gone.”

“Is studying alone with another dude, in his dorm while his roommate is gone, okay as long as it ends before 9pm?”

Jordan rips out grass from the ground and tries to sprinkle it onto your face. You put up a force-field and laugh when she sticks her tongue out.

“He’s gotta give you his full attention. When he’s with you, he’s with you. Everyone gets distracted. But if his head is always somewhere else, every time you see him, he just doesn’t like you.” Jordan swipes at your head, fast enough to be a challenge to dodge but not hard enough to hurt you had the hit connected.

You go in for a kick yourself and he practically twirls out of the way. You try twice more, managing to evade his own hits just barely.

Breathlessly, you gesture for a time out and Jordan sighs, “We gotta get you better at hand to hand.”

“That’s what my shields are for.”

“The way you use your shields is really good. You’ve gotten a lot more creative this year. It’s why you’ve been jumping ranks so fast. You’re powerful.”

The earnest tone he uses makes you lift up from the hunched over position of misery on your knees, “You think so?”

“Well…. yeah.” He clears his throat. “But you can’t get lazy. What if someone wears you out and you don’t have any energy left for them? No more shields. You need to be able to fight.”

“If I don’t have any energy left for my shields and my only option left is hand to hand combat, respectfully, it’s my time.”

Jordan rolls his eyes, “Break’s over. Back in position, stay on your toes more so it’s easier to move, okay?”

You’re about to get back into form when you hear calls of Jordan’s name from across the arena. You turn and see Luke and Cate coming over, wide grins on their faces. You give them a small wave and they both wave back, incredibly eager.

You’ve always been friendly with one another but the strength of enthusiasm is… strange. Enough to make you blink in surprise.

“Thought you said you were super booked up this week doing stuff for Brink? Absolutely no free time.” Cate asks, staring Jordan down.

“This isn’t free time. I can’t slack on hand to hand combat training. It’s important.” Jordan stares Cate down even harder.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Luke asks casually.

“Jordan saw my form in a video I just posted and apparently it was ‘despicable’ and ‘the most insane way he’d ever seen anyone do that before’. He rushed over to show me what the ‘right way to do it is’. Control freak.” You fake a cough as you say the last part.

“You were gonna hurt your back!”

“Super healing.”

“Super herniated disc.” Jordan quips back and you scoff, shoving him.

He shoves you back with an eye roll, fighting back a smile.

“How ungentlemanly of you.” You gasp. A shift, and she shoves you again making you laugh, “and unladylike!”

“You shoved me first!”

“Children, please try and be civil we’re in public.” Luke cuts in and you almost jump at the sound of his voice.

It’s easy to get lost in your own world when you’re with Jordan. You turn to be politely facing your classmates and not just Jordan, wearing a sheepish smile.

“Stop teasing them. They’re cute.” Cate smiles.

“Anyways, you guys need something?” Jordan asks.

“We can’t just hang out? Are you trying to get rid of your best friends?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“Jordan!” You bump her with your elbow.

“Okay, okay. We’ll leave you alone. Wanna grab lunch with us after though?” Cate asks, looping her arm through Luke’s.

“You feeling up to lunch, L/N?” Jordan looks over at you.

With three unexpected pairs of eyes on you, you fluster. “If you go easy on me for the rest of training, yes.”

“Not a chance.” Jordan snorts. “We’ll be there though. Now scram. L/N needs a lot of help.”

“No, I fucking do not!” You protest.

The two of you don’t notice Luke and Cate walking away trading looks.

“When you don’t know really know anything about him, it’s not a good sign.” Jordan tilts the bowl of popcorn towards you.

“And what do you mean, specifically, by knowing anything about him?” You ask, taking some pieces and throwing them back.

“Has has ever shared his feelings? Talked about his personal life? If you don’t know anything besides the superficial stuff he doesn’t care about you.” Jordan states. “You also need to look out for him not knowing anything about you. Does he give you space to open up? Does he remember the shit you do tell him?”

“Got it, so just look out for the superficial surface level conversations if you never have any deeper moments.” You say.

“Exactly.” Jordan says before her eyes snap back to the screen suddenly. “Did they say they’re gonna try and make that house feel more ‘open concept’? What the fuck is their problem?”

“Huh?” You look back to Jordan’s TV, which is playing Property Brothers. “You got a problem against open concept?”

“I have a problem with every house being made to look the same, inside and out. It’s bad enough new houses don’t have unique floor plans. Now we’re taking houses that were unique and fucking them up till they’re boring! What ever happened to individuality? I bet they’ll paint the walls grey too. Fuck me.” She huffs, leaning back against the couch.

“Are you really into this show or just really into design patterns?” You ask, charmed at her passion for something completely random.

“A bit of both.” Jordan says. “I wanted to be an architect. Before I got my powers.”

“Shut up! No, you did not.”

“I did.” She laughs, “I used to draw up plans and torment my parents with them every hour of the day.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about your hidden passions.

You even get the honor of seeing a few of the sketches Jordan made years ago. They were crinkled at the edges, pencil markings dull with age in some places. You smiled down at the folder Jordan keeps the drawings in. When you look up, finally, to compliment them you notice a strange look on Jordan’s face.

Thinking you’d made her self conscious with your long silence you wrapped an arm around her and told her she would have made a hell of an architect. And probably killed someone with the utter lack of load bearing beams in her structures.

You expected her to shove you off playfully but she only leaned into you and smiled, flipping to the next page of the folder.

When you get back to your own dorm room, moon high in the sky, you have to stifle a laugh. The latest post on Jordan’s Instagram is a picture of you standing with your hands on your hips in the middle of their room, looking baffled.

The caption: I handed her the remote and walked away for five minutes. We’ve been looking for almost an hour #jesus christ #banned from room 4ever.

You step out into the hallway and call Jordan up, demanding they take down their character assassination attempt because you two only looked for 26 minutes, actually.

They refuse.

You’re so incensed by the exaggeration that you wind up back outside Jordan’s dorm room not ten minutes later. When she opens the door, and sees you standing there, she bursts into laughter. She drags you inside, and when you ask her when the ban got lifted she just throws you on the bed. You spend the rest of the night arguing semantics.

You and Jordan were sitting in the ground floor of the school’s library where you were allowed to talk quietly. You were teaching them how to fold paper to make little stars while they were teaching you how to make the perfect paper airplane.

“Are you filled with barely suppressed rage? Why is it so damn wrinkled?” You laugh at their mangled star.

Jordan grabs another piece of paper with a huff, pushing her bob back behind her ears. “You are shit at giving instructions. This is impossible. Do the steps slower again.”

“I’m sorry, I’m actually not capable of slowing myself down times 3 like a Youtube video.” You tease.

“Fuck you.” Jordan kicks you under the table with her foot. “Again. Show me.”

“You start with this corner here, then you twist it over here, next you wanna-”

“Hey! Hey! What’s up people!” You and Jordan turn in perfect sync to hiss at the person to be quiet only to find that person to be Andre Anderson.

You turn back towards the table, Jordan moves an arm to curl around the back of your chair.

“Hey.” Jordan says flatly. You make some noise that you hope passes for a greeting.

“Sorry, too loud. So this is where the party is, huh? What’re you two doing?” Andre grabs a chair on the opposite side of the table and you frown, focusing intensely on the paper before you.

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Jordan asks sharply.

“Blowing it off.” Andre grins back.

Jordan scoffs. You only notice your shoulders are practically up to your ears when Jordan puts her hand there and rubs. You relax, letting out a quiet breath you were holding. Jordan gives you a squeeze.

“Awww, you making little stars? Cute. Wanna show me how, F/N?” Andre has the nerve to sound flirtatious.

After ditching you without a word and radio silence to back it up. To really make sure there’s insult to match the injury. You clench your jaw. Keep moving your hands. Try to zone out.

The hand on your shoulder gets bigger and so does the thigh that brushes against yours under the table. “Could you fuck off for a bit? We’re trying to relax after our exams this morning.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you couldn’t relax with me around, man.” Andre bites back. “F/N, you want me to stay, don’t you?”

You get up from the table abruptly. The sudden sting in your eyes doesn’t even allow you you to collect your things. Your chest feels tight. You have to just get out of here. You hope in a school of future superheroes no one will steal your stuff. You think you hear calls of your name from behind you. Some yelling. Your ears are ringing too much. You break into a sprint.

You can’t even make it to your dorm. You have to settle for tucking yourself into the first patch of trees behind a building you can find. You try to fight back the tears. One breathe. Two. Three. Try to focus on the birds chirping somewhere above you. But the memories are all flooding in at once and you start to cry. Heaving, chest burning sobs.

“F/N. F/N. F/N, hey look at me.” You zone back into the world to Jordan pushing your hair away from your face and you sob.

“Fuck me, I’ll kill him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d get so upset. You seemed like you didn’t care after that night… I- I’ll fucking knock his teeth in.” Jordan hisses. You’d thought you’d seen them angry before. But their face has never looked like this.

“What’s… are you having a panic attack?” Jordan asks, still petting your hair gently. You manage to nod. “Is touching you okay? Is it making it worse?” You push yourself into his hands and without another word he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against him.

You notice absently he’s wearing his favorite jacket and try to shift, so that you’re not getting tears and snot onto the fabric. He pushes your head back against his shoulder, shushing you gently. You let yourself relax, letting out the rest of the tears. Letting the anxiety leave your body. You start your grounding techniques as your breathing evens. You can see the sharp cut of Jordan’s jaw. Hear his heartbeat. The birds chirping. Feel his hands as they rub soothing circles into your skin. Smell the cologne he wears. You tuck yourself closer, even though no more tears are coming.

“Andre is a fucking loser.” Jordan says, quietly but vehemently, “You shouldn’t waste a second fucking thinking about him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s not you. It’s just who he is.”

“It’s not just Andre… It’s… it’s not even mostly Andre.” You say quietly. “I mean he’s a dick but… it just brings up memories.”

“Memories?” Jordan echoes softly, and you know you don’t have to tell him anything but you want to.

“When I was younger… I was even more of a wall flower than I am now. Shocker, I know.” You try to joke, Jordan only hums to let you know he’s listening, pulling you closer. “Even though I had powers I wasn’t popular or anything. I had trouble controlling them. Not enough to be dangerous… just enough to be… well, a loser, honestly. Because of my anxiety, and how loud my head gets my force-fields would just pop out whenever. I couldn’t stop it. If I was scared. If I got nervous. If I was feeling stupid, or ugly. All the time. People called me bubble girl.”

“I learned to just keep to myself but I was such an easy, fun target. Sneak up on the mouse and watch them jump and make a bubble! Fun!” You laugh bitterly. You think you feel Jordan kiss the top of your head, but you’re still out of it. “It made even getting out of bed to go to school hard. Administration wouldn’t take it serious as bullying because I was a supe: if I wanted it to stop I should defend myself.”

“My parents felt the same way. Wouldn’t let me transfer. But I didn’t want to fight back. I didn’t want to turn myself into something I’m not just to be left alone! I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought eventually everyone would get bored, mature a little. But it just got worse and worse every fucking year. Senior year was… bad, though. I was getting better at controlling my powers so what kids would do to make me react was worse. But I just ignored it. I started just… pulling into myself. Whenever anyone would pour paint on my favorite outfit. Or cut my hair. Or hit me, I’d make the bubble in my head instead, and go there. Eventually, towards the end I thought people finally got bored, they stopped fucking with me as much. I thought I’d be able to graduate in peace.”

“There was this one boy… he was popular. But he’d always been nice to me. He smiled at me in the hallways. Would help me up if people shoved me when he was around. He even gave me his sweater once, when someone cut up my shirt during gym. His friends were dicks but I thought he was different, I thought he was nice.”

“He suddenly started being even more nice to me. It felt… when he asked me to prom I just wanted to be normal for one second. I should have known. I probably did know. I just wanted to pretend, for five seconds, I wanted to pretend.” You trail off, lost in the memory.

“What happened?” Jordan asks, voice sounding hoarse. You try to pull back to see what’s wrong but he keeps you still. You realize he started rocking the both of you as you spoke. You didn’t realize how soothing it was.

“It was a joke, obviously. We went to go shopping together, so we’d match, he told me. When we got to the shop he insisted we go to all his friends were waiting for us. Recording, of course. They all laughed at me. I still remember what one girl said, ‘you’re more crazy than we thought if you honestly ever believed someone like him would go out with a loser like you’.”

“F/N, those people were fucking assholes. They… god what the fuck is wrong with people. That’s not true.” Jordan makes you look at him, suddenly. You’re shocked that his eyes are red. “You’re not a fucking loser.”

“It’s okay, Jordan. I know they were just assholes. I always knew. It just hurts still. I’ve… I’ve avoided dating ever since, obviously. My first kiss wasn’t even romantic. It was just with a good friend that I knew wouldn’t make fun of me. So I could get it out of the way.”

“I’m sorry.” Jordan looks helpless, like he wants to do something but doesn’t know what.

“You didn’t do anything, Jordan. No need to say sorry.”

“And then Andre went and fucking… fucking motherfucker I’ll kill him!” Jordan snaps, goes to stand up and then remembers he’s holding you halfway. He sits back down, grip a little tighter, but still gentle.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t even a joke, what Andre did. He’s just… inconsiderate. And I happen to have a nasty experience that makes me blow everything out of proportion. I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing if I want to actually start dating.”

Suddenly both of Jordan’s hands are on your face, holding you still so you have to look at him. “You’re not blowing anything out of proportion. And… and you don’t have to get used to shit, F/N. You’re fucking incredible. You don’t need to tolerate anything, from fucking anyone. You’re a fucking… you’re a fucking dream girl! You’re smart, and funny, and sweet, and strong, and beautiful. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You don’t have to settle for fucking anything. Okay?”

You stare up at him, shocked, he gives your head a gentle shake, “Okay?” You nod slowly.

He pulls you into another hug, the tightest one you’ve ever gotten. You don’t pull away until the sun dips so low you’re both draped in gold.

“Fucking rank number fucking 5!” Jordan screams, arm wrapped around you tightly. A chorus of cheers from the rest of the group and people nearby.

You cover your face, laughing helplessly. Jordan didn’t surprise you with this party, they knew that would only make you anxious, walking into a room full of people you weren’t expecting to see with (even if asked not to) cameras pointed at you.

Jordan had texted you: I am throwing you a surprise party on Friday night to celebrate your new ranking. Please practice your surprised face.

You had practiced. You’d done a very convincing gasp when you walked in.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Jordan says, for the umpteenth time, looking at you. You feel your cheeks go hot.

“Oh shut up. I’ll get a big head soon.”

“You deserve it more than anyone. You’re fucking awesome.” Jordan had started heaping more praise onto you than you knew what to do with, most days.

She claimed it was practically training. That you needed to get used to people complimenting you, with the level of fame you’re going to reach. That alone had made your stomach erupt into butterflies. Jordan believed in you. Really believed in you.

“You’re the one who’s awesome… you’re a good mentor, Jordan.” You reach up to hold the hand that’s been wrapped around your shoulder all evening.

