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harfanfare · 4 months

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Idia drabble, fluff, female reader! ♡

You know you’re in for a losing game when you have to ask AI chat to help you with date ideas.

Idia outrightly rejected places that statistically—he pulled up an unnecessary chart, to prove you—had many people visiting at every time of the year. Maybe for some exceptions for ungodly hours, but, while he really loves you, he would rather relax with you in a bed with a silly game on than wake up at 3 am to, whatever, go to the planetarium and stare at the cosmos.

And, we might do it in VR, either way, he argues with your every suggestion.

“Well,” you persist, glancing from the screen at Idia whose attention is divided between you with your half-hearted pleadings, and his game character who clears another villain camp with slashes of a grand sword and sharp arrows. “Can’t we get something to eat, then?”

“Instant soups are irreplaceable.”

“That’s why we should eat something else to confirm their superiority over other goods once again,” you lick your lips to hide a subtle smile as Idia grins at your debating point. It’s an unreasonable argument, yet you have known your boyfriend for long enough to know that these ones are the most convincing when you are out of ideas. “Like, churros maybe? Or those fine-looking cupcakes.”

“They have too much crème and are too heavy in taste. Have you ever tried one? They are like dry cake and sugar but with a fancy texture. Sooo unhealthy, mm.”

He says it as the bag that was filled with candy this morning, falls soundly from the desk. Idia was never one to say no to sweets, but only to the ones that suit his specific tastes: then, even the most logical reasons to eat healthier don’t come in handy. If it wasn’t for Ortho, and now you, he would’ve probably died from the excess of sugar from that sweet and sour gummy candy he loves.

You collect the bag before the little cleaning robot can ever reach it, and on the way to the trashcan, you bonk an empty plastic bottle on your boyfriend’s head. He should instil in himself some want of keeping his room tidy.

“So, the cafes are no-go?”

“Yeah.”

You take a seat again next to Idia and scroll down through the list of generated date ideas.

“Even the cat cafes?”

Idia opens his mouth to protest but finds that he can’t bring himself to do so. The silence is long enough that you stop reading the AI suggestions and lift your gaze up to Idia.

That’s the pause you’ve been waiting for.

“Then, it’s decided!” You clasp your hands together, and beam at Idia as he sighs at you. “I should have known that the virtual cats could never replace the real ones.”

Your boyfriend remains silent. The awkward expression he makes as two different parts of himself battle each other is entrancing; should he go mingle with other people to go to the cafe, or he will be better off remaining adamant about his vow of not going out anywhere? The fact he doesn’t roast you over this suggestion, makes it look like the former stance was a bit more appealing.

“Then I shall put them on your ultimate weakness list,” you say cheerily, getting giddy over Idia being wordless. It’s such a rare sight since he’s got used to the little acts of intimacy. Though you loved his stutters and furious blushes, the banter and suave smiles are welcome as well, of course. You can’t help but move closer to him and give him a peck on his lips. The single strands of his hair light up to pink, and you smile. “I am gathering an intel on you.”

Idia blinks and lays back in his chair, his game paused for a second. You know that gesture too well; in idianese it’s a sign that he changed his mindset to “it is what it is”, and decided that the worst case scenario might still be worth going to the cat cafe. In a fit of new resolution, his playful wryness returns in a heartbeat.

“Heh, yeah? It’s very wise of you to do so. How much data have you gathered already?”

You open a notebook app on your phone.

“Well, as I started putting it up just five seconds ago, there are… people… and me… And now cats,” you list out loud as you quickly type things into your phone. The basic font and too big characters make the list look like some kind of meme, which, in a way, it is. “And me, again.”

Idia snorts. “Basic info. Weak.”

“I could prepare your character profile. I know more of your strengths than weaknesses,” You say, and make a mental note to do a powerpoint presentation on Idia, this time with fewer memes and more candid photos of him. “But it's still enough to have you go on a date with me!”

He sighs again. Idia likes to make show off how much trouble he has to go through for you, but you don’t miss how his eyes light up, even if he rolls his eyes.

“I guess we can go for one short date there,” he tells you slowly, and before you believe once again that you have the magic privilege of a girlfriend, he throws a comment that quenches the flames of your self-satisfaction. “You are the one ordering, though.”

…No. Your fellow introvert won’t be dumping the trial of courage solely on you.

“Let’s take turns.”

“Offer rejected.”

“Let’s bring Ortho.”

“Offer accepted,” he lifts his hand as if he demands a pause in a game. “…But don’t you mind bringing my brother on a date?”

“It will be a “hangout” then. At least, until Ortho decides that we are too cringe and dumps us in the middle, then it’ll turn its status to a date.”

“Will he?” Idia ponders, but then his eyes land on you, and he smiles knowingly. “Oh yeah, he will. He might have implemented himself a module to go away if our cringe stat will rise over sixty per cent.”

“That’s a generous amount of cringe we can spread.”

“With you, I think it should be doubled.”

“Thanks, I love you too.”

“You’re welcome.”

#i believe you have to give idia a 10/10 suggestion at the moment for him to ever go on a date outside #like you have offered to go to the cat cafe already but he watched some old shoujo and now the idea with the cosplay cafe or an convent is #cats are a safe choice #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #idia shroud #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst

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jjunieworld · 4 months

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30. it’s not love ⸝ ˚⋆

↳ half written, half texts. word count: 1.5k

the hallway was crowded as you walked out of your classroom, loud conversations happening as everyone pushed each other to see what was happening. somehow you managed to get out of the building, seeing another crowd lingering in the grass. spotting your friends, you went up to them and asked them what was going on.