“Are you saying that following my advice works?” Jordan pretends to gasp. You playfully dig your nails into her side and she jumps before grabbing the offending hand and holding onto it. She doesn’t let go.

Her advice had worked. You posted on your social media more, at her insistence. You started to become a beast at hand to hand, thanks to Jordan’s brutal training regimen. You were socializing more, because as long as Jordan was there you felt safe. But you were even feeling confident enough to do things on your own that high school you would be shocked didn’t instantly send you to the grave.

You’d done an interview, for God’s sake! All on your own. Although your eyes kept darting to Jordan right off camera, who smiled reassuringly the whole time.

“I will not. Because then you’ll get a big head.” You tease, giving both her hands a squeeze.

“Let’s get a drink.” Jordan says, tugging you towards the kitchen.

It’s quieter in the kitchen. The drink table in the living room is still overflowing so no one’s had to start looking for leftovers yet.

“How you feeling?” Jordan asks, helping you sit on the counter before going to the fridge. After a second he pulls out your favorite. He hid them in the far back, you can tell by how far he had to lean.

“Good.” You smile as he pops your drink open before handing it to you. He leans against one of your knees.

“Party isn’t too much, right?” He asks, for the third time tonight.

Laughing you push a strand of unruly hair back from his face. He freezes at the touch, before a smile creeps onto his lips.

“Party is perfect, Jordie. Thank you. For everything. For being so…”

“Don’t thank me for treating you the way you should always be treated.”

“You treat me like a princess! What if I get spoiled? You’ll have to deal with a monster.” You tease. “You won’t even be able to be mad at me, because you’ll be the reason.”

“You’ll terrorize the world.”

“Cause complete chaos.”

“Devastation, even.” As Jordan speaks you realize you’d gotten closer. A lot closer. Your chest seizes up with anxiety as you wonder how long you’d been leaning in like this. You almost pull back, ready to apologize. But you’re frozen stiff now and realize the two of you are still getting closer. With a jolt you realize you both leaned in.

Jordan has a hand on your thigh, you reach down, nervous, to hold his hand as reflex. It’s an every day comfort, lately. You give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back. You don’t pull away as Jordan keeps leaning in.

“Jordan! Come stop Luke from doing a keg stand, please!” Cate’s voice, typically pleasant sounds incredibly annoying at the moment.

“Gimme a sec!” Jordan calls back, still looking you in the eye. You squeeze his hand tighter. He looks nervous. They’ve looked so nervous all night. Nervous you were having a good time. Nervous you were happy. Nervous… nervous to kiss you? Is he about to fucking kiss you?

“He has an interview tomorrow! Hustle please!” Cate calls back in a sing song tone.

“Fuck me!” Jordan throws his head back, shifting, frustrated. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, a little breathless from anxiety and excitement, and dread, and the full spectrum of human emotion. “Okay.”

Jordan stomps out of the kitchen, probably going to rip Luke a new asshole from the sound of her boots on the floor. She sounds like her own stampede. You giggle, pressing your hands, still warm from holding Jordan’s into your face. You may be bad at signals but…

You sit under the hideous fluorescent kitchen lighting feeling like something inside you is glowing. You kick your feet, nervous, waiting for Jordan to get back. Wondering what they’ll do. What they’ll say. If you’re delusional. You have to be delusional. You have to be.

“Guard dog taking a walk?” In the doorway stands Andre, looking a little rougher than usual. His right eye is dark, like a black eye that’s started healing. There’s a small bandage over his nose.

“What happened to you?” You gasp.

“Your guard dog.” Andre says, reaching into the fridge to pull out a bottle of spicy vodka. “Jordan’s number #2 for a reason. Congrats on making #5 by the way.”

“Thanks.” You say. “When did Jordan do that?”

“A week ago. Would have probably gotten it earlier but apparently Cate talked them into waiting to see me until they were less pissed off. For which I’m eternally grateful.” He says, taking a sip straight from the bottle without chaser.

You don’t really know what to say so you sit in silence. Legs still kicking, more from anxiety now, less from giddiness.

“He gave me a busted lip too, but that healed pretty quickly. I also think he might have kicked a rib loose, been a little sore on the left side.” Andre says, he doesn’t seem to be angry but you don’t know why else he’d talk to you.

“I didn’t ask Jordan to do that. If you’re wondering.” You say, slowly.

“No! No! You’re way too sweet for that. This was just my shitty way of getting around to an apology. I’m sorry. I should’ve said sorry before Jordan kicked my ass but I promise Jordan kicking my ass isn’t why I’m saying sorry. The original plan was to ask you out again, make it up to you with dinner. Jordan just kicked my ass first.”

“I hope to god you’re not working your way around to asking me on a pity date.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“So Jordan could put me in a full body cast?” Andre laughs loudly, shocking you. “No offense, you’re really cute, but nothing’s worth that fucking beat down.”

“Well, I guess I accept your-”

“You don’t have to forgive me. Jordan was pretty clear that I tore up some old wounds. I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry. I can just be… a dick, sometimes. Often. All the time.” Andre jokes.

“What did Jordan say exactly?” You ask nervously.

“Nothing specific! I could barely pick out anything at all, really. The sound of her fist breaking my nose was pretty loud.”

You laugh then try to cover it up by taking a sip. Andre grins and you relax, knowing it was his way of breaking the tension.

“Can I ask you something?” Andre asks suddenly.

“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” You shrug.

“Fair enough.” Andre says, toying with the bottle. “Do you like Jordan?”

“What?”

“Because Jordan sure likes you.” Andre states.

“No, they don't.” It’s a reflex to deny the possibility of someone having feelings for you but the words feel wrong once you say them. Weren’t you just about to kiss? Wasn’t his hand just burning into your thigh like a brand? “Do they?”

“Jordan would never do a fraction of the shit they’ve been doing for you if they didn’t care about you.” Andre takes another sip, then moves to saunter from the kitchen. He stops, a glance over the shoulder. “However you feel, tell Jordan. And soon. They’re looking a little desperate.”

Then it’s just you and the sound of the party, and the cool marble you’re sitting on. And a lot to think about.

“Your incessant leg jiggling is distracting me from how and why they intend to turn this beautiful victorian home into another soulless open concept millennial nightmare.” Jordan says, glancing from the TV to your leg which, yes, has been jiggling for awhile.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Obviously.”

“How can you tell if a girl isn’t into you?”

Jordan turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed, “what?”

You feel heat flood your cheeks, but keep your eyes firmly glued to the screen. “Are the rules the same? Or different?”

“You like girls?” Jordan blurts out.

“What?” The question is enough to make you look at her. And now you're trapped by societal standards of politeness to maintain the most anxiety inducing eye contact you've ever shared.

“You've never talked about… you've never said anything about liking girls.”

“You only offered up the help for the one gender. Didn't wanna get greedy.” You force a laugh.

“How long have you…. have you always liked girls?” Jordan asks and you hope to God you're not hallucinating that quick glance at your lips.

“You follow me on Instagram!”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“I literally have the pride flag in my bio?”

“I thought you were-”

“-Jordan Li, if you're about to tell me you thought I was an ally I'll beat you to death, and then jump off a cliff.”

Jordan laughs, ducking her head, hair falling into her face slightly. You dig your fingers into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear.

“Is there a reason why you're asking… about how to tell when a girl isn't into you, all of a sudden?” Jordan looks up at you and the world narrows down to her brown eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. And the look in her eyes you hope you're not reading wrong.

You blink in confusion when amusement crosses over her face and for one awful second you think Jordan is laughing at you and you could throw up. But you realize you're suddenly looking at her from behind a force-field of light purple and feel queasy out of a different sense of embarrassment.

You can hear a smile in Jordan’s voice, but you refuse to unbury your face from your hands, “Never seen you not be able to control your powers before.”

“Please kill me.”

“Can't. Your forcefield is still up, princess.” She teases, tapping at the bubble.

With a groan of humiliation you drop your field and peek up at her through your fingers.

“First the forcefield, now the hands. Still haven't answered my question though.” You almost snip at her that she should take a wild guess at your answer but there's something about Jordan’s expression. It's teetering between playful, guarded, and… something else. And you have to bank on whatever that something else is.

You take a deep breath in and move in closer, “You're not so awful a teacher that the lessons for a guy didn't stick, but considering you're a girl too who knows what incredibly important lesson you didn't know you had to teach me. The lesson… the girl lesson, that would have stopped me from misinterpreting what's been happening here. If I’m misinterpreting. All I know is… all I can really be sure of, is how I feel. And I, well-” You bite your lip, taking a shaky breath, and Jordan moves in closer, “I'm about halfway to being in love with you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before her lips are on yours. Her hand curls at the base of your neck, pulling you in closer. A brush of her tongue against your bottom lip before you let her in with a breathless sigh. She moans against your lips, other hand moving to your waist to tug you into her lap.

You lose your balance a little, fall into her in a way that is not at all seductive. You laugh, embarrassed and she chases the sound, using both hands to put you in her lap, holds you there firm and secure.

“You-” She kisses you, interrupting your sentence. “Haven’t-” Another kiss. “Told me-” She holds you tight this time, tilting her head to the side, sweeping her tongue against yours and gasping at your taste. You pull back with shaky hands, keeping her at a distance with a grip on her shoulders.

“Could we use our big girl words?” You ask, breathless and a little dizzy.

“I’ve fucking only been in love with you for two years, thanks for fucking noticing.” She huffs, exasperated and smiling.

“How on Earth was I supposed to interpret your seething stare of hate for being in love with me?” You’re already melting against her as she pulls you back in with the guiding grip on your hair.

“Shoulda looked harder, baby.” She coos, and doesn’t let you up again anytime soon.

A/N: my magnum opus of pining! if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

#bee talks #he's just not that into you #jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #gen v #black!reader #this fic is a fucking monster in word count but that's just what jordan li deserves

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scarletttries · 10 months ago

Text

When Fallout Characters Have Their First Kiss...(Fallout Show Request)

Pairings: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader, Maximus x Reader, Norm x Reader

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who voted on my last poll! It was so fun seeing the votes come in so I'll definitely do that again! Please keep sending in Fallout requests, or for any of the other poll options :)

The Ghoul:

- Life in the wastelands has always been tough, and Cooper Howard's skin has had to grow even tougher, literally and metaphorically. His defenses have slowly steeled themselves over the last two hundred years, every awful encounter and exchange adding another barricade around what was once a warm and friendly heart. He thought that tough exterior was what had kept him alive that long. He also thought your purpose in his life must have been to prove that thought wrong.

- From that first surprising encounter the ghoul found himself drawn to your gaze, your touch, your presence. The way you gave him all three so unflinchingly. Your eyes could look into his without disgust or pity, your hand never snatching away as if the slightest graze could curse you to the same cruel fate. Cooper tried to tell himself the kindest thing he could do for you was to keep your partnership of survival a strictly platonic one, but as nights in each other's company passed one by one he could feel himself inching closer and closer to the warmth you seemed to radiate towards him.

- So used to being in control of every situation, it only shook him more to feel so uncertain of your feelings and if he should act on his own. He feared you being the first person in a century to show him kindness had turned his brain entirely to confetti, that his heart had no choice but to hope you'd take it from his cavernous chest. But your kindness was who you were to everyone, regardless of what they deserved. It didn't mean anything about how you felt about him. So why couldn't he stop himself having that most dangerous hope that maybe his heart wasn't the only one aching with every step you passed side by side, hands hanging just shy of touching, so easy to grab and finally embrace that deep seated truth that this was becoming something more.

- Cooper prided himself on taking the brunt of any danger the world seemed to throw your way, happy to be stitched back together by your soft and caring hands. That day though, he'd been thrown from your side a moment too long and watched helplessly as a half-crazed raider slashed at you with some clumsily wielded machete. You did your best to hold them off, but before Cooper could rise to his feet and grab his pistol you'd taken a hit to the arm, blood dripping from the tip of the blade and red spreading across the tattered fabric of your shirt. The ghoul had never felt such rage encompassing him, ripping through the gang in a violent frenzy that he would have worried would frighten you if he wasn't so focused on his need for overkill.

- He's uncharastically quiet as he practically carries you back to camp, ignoring your insistence that it's just a scratch until he's been able to examine you himself by the familiar glow of your campfire. He kneels beside you and scrutinises your arm, always slightly captivated by how soft your skin has remained in this unforgiving wasteland. Once he realises that you're right, and you'll be just fine, he can feel the swell of relief and terror hitting him all at once, the awful realisation that he could have lost you without ever getting to try and be as close to you as he craves. So he stills his gaze on your face, eyes flickering down to your lips as he inches closer, bracing himself for the rejection of your retreat. Instead you meet him halfway, your lips more warm and soft than any he could remember. In that sweet moment Cooper Howard feels more alive, more human, more safe than he ever did before the bombs hit. He feels like his body is warming from the inside out, a rush of blood bringing him back to the man he once was.

- He may not look any different as he reluctantly pulls away to let you breathe, but he is a changed man inside from your kiss. He realises that it's not his callous cynicism that's kept him alive this long, but his once soft heart, desperate to find hope again. Hope that he's now found, with you.

Maximus:

- It was hard for Maximus to put his finger on exactly what he felt when he was around you. He knew his entire being ached to be near you, and even when he was, it somehow wasn't close enough. He knew that when you smiled it made him smile, no matter what the context or motivation. He knew that the longer he went without seeing you, the dimmer the world seemed to be, like you were his lens to all the joy and colour around him and he was lost in grey oblivion about it. Maximus felt a lot of things around you that he'd never felt before, but he didn't really know what to call it. And he certainly didn't know what to do with all those feelings.

- The Brotherhood wasn't exactly the best place to learn about feelings growing up, everything complex and difficult hidden behind a layer of steel and obedience. Thankfully if you put enough young people together, eventually gossip will reign supreme. And so Max heard about the idea of a crush from two tables over as he sat eating alone in the canteen. He strained to pick up the conversation between two of the older guys who'd been out on more missions, setting down his cutlery and shuffling closer as he heard one of them talk about the way his stomach was in knots every time one of the new recruits looked at him. By the time they'd described the hot flush in their cheeks when the object of their affections smiled, and how they plagued their every thought, Max was sat with his mouth hanging agape and a renewed sense of purpose for the next time you came knocking on his door to sneak out to see the stars.

- In fact he couldn't wait for that moment to come and instead you found him breathless and fighting with the opening of your tent when you came back from your latest supply run. Upon spotting you he quickly unravelled himself from the ropes that had captured his limbs in his stealthy attempts to sneak a peek inside, and offered his hand to you in such a matter of fact motion that you had to stifle a laugh at the serious expression on his face. He leads you to the quiet corner of camp the two of you frequent, a tarp tucked against a loose fence panel that almost feels like a loveseat made just for you.

"Do you know what a crush is?" Max looked equal parts concerned and excited as he tried to read your puzzled expression.