“that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” jake said as he stood on his tiptoes in an attempt to see over the crowd. there was a collective gasp that had you turning back towards the group of people. you saw people parting as someone walked through them.

there was a loud scream. “ugh! you and y/n? are you serious?” you heard a voice say. you turned to your friends with wide eyes and they heard you loud and clear. you all pushed through the crowd and managed to get a good look at the conflict. sakura was fuming at an unbothered looking sunghoon, beomgyu recording it all. “what is so fucking special about that bitch?”

your eyebrows raised at sakura’s comment. was she really this mad that she was losing control over people she never should’ve had control over in the first place? you rolled your eyes and noticed heads turning to the right.

following the direction, you saw soobin storming through the crowd, the angriest you have ever seen him. you felt an arm link with yours and looked over to see yunjin, a confused look on her face. the rest of your friends gathered around you too. “woah…” jake said. “i’ve never seen him that furious.”

soobin made a beeline directly towards sunghoon and sakura. when he got close enough, he spat out sunghoon’s name with so much venom it shocked you to your core. your brows furrowed, what the hell is happening? was this all because of sunghoon’s post? it must be.

in one fluid motion, soobin stepped to sunghoon and landed the meanest right hook onto his face. there was another collective gasp, you and your friends included, as sunghoon stumbled to the ground with a trail of blood pouring out his nose. “what game are you playing with y/n?” soobin asked fiercely, pushing sunghoon back to the ground when he tried to stand.

“soobin! what the hell is wrong with you?” sakura screeched as she tried to grab onto him. he just shook her off of his arm, not even bothering to spare her a glance as he stared daggers down at sunghoon. beomgyu laughed loudly and pointed the camera towards them. “beomgyu!” sakura exclaimed as she motioned to the two boys in front of her for him to do something. he just shook his head.

you and your friends looked at each other. honestly, you knew you should probably break up the fight, but you wanted to see how far it would go and for what. plus, sunghoon deserved to get punched after he called you a bitch earlier. there was a sly smile on yeonjun’s lips and kai tried to stifle his laugh. you didn’t need soobin fighting for your honor, but it felt nice to know that he was doing it anyways.

sunghoon looked up at soobin, irritation and anger written all over his features as he held a hand up to his bleeding nose. he usual smirk was full of wryness instead of its usual slyness. “what, jealous that she might like me more than she does you? that you lost your chance?” sunghoon asked.

you let out a small gasp just as soobin landed another hard punch across sunghoon’s face. without realizing, your feet were already moving through the rest of the crowd and towards soobin. you heard sunghoon’s laughter as he spotted you but soobin didn’t.

pushing soobin away harshly, you turned to give sunghoon the sharpest glare. “y/n…” soobin breathed lowly as his eyes landed on you. you turned the glare onto him and he stumbled back slightly at the intensity.

“oh look, here the bitch is!” you heard sakura drawl. you honestly forgot she was there. the anger boiled and grew inside of you. everything she had put you through came to the service and turned your vision white hot. you stormed up to her and slapped her across the face so hard your hand felt like it was on fire. “the bitch, yes,” you said to her.

sakura held her hand to her cheek, her body turned to the side and her hair in her face. her mouth was agape as she turned to look at you with wide eyes and furrowed brows. you can already see the red shape of your hand appear on her face. turning away from her, you focused your attention back to soobin.

“you’re just gonna let her hit me?!” you heard sakura screech behind you. “well, sakura, i can't say that you didn’t deserve it,” you heard sunghoon’s voice, followed by beomgyu’s laugh. “you’re still recording?” sakura yelled louder.

grabbing soobin’s wrist, you let out a, “seriously?” you dragged him through the crowd as you looked for an empty private spot. once you found one, you whipped around to face him. “what was all of that?”

despite everything, soobin looked at you lovingly. it was as if he couldn’t help it; as if it just leaked through the cracks out of him. “what was all of that with sunghoon?” he asked you instead. “him of all people? you’re with him? what about us? i thought we were working on getting back together and i see you in the elevator and i open twitter to you kissing him!” soobin motioned to the hoodie you were wearing, which was sunghoon’s, as he spilled his feelings. “wearing his clothes! what does he have over you to make you act this way? just tell me and i will fix everything. you don’t even like him!”

you ran your hands down your face. “what? that’s why you’re punching sunghoon?” you inhaled deeply and looked up at the incredulous look on his face. “because you think i’m with him? because you think he’s blackmailing me?”

soobin looked to the ground, breathing heavily as he just nodded. “what else could it be? it’s not love, i know that for certain.” you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole situation. how much everything had devolved. what was supposed to be a simple one-off prank had ended up in bloody noses and red faces. how you kept managing to dig yourself into these deep holes astounded you. soobin looked at you with confusion.

“soobin… who has my heart? you or sunghoon?” you asked. he looked to the ground again, cheeks flushed. “it was supposed to be a prank! me getting you back for the bet. make you squirm a bit so you understood how i felt. we never even kissed! it was stupid, and i’m sorry for hurting you, i really am. but, you did deserve it. i never meant for it to go this far.”

soobin combed his fingers through his hair. “i don’t care. i don’t care about any of that. all i care about is you. hurt me all you want. torture me. i’d rather be burnt by your flames than not feel your warmth at all.” he took your hands in his and pulled you close. “all i want is you. all i need is you.”

your heart swelled and lept at his sentiment. so many emotions flowed through you, you didn’t know which ones to focus on. “and i know you said you needed time, i’ll give you that. just please… please don’t shut me out again,” soobin spoke. tears brimmed in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. you nodded, “i won’t.”

you smiled at him and he gave you a wide smile right back, his dimples showing. soobin cupped your face, “now, can you take his hoodie off? it’s really starting to piss me off just looking at you in it.” laughing, you pulled the hoodie off so you were in the tank top you had under it. the cool breeze blew across your bare skin and caused you to shiver. immediately, soobin took off the hoodie he was wearing and handed it to you so he was left in his plain white t-shirt.

soobin took sunghoon’s hoodie and tossed it in the trash that was next to you and you had to hold in your laugh. you liked seeing him jealous. pulling his hoodie over your head, you sighed lightly to yourself. everything was starting to feel normal again. back in place.

you looked over to the crowd that was mostly dissipated now. there were only a few stragglers, besides your friends, who remained. you felt them glance over to your direction, trying to decipher what the hell just happened. you took soobin’s hand and intertwined your fingers. “i have to go, but i promise i won’t be a stranger.”

soobin smiled warmly at you and nodded. he held on to your hand as you walked away until the distance pulled your fingers apart, making you giggle as you made your way towards your friends.

masterlist.

summary: choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. y/n… not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can’t get y/n to date him in a month. unfortunately for y/n, they’re a hopeless romantic.

A/N: standing on big business as you should who else cheered

taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @carengene @binluvsu @seunnimg @vixensss @kittyhyuka @beomsite @hueningm1ckey @n034sy @littlestxli @starsforbeomgyu @soobiary @bunnisoobin @heiiolifeee @cryingforgyu @dani-is-tired @damn-u-min-yoongi @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @icouldntcareless22 @sleepdeprivedline @jhuuni @thepoopdokyeomtouched @rikizm @curiousgworge @nakaopolo @mwahvvis @cupidsmoons @soobhns @ryunjin0 @punkhazardlaw @phtogravi @choibeomkai @soobiverse @rapmonie2047 (if your name is bold it wouldn’t let me tag you!)

— kipo <3

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yukinojou · 6 months

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Upon further reflection, Alexander Skarsgard would be a perfectly lovely actor to play Gurathin - honestly he'd be perfect for it, he can do the wryness and simmering annoyance. I'd love this to be a case where they reveal the full cast and go "why did you think he was playing the lead???"

#murderbot #the murderbot diaries

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luveline · 2 years

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I hc eddie as being a thigh guy & also possibly having ADHD & I can’t stop thinking about him just casually using readers thigh as like a stress/fidget toy. Just constantly having his hand on their leg and squeezing for something to do w his hands

this idea is the best ever anon!! ♡ gn!reader | 0.8k words

Eddie sits at your desk, the two of you squeezed into your rolling chair looking over practice questions so he can maybe finally graduate this year.

"Eddie," you say softly, your elbows brushing. "Is everything okay?"

He stops twiddling the pencil in his hand back and forth and tilts his head to look at you, dark curls falling away from his face. "What?"

"Is everything okay? You seem antsy."

He smiles at you, nearly sheepish. "Fine…" his voice is low with a dejected frustration, "just can't concentrate," he mutters.

You take his free hand into yours and hold them in your lap, his rings on your skin cold despite the thin protection of your tight pajama pants. "It's okay. Maybe we should take a break."

He drops his pencil and sighs, leaning back in the chair with a sulking frown stretched over his pretty lips. You try not to think about how hot he is and focus on making him feel better, leaving his hand between your thighs to wrap yourself around his upper arm in a hug.

"You'll get it," you murmur into his bicep. "Gotta keep practicing, s'all."

He grunts his agreement. You close your eyes and breath in his smell, the lingering laundry detergent of his baseball tee under your nose, his skin, his cologne. You don't really notice when his hand stretches out across the dough of your inner thigh, at first stroking small lines and then lightly squeezing. You rub your nose into his arm, your breath huffing out fast when he gives you a good squeeze.

"You're tickling me," you tell him.

He rubs over your thigh apologetically, kind for all of a minute before he's back to squeezing. You force your knees together to trap him in place and he still doesn't let up. You don't mind. In fact, you kinda like it, the two of you relaxing in tandem as he works his fidgeting out.

He pulls your thigh over his and lowers his mouth to your forehead. "You're like a stress ball," he murmurs, lips skipping over your skin with each word.

"I resent that."

"I'm serious." His palm is hot and big as he trails a sweeping line from your knee to your inner thigh and back again. "I love your legs."

You look at him from under your lashes and smile shyly. "Anything for the cause, I guess." Your attempt at wryness is waylaid by your obvious affection.

He nods eagerly. "Glad we're on the same page."

He picks his pen back up and starts to fill in the worksheet, slouched, hand still firmly between your legs. You're surprised when he makes steady progress, any crease between his eyebrows quickly eased with a good fondle of your thigh.