"Yes Max, do you?" You knew there was something growing in the way you and Maximus had come to rely on each other, and pass every free moment tangled in each other's company, but you also knew he didn't have the best understanding when it came to the more human parts of his life and didn't want to risk misreading the delicate situation.

"I think so, but what should you do when you have a crush on someone?" He looked up at you starry-eyed and hopeless, desperately wishing that you two could be far away from here and working all of this out without the horrors of war hanging over you. You could see the straining heart behind his wide-eyed gaze, his hand still nervously clinging to yours, and decided to take pity on the young soldier.

"Do you want me to show you?" You ask softly, inching closer to his face almost feeling the heat rising in his cheeks as he frantically nodded. Lifting the hand he hadn't claimed, you let your palm rest against his cheek, feeling his body start to tremble in anticipation of what might come next. You leaned in, eyes focusing on his soft full lips until they met yours, pressing gently into him until his brain caught up and finally he started to reciprocate. Unsure and desperate, his free hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer and making sure you wouldn't stop this wonderful feeling in a hurry. As your lips moved slowly against his, he found a rhythm with you, drinking in your sweet warmth and praying this moment would never end, because somehow this strange and overwhelming feeling was still so much better than the years of emptiness that had stretched before it. Finally you pull away from him, searching his eyes for some insight into how he's feeling after such a pivotal first for him. You're met by the widest smile you've ever seen, and a simple question, "Can we do that again?"

Norm:

- Norman Maclean couldn't help the overwhelming cynicism that flooded through him every time it was the day of another vault-exchanging wedding day. He wanted to enjoy the delicious array of food, without thinking about how insufferable it must be to suddenly live with a perfect stranger. He wanted to enthusiastically navigate the dancefloor like everyone else, without thinking about how the new couple must be feeling so uncomfortable despite how happy they looked. He wanted to be able to soak in the joy of that magical first kiss without feeling this strange hollow ache inside himself that he tried to write off as an aversion to the falseness of this whole charade. But as he watched yet another 'happy couple' lock lips or move intertwined across the dancefloor, a small part of him knew that his distaste for the day was down to one much more simple feeling: Envy.

- There wasn't even anyone in the vault he wanted to share those kinds of embraces with, but that knowledge did little to assuage the aching loneliness that was nestled deep under layers of logic and intelligence that he let guide him instead of his heart. Or at least there had never been anyone in the vault that had made him feel that way by the time the council decided it was his turn to take part in their little tradition of arranged marriages. And in a most pleasant surprise to the slight young man, he felt a touch of optimism as his wedding day rolled around and he found himself face to face with you. And in a twist of fate that had Norm quite unable to believe his own luck, he was destined to wed someone that stirred those same desperate, longing feelings inside him with no sign of relief.

- The short-lived, perfunctory kiss with which the two of you had sealed your vows had been enough to set his heart ablaze, even with the eyes of the vault on him, even though it only lasted for a split-second, even though he wished the circumstances were entirely different. And as the two of you found common ground and shared secret jokes as the night went on, Norm only found himself falling deeper under your spell and praying when the night was through that you wouldn't resent following him back to a room that might finally feel like home.

- As the music from the old record-player swelled you threaded your fingers through his and pulled him over the sparsely populated dancefloor, most of the Vault 33 having long given up on seeing Norm dance and retreated to their own private quarters. As the lights grew dimmer on the projected skyline you seemed only more beautiful in Norm's eyes, his slender arms finding your waist and holding onto you like he feared he might drift away in an ocean current that threatened to pull him back to reality. He watched the soft smile spread effortlessly across your face, the ease with which you swayed to the music making him dance before he even realised he was moving. His mind replayed the briefest touch of your lips and suddenly he found himself unable to concentrate on anything but closing the distance between you, every nerve in his body sending electricity through him that finally promised to illuminate the dark, aching loneliness that had resided in him for as long as he could remember.

- He prayed your smile was genuine as he stepped ever closer, taking a visibly deep breath before finally taking the plunge and landing what he hoped would be the first real kiss of many in your marriage. His chest pressed firmly against yours as he tried to remove all space between the two of you, every ounce of hope and affection pouring out into a kiss that had your head spinning, pure dedication from your new husband clear in his every touch. It felt all consuming to finally be so connected to another person, a feeling Norm feared would never find him but now seemed a tangible part of his present and future. By the time he pulled away his lungs ached and he worried his eyes would well up if you kept staring at him with such intensity. He felt himself freeze on the spot as he awaited your verdict; on his kiss, on the marriage, on him. A moment that stretched out an eternity passed before finally he watched a smile grace your lips, feeling your hand find his again as you said softly in his ear, an unfamiliar gleam in your eye,

"Which of these rooms is ours, husband?"

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theoraeeken · 7 months ago

Note

Jee having fun with her uncles Buck & Tommy!

Maybe Buck feeling a little 🥰😍 watching Tommy being in 'competent dad mode', even though he's not ready for their own 😂

okay this is everything actually if season 8 doesn't give us tommy playing with jee and buck noticably ovulating across the room i will riot

bucktommy / rated g / mild warning for non serious accidental injury to a child

"-and take a nice, deep breath for me. This is going to sting a little, okay?"

It takes a few seconds for Buck's brain to come back online as he re-enters his apartment. It's been a quiet day so far, as quiet as any day off looking after his curious, hyperactive niece can be. They'd watched some TV, leaving some irritating cartoon pop song ingrained in his head, probably for the next week at least. Had some lunch. Afterwards, Jee-Yun had proclaimed her desire for ice cream with all the certainty of a biblical saint. Buck, a little soft hearted from an easy day surrounded by people he loves, agreed to go to the shop in search of some.

Maybe it's lulled him into a false sense of security, because he stares at the scene in his kitchen with a blank expression for a full three seconds before he galvanizes into action.

Jee's up on the kitchen counter, a little teary eyed, her bottom lip wobbling, blood trickling down her skinny calf.

"Woah, woah, hey," he says, rushing to Tommy's side, where he's crouched in front of the counter, "What happened?"

"Someone," he says, eyeing the slightly sheepish looking girl, "decided to ignore me when I said running full pelt around the place would end in tears."

"I'm sorry, Tommy," Jee says, her voice shaking.

"It's okay, chica. You're not in trouble. Tripped over the rug," he adds lowly to Buck, "Limbs everywhere, slid five feet, the whole ten yards."

Now he's a little closer up, he can see that. Her knee is all scraped up, a messy graze, but nothing deep. There's a little mark on her elbow, but no blood. Kids bounce, Hen once told him. Buck kinda wishes Jee would stop trying to test that theory out on him though.

"Now, stay nice and still while I get this cleaned up, okay sweetheart?" Tommy eases, turning his attention back to Jee, the full effect of his Cool And Unphased Firefighter Pilot shtick aimed at a tiny little person who doesn't even have a fully developed concept of consequence yet. It feels unfair. Buck's a whole ass adult and it's enough to make him spacy, "Do you know what this is?"

Jee looks from the antibacterial wipe in his hand, to Buck, and back to Tommy nervously, "No."

"This is a special kind of cloth that can get all the yucky stuff out of your cut, get it nice and clean."

"Like soap?"

"Kinda like soap, yeah," he nods, smiling, "It's gonna hurt a little bit, but that's how you know it's working. Ready?"

She nods, hands fisting in the skirt of her pink dress anxiously. Tommy swipes over the graze of her cut quickly and gently, efficient but effective.

"Brave girl, Jee," Buck murmers, rubbing a hand soothingly up her arm.

"Yes, she is," Tommy agrees, "Now, I'm going to put a plaster on this. Hold still for me-" She holds herself dutifully, solid like a rock, as Tommy smooths the dressing over the knee. It's probably overkill, but Buck knows that the power of belief in healing is almost as important as the actual healing bit.

"You did so good, Jee," Buck says, straightening up to plant a kiss in her hair. She giggles, grasping at him with her pudgy hands, "And so did you," he says, kissing him on the cheek. Jee shrieks with laughter the way she always does when Buck dares to show any kind of affection to anyone but her.

"Now, you," Tommy says, sweeping Jee off the counter, "Get settled on the couch, because it looks like your Uncle Evan got some cookie dough vanilla that's got your name all over it, kid."

Jee's face splits with a grin so wide it looks like it might hurt, then throws her arms around Tommy's neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder with a happy little sound, "Thank you, Uncle Tommy," The words are muffled into the collar of his shirt, but Tommy clearly hears loud and clear if the way his face scrunches up in delight is any indication.

Something heavy and dense swoops straight through the middle of Buck's core, through his chest and out through his stomach. Too much, too fast, too soon. Tommy gives Jee a final squeeze, swaying her a little so her tiny legs flop around, giggling happily until he puts her back down.

Jee cuddles up with a pillow on the couch, something that looks like elves on an acid trip playing on the TV while Tommy washes his hands and puts the first aid kit back in the cupboard and Buck gets three bowls of cookie dough ready for a good ol' fashioned sugar binge.

"She adores you."

Tommy looks up, even as Buck keeps his eyes resolutely on the ice cream.

"She's got a big heart," he says fondly, before adding, "Must be a Buckley family trait."

"She's a good kid," Buck grins, turning to look over at Jee, hugging one of the sofa cusions to her chest, so big against her that she can rest her chin on it.

"Yeah. Do you want kids?"

The ice cream scoop skids across the counter out of Buck's hand when he jerks in surprise.

Tommy laughs quietly, ducking his head to kiss his shoulder, "Not right now, Evan. Just... curious. You're good with her."

"So are you," he fires back. He knows he's being stupid, that he's acting defensive, and he doesn't even know what about. Jesus, he sucks when someone catches him off guard, "Do you want kids?"

It doesn't look like it bothers Tommy, who just grins like he knows better than to take Buck's knee-jerk panic personally. Probably because he does.

"Yeah. One day."

Buck can't help smiling back, "Yeah. One day."

They all squeeze onto the couch, Jee tucked in between them with enough sugar shovelling into her mouth for Maddie to have reasonable justification to murder him later. It's probably not how he would have described his ideal afternoon, but he can't find fault in it.

#bucktommy #tevan #911 #**writing #bucktommy tag #evan buckley #tommy kinard #thank you so much for the prompt this was very sweet to write!!!! <3

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caesariawritesstuff · 4 months ago

Note

I love C&M! I’d be curious how they’d each react to Detective being pregnant, if you’re comfortable writing that. Whether it’s planned or not, maybe both situations like headcannons?

We're Expecting

Summary: Unplanned and planned pregnancy headcanons for what would happen if Detective got pregnant.

Word Count: 2.8k

Content Warning: Slight sexual content, mention of abortion, planned and unplanned pregnancy discussions.

A/N: This fic is currently not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse storyline, but I had fun writing this. I'm so happy you love C&M, and thanks for the request, anon! This was supposed to be put in a bulleted list, but apparently there's a block limit and Tumblr didn't like it, so apologies for the formatting. 😒

Unplanned:

Okay. Whoops. This wasn’t supposed to happen. All the protections were in place, but somehow, someway…you got pregnant. At first, you didn’t think much of it when your period was late. You figured it was just hormones, that it would be here soon.

Until it wasn’t.

One morning, you wandered down to the local drugstore and picked up three pregnancy tests. Probably overkill, but you didn’t care. Your stomach twisted in anxious knots, every part of you terrified that it could be true.

Not like you’d never imagined yourself being a mother, but well…you and Edward had never really talked about the possibility of children. Except, of course, in the bedroom when his clear breeding kink came out and he filled you with his seed, but that was different, and you usually thought nothing of it by morning.

You took the tests home, quickly hurrying into the bathroom to do you business. With bated breath, you waited for the little line to appear.

Please be negative, please be negative, please be negative, you thought, whispering those words over and over again.

And then, slowly…the other pink little line appeared. You stared, blinking, hunched over the toilet with the pregnancy test in hand.

“No,” you whispered. You couldn’t believe it.

So you waited, and took the test again when you were ready – but the same result appeared, two pink little lines: pregnant.

You waited again, and took the third test, but it was the same result.

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked in the mirror at yourself, the realization dawning over you like a slow trickle of chilled water.

You were pregnant. Actually pregnant. With Edward Nigma’s baby. Shit.

This was…not what you expected, and instead of being overjoyed, you were filled with never-ending dread. How was Edward going to react? Would he shun you? Leave you? Blame you for this? Well, it did take two to tango, so you weren’t entirely to blame.

But still. Let’s face it: Edward Nigma wasn’t exactly father material, now was he?

Terror clawed up your throat, but you decided to wait to tell him. You would try and gauge his reaction first, subtly, before announcing anything further.

One day, while out grocery shopping with Edward, you passed by a mother with a small toddler in a stroller, pausing to whisper, “What a cute little baby.”

Edward hardly noticed. Whether or not he cared, you didn’t know.

Another time, you found yourself straying near the baby section of the store, your eyes pausing on cute little baby clothes. Edward, again, said nothing.

And so, it seemed, you had absolutely no idea how you were going to tell him.

One day, a few weeks later, you still hadn’t told him. You held it in, unable to look him in the eyes and tell him you were pregnant. Hell, you even took a fourth pregnancy test just to be sure, but that one didn’t lie, either.

Meanwhile, however, Edward could tell something was up. He could read it in your body language, and you were quite easy to read. He knew you were keeping something from him, he just didn’t know what.

At least, until one day while taking out the trash, he found the receipt for the local drugstore and the evidence that you’d bought a pregnancy test – and in that moment, his heart dropped.

Edward stared, wide-eyed, feeling himself have an out-of-body experience. Because if you were pregnant…no. No. He was not father material. He didn’t think he had one parental bone in his body. The very concept of it terrified him.

Edward’s own father had been a good-for-nothing piece of shit. He’d never had a father figure growing up, and all his years of abuse had tainted him to the idea of ever bringing a child into this world, anyways. Not like he ever believed he’d find you, either, but still…why hadn’t you told him about it? How long had you known?

And if there was one thing that truly bothered Edward, it was when you kept things from him. He did not like being kept out of whatever was going on inside your tiny mind. He did not like feeling like you were pushing him out.

But Edward Nigma had no idea what the fuck to do.

Should he confront you? Wait for you to tell him? Words danced on the tip of his tongue, but it took all of his self-control to not blow a gasket and storm out. Because being a father…it meant something more than he could ever have imagined.

But, Edward was a smart man, and he began to piece together small little things that had happened over the last few weeks: the way your eyes caught on tiny babies and baby clothes, how you expressed interest in them. Truthfully, Edward had thought you were simply ovulating, and that your hormones were raging. But now he saw it for what it was: you’d been trying to gauge his reaction, hadn’t you?

And here he’d gone and said nothing. Shit.

Terror clawed up Edward’s throat as he considered the possibility of fathering a child. His own father had done nothing but torment him, and he never knew his mother. He had little faith in his own parental skills…and he had no idea what the fuck to do. For the first time in his sorry life, he was at a complete and utter loss.

Edward Nigma had always prided himself on thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else, of being prepared for every scenario and outcome, but he had not planned for this.

But one night, when it seemed you were still content to keep this from him, he finally confronted you, looking up from his dinner as he said, “Are you keeping something from me, my dear?”

“What?” you’d asked, feigning surprise. “No…why would you say that?”

He raised his brows. “I know you’re pregnant.”

Your face had fallen, going pale, the color draining from your cheeks. You shifted, pushing your dinner plate aside as you looked down, not meeting his eyes.

Quietly, you said, “…what do you me to do with it?”

Edward blinked. Stared. Your question took him aback. He hadn’t expected you to be so quick to throw the decision on him. “What?” he’d asked.

You lifted your eyes. “Well…I mean, come on. Do you really want to be a dad?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

Fuck.

In that moment, Edward had no idea what he wanted. He never thought this would happen. Of course, he wasn’t an idiot – he knew the risks when you started having sex together. He just hadn’t expected it to become a reality.

And perhaps, if you were anyone else, if you were someone he did not love…maybe he would have walked out. Maybe he would have asked you to terminate the pregnancy. But it was you carrying his child, and dammit…he loved you.

More than he ever thought he could love another person.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, so unlike him. He was usually so prepared, thinking ten steps ahead, but this…this unknown, it frightened him, shook him down to his very core.

“Okay,” was all you said, looking back down at the table.

“Okay?” he asked. “Okay? Is that all you have to say?”

Your gaze snapped back to him. “What do you want me to say, Edward? That I’m happy? This is kind of unplanned, you know. And I’ve been sick with worry, wondering what you would think and…” You shook your head.

“You want to know what I think, detective?” he asked lowly. “I’m fucking terrified.”

“I am, too,” you whispered.

Edward stared at you for a long moment. He didn’t know what he wanted. Every instinct inside of him told him to bolt from this room, slam the door behind him, and never look back. All his years of trauma and pent up rage for his own father threatened to burst from his chest, but…lashing out would accomplish nothing. It would only serve to make you angry with him, and he did not want that.

But the very idea of becoming a father…he never thought it possible. Never believed it could actually happen. And as terrified as he was, perhaps there was a part of him that was curious to know what another tiny human being would become from him. A natural curiosity, he supposed, one built on pure human instinct and nature.

And yet, beyond that, there was another truth, too: the fact that Edward had come to love you, so fucking much, that the prospect of destroying something that had been built between the two of you…that frightened him most of all.

Edward took a deep breath and composed himself.

Slowly, he reached forward, grasping your hand in his as his thumb stroked across your smooth skin. “Terror has never stopped me before, my dear,” he said.

You stared at him, blinked, as if you couldn’t process just what he’d said. Finally, you asked, “…are you saying you want to go through with this?”

He nodded, and yet the movement, the confirmation, made his stomach do a thousand uncertain flips. “What comes after two?” he asked.

“Three?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Then that’s what we’ll be,” he replied.

And that’s what we’ll be.

Planned:

The very idea of becoming pregnant terrified you. Childbirth was a scary thing, and even though you’d considered the prospect of being a mother one day, you just never expected the father of your child to be Edward Nigma.

In fact, once you started dating him, and the more serious your relationship grew, the more the very idea of becoming a mother seemed to fade away from you entirely. You knew Edward was not father material, and assumed he’d never wanted to have a baby, anyways…

Except, in the bedroom, when he’d whisper naughty, salacious things in your ear as he fucked you.

“Would you like it if I bred you, detective?” he’d ask, a low groan as his cock thrust in and out of you with furious, desperate need. “If I forced you to carry my seed? To populate this city with my genius?”

Before, you never thought too hard about what he said, even if it did turn you the hell on at the very prospect of being used to breed for him, but one night, after a round of sex, you found yourself wondering what it would actually be like to have his child.

Of course, you didn’t bring it up, even though words hung on your tongue. You never thought he would actually agree to having a baby with you.

Until, one night, he once again expressed his breeding kink by burying his cock deep inside of you and spilling his seed, whispering how much he wanted to breed you.

You couldn’t help it – the words slipped out of your mouth not long after, the question popping out before you could stop yourself, “Would you actually want to have a baby with me?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he propped himself up on one elbow while staring down at you with a quirked brow. “Would you actually want to have a child with me? You know, I’m not exactly father material.”

“You’re the one who talks about breeding me all the time,” you laughed out. “If anyone is interested, I’d say it’s you.”

He smirked. “Well…it would help the gene pool if I passed along my genius, now wouldn’t it? Just think of all the little genius offspring of mine.”

“Uh-huh,” you’d said, rolling your eyes, but you paused, feeling your stomach drop as you sat up in bed. “Wait – are you actually considering it?”

“I can’t deny my…interest, my dear, in what it would actually be like to have some offspring,” he said. “Believe me, this city would greatly benefit from it.”

You laughed, but his words had awoken something inside of, something dormant and fragile and now sparking to life like a wicked storm in your belly. You didn’t know what to think, but…well…

“Are you considering it?” he finally asked, as if noticing your expression.

“What? No, I mean, of course not!” you said, stumbling over the words, trying to hide the fact that you were very much thinking about it.

He studied you slowly, smirking, looking at you in that way that made you know he could tell exactly what you were thinking, but he chose not to probe further.

However, the conversation had seemed to unlock something in both of you. A strange, hidden interest, like opening Pandora’s box. Because now that the topic was out, it seemed you could not put it back in the box.

The days passed slowly, but you found yourself wondering what it would be like to have a baby with Edward. And even though he wasn’t really father material, you had to admit, he had done remarkably well in his reform: he’d been on his best behavior, attended therapy on time, and work was going surprisingly good. Things between you and him had been strong for months now, in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

But the very idea of actually having his baby stirred butterflies in your stomach. Perhaps it was something primal about it, maybe it was your own kink, you didn’t know – but something about being chosen by him of all people, to share himself with you and allow you to carry his baby, well…it certainly awoke something in you, didn’t it?

So, one night, you gathered up your courage and looked at him at dinner, staring him down as you said, “I want to have a baby.”

He almost choked on his food. “What?” he coughed out, taken aback.

“I want to have a baby. With you, Edward,” you said.

He stared at you for a long moment. You could just the wheels in his brain turning, as if his genius mind was trying to process just what you’d said and how to even respond. You waited with bated breath, prepared for him to call you a hundred names for being so stupid, for thinking this was a good idea, for—

“Very well,” he said.

“What?” Now it was your turn to be surprised.

“Seeing as you wish to carry my offspring, how can I decline such a request? After all, being the mother of my child is a great honor. And who am I to deny you?” As he spoke, his eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam.

You smirked back at him. You hadn’t expected him to cave so easily, had assumed he would put up more of a fuss.

“Why so eager, Edward?” you’d asked, curious.

“I must admit, I’ve been giving it some consideration since our last talk,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “And I’ve found myself curious as to what it would be like to father a child. After all, I am the greatest mind this city has ever known. I think it’s about time I show this city what else I have to offer.”

You smirked, laughing lightly as you said, “Okay, sure.” Of course he would see having a child as providing Gotham with a great service, but, well…you didn’t mind, either. In fact, your belly stirred with warmth at the idea.

Looking up at him, you smirked and said, “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve already started taking prenatal vitamins then.”

“Oh,” he said, returning your smirk. “Someone has begun thinking a few steps ahead. It seems you’re finally learning.”

“Only from the best,” you said.

Edward, however, as much as he tried to hide it from you, could not ignore the strange stirrings in his own heart. Being a father frightened him. It terrified him, more than anything else ever had in his life – and that was saying something.

But there was a part of him that couldn’t deny the desperation to prove everyone wrong. To show the world just how great he was. After all, his reform had been going splendidly. And with you at his side – what better way to prove just how much he’d changed, how great he was, if not for taking on the responsibility that came with fatherhood?

After all, Edward was great, and what better way to only improve his greatness by proving he could be the best father? The father he’d never had – and oh, how Edward just loved to prove everyone else wrong.

And having you at his side, you carrying his child, well…that only made this whole thing all the sweeter, and he couldn’t deny you of his seed, now could he?

Oh no, Edward would only grant your wishes. What he had not expected, however, was how quickly it happened. In only a few short weeks, he found himself hanging outside the bathroom door while you took a pregnancy test, nerves bundling in his belly, as he paced back and forth down the hall.

But the moment the door opened, and you stepped out, holding a positive test, everything inside of him went taught. From fear. From excitement. From terror. He didn’t exactly know which ruled him more, all he knew was that this was becoming a very real thing.

But Edward Nigma, the Worlds Greatest Everything, had never shied away from a challenge. And fatherhood was the greatest challenge of all.

#caesariawrites #cat&mouse!verse #the riddler #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkhamverse riddler #edward nygma #arkhamverse #the riddler x you #the riddler x y/n #the riddler x reader #riddler x you #riddler x reader #riddler x detective #detective #riddler headcanons

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justdrawlynn11 · 1 month ago

Text

MaSm Seeds Au: A Change of Plans..

Set up: Sun was only distancing himself from Moon(and Foxford, but he’s unimportant) ever since he laid that STUPID egg… Moon had an idea of how to deal with it.

Warning: Mentions of attempted murder

Moon had just the solution to fix this… drink an invisibly potion, sneak into Sun’s room, and CRUSH that dumb egg while Sun’s sleeping… nothing could go wrong..

Sure Sun might be a BIT upset, but everything’s felt weird for a week now and Moon wanted it to stop.

Though Moon and Foxford were planning on staying up throughout the night, they let Sun go home and get a long rest… it would be the perfect time for Moon to do it..

Moon waited until the world could confirm Sun was asleep before entering Sun’s room. [1/3 players are resting]

It was time.

Moon entered the room… it was a little dark but it wouldn’t interfere with Moon’s plan to- …Egg shells… on the edge of the bed.. they looked like they were from that egg that Sun’s been practically hugging since he laid it last week- why were there egg shells there?!…

Moon looked towards Sun, who was resting in a slightly odd position compared to normal… he looked closer and- are those tiny rays over there?!- You could barely see it from where Moon was standing.

Moon quietly moved closer to the head of Sun’s bed… it was a baby…. so small… so helpless… so easy to end. Before he didn’t have to worry about this thing making noise and now it’s making those little newborn baby grunts every time it moves?!?

No worries… Moon can still do what he was planning to do. He grabbed out his sword… no that’s overkill- he grabbed a scrap of blade from one of his broken swords.. that’d do just the trick. He reached for the hatchling, he lightly tapped the thing’s ray when- oh no-nononO it’s crying- Sun’s going to get up now-

Sun woke up, not seeing the invisible Moon in front of him or the potion effects from being tired. He started to gently shush the baby, trying his best to calm them.

The hatchling was upset… maybe they were hungry?… how or what do you even feed a hatchling?! Maybe milk could work but… there’s no way they could drink it straight from a normal glass bottle..

The bottle’s probably BIGGER than the hatchling if Sun was honest here-

Sun: “Shhhh….shhhhh… I know, I know… give me a moment to figure something out for you…” Moon: (Great… there goes THAT plan. I need to figure out ANOTHER time to-) Hatchling: “Whe-Waaaaaa *hic* ahhhhh”

The baby continued to cry, they wrestled in their blanket like they couldn’t get comfortable.

Sun: “Oh no.. oh dear did I wrap you too tight in the blankie for… for your wings? Oh I’m sorry, let’s just fix that and try to fix this feeding problem…” Moon: (It’swhatnow?)

Moon watched as Sun un-swaddled the hatchling… it had wings… why-HOW did it have wings?!? Sun didn’t have any so why did his spawn have them?!

Sun seemed to have noticed something looking at the hatchling. Sun: “Heh… I finally get a peep from your eyes and…. they’re just like his.. of course…” Moon: “…”

Moon: (like… who’s…?)

Moon looked closely as the hatchling’s eyes were barely opened… red and blue.. just like his…

…

…just like his….

Why were they just like his…?

This doesn’t make sense!- WHY does Sun’s baby have HIS eyes and wings?!? What was going on?!? There’s no reason why he should have any relation to-

Last week… last week they had those seed things and Sun’s been weird ever since!- but- HOW- there wasn’t any information on this!…

…

But that means… that thing is his kid too…

…

Why should that matter?! It’s distracting Sun!- it’s going to make his life miserable- it’s… it’s resting calmly in Sun’s arms… Sun looks so full of a love that Moon’s never seen… but…

Sun’s crying…

Sun: “I’m so…so sorry little baby…I-I don’t know what to do!… I don’t want you to get hu-hurt..” Sun started to quietly sob to himself… his baby resting peacefully in his arms…

Was Sun.. scared…?

Even though he wanted to try to help calm Sun down, Moon didn’t want to startle him.. or the baby… so he just sat there…

Getting rid of it right now would only hurt Sun..

Maybe this baby could stay around for a bit longer…

(Note: MaSm Sun and Moon are established to NOT be related)

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ireadwithmyears · 3 months ago

Text

A Happy Medium (Part 1): Not Enough

Pairing: Tech/fem reader

next part

Word count: 1.9 k (I know, I didn’t think I was capable of writing something this short either)😂

Tags/warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), smut, referenced oral sex (F receiving), discussion of and working through clitoral hypersensitivity, thigh riding

Summary: When your body betrays you in the heat of a moment that is supposed to be enjoyable, you are frustrated. But Tech, being Tech, finds a way to adapt.

Authors note: If you know me, you know that I love Tech. I love him so much and he is wonderful. But if you know me, then you also know that I am very picky when it comes to his characterization, and when it comes to writing him, this has become quite the tricky spot for me, as I’m not totally confident in my abilities to do so authentically. I also, in a completely different vein, wanted to explore a topic that isn’t discussed nearly enough, in my humble opinion. And that is the trials and tribulations of having a female body that doesn’t always make intimacy with others easy due to its own, shall we say, special quirks? So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Because the only way to get better at doing something that makes you uncomfortable, unfortunately, is to keep doing it, and, simply because I thought he would be an excellent partner to work with when it comes to exploring this particular topic, here we are, and I hope you enjoy it. This is to be a three-part miniseries, and it is by no means romantic, perfect candlelit smut handed to you on a tray. It’s explorative, it can be awkward at times and it’s real, and my hope is that some people will be able to resonate with that.

“You may proceed.”

The unfazed, almost nonchalant way in which he says it makes your cheeks heat with a blush. You duck your head attempting to hide it, not wanting to catch the attention of the amber orbs behind his goggles, because this is embarrassing.

It doesn’t matter that he had tried to reassure you of otherwise, even going to the length of pulling up factually backed-up statistics and numbers to demonstrate that this was, in fact, not just a you-problem and that, all in all, it was a quite common and perfectly normal barrier to encounter.

If it was so common, you had thought to yourself with a twist of bitterness that you couldn’t entirely conceal, then why did no one talk about it?

Why did no one tell you that oral sex, which seemed to be coveted as this wonderful, otherworldly experience, instead felt...kind of awful?