He finishes fast and with minimal advice. You're so happy for him you could kiss him. You would, but you want him to get through the next worksheet too while he has the focus.

You sit up and he holds you in place as you pull the next task out of your binder and pass it to him. He takes it with a little grumble and you're close to screaming when he flies through that one too, pride and a generous dusting of relief warming your chest. Whether the answers are right or not isn't important, you decide, enchanted by his proud smile.

You feel a similar pride as he sets down his pen and takes your leg into both hands, massaging with a firm pressure.

"You have magic thighs," he announces cheekily.

"I think your stress ball metaphor was accurate," you say, feeling a little droopy eyed from all the attention.

"It was a simile," he says.

You widen your eyes at him. "My thighs really are magic if you're gonna start correcting me. Wizkid Munson, hello," you drawl teasingly.

Eddie gets a dangerous look on his face and his hands creep up your thigh, grinning when he says, "You think I'm smart now. Imagine if you didn't have pants on."

You wave your hands at him and pretend to fall off of the chair, giggling and flushed with heat as he grabs you tightly and wrestles your limp body back onto the chair and into his lap.

"Where do you think you're going? I need to graduate."

You don't resist much after that. If he wants to feel you up like this for hours on end every day while he studies, you can hardly say no. It's like he said, he needs to graduate.

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x gn!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things

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ducktracy · 5 months

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"'underrated' is overrated," i protest, and still use it as a term to shill cartoons regardless! but it remains true that Each Dawn I Crow is, like many Freleng cartoons, an unappreciated and novel gem about a nervy rooster who is certain of his uncertain doom. Frank Graham nails it as the sly, nefarious yet mockingly amiable narrator and proves a perfect match for Stalling's unique organ score a la radio drama. darkness and irony of the story certainly doesn't detract from the brilliance of its gags--there's a persistent wryness throughout the cartoon very unique to Freleng's tone.

#watch it!!!#lt #each dawn i crow #freleng #vid

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sassenach77yle · 2 months

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May 1, 1771 May Union Camp

I glanced sideways, careful not to move in case he was still asleep. He wasn’t. He was lying quite still, though, utterly relaxed, save for his right hand. He had this raised, and appeared to be examining it closely, turning it to and fro and slowly curling and uncurling his fingers—as well as he could. The fourth finger had a fused joint, and was permanently stiff; the middle finger was slightly twisted, a deep white scar spiraling round the middle joint. His hand was callused and battered by work, and the tiny stigma of a nail-wound still showed, pale-pink, in the middle of his palm. The skin of his hand was deeply bronzed and weathered, freckled with sun-blots and scattered with bleached gold hairs. I thought it remarkably beautiful.

“Happy Birthday,” I said, softly. “Taking stock?”

He let the hand fall on his chest, and turned his head to look at me, smiling.Aye, something of the sort. Though I suppose I’ve a few hours left. I was born at half-six; I willna have lived a full half-century until suppertime.” I laughed and rolled onto my side, kicking the blanket off. The air was still delightfully cool, but it wouldn’t last long. “Do you expect to disintegrate much further before supper?” I asked, teasing. “Oh, I dinna suppose anything is likely to fall off by then,” he said, consideringly. “As to the workings . . . aye, well . . .” He arched his back, stretching, and sank back with a gratified groan as my hand settled on him. “It all seems to be in perfect working order,” I assured him. I gave a brief, experimental tug, making him yelp slightly. “Not loose at all.” “Good,” he said, folding his hand firmly over mine to prevent further unauthorized experiments. “How did ye ken what I was doing? Taking stock, as ye say?” I let him keep hold of the hand, but shifted to set my chin in the center of his chest, where a small depression seemed made for the purpose. “I always do that, when I have a birthday—though I generally do it the night before. More looking back, I think, reflecting a bit on the year that’s just gone. But I do check things over; I think perhaps everyone does. Just to see if you’re the same person as the day before.” “I’m reasonably certain that I am,” he assured me. “Ye dinna see any marked changes, do ye?” I lifted my chin from its resting place and looked him over carefully. It was in fact rather hard to look at him objectively; I was both so used to his features and so fond of them that I tended to notice tiny, dear things about him—the freckle on his earlobe, the lower incisor pushing eagerly forward, just slightly out of line with its fellows—and to respond to the slightest change of his expression—but not really to look at him as an integrated whole. He bore my examination tranquilly, eyelids half-lowered against the growing light. His hair had come loose while he slept and feathered over his shoulders, its ruddy waves framing a face strongly marked by both humor and passion—but which possessed a paradoxical and most remarkable capacity for stillness.

“No,” I said at last, and set my chin down again with a contented sigh. “It’s still you.”

[...]

Jamie’s free hand rested on my back, his thumb idly stroking the edge of my shoulder blade. With his usual capacity for mental discipline, he appeared to have dismissed the uncertainty of the military prospects completely from his mind, and was thinking of something else entirely. “Do ye ever think—” he began, and then broke off. “Think what?” I bent and kissed his chest, arching my back to encourage him to rub it, which he did. “Well . . . I’m no so sure I can explain, but it’s struck me that now I have lived longer than my father did—which is not something I expected to happen,” he added, with faint wryness. “It’s only . . . well, it seems odd, is all. I only wondered, did ye ever think of that, yourself—having lost your mother young, I mean?” “Yes.” My face was buried in his chest, my voice muffled in the folds of his shirt. “I used to—when I was younger. Like going on a journey without a map.” His hand on my back paused for a moment. “Aye, that’s it.” He sounded a little surprised. “I kent more or less what it would be like to be a man of thirty, or of forty—but now what?” His chest moved briefly, with a small noise that might have been a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

“You invent yourself,” I said softly, to the shadows inside the hair that had fallen over my face. “You look at other women—or men; you try on their lives for size. You take what you can use, and you look inside yourself for what you can’t find elsewhere. And always . . . always . . . you wonder if you’re doing it right.”

His hand was warm and heavy on my back. He felt the tears that ran unexpectedly from the corners of my eyes to dampen his shirt, and his other hand came up to touch my head and smooth my hair. “Aye, that’s it,” he said again, very softly. The camp was beginning to stir outside, with clangings and thumps, and the hoarse sound of sleep-rough voices. Overhead, the grasshopper began to chirp, the sound like someone scratching a nail on a copper pot.

“This is a morning my father never saw,” Jamie said, still so softly that I heard it as much through the walls of his chest, as with my ears.

“The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe—no matter what tomorrow may be.”

I sighed deeply and turned my head, to rest my cheek against his chest. He reached over gently and wiped my nose with a fold of his shirt. “And as for taking stock,” he added practically, “I’ve all my teeth, none of my parts are missing, and my cock still stands up by itself in the morning. It could be worse.”

Cap 58 HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU ~the fiery cross

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #outlander starz #jamie fraser #outlander series #outlander fanart #samheughan #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #claire fraser #dr claire randall #claire beauchamp #caitrionabalfe #outlander books #outlander season 5 #outlander 5x07

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zepskies · 11 months

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Devour Me - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: This is a two-part sequel to “Midnight Espresso!” I would read that one first before you dive into this one. (It’s fun, I promise!)

Word Count: 3,800 Tags/Warnings: Supernatural shenanigans, tiny bit of body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, and a cliffhanger...

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: "A Takeover"

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Clearing a nightstand for you, half of the dresser, a section of his closet. Those things are reasonable.

But this is a total takeover, he thinks, as he surveys the sheer amount of crap you’ve brought into his room.

Mind you, despite this still being a bunker, the décor is nice. You brought in sturdy, but stylish wicker baskets for his pile of cassettes (and your CDs) next to the TV, filing bins for the haphazard shuffle of papers on his desk, installed dark wood shelves on the wall for his various weapons and your collection of books.

But he’d had his music organized—not alphabetically or chronologically, but by his own personal rankings of awesomeness. Now they’re all shuffled together by band name.

Plus, he likes having his shotgun on the floor by the bed, within reach, not three feet above his head. And where the fuck is his collection of…magazines?

The point is, every time he looks for something, you’ve put it in a different place. Not to mention the damn bathroom (don’t get him started on all your shea butter lotions, makeup brushes, frilly-smelling soaps, and the army of hair products now taking up space in his cabinets and drawers).

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out where the hell his cassette of Zeppelin IV is, when you breeze into the room he now shares with you. You’re dewy with sweat in a Guns & Roses shirt and some yoga pants you reserve for cleaning.

And that’s another thing. You’re more anal than Sam about having the bunker smelling like Pine Sol. However, as you’ve expressed before (after nagging him to pick up his dirty, and occasionally bloody clothes from the floor), while you like a clean house, you are not in fact the maid.

“Hey, baby. Can you fold these for me?” you request. “I need a shower.”

He raises a brow as you dump a new basket of fresh laundry onto the bed. It looks like you washed your clothes mixed in with his, which he actually doesn’t mind. He fishes out one of your red, lacey thongs with a hint of a smile. He bought you these last week, and they already have a tear. (His fault.)

“By the way, next time you move one of my things, mind leaving me a post-it note or something?” he dryly remarks. “It’s like a scavenger hunt in my own damn room.”

You pop your head out of the bathroom, though he can tell by your bare shoulders that you’ve already gotten undressed. Your mouth is quirked at the corner.

“It’s called organization,” you tease. “Apparently a foreign concept to you.”

You disappear back into the bathroom, giving Dean the privacy he needs to grumble almost inaudibly to himself. But then he hears your voice behind the door.

“Oh, by the way. Your vintage collection of smut is in the bottom of your nightstand,” you call out. “That 1996 edition of Busty Asian Beauties is particularly classy.”

Dean hears the wryness in your tone, and his face actually heats up in embarrassment. He frowns at the bathroom door, his jaw tensing, but he takes a breath. Deciding to let it go with a roll of his shoulders, he puts on the TV to catch up on Dr. Sexy M.D. He also neglects the task you gave him, just for a little while.

When you’re still in the bathroom an hour later, Dean starts to get curious about what the hell you’re doing in there. The shower isn’t even running anymore.

That’s when he hears the hairdryer go on.

He knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on his show with all that noise. So with a sigh, he clicks off the TV and eyes the pile of laundry. You probably cleaned the whole freaking bunker this morning. Despite his annoyance, he figures folding your clothes along with his own is the least he can do.

Dean scoops up the pile back into the basket and takes it elsewhere.