Okay, maybe that was overkill. But in all honesty, the first drag of Tech’s tongue across your clit had felt like fire, your entire body going rigid and your breath catching in your throat. You thought you had just been surprised, and decided that maybe if you just stuck it out a bit longer, the sensation would melt into something enjoyable.

But it didn’t.

You had remained frozen, stuck in the limbo between fight or flight as the all-encompassing, almost to the point of being painful, sensations continued to build. And then his lips, gentle and curious, had enclosed around the small nub, and before you knew it, you were flinching away, crying out that it was too much and that you couldn’t as you frantically tried to close your legs.

That had begun much more tentative trial and error experimenting, with Tech peppering you with a series of bluntly forward and to the point questions that had made you blush so hard as you answered that you were sorely tempted to hide your face against the pillows.

He had determined, after you had haltingly explained how, when you were getting yourself off, you usually found it easier to move against something, that a change of position and technique was in order.

“You have come to the reasonable conclusion that, due to your sensitivities, it is much more effective for you to be able to maintain and control how much pressure, and how broad and or focussed the stimulation you receive is,” he had stated, fingers lightly tapping against his knee in thought.

You had nodded, because yes? Maybe you hadn’t thought about it so deeply, and only really saw your solution as a means to an end rather than a well-thought out and perfectly logical solution, but yeah—what he had described was such an on-the-nose reflection of your experience that it was easy for you to go along with whatever his line of thought was leading to.

His line of thought, however, had taken you by more than slight surprise and had found you with his expectant gaze looking down at you while your legs straddled one of his broad thighs. You were rendered completely incapable of doing anything but perching there, frozen and unsure, despite knowing in the back of your head what you were expected to do next.

“Tech,” you mutter, your cheeks still heated and unable to tear your eyes away from how your legs rest on either side of his thigh, “I can’t.”

His fingers are light beneath your chin but insistent as he tilts it upward, quirking an eyebrow as he looks down at you. You swear the way his thigh muscles tense and flex slightly beneath you is deliberate. “I think you can,” he counters, and there’s both a slight edge of challenge and a gentler underlying encouragement laced within his tone.

Here you are, perched in his lap and completely bare. Meanwhile, he’s still wearing his blacks, and the heated, slightly rough material dragging against your folds as he presses it up against you has you shivering, your head tilting back.

“Show me,” he tells you, his voice a low command against your ear as he slowly rocks his thigh against you, the material of his blacks catching so deliciously against your clit that you think you might whimper softly. “Show me how you make yourself come.”

“B-but I can’t when you’re just watching me like this,” you say, your voice strained. Despite your protest, you’re tentatively beginning to move your hips, slow and exploring as you try to find what feels good.

“Oh, I can assure you that I will be doing more than simply watching,” Tech murmurs, and before you know it, his face is buried against your neck, the feeling of his breaths causing you to shudder, and his lips, warm as they trace a path upward towards the shell of your ear, where he languidly drags his tongue, make you let out a rather undignified whine.

“Did you know,” he muses conversationally, his voice barely above a whisper, “that the ears are one of the most sensitive erogenous zones on the body?”

“I-is right now really the time for infodumping?” you ask, hands reaching out to grip onto his shoulders, attempting to steady yourself as your hips continue to move, the strong, taut muscles of his thigh firm and heated as they press against your core.

“Mm,” he hums low, a soft exhalation of breath before his lips suddenly close around your earlobe, lightly tugging it as he runs it between his teeth, the result of which seeming to send a jolt of heat straight between your legs, your thighs squeezing around his legs and the careful rhythm you had been building with the slow circles of your hips stuttering in response. “I believe that information to be pertinent, as yours particularly seem to elicit a favorable response to stimulation.”

You don’t have to look at him to see the shit-eating smirk that’s pulling at the corners of his lips. Not that—with the heated, firm expanse of his thigh dragging against your folds and surrounding your clit with a warm, pleasantly building pleasure—you could really bring yourself to care at this point.

“There are others,” he continues, seemingly unfazed by your quickening breaths or the tight grip you have on his shoulders as you rock your hips with growing speed against his thigh. “I believe it was right here...”

His lips return to a particularly tender spot on the side of your neck, tongue fluttering over the rapidly beating pulse point beneath, listening to the stammered whimper you let out in response.

“Mm,” he hums against your skin, teeth lightly grazing over the spot. “That’s the one.”

You can’t help the soft moan that falls from your lips, your hips continuing to squirm as you now desperately attempt to chase the high that is taking its sweet time sneaking up on you.

“I quite enjoy how responsive you are to this particular area, but I wonder...”

Tech’s gaze is shameless as he drags his eyes along your form, observing with pleasure your head tilted back with your cheeks flushed, your eyes fluttered shut. They linger on your chest, his lips parting.

“The nipples can also be an extremely erogenous zone for some,” he murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts move as you continue to circle your hips. “What I find that I am particularly enjoying about having you in this position is how they are at the perfect height for me to look at as you pleasure yourself.”

He reaches up, his hand warm and large as it lightly cups one of your breasts, thumb slow and teasing as it drags along the underside, coaxing your nipple to harden. He experimentally rolls the pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger, and at the stuttered gasp of pleasure he gets in response, he gives it a gentle tweak, softly pulling until you moan.

He leans forward, cupping the other in his hand and blowing out a cool breath against your skin. He leaves a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses that surround the swell of your breast, tongue lightly swirling over your areola before, with a gentle suck, he takes your hardening nipple into his mouth, combining slow, coaxing drags of his tongue and quick, light flicks against it until he feels it fully stand at attention, letting out a pleased hum against your skin.

“I do not wish to neglect other erogenous areas,” Tech continues, and you have to wonder if he knows how thoroughly he’s made a mess of you, your mind engulfed by a thick, pleasure-filled haze that only grows thicker with every touch, every increasingly desperate rock of your hips against him.

“The lower back, notably, is quite the vulnerable area when it comes to being touched,” he whispers, fingernails lightly dragging down your spine. “But I have no intention of neglecting this.”

His hand descends further, lightly caressing over the curve of your ass, before squeezing more firmly, roughly kneading it until you moan, your thighs clenching around his.

“T-Tech,” you whimper, arching and growing more frantic in your movements. “I need, I need more.”

He hums, adjusting to press his thigh more roughly against your pussy, lightly rocking it so that it drags with more pressure against your clit. You whine, your head tipping back, and Tech smirks, taking the opportunity to lean forward and trail his lips towards your ear.

“I can feel how wet you are against me,” he murmurs low against your ear, and you blush, suddenly very aware of the wet trail that clings to the material of his blacks. “Does this feel good?” he asks, his hand back to toying with one of your nipples.

“Yes,” you whine, your cheeks flushed and your head thrown back. “Fuck, yes it does.”

“Then why don’t you show me how good it feels and come?” he asks, voice rough against your ear.

You whimper, his words being the final nudge that pushes you over the edge, your hips feverish as they roll against his thigh.

Your own thighs have locked around his. You’re only able to focus on the white hot, searing pleasure that throbs through your pussy in long, lingering pulses, until you’re left gasping and clinging to Tech for dear life, tipped forward and slumped against him.

In the silence that follows, you breathe, listening to Tech’s own soft breaths, feeling his gaze, heavy and wanting, fixated on you as you look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well,” Tech comments, his voice quiet as his arms settle around you lightly. “I believe that was effective.”

“It was,” you agree, nodding your head, hesitating before continuing. “But I don’t want that to be the only way you can get me off.”

It was nice, there’s no denying that. Far more pleasurable than grinding against your hand or rubbing yourself against a pillow. But it’s still a lot of work for your hips, and perhaps you’re being a little bit greedy for thinking so, but you still want more.

“Of course not,” he murmurs in agreement, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I believe I can learn from my prior missteps and adapt to your sensitivities when delivering oral stimulation, if you would be agreeable to trying it again.”

You hum, nodding your head and looking up at him, a mix of trust and curiosity in your eyes as you study his features.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I think I’d like that.”

Thank you to @moosgraphics for these amazing bad batch themed dividers. And thank you all for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider dropping a reblog. It would be so appreciated.🙏

#tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech #tech bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #clone trooper tech #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars smut #Ireadwithmyears fics

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henrysglock · 3 months ago

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The Dustin Experiment—Review

Rating: 2/5 Author: J.L. D'Amato

The Dustin Experiment was an unexpectedly easy read, especially coming off The Silmarillion. It's marketed as a young adult novel, but it's something I would have read as a fifth grader. I finished it, notes and all, in under 4 hours. I even handed it off to my mother, fearing my "good at reading" autism—paired with the fact that my father majored in literature, meaning advanced books were the status-quo in my household growing up as a result—was the culprit. She pegged it as a sixth grade novel within the first couple of pages. I'm not sure if it was the fault of Random House's categorization or the declining literacy rate in the States, but I was definitely expecting a plot that was a little more complex, or at least characters whose motivations were more complex.

The novel follows Dustin through the first semester of high school, specifically through a regional science fair that neither Lucas or Mike want to participate in with him. Along the way, the fraying relationships between the remaining Party members are explored, as well as the foundations of Dustin's bond with Eddie—who offers to be Dustin's ride to the science fair.

I can't say the book didn't deliver exactly that. However, I do have a few criticisms.

One: The editing

There were certain instances in the book where I couldn't believe D'Amato's editor didn't offer a correct of some kind.

Repetition 1. Claudia starts a running bit about Dustin electrocuting himself. It's funny the first time (page 28). But when Eddie says the exact same thing just a few pages later (page 34)—without a justifiable reason, because Eddie is not like a parent to Dustin, he's an older brother figure, so even using it as a parallel wouldn't make sense—it feels tired. When Claudia reuses the exact bit a couple chapters later, it's far overdone (page 60). 2. Max's social withdrawal over Billy's death is mentioned right away (page 3), and it's brought up in full no less than six times throughout the 290 page novel (pages 10, 87, 118 (x2!), and 237). "Max has been absent ever since Billy's death last year" should have been brought up once, maybe twice, and then left to the reader's memory afterward. 3. Interdimensional monsters is another one. This is the "interdimensional monsters" show. It doesn't need to be blatantly said more than twice. Alas, it's referenced in full no less than six times throughout the story (pages 2, 3, 41, 132, 159, and 166). Again, overkill. 4. There were some odd phrases that repeated word for word, specifically about Claudia having grown up in Hawkins. These ^^ are just the most blatant/egregious examples. I felt like I was reading an essay where the author was struggling to meet a word limit, and I'm not sure why someone proofreading this book wouldn't catch that. If this is supposed to be a young adult book, then make it young adult writing. Hell, Dustin and Suzie are reference reading Neuromancer—an adult book—but even if this book had been intended for kids, kids aren't stupid. There was too much hand-holding overall for a Stranger Things story. Show, don't tell.

Callbacks The author is trying entirely too hard to reference the TV show and flex knowledge of the 80s. Mr. Mom makes an appearance, there's a reference to black widow spiders being scary and dangerous (but no mention from Dustin the Science Nerd about how the fear is unfounded because black widows are largely docile until provoked), a reference to the exact month Ghostbusters came out on VHS, so on and so forth within this general vibe of trying too hard.

Grammar There were numerous instances of clunky phrasing, incorrect use of punctuation (specifically overuse of commas and unwillingness to use semicolons where semicolons would have worked best), and overlooked issues with italics (like on page 216, when the show Dynasty is italicized...along with the rest of the phrase it appears in. Or the paragraph on page 32 where, like, every sixth word is italicized). This is particularly ironic given the two pages at the start of Chapter 14 wherein Mike corrects Dustin's grammar. Again, I'm not sure how an editor would have missed all these instances. Also, there's a line of dialogue for Lucas that's ripped directly from a tumblr post. Dead fucking ass. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin are discussing horror movie protags doing stupid things, and Lucas says that the protags "don't have the luxury of being genre aware". I've reblogged that exact post at least once this year. I mean, come on. It does make the too-detailed moments about the 80s ironic, though. Comes off as the author trying so hard to be "relatable" that the vibe of the 80s is lost despite having the details that supposedly "prove" she knows the 80s.

Two: The characterization

The only characters that felt true were Steve, Robin, and Claudia. I'm sorry, but it's true. Dustin felt like a caricature of himself, at once totally self-absorbed—bordering on genuinely narcissistic at times—and weirdly socially conscious. He criticizes Lucas for joining basketball without understanding the social context of that choice, but then turns around and uses modern speak about basketball being "a pointless ritual glorifying outdated ideals of masculinity" to do that criticizing. Dustin is particularly angry in this novel, which isn't really supported by the show. Even when he's being abandoned in ST3, he doesn't show it very outwardly (or at least he doesn't do it often). Also, Dustin refers to D’art as a monster at least twice. He would not fucking say that, or whatever the kids are saying these day.

The author makes numerous callbacks to The First Shadow (like Dustin being encouraged to join drama club/try out for the school play/musical, and referenced to both his parents having grown up in Hawkins), but she doesn't manage to get the characterizations of either Walter Henderson or Alan Munson right. Walter in TFS is quite devoted to Claudia, to the point of snapping at Henry just for referring to her as a "chick". I never pegged him as the type to cheat on her. Alan, on the other hand, is referenced as having smacked Eddie around in anger. This isn't consistent with any version of Alan. TFS Alan is a sensitive theater boy who's very good at empathizing and showing compassion to those who may not "deserve" it (like Jim Hopper's asshole dad, who is re-framed by Alan as a single dad trying his best). In Flight of Icarus, Alan is an absentee deadbeat who's largely a coward. He'll let Eddie take the fall for his schemes, but as far as I recall, there are no mentions of him abusing Eddie physically.

On another note, The basketball team. They are way too active as bullies—especially Jason. I feel like the author forgot that these are Hawkins' golden boys. Jason has an image to protect, and he doesn't go after Eddie/the nerds unless he's provoked. Having the team pelt Dustin and Mike with basketballs no less than three times is not only overkill, it's also out of character. Actively bullying Dustin and Mike physically feels "below" the basketball team—the same way that stepping on El's project is a low for Angela, who prefers verbal bullying, and the milkshake scene is a provoked incident because El is perceived as having gotten Angela in trouble.

I'm aware that these novels are not meant to be strictly canon, but all this feels like the author was missing source material and the editor didn't care enough to catch it.

This ^^ extends into canonicity issues overall, the largest of which serves to demonize Lucas.

Lucas is written as having missed all of first semester Hellfire club specifically for basketball stuff. There's really no mention of that in filmed canon—in fact, the tournament is positioned as the first time Lucas has to miss Hellfire. Lucas is also in the club's yearbook picture, shirt and all, which heavily implies that he was in Hellfire from the start along with Dustin and Mike.

Lucas's absence is used to villainize him in Dustin's eyes, and we don't ever get a real apology from Dustin about how he treated Lucas on account of basketball. The two make up, but it's in the way of "we were both assholes". No! Lucas was not in the wrong, here! Dustin has been a self-absorbed the asshole, and he acknowledges as much mentally! If the author had leaned into "Dustin feels weird taking responsibility for xyz reasons", fleshing out Dustin as a character, then I could give it a pass. Without that....it just feel like finding a way to create an object for Dustin's ire, with Lucas being the easy fall guy.