He finds his brother at the kitchen table and joins him with his basket. Sam’s gaze raises from his laptop to meet his brother’s grumpy face. He watches in mild curiosity as Dean plops down across from him and dutifully begins folding one of your shirts.

“You okay?” Sam hazards the question.

“Fucking peachy,” Dean replies. “Looking for a new case?”

“Yeah. Nothing yet.” Though Sam raises a brow when Dean all but tosses one of your girly sundresses on the table after it’s folded. (It’s yellow, and it happens to be his favorite on you.)

“Everything all right?” Sam asks.

Dean glances up, finds his brother’s knowing eyes, and doesn’t have it in him to lie. He lets go of a breath, as well as one of his undershirts to rub at his forehead.

“She’s nosey, Sam. She’s all up in my business.”

“Your girlfriend?” Sam clarifies, with raised brows. “Of six months.”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean quips, with all due sarcasm. “Ever since she moved in, she’s been going through everything, moving my crap every which way, making it so I can’t find a damn thing.”

Sam’s mouth edges at a smile.

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam, she’s damn near taken over,” Dean insists.

“You done?” Sam teases. Dean just leans in, like he’s about to level his brother with a secret.

“Matter of fact, she locks herself in the bathroom for like, forever. I just heard the hairdryer go on, meaning another hour at least. What the fuck is she doing in there, getting ready for prom?”

Sam finally has to chuckle. “Clearly it’s been a long time since you’ve lived with a woman, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“And she’s actually been a big help in cleaning up around here,” Sam says, with a growing smirk. “Which is, quite literally, a refreshing change.”

Dean snorts at that.

“Of course, you’re happy,” he says. “A new damn dish rack turns you on.”

Sam shoots him a wan look. “The question is, are you happy?”

That manages to take Dean by surprise. He hesitates to answer…

But he’s saved when he hears someone approaching. He knows it’s you because he can smell the mix of your floral soap and coconutty shampoo; it’s a scent that often lingers on your pillow and has unconsciously infiltrated Dean’s nose.

His reply to Sam dies on his tongue when he sees you.

“Hey,” you greet both men, all bright and smiley with your hair in wild curls down your back.

A lot of the time you keep your hair straight or loose and wavy, so it’s rare for Dean to see your natural look. It’s a good one for you, he thinks. Along with those jean shorts hugging your curvy hips, and the V-neck top you’re wearing, which offers a nice peek of cleavage.

Your hand falls on his shoulder, with your thumb stroking his neck. You then brush that hand across his back as you pass by on your way to the kitchen. If possible, you’ve become even more touchy since you two got together.

Dean holds fast to your hand, stopping you in your path.

“So that’s what you were working on in there,” he remarks. “Thought I was gonna need to break out the fire extinguisher.”

You grin in amusement and do a little twirl under his hand, shaking out your curls a little.

“You like?” you ask. Dean tugs you back over. He reaches out and fingers at the soft ends of your hair.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Looks real nice,” Sam adds.

“Why, thank you.” Your smile is contagious, and Dean can’t help reciprocating. You drop a hand on his shoulder again.

“I know you’re our resident Gordon Ramsay, but I kinda feel like cooking today,” you say. “Is Cas coming home anytime soon?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he called this morning. Probably dropping back in tonight.”

You nod. “Good! I’ll make plenty then…oh, wait, he doesn’t eat.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks.

“Well, I know you guys haven’t had much Cuban food, so I thought you might like to try some ropa vieja,” you reply. Sam’s brows knit together.

“Old clothes?” he translates. His two years of high school Spanish can give him that much.

“Yeah! But it’s basically shredded beef with onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and a bunch of other good stuff,” you explain. Then your eyes brighten. “Oh! And I can make my grandma’s famous black beans, white rice, some bread with crushed garlic and olive oil…”

By the time you finish listing the things you plan on making, Dean is already salivating.

Later that evening, when Dean actually gets to sample said food, he’s eaten enough for three men in the span of forty-five minutes.

“Jesus, man. Going for a record on indigestion?” Sam cautions him, despite his amusement.

Dean pointedly ignores his brother to look over at you. After he swallows another forkful of beef stew, he says, “Not for nothin’, this is probably the second-best meal of my entire life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You giggle. “What’s number one?”

“Diner called Slammies in Alabama. Best fucking pie on Earth,” he easily recalls. “Double applewood bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, brick oven pizza. Bar none.”

Sam inclines his head, remembering the food coma he and Dean had that night. They’d hit the rock-hard pillows at the motel and slept like they’d been on an all-night bender.

“But this is like, right there,” Dean says to you, leveling his hand up by his head.

“Well, let’s see if this moves the needle,” you reply as you get up from your seat. You answer the question in his eyes. “Forgot something, hold on.”

But before you can leave the table, Dean reaches over and takes your hand.

“Thanks, sweetheart. For all of this. I mean it,” he says.

A soft, genuine smile grows across your face. You lean down and press a tender kiss below his hairline, stroking his cheek before you go.

Dean quirks a smile. It’s taken him time to get used to how open you are with your affections, but he likes it. All of it. Every time you reach for him, touch him, brush against him, intentionally or not. He always has.

Though he has to resist embarrassment when he notices the way his brother is watching him. Sam raises a brow, smiling that irritating smile of his.

“Oh, yeah. You’re not happy at all,” he intones.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean says defensively. But he perks up when you return. Maybe you’re bringing more garlic bread.