Having Lucas so easily and willingly "ditch" his friends is also antithetical to the Lucas we see in ST5, who's trying so hard to make everything work out re: the tournament. The Lucas in this book had already given up on making both groups mesh, regardless of the fact that Dustin showed up for one of his practices. (Which, Lucas making baskets and fitting easily into the team? When he's a bench warmer canonically? Doesn't make sense. If you've ever been a bench warmer on a school team sport, you know what I mean.)

There's also mention of Will, Jon, and El all being seen as the "weird" kids from Indiana, and everyone in Cali treating them like freaks. El is the only one we see being treated like a freak. Jon has a friend, and he's never shown being bullied. Will is a wallflower, we're never shown him being mistreated.

Riddle me this: Is Will being treated like a weirdo, or is he avoiding being treated like a weirdo by freezing up on El when she needs him most? Can't have it both ways.

I also found it ironic that the author had Will lecturing Dustin on communication, when he himself does not communicate well. Like oh, so you're saying he's a hypocrite? If that was the author's intent, I'd call it a sexy move, but it was painted as Will being "wise". Alas.

The same goes for D'Amato having Dustin tell Will that everything has crumbled without him. This is not the case. Everything has crumbled because Lucas is absent. The Party has always been fine without Will. It has always suffered without Lucas. ST1 will tell you that. So, unless the author's intent was to highlight Dustin not being able to accept that Lucas is the missing linchpin and him pushing that "blame", so to speak, onto Will's absence, then....okay. Sexy move. However, with Dustin being so openly and over-explainedly frustrated about Lucas "ditching" them/how him drifting away is causing so much grief, I can't imagine that kind of nuanced subtext was the goal in mind.

Three: The plot

My biggest beef with the plot is the Indianapolis science fair saboteur plot. The ending was supremely fucking cheesy and Sooby-Doo "and I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids" in essence. Hell, the "villain" whips out an "I'm not letting you Scooby-Doo wannabes get in my way" right at the end. It's not even an entertaining way to end that arc. Sigh.

Dustin is up against a bunch of smart kids from the prestigious Edgewood academy, namely Danny, Anika, and Brian. Brian is a senior, and he informs Dustin of a "curse" that's been plaguing the science fair—that is, destroying people's projects. The "curse" hits Anika's project, and Dustin takes it upon himself to solve it with Danny and Eddie's help. They record a tape of the saboteurs talking, and they go to Brian for help, since he's a senior and a victim of the "curse" himself. Brian sends them on a wild goose chase, claiming one of the voices sounds like his classmate Richard Rasch. Dick Rasch. Dick rash.

Dustin realizes he's been hoodwinked, and that Brian was the one on the tape. How he didn't realize it initially, I don't know. Alas, Brian has erased the recording, leaving Dustin with absolutely no proof. Dustin confronts Brian anyway, and Brian, the genius multi-year saboteur, just fucking snidely spills his guts about it. Two pages of straight up exposé. If Brian is so smart, and he's been able to pull this off for multiple years with no one catching him, then how is he stupid enough to admit to it? Hello? There's no evidence! There's nothing linked to him! Dustin and Brian both acknowledge that there's no proof. Are you kidding me??? He's a well-liked senior! He could absolutely bullshit his way out and call Dustin a jealous liar to cover his ass. But of course, the Mr. Clarke-wannabe, Mr. Adams, is oh-so conveniently right there to overhear all of that, since Brian had erased Dustin's recording.

It would have been so easy to give Dustin a second bit of proof to make this all more of a legitimate mystery solving trap. Like, say, cameras. Cameras are so important to ST canon overall, and it would be so easy to have Dustin ask Mr. Adams to check some tapes to prove that Brian is the saboteur without this cheap, nonsensical cop-out ending. They're in a nice building in Indianapolis! If HNL has cameras, then this building can, too, and the cameras would be the one thing Brian wouldn't think to even try to erase, since no one has suspected him so far. Dustin could figure out the saboteur from the deleted recording, but he could get hard proof from a camera when Brian has one-upped him. Make it a chess game! Like the chess game from NINA, people moving proof and pieces like pawns in the game! Make a another tryhard callback! You named your fake character Richard for fuck's sake! Like Richard BRENNER from the newspapers! It's not hard to write a satisfying ending. Brian could still have his silly little exposé moment without the entire thing resting flatly on it, should Dustin have found some other hard proof by knowing when to find an adult—especially one who's so willing to help, given Mr. Adam's similarities to Mr. Clarke (they both even have a mustache). The ending to that arc was cheap, easy, and anticlimactic. Upsettingly so.

This ^^ quite literally ruined the plot of the book for me. Sorry, not sorry. Characterization is one thing. Editing is another. But the plot? The plot has to at least be passable to make the former two excusable. And it was! It was! Right up until this bullshit ending to the mystery. Do better. It's not hard.

Editing was poor, characterization was meh at best, and the plot tripped over its gun and shot itself in the head in the home stretch.

As such, The Dustin Experiment receives 2/5 stars from me.

#you can tell this book was written by a byler tumblr user <- that’s not a compliment.#book review #st novels #the dustin experiment #dustin henderson

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captain-mj · 2 years ago

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Dragon 1/2

Found the plot and a short drabble in my google docs and wanted to finish it! Couldn't find the original ask, but I have delivered! Second part comes out tomorrow

Soap had found him deep in the woods. He had heard of something had been seen and he wanted to look for the creature causing issues. From the reports, he had a feeling it was a small wyvern or maybe a kelpie. It had been stealing sheep and other small livestock to eat, so he doubted it was anything too powerful. While he could leave this to his knights, he wanted to get out of the castle for a bit.

So for him to find a sleeping dragon, tucked in an abandoned farmhouse, curled up tight, was more than a little surprising. Usually dragons didn't bother with livestock, but Soap could see the bones of the creatures he had eaten all scattered about.

Soap noticed a large gash on his side and realized what the problem was. With a wound that size, the poor thing was probably trying to get what it considered easy pickings.

Slowly, painstakingly, he got on the ground in front of him. His kingdom had many religions, most revolving around the inherent divinity of dragons. They were majestic. The blending of humanity, nature and the divine. All of those features were very prominent in the creature before him, even injured and sleeping.

Massive paws, tipped with giant claws. Wings that filled the entire barn with just enough room for his body. Beautiful black iridescent scales that made red ripples when the light ran over them, complete with gold cracking from where the wound was as well as a couple of other scars. Gorgeous. His eyes were a stunningly dark color. Pools of ichor with flecks of color in them. The pupils were barely recognizable as pupils, just a thin vertical line.

Eyes.

Soap jerked back but the beast’s tail had already blocked the exit he had just went to. It stared at him, clearly thinking.

Intelligence was another thing. Most people believed that dragons had knowledge that escaped human grasp. Something about them felt so ethereal it wouldn’t shock Soap if it was true. But that did not and could not erase the fact that dragons ate people. And Soap was certainly people.

The dragon considered him for a moment before lowering his tail and returning to resting. “You should leave.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy from disuse.

Soap hesitated. “You’re not healing.”

“Poisoned arrows. Still working through the poison.” He lowered his head on his to paws again. The feathers along his head lowered. They were scant, just a few along the barbs. Which meant this dragon was rather young as they lost their feathers as they got older. Probably just reached adult age.

Just like Soap! His 19th birthday had passed a week prior. This dragon must be around his age. Possibly a little older.

“Maybe I could help?” Soap moved closer.

The dragon opened his eyes. “How could you help me?” He looked down at Soap like he was a bug. An inconvenience.

“I could bandage you up. See if I have anything that will help in my kingdom.” Soap got closer. He wanted to assist him. Dragon or not. He was hurt.

He growled and narrowed his eyes. “Do not come closer.”

Soap paused. “I… Okay. What if I bring you supplies?”

“That would be… acceptable.”

“My name is Johnny but everyone calls me Soap..”

“...Simon.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Simon.” Soap smiled at him. “Don’t leave, alright?” He started to step back.

Simon narrowed his eyes but slowly, achingly relaxed back onto his paws. “How do I know you won’t bring someone else here to kill me?”

“I’d never do that! You may have stolen some things, but it was clearly from need.” Soap raised his hands, praying he would believe him. “I’ll even bring you more food.”

Simon looked very suspicious but he nodded. “I’ll stay. But just for a little while…”

Soap beamed. “I’ll be right back!!” He rushed off to get supplies.

Only after coming back with two backpacks, stuffed to the brim, did he consider maybe that was overkill.

Simon had shifted back.

Soap blushed and quickly looked away.

“Something wrong, Johnny?” Simon asked, stretching himself out among the hay. His wings had blocked it before but the majority of the left side of the roof had been damaged. The sun was spilling out all over his very naked body.

“Do you have no modesty?” Soap sounded aghast. Simon had his wings still, but they were lounging around his body. Not moving to cover it. Soap kept his eyes firmly on Simon’s face.

Simon looked amused. “Why? I am wearing just as much as I was before. I simply changed forms.”

Soap shook his head. “This form is… is…”

“It is your form!” Simon frowned. “Under all of those clothes. You’d look just like me.”

“Yes, but I’m wearing clothes!”

Simon snorted and looked away, crossing his arms. “You said you’d help me. Get on with it.”

Soap glared and moved closer, still focusing on his face.

Simon sighed and raised the arm on his injured side up above his head and used the other to cover himself. “There. Modesty.” He said it with such sarcasm that Soap wanted to snap at him.

“I’m a Prince you know. You’re not being very respectful of royalty.”

“You’re the one asking me to be unnatural and wear clothing. Are you not disrespecting divinity by doing so?” Simon purred.

Soap poured water over the wound. “I think there may pieces of arrows still… in the wound… That may be why you still haven’t healed.”

Simon frowned and deflated a bit. “I’m going to have to let you dig it out… Fucking hell.” He tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “Alright. Go for it.”

“What?? I’m not… I don’t have the… experience to do this!”

“C’mon, little Prince. Hurry up. Explain why it still hurts so much.”

“You cannot be serious! You weren’t even sure if you’d stay until I got back and you’re going to let me just dig around in your wounds??” Soap was hoping he’d see sense and change his mind.

Simon smiled. “You got it! Get to it, Johnny.” He had a beautiful smile. It lit up the entire room and Soap was sure it was some sort of dragon magic he wasn’t aware of. He was wrong. Simon just looked like that.

Soap sighed and got closer. “Alright. You’re crazy.” He moved to get a better angle, pulling out a knife. “One of the pieces are in deep. Let me get these little shards first. Think you can stay still for me?”

“Sure. And if you hurt me too bad, I’ll just break you in half.”

Soap nodded immediately and got to work. “How old are you?”

“21 years. You?”

“19.” He had guessed right! “What brings you to this area?”

“I was fleeing the North. There are some real assholes there.” Simon winced and then pressed back into his hands to correct himself. It meant that Soap’s palm came into direct contact with his skin which surprised him.

“You run hot. Always thought dragons ran cold.”

“Misconception. Thanks to the fire in us, we’re technically warm blooded.”

Soap hummed. “The thing that lets you breathe fire right?”

Simon pursed his lips and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “Yeah. Exactly.”

When he did that, a spot in his throat glowed faintly. Since it was just smoke, it wasn’t very noticeable, but it was clearly there.

Soap focused on the task at hand again, but he planned to ask some questions once they were out. He pulled out the little wooden splinters before grabbing the metal tip. “This may hurt a bit.”

“What do they say? Pain is beauty?” Simon grinned right before yelping in pain when the arrowhead was fully dislodged. He panted softly as the thing dropped the ground. “Jesus that’s big.”

Soap nodded in agreement and, while Simon was distracted, quickly poured alcohol all over everything. Simon growled immediately and grabbed Soap hard. For a moment, Soap thought he was about to make good on that promise of breaking him in half, but Simon didn’t move any further. He just held him tight and slowly took a deep breath. Then another. And after a moment, he relaxed his grip.

“There ya go. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

Simon had closed his eyes and it gave Soap a chance to steal a quick glance at him. The dragon was a vision. Dozens of golden scars laced over his body, especially over his chest. His face… He was pretty. So very, very pretty. When he was a kid, his mother insisted he study the ancient arts and one of those included a set of sculptures made to be in the gods’ images. Simon would’ve fit in well among them.

“Thank you.”

“Of course… I also brought more food for you.”

Simon opened his eyes again. “You’re being awfully kind.” His throat glowed again, down his chest.

Soap stared openly this time, too taken back by the fire clearly going under his skin. “What is that?”

“A flame.”

“Fascinating.”

Simon stared for a moment before grabbing Soap’s hand and pressing it to the places that glowed. There was more heat in those areas. It felt extremely pleasant. “Huh.” Soap felt very eloquent with that response. He kept his hand pressed to spot.

“Little prince, you done?”

“One second, ye overgrown lizard.” Soap mumbled and followed the little lines.

“And you tried to talk to me about modesty.” Simon purred, chest vibrating under Soap’s hand. Soap quickly yanked it back.

“I am so so sorry. I sho-”

Simon grabbed one of the backpacks, effectively cutting Soap off with a question. “So you brought me stuff?” He tried to get it open but had a problem with the clasp. His hands were comically big compared to it so he couldn’t quite get it to work. Soap gently took it from him so he could get it open.

He didn’t know what dragons could and couldn’t eat, so it was mostly meat since that was a safe bet. He did bring some bread, cheese, butter, different fruits and… most importantly, rings.

Dragons love rings.

And Simon was no exception. He scooped them all up and quickly started putting them on. Only a few of them fit but Simon held all of them close to his chest, clearly thinking of ways he could wear them. “You have any string?”

Soap fished through his bag. “I brought this in case I needed to sew you up?”

Simon snatched it from his hands and looped all of the rings together so he could wear them as a necklace. He also organized it so they made a rainbow around his neck.

Soap was fascinated with how the knots were made. Simon butted heads with him once he was done. It was careful, like a cat, and it was clear by the soft purring sound that this was an affectionate gesture.

Soap felt like he was getting some look into some hidden language. He was being entrusted with something.

Another thing he was being entrusted with is that Simon was the least picky person he had ever seen. He happily ate everything Soap had. Goat cheese and apples was also a combo he liked. A lot. Simon ate everything Soap had brought which was, again, about two backpacks filled to the brim.

Soap held it upside down and shook it. “Seems I’m all out.”

Simon hummed and stretched, looking tired. He started to close his eyes. Already, the wound had started to look better.

“Let me bandage it and then I’ll be back tomorrow to check it.”

“If I’m here.”

“If you’re here, I’ll bring more food.” Soap promised.

Simon looked up at him from the dusty hay. He narrowed his eyes and his pupils had slid to slits.

Soap leaned over him so he could get to his wound again. Unlike before, Simon didn’t make it easy for him. He was deadweight and half covering the wound.