Instead, you’re holding a tin pan.

“What’cha got there?” he asks.

“Dessert,” you announce. It’s a Cuban flan: creamy, rich custard with a consistency smoother than cheesecake, and thicker than pudding.

You haven’t even sat back down yet when Dean carves himself a generous slice. He moans when a large forkful melts in his mouth. You start to blush as you watch him with crossed arms and a hand over your smile. You don’t know whether to be amused or flattered.

Sam watches his brother stuff his face with a subtle shake of his head.

“You’re enabling him,” he tells you. You shrug, but then you rest your hands on both Sam and Dean’s shoulders.

“Now I have someone to cook for,” you say. You have tears in your eyes, but you quickly blink and try to turn away. Frowning, Dean takes your hand.

“Hey, where you going?” he says, and aims to pull you into his lap. You hesitate, knowing you’re not going to be able to squeeze between him and the table.

“It’s okay, these hips don’t fit,” you chuckle wryly, with a sniffle. But Dean just backs his chair up from the table a bit to make room.

“What’re you talking about? You fit right here,” he says firmly, and he tugs you down. This is the one thing Dean has tried his damndest to break you out of—that self-deprecating streak of yours.

You finally accept being guided into his lap, where you indeed fit snugly across his thighs. His arm comes around the front to hold you close by your hip, while his other hand rests comfortingly on your back.

Looking up into his eyes, you draw enough courage to be honest.

“I was mostly raised by my grandma,” you begin to explain. Your father wasn’t ready to be one, and so wasn’t in the picture. Your mother died when you were in high school. So when your grandmother also passed away a few years ago…

Well, you’ve been alone for a while.

You sniff and wipe at your face, but your eyes close as Dean’s lips press above your brow. When you next open your eyes and cautiously look between the brothers, Sam’s sympathy warms you.

“If it isn’t obvious, you have a home here,” he says. “We can never replace what you’ve lost, but…we’re your family too.”

You know that Dean feels the same way by the way he brushes the tears from your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip.

"You're right where you need to be," he says, with a hand squeezing your hip. His sincerity is in his even tone, in the firmness in his eyes.

You’re able to smile a bit.

“Ah…I’m interrupting, aren’t I?”

The three of you turn to the kitchen doorway, where Castiel stands awkwardly. He clearly senses emotional tension, but it breaks the moment you turn to him with a tearful laugh.

“Hey, Cas. Have you ever eaten ‘old clothes?’” you ask.

His puzzled expression is absolutely priceless.

When Sam finds a possible hunt in Hope, Indiana, Castiel agrees to go with you all. It’s a small, corn-fed town in the middle of nowhere, and five people have gone missing over the course of a year.

The latest is a nine-year-old kid named Andy Campbell. That alone upsets you; if you have one weakness, it’s for kids.

“Local farmers have been reporting dead cattle too, drained of blood,” Sam says from the passenger seat in the Impala. “I’m thinking vampires trying to keep a low profile.”

“Sounds about right, if a bit sloppy,” Dean remarks. They are in the Midwest though. If this is a coven, or even a rogue vamp who’s been here a while, maybe they got lazy. “So what, police station first? Get any details they might’ve missed.”

“I want to talk to the kid’s mom,” you say. It earns Dean’s gaze at you in the rearview mirror. “We can get the last time she saw him, where he went missing, anything she might’ve held back from the police.”

He nods and shares a glance with Sam. “I’ll go with her. You and Cas scope out the station.”

The angel has gotten better at pretending to be a Fed, but not by much. Sam agrees, even though Dean sees in his face that he’d rather be taking his brother. Dean tempers a smile and keeps driving to the closest motel in this dusty town.

You don a sensible pantsuit to match Dean’s Fed suit, along with your badges: Agents Buckingham and Nicks.

When Andy’s mom, Rachel Campbell, opens the door of her modest home to you and Dean, he lets you take the lead. You’re good at this part, connecting with the victims and getting them to talk. He sometimes worries about you though—that your soft, sympathetic heart will get the best of you.

“How long has Andy been missing?” you ask, accepting a cup of tea from the woman.

Rachel is around your age, maybe a few years older. She looks run down, a shell of a human as she looks at the carpet rather than at you or Dean. You can’t know exactly how she feels, but you have a vivid imagination.

And from the various pictures of her and Andy on the wall, just the two of them, you deduce that she’s a single mother. Just like your mom had been.

“Almost four months,” she admits. “The police station doesn’t even return my calls anymore.”

That upsets you, but you keep a lid on your emotions to focus on the woman in front of you.

“Andy’s father, he’s not around?” Dean asks. Rachel shakes her head, confirming your suspicions.

“No, we split up shortly after he was born,” she replies, her tone tired and resigned. “I was at work. I uh, I work at a doctor’s office. Andy was supposed to come home on the bus, like any other day…but he never did.”

She sucks in a shaky breath as the beginnings of tears make her eyes red and glassy.

“His school couldn’t tell me why he wasn’t on the bus. But one of his friends said he was late getting out of class, so he must’ve tried to walk home. Even though he knew he could call me when that happens…anyway, somebody must’ve grabbed him.”

Rachel looks away as a tear streams down her cheek, followed by another. You feel your throat tighten with a sympathetic burn behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay long enough to set down your tea. You reach out and lay a hand on the woman’s hand. She meets your steady gaze.