“C’mon, ya little flame.” Soap gritted out and Simon gasped at him. “Move your ass.”

“How dare you call my flame little.” Simon did twist so Soap could get to the wound. He started to bandage it and put some extra tape over it in case he moved a lot.

Soap patted his side like he was a horse that had been particularly good that day. “Don’t be so difficult next time and I’ll say it’s big yeah?”

Simon growled but most of the initial fear was already gone. It was funny. Soap felt like they just… clicked. Being around this dragon in the woods felt strangely normal.

So he came again the next day with more food. He ignored that there were a couple more bones in the bone pile. They had been picked clean at least, nothing there to rot.

Simon still looked human. Other than the giant wings of course. He sat up, stretching and shaking himself out. “Little prince!”

“Little Flame.”

“That’ll do.” Simon turned on his back, feeling the heat from the sun on his stomach.

Soap smiled and went to his side, checking under the bandages. Accelerated healing was not a joke. Without those pieces making it worse, already things were starting to look better.

Simon threw one of the bags at him and sat up. “Hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Soap opened it and handed it back over. Simon happily started to eat as Soap continued to look at the wound. If he watched closely, he could see some of the skin stitching together. “Fascinating.”

Simon hummed. “Thank you. We have to have pretty intense healing abilities.”

“I brought you something extra special this time.”

Simon perked up, excited. That excitement was immediately ruined by Johnny throwing pants at him. “Seriously? Does the naked human form offend you that much?”

“Yes.”

Simon grumbled but he slid them on. They were leather, from the guard’s wing, and tight. He twisted himself and Soap could hear it tense and pop before something in them tore. Luckily, it seemed to just be a few threads because Simon relaxed and he was still covered.

He continued to happily eat everything he could. There’s this soft and sweet air about him. Gentle. What an odd thought.

Simon looked over at him, mouth full of food. He grinned stupidly. “Why are dragons so amazing at making music?”

Soap frowned. “I didn’t know you guys were good at music.”

“It’s because we really know our scales.”

Johnny blinked before laughing. “Seriously? Didn’t expect you to be a joking person.”

Simon shrugged and looked a little rueful. “Maybe I should’ve let you think I was cool a little longer.” He stretched and smiled before settling next to Johnny. The day had started to get cold so the dragon’s body heat was pleasant against him.

Simon continued to eat his snacks as Soap just soaked in his presence.

“It must be weird.” Simon started, tracing Johnny’s spine. “Having no wings. Do you ever feel off balance?”

Johnny shivered. “What?”

“Does your back look naked without wings?”

“No?”

Simon hummed and tried to lift up Johnny’s shirt. “Then what do you look like?”

“I… um…”

He tugged at his clothes. “Let me just see!”

“No!!” Johnny was aghast. He didn’t know why this scandalized him quite so much. He had went shirtless around tons of people. Whether it was just that Simon was… Simon or maybe that he was being asked, it felt different.

Simon groaned. “I’ve never gotten a good look at a human before! You’re so… fragile. Your little heartbeat is thumping so loud.”

Johnny had never ever been so utterly offended. “Fragile??”

“Your heart is so loud but you look… you know. Soft.”

“Soft??”

“Yeah. Soft.” Simon grabbed his hand and put it to his chest. “See. I’m hard. You have give.” He wasn’t wrong. There was hard muscle and his skin wasn’t quite as soft. It felt a tiny bit like a snake’s skin even though it looked like human skin.

Johnny could not believe he was being shamed by a dragon for his physique. He was not soft!! Was he??

“It’s not bad. I like it. Never really looked at a human properly. Your skin is also softer.” Simon touched Johnny’s inner wrist, gently feeling his skin. “Really soft. It’s nice.”

Johnny felt like he was going to melt from the heat. Yeah. The heat. Had to be. “Thanks.”

“Why do you humans consider us divine?”

“I guess it’s the fact you can shift between forms. Touch the clouds.” Johnny didn’t really have a solid answer.

“Clouds? Really? What do you think they feel like?” Simon sounded amused, but he was staring at him. His giant brown eyes staring into Johnny’s soul like he’d give him an answer worth listening to.

Johnny hesitated because Simon knew what they felt like. He tried really hard to guess right. “Like cotton?”

Simon smiled. “Nope. Cold and kinda spiky. They’re full of ice crystals.”

“What??”

“Yep.”

Johnny frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

Simon hummed. “I could show you?”

Johnny was expecting a couple of things from this. Maybe something a little romantic. Not for Simon to grab him by his ankle and throw him several feet in the air like he weighed less than a stuffed animal. Before he got a chance to scream or start to fall, Simon was right next to him, batting him further up into the air. It was easily the most frightening thing he had ever experience. The giant dragon that was flying at him at mach speed wasn’t helping.

Once he was above the trees, Simon snapped him up in his jaws and flew straight up until he found a cloud. He went straight above it and

Fucking

Dropped

Him.

Johnny did scream this time as he plummeted through the cloud. Simon followed him luckily and grabbed him properly this time. With his arms. He had shifted back to be human and Johnny had zero clue if he could fly in this condition. They spiraled down together and Johnny worried for just a moment that Simon would crash them to the ground before his wings came out, catching the breeze. He spun them around so fast that Johnny knew the only thing keeping him from getting dizzy was Simon’s eyes boring into his own.

Then he was sent flying back up in the air and Simon shifted back, grabbing and landing on to the trees. Johnny was put on his back as he moved just above the tree line.

He was trying desperately to catch his breath, both full of fear and… exhilaration. That was pretty fun. Maybe his family was right about this adrenaline junky thing.

Johnny kept trying to catch his breath as Simon got them safely on the ground.

“Tell me, do you feel like that was a spiritual experience?”

Johnny took a deep breath. “Yeah. A little.”

“Come back tomorrow.” Simon smiled at him.

“Yeah. I will…” Johnny did come. Every day for weeks. Simon was his little secret.

One day, Johnny was very surprised to find Simon jumping around when he got back. He was very skilled. The way he managed to easily go from the floor to the roof and back to the floor of the farm house. His wings followed along his body, flashing gorgeously.

Johnny watched him for a few minutes until Simon noticed him.

“All healed!”

“Oh! That’s good.”

Oh no. Now would be the perfect time for him leave.

“Now I could take you flying properly. Not the sloppy stuff from before.” Simon grinned at him.

Johnny nodded, already excited. “I’d love to.”

Simon smiled brightly. The sun in his smile. Gorgeous. God he was so gorgeous. He shifted like smoke, sliding underneath Soap and between his legs. When he sat up, Johnny grabbed on to his neck, perched on his back. It didn’t seem quite as scary, even when Simon stood up and he was several feet in the air, because he had Simon solid beneath him.

Simon took off and went high up in the air. His wings spread out wide and as he glided, Johnny could feel the air rushing through his hair. It felt so soft.

“This is so much better!” Johnny yelled at him and Simon only purred in response, lifting up slightly. It started to get cold so he pressed closer to his warm body. Simon spun again as he descended, going in lazy circles around and around and around.

Flying ended too soon. Part of him never ever wanted to leave the air. But his feet were planted back on earth.

Johnny looked at Simon and Simon looked back. It felt different than his subjects. Less respectful but more understanding. Simon understood something about Johnny he didn’t quite understand about himself.

“Thank you.” Johnny said softy, afraid if he was too loud, Simon might take flight and disappear.

“You healed me. Not the other way around.”

Johnny had a feeling Simon did somehow. He just wasn’t sure how yet.

They were so close. So very, very close.

Simon pulled back just a little. “I want…” He looked at his lips. “I…”

“Yes.” Johnny said softly.

Simon kissed him. Soft and sweet. It felt like a first kiss. The first of many hopefully. He tasted like cinnamon. His hands held Johnny closer. Staying firmly on his waist.

Johnny cupped his jaw and finally got to touch his hair. Felt like silk strands. Like they’d run through his fingers. He wanted to cry for some odd reason. Happiness was fickle. Fleeting. And he knew if Simon ever left him, it would feel like the end of everything. End of something. End of Johnny maybe.

Simon panted against his mouth, their breath still mingling. “My little Prince.”

“My Dragon.”

Simon grinned before diving back in. Johnny would’ve went further. Would’ve let Simon take him against the floor of the old barn. But Simon didn’t. He just kissed him until too much time had passed.

Johnny found himself on the floor of the barn, the dragon pressing him down. The place started to feel warm and he smelled burning hay. He shoved Simon back to see that he was in fact burning the hay around Johnny’s head. Luckily, it was very careful and controlled.

“Sorry. Forgot to control it.”

Johnny flushed brightly, watching Simon just breath. Every exhale meant a little bit of smoke came out of his nose and muddying the air between them even more. He kissed him again. Couldn’t help himself.

They kept kissing until Johnny needed to leave. As he was pulling away, Simon still kept following and kissing him. His lips, his jaw, his fingers.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Simon’s eyes smoldered through him. Burned him alive. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

The farmhouse was empty.

Johnny stood in the door, watching the empty home. Simon was probably just hunting.

He sat at the front of it, reimagining the kiss over and over again. He kept thinking about it all night.

Night fell.

It fell and Simon wasn’t there.

Johnny kept waiting. He just kept waiting.

Don’t cry.

Just don’t cry yet.

Johnny heard his knights find him.

He started crying.

His body hurt. He didn’t want to look at the ground in case his heart was there. Blood smeared on the ground.

Had Simon ripped it out when he left? Or did Johnny when he offered it to Simon?

Naively. Horribly. He just offered it to a God and expected that God to look at him and think he was worthy of his attentions. His knights brought him home and he left his heart in that farmhouse.

#johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii

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jolyne-best-jojo · 5 months ago

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What Stands I think the Logical Proposals wavewave family would have:

Soundwave: Hermit Purple. This one's pretty easy, it's got everything a wave of sound could want: break a camera and get photos of a picture anywhere in the world, have a screen to project onto and read minds, just use the vines on a TV screen and get a message like "x is a traitor". Or Moody Blues since being able to see and hear what happened to a singular person would make for great intell depending on who it is.

Shockwave: Gold Experience. Shockwave would love having it, funding becomes a far smaller issue if he can grow the body parts himself. Not to mention the research he'd do testing the limits, how big can the being he grows be relative to the original objects mass? Can he grow an extinct species? And he'd love finding these things out.

Ravage: Harvest. Being the only responsible child is hard, much easier when you have 500 tiny buggers to keep watch on everyone.

Buzzsaw: Kraft Work. Given his weapon building I feel like he'd find some use for being able to store however much kinetic energy in an object he desires then release it all at once.

Laserbeak: Mr. President. With the caveat that he just had the user on him at all times. Laserbeak wants a nap, just pull out Mr. President, hide it, and take a nap in the key room, he can even fill it with all his favourite blankets.

Rumble & Frenzy: Star Platinum & The World. This one's the most obvious, SP and TW stop time for 5 seconds, that's 5 seconds of free prank set up.

Enemy: Survivor. Probably a bit too surface level for his character but it makes sense. He wants enemies, Survivor makes everyone around him so mad they start beating each other to death.

Flip Sides: Sticky Fingers. It's got a pocket dimension to explore long range travel purposes with (idk if it can do that but presumably if Sticky Fingers opened a zipper in one place then went hundreds of miles away and opened another they should connect) and I think Flips would find that interesting.

Beastbox: Man in the Mirror. So long as he has a mirror shard with him he can hide away in the mirror world whenever he's feeling overwhelmed and come back when he feels better.

Slugfest: Pearl Jam. He may not be a cook, but given the positive effects Pearl Jam has on the consumers he'd absolutely learn how to cook to give healing meals to refugees.

Squawktalk: Bohemian Rhapsody. I don't know if It works if it's only audio but it turns fiction to life and what better way to tell your stories then making them real? (Just ignore the part where people are forced to play a part in the stories, usually the one who dies)

Garboil: Earth, Wind and Fire. Technically not a stand (but maybe it is who knows) the shapeshifting would be really handy for painting, don't wanna use a picture or just memory to base a drawing on? Just shapeshift into what you wanna draw.

Overkill: Scary Monsters. It can turn people into dinosaurs. He'd finally have Dino friends that the Autobots don't steal away before begging to hand them back. (Targets of it retain their sentience right? I can't remember)

Howlback: Killer Queen. This isn't because of the fact it's a cat, nor is it about it being able to turn objects into bombs or its tertiary bomb Bites the Dust being able to rewind time an hour. No, this is about Sheer Heart Attack being indestructible and as such the perfect thing to enjoy biting to no end, and honestly what more does Howlback even want in life?

Ratbat: Kiss. Sure, the duplicated objects crash back together after the sticker comes off, but so long as that happens long after he sells them it's not his problem.

Wingthing: I'mma be real, I got nothing, he got killed in the great cassette culling of chapter 36 and he was introduced in that chapter. Weather Report? Because he wanted to know how rain works?

#logical proposals #transformers #wavewave #beastbox #buzzsaw #enemy #flip sides #frenzy #garboil #howlback #laserbeak #overkill #ratbat #ravage #rumble #slugfest #squawktalk #wingthing

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zmediaoutlet · 9 months ago

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Two hundred miles north of Bodega Bay, Sam taps his fingers on his thigh in a particular pattern. Dean pulls off the 101 at Eureka, driving easy. Trying to make it look that way at least. Familiar roads off the highway—gas, fast food. Motels, and he picks the third he sees, a long low building with a cracked and unfilled pool, and he looks sidelong at Sam across the seat and Sam nods and goes into the office to get whatever room can be got.

Idling in the dark. He clears his throat, feels like an idiot. Says out loud, anyway, "Hey, uh. You there? 'Cause, I know—I mean, I guess, ghosts don't sleep, right? But me and Sammy have gotta get some shuteye before we go all guns blazing, so. Hope you're good to—to hang out, and…"

And what? Read their Dick Roman research in the dark in the parking lot? The idiot feeling hasn't gone away and intensifies when there's no answer but silence. There's this other thing squeezing his guts, though, a shiver that he's trying not to acknowledge so it won't rattle all the way through and make his bones leap fully a foot to the left of his body—and he jumps when there's a knock on the window, but it's just Sam. He holds up his fingers, backlit by neon and the white light of the motel office—room seven—and sets off walking, so Dean's left to pull the car around, the radio off, silence ringing through the car like a struck gong, shattering.

Big truck parked directly in front of room seven. Dean picks a spot a few down and mutters loud enough to be heard, "Take your half out of the middle, huh?" Sam meets him at the trunk, spinning the keys into his palm, and they don't look at each other while they pick up their duffles of clothes, the weapon bag Dean usually packs, the supply bag Sam tends to haul when they need to haul it, with its load of iron, and silver, and salt. Sam goes over to open up the room and Dean heaves his bags up onto one shoulder and sees the flask wink parking lot light back up at him from where it's stuck by the box of IDs. He says, "Night," easy, like it's easy, and then he shuts the trunk and follows Sam into the room and flicks the lamp and closes the door firmly behind them with his heart in his throat, and Sam opens his mouth and Dean shakes his head and Sam looks at the closed door and then turns away, his shoulders high and stiff, and dumps his bags on the further bed, and unzips the supply bag and picks up the salt.

Heavy pour at the line of the doorway and under the gross pink polyester curtain. Dean wants to toss it up into the vent in the bathroom but that's probably overkill. "Van Ness house gave me the creeps, what can I say," he says, to Sam, loud enough maybe to be heard on the sidewalk outside.

Sam blows out air. "You think they're stuck to your shoe?"

Dean licks his lips, checks his pockets. No flask—no, he checked, it's in the trunk, and now with salt heavy between them and what should be the past, that panic scrapes again at his gut. Sam lifts the EMF meter out of his bag, where it's been turned on, and there's not a blip, and Dean feels like all the tendons in his legs have dissolved when he drops onto the free bed, and he says, "What are we—Sam, we—"

How long has it been? Sam shakes his head but Dean knows he's thinking the same thing. Since that godawful day in the hospital, since they burned the bones, the blood-stained hat, and they'd gone back to the abandoned shitty house they'd squatted in and stared in at its grey wreck with dry eyes and they'd—fucked, that night, miserable and not even enjoying it but doing something that was other than death, that stupid instinctive defiance against the night that they'd perfected over all these years of tragedy, and Dean had—he'd filled the flask, after, with the sweat barely cooling on his shoulders, and sipped whiskey and swallowed with a mouth that still tasted like his brother, and it was—unthinkable. After all those years of secrets. On top of everything, this couldn't—they couldn't have—

Sam's dragging his thumb back and forth over his other palm, slowly. Hair hanging over his face. "Ghosts—they don't show up right away, right?" he says. He clenches his hands together, weird and cramped-looking. "And then once they form, it's because they've got—a goal. One thing they're focused on."

"Revenge," Dean says, and Sam looks up at him, and nods. No panic on his face, at least. Even the vague sickness drained away. Dean watches Sam's hands, the clawing in his gut not—fixed, exactly, but not worse.

All these hard-fought years and he didn't—think about it. After all they'd gone through it was just part of the fabric of the world and he knew there was no changing it and he thinks, he's pretty sure at least, that Sam's in the same boat. They'd either keep sailing it or go down with the ship and that's just the way it was, and now—with everything they'd lost—there'd been this kind of… raw and horrible freedom. He hadn't thought about it that way until he'd looked up and seen the ghost and known, after the initial shock and the fear and the thinking-through what it meant, that the veil had been drawn back and not fully closed—had known that raw hot terror of what—being seen would mean. Hadn't felt that horror since his real father had died. And, now—

"Got me wishing for a real private foxhole," Dean says. Mostly evenly, he thinks.

Sam looks at the closed motel door behind Dean's back and takes a deep breath. "If we win here, we will win everywhere," he says, quiet, and it sounds like he's quoting something but Dean doesn't know what. But there's salt thick over every gap and a closed curtain and three parking spots between that flask and here, and so Dean leans forward and grabs Sam's clenched hands. Sam looks at him, surprised, but he lets Dean worm a thumb in between his palms and touch the scar.

"We're not crazy, at least," Dean says.

Sam snorts. "Yeah," he says, a little ironic but not as ironic as he could be. He grips Dean's wrist very tightly before he gets up, putting space between them, and shuts off the EMF reader.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 145 #i have thought about the raw incest reveal panic a Lot #in ways cracky and terrifying #but honestly #established relationship doesn't go into it enough i feel like

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berryhobii · 1 year ago

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I just want say I love your writing! Like I have never related to any work more than yours! You’re doing something special for black army and I just want thank you for that! Hope you’re doing well and I wish you the best and a million dollar lottery ticket girl! 😄😂🫶🏾

(P.S if you feel like it and if you get a chance please write more for Yoongi 💔 us Yoongi Stans starving and having withdrawals 😪)

Wow! Thank you so much for your kind words. They really mean so much. I’m so glad I could bring more representation and I hope you feel good reading my works.

Here’s a special little something for you Yoongi stans🥰🩵

“I don’t think this looks right, Yoongi.” You pouted, twisting your body every which way in the mirror. Your hands tugged at the top of the dress as if trying to magically make it fit the way you wanted it to in your head.

Yoongi, who was sitting outside typing some quick minute work emails, said, “I’m sure it looks fine, lovely. Come out and show me.”

Sighing, you turned around to open the dressing room door, stepping out to show your sugar daddy turned totally exclusive boyfriend one of the dresses you’ve chosen. It’s the 8th one you’ve tried on but you didn’t really like any of them. What you thought would just be a cute little date had transitioned into a full blown shopping spree. Yoongi pulled up to your apartment, your favorite Starbucks drink and snack already waiting, and whisked you away to the luxury district of Seoul. Hand in hand, he led you into stores, wanting you to pick something out in each one.

“You deserve it after being asked to take over the north branch of the company. I want you dressed like you own that place.”

So to Cartier, Gucci, and Zara you went to get you an entirely new wardrobe worthy of your position. To be honest, you stopped shopping for work a little while ago and now you were just choosing dresses for fun nights out.

For someone as accomplished as you, a sugar daddy probably seemed like overkill. You’ve managed to rise in the ranks at your dream job, getting a managerial title in less than 2 years. No doubt you had enough money to support the lifestyle Yoongi was giving you. Truthfully, this relationship didn’t start as a sugar daddy sugar baby thing. Your friends had taken it upon themselves to sign you up for a singles mixer—you know, one of those events where a bunch of single people went to try and find dates. You talked for about a minute before a bell rang and you moved on to a new stranger. Stuff like that really wasn’t your cup of tea.

What your friends had conveniently left out that it was a singles mixer exclusively for sugar daddies and sugar babies to find each other. Imagine your surprise when you and a couple of your friends rolled up to the bar, only to find a gaggle of late middle aged and older men sitting around the tables. You almost broke your ankle trying to run back out but your friends forced you to the bar for a drink.

Before you knew it, you were going through the rounds of meeting a lot of gentlemen that reminded you of your uncles. Gross.

So when you finally came across Yoongi during the last round, you thought maybe this thing wasn’t so bad.

One thing led to another and now you and Yoongi had been together for a little over 2 and a half years.

He had captured your heart with his clever remarks and charming personality. And he was very easy on the eyes. Not to mention, he was only a couple of years older than you with his very own successful law office.

And you had caught his interest with your timeless beauty and charisma. He doesn’t think he’s laughed as much in his life as he does when he’s with you. You were just so lovely and honest and sweet. It was hard not to fall for you.

Now seeing you in that dress, Yoongi thinks he was falling even deeper.

His mouth dropped at the sight of you in the mid thigh navy blue dress—long sheer sleeves and square cut at your chest to show the gorgeous expanse of your chest.

“Do you like the sleeves? This dress definitely isn’t for the workplace but it’s very nice.”

He wasn’t even listening to what you were saying, eyes going down to your ass. The dress had a deeeepppp incline, the open back stopping just above the curve of your ass. Everytime you shifted from foot to foot, your ass jiggled a little and you both knew you were wearing the tiniest pair of panties.

Fuck.

“Yoongi?” You had asked him a question three times with no answer.

Turning around, you found him standing right behind you, flinching a little at his sudden closeness. “Y-yoongi?”

Suddenly, his lips were on yours, his body crowding all of your space. It took you a moment to respond but you did, kissing him back just as fervently and desperately.

You pulled back to whisper, “what’s gotten into you?”

His dark eyes sent shivers down your spine and right to your pussy which was already wet from him fingering you in the car on your way here.

“You.”

His rough hands pushed you back into the dressing room, barely managing to close the door behind him before he was back on you. Deft and experienced fingers ran up your bare back, goosebumps popping up in his wake, his lips trailing across your jaw and neck.

Your own hands went straight to the waistband of the loose pants he was wearing. He normally wore suits so seeing him casual was secretly a favorite look of yours.

“You look divine in this dress. I’m buying you one in every color.”

You giggled at his words but you knew he was probably serious. He’s done the exact same thing with a lingerie set you surprised him in on his birthday. The way the white lace set made your dark skin look even more sinful and delectable than it already was should be considered a crime.

“I’ll wear whatever you want.” You leaned closer to be right next to his ear. “My body is yours, sir.”

His eyes rolled back, both at your tone and the name you called him. God, you were so sexy. And all his.

“Then get on your knees and suck my cock. Show sir that you’re grateful.”

Falling to your knees, you took the elastic off your wrist to tie up your knotless braids, happy you sprung for a style that could easily be put up when you wanted to pleasure your man.

Yoongi helped you get some of the stragglers in the back before holding your hair for leverage. You both knew where this was going.

Eyes locked on his, you pulled his pants and underwear down, his hard cock springing out from its confines. Your warm palm encased him, a sigh falling from his doll like lips.

Gathering spit in your mouth, you opened your lips to take him all the way in to the hilt.

Yoongi’s head dropped back as the heat of your mouth surrounded him. His hand gripped your ponytail tighter, keeping you down and letting your tongue work over him.

“Oh my god…..” he huffed out, pulling your head back so that only the tip was resting against your tongue.

Your nails scratched up his thighs. “Fuck my mouth, baby. Give it to me.”

That was his breaking point. Using both hands to hold either side of your head, he began thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat, patting yourself on the back for training your gag reflex during quarantine. You know………..for when you could go back out and mingle….anyway.

Your eyes remained focused on Yoongi’s face, your pussy clenching at the sight of his tightly shut eyes and dropped mouth. His long hair had fallen out of his manbun, the strands sticking to the building sweat on his forehead. Your fingers itched to hold onto that bun and ride his face until his neck hurt. Maybe once you got home.

Yoongi forced you to take all of him in, holding you there for a few seconds before pulling back and doing the same thing. Eyes watering from the assault on your throat, you let Yoongi use your throat however he liked. You were his and vice versa.

“Fuck….” Yoongi yanked your head back off of him, his orgasm feeling too close already. “Stand up.” He shakily breathed out, holding out his hand to help you to your weak legs. He placed a quick kiss to your lips, wiping away the drool that had slipped past before turning you around and pushing you against the mirror. You took a moment to look at your disheveled appearance in the reflection—your edges had began to curl back up, your pupils dilated and slightly unfocused, and the dress had became slightly skewed from all of your heavy petting. You looked a mess.

Not time to think about that now though. It didn’t take long for Yoongi to have your dress pulled up and your panties around one of your ankles. He also pulled the front of your dress down to allow your breasts to spill out, your already soaked cunt was practically screaming for his cock.

The mirror was fogged up from your breath, the cool glass making your nipples harden. “Fuck me, baby.” A sharp slap came down on your ass, the fat jiggling under the force.

“Don’t rush me.” His gruff voice said. And you’d be lying if you said that little show of dominance didn’t get you wetter than that scene in Step Up.

After moving your hair over your shoulder, Yoongi’s hand grabbed your shoulder, the other holding his cock to line up with your awaiting hole. You spread your legs a little more, arching your back to give him more access.

He didn’t give you any warning before he was diving into your wet cunt. Your mouth dropped as his cock stretched your tight walls, the overwhelming girth knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

“Oooooo…..Yoongi…..fuck. That cock’s so fucking big.” You gritted out, resisting from punching the mirror.

Yoongi inhaled a deep breath, trying not to cum as your silky walls tried to milk him for everything he was worth. The effect you had on him was just too strong. Only you could push him to the brink that fast.

Once he had calmed himself, Yoongi started a pace that could only be described as animalistic. The absolute force of which he was pushing his hips against your ass was causing a clapping noise so loud that you thought there were people giving you two a standing ovation.

An almost shriek like moan flew from your lips but Yoongi slapped his hand over your mouth to muffle it, one of your hands going up to hold onto his and the other squeezing your breast.

“Quiet.” He spit. “You want everyone to know I’m in here fucking you like a slut? Huh? Is that what you want?” His hips never slowed down as he spoke, pushing deeper and deeper until it felt like he was in your guts.

Your eyes crossed as his cock bullied your sweet spot, orgasm building faster than ever. His degradation along with the fact that you two could be caught at any moment was enough to propel you right over the edge.

Your knees buckled, Yoongi’s arm going out to wrap around your waist to keep you up.

“Good girl. Look at yourself while you cum.”

Your bleary eyes, that you didn’t even realize you had closed, slowly opened to look at your reflection and the sight sent you straight there.

Yoongi was staring directly at you, those panther like eyes making you feel so open and vulnerable. Both of your hungry eyes begging. Out of all of your moments with Yoongi, times like this really reminded you of just how much he had broken down your walls. He brought out a sexually adventurous side of you that you didn’t even know you had and you were actually grateful for it.

Or maybe you were just dickmatized…..eh.

Your pulsing walls were squeezing Yoongi’s cock hard enough to almost break it off, his own orgasm feeling incredibly close.

“Get back down.” He pushed you back down to your knees, your body quickly turning despite your orgasm still making you feel weightless. He just commanded your body that way.

Like it was muscle memory, you opened your mouth and held out your tongue, your hand coming up to take hold of his shaft. You pumped his fast, making sure to squeeze him at the tip just how he likes.

Yoongi’s eyes clenched shut, his breath labored as his orgasm got closer and closer. He braced his hands against the mirror behind you, his knees ready to give out much like yours had.

You couldn’t help but focus on the sexiness of your man’s face. It honestly made you want another round but you had something else to focus on.

“Fuck…..fuck….I’m cumming, love. Oh shit.”

“I want it. Give it to me.” You sucked harshly at his tip, still pumping him quickly.

With a moan and a full body shudder, Yoongi’s cum hit your tongue, the saltiness familiar. You continued to suck until he was recoiling from sensitivity.

He reached a hand down to tap against your chin, your head tilting back and eyes staring directly into his.

“Show me.”

You opened your mouth to show his release on your tongue. His hand dipped your chin, thumb pulling at your juicy bottom lip—his own lip pulling between his teeth.

“Swallow.” And who were you to deny?

Swallowing his cum down and then opening your mouth to show him you obeyed, you got a hum of approval from him.

You both took a moment to regain your breaths. Yoongi held out his hand to help you stand, pulling you into a hug. You sighed as his warmth seeped into your skin.

“You okay?” He asked you after a brief moment of silence.

You hummed. “Perfect. I’d have to say, I’m shocked you’re into public displays. What happened to that whole ‘your moans are only for me’ thing?” You teased. You could imagine him rolling his eyes.

Before he could give you a smart mouthed retort, a knock on the door caused both of you to scramble. You practically pushed him away to adjust your dress as Yoongi yanked his pants back up and fixed his hair.

“Um, yes?” You tried to call out in a normal voice, tone a bit hoarse from the recent exercise.

“Is everything fitting well? Should I bring you another size?” The polite voice of the associate asked.

You made eye contact with Yoongi, a cheeky smile spreading across his face and making you laugh.

“Uh, could you actually get me this same dress in all of the available colors? I’ll be purchasing them.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fic #bts x black reader #yoongi smut #bts imagines #askberryhobii

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