“I promise, we’ll find your son,” you tell her.

“What?” you ask Dean as the two of you leave the small house, walking back to the Impala in the driveway. You just know there’s something up with him by the stoic look on his face. It isn’t so stoic to you.

He waits until the two of you are in the car before he levels you with a raised brow.

“Look, I know you want to find this kid. I do too,” he says. “But watch out about making promises you can’t keep.”

You frown back at him. “What’s better, letting that poor woman have no hope at all?”

In his mind, Dean thinks it’s worse to give her false hope. But he sees how stubborn you’re getting, so he doesn’t push it. The fact that you care about people like Rachel is part of what drew him to you in the first place, but there’s a line, he thinks. A point where you can care too much.

When you two eventually meet up with Sam and Castiel, they’ve been able to confirm from the body of a recent Jane Doe, with a row of lethal bite marks on her wrist, that this is definitely a vamp case.

After narrowing down where each of the victims were taken, the four of you sketch out a perimeter of where the monsters could likely be hiding. It’s Dean who finds the old barn on the verge of a corn field, about three miles away from the school where Andy was taken.

You all wait until high noon the next day to scope it out. Looking into the front windows is useless; all evidence points to an empty home.

The back of the barn is another story. Cracking the barn door open reveals a large storage area, where a nest of vampires are sleeping in their beds. Some are coupled off, but you note a few on single beds.

Then, your eyes narrow on the humans sleeping piled together in the corner—three women, a young man, and Andy Campbell on a twin-sized bed of his own.

Dean carefully closes the barn door, and the four of you regroup back to the Impala.

“It’s a bigger nest than we thought,” Sam says, though he keeps his voice quiet. Dean is already opening the trunk for his favorite machete.

“First, let’s get those humans out,” he says. You agree with a nod when he hands you a weapon.

Dean shoots you a wink. “This one’s Brenda.”

“What happened to Lucille?” you ask, taking the knife from him.

“That’s the bat wrapped in barbed wire. Matter of fact, I should break her out.”

Dean reaches into the trunk and pulls out the blood-stained bat. He rubs the handle fondly.

“Ahh, Dad loved this thing.”

You sidle up next to him and glance over wryly. “You want some alone time with your big stick, there?”

Dean flashes you a smirk, giving you a long once over in your form-fitting shirt and jeans. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to join me, sweetheart.”

You snort in response, bumping into his side with your hip. Dean teasingly bounces one of your curls in your face. You smile and swat his hand away.

Sam subtly rolls his eyes, despite a small smile as he shares a look with Cas.

“All right. Can we go, please?” Sam says in amusement. Castiel awkwardly straps on a machete to his belt. He doesn’t believe he’ll need it, but Sam and Dean are always prepared. He wants to be as well.

You’re ready to go, but Dean holds you back by your shoulder. You look up at him curiously.

“Hey, follow our lead on this one, okay?” he asks.

You sense that he’s hedging at something more specific with that request.

“What do you mean?”

“The kid. I know you wanna beeline for him the second we get in there, but hold off,” Dean says. His gaze is serious. “He could be turned.”

He got a good look inside, the same as you. The kid was lying on a bed while the other humans were chained up on the floor. Still, you shoot him an incredulous look.

“Why would they turn a kid?” you ask. “They have the others.”

“Yeah, and they were chained up. Why not him?” Dean asks, imploring you to think logically. He shares a look with Sam, who silently agrees. You look between the brothers with pursed lips.

“Maybe they don’t give a fuck, because they’re cocky assholes,” you retort. And you walk past them to head back towards the barn.

The brothers and the angel share one last look, with Dean letting out a subtle breath before he follows you.

You creep back into the barn, as quiet as possible through the room of snoring vampires. The brothers and Castiel go to the sleepy women in the corner. They look dirty and malnourished, wearing threadbare clothing. Sam feels the pulse of the man prone on the floor, but he’s already dead.

When one of the girls wakes with a whimper, Dean holds his finger to his lips, warning them all wordlessly to be quiet. He looks over and doesn’t find you next to him. He nearly curses out loud when he sees you heading for Andy’s bed across the room.

Meanwhile, you touch the little boy’s shoulder and shake him a little. He wakes with a small sound of reluctance, but you shush him gently.

“Andy?” You grasp his shoulders. He nods, though his blonde brows are furrowed with confusion.

“Who…who are you?” he asks. He rubs at his sleepy brown eyes.

“I’m here to help,” you reply in a whisper. “I’m going to get you back to your mom, okay?”

After a moment, he nods and lets you pick him up into your arms. You hazard looking over across the room, and you find Dean’s annoyed gaze. Despite the uncomfortable churning in your belly, you ignore him for now and head for the back door.

You’re only able to take a few steps when you feel a hand wrap tightly in your hair and pull it away from your neck, just for rows of several razor-sharp teeth to sink into your neck.

AN: 😬 ...Sorry. If you don't know me by now, I love a cliffhanger. But how'd you like Dean getting used to sharing his space? (And having someone to occasionally put him on his toes.)

Part 2 will feature a good old fashioned "you should've listened to me" fight, some angst, some making up, some salsa dancing, and a healthy dose of smutty smut.

Next Time:

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms.

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely.

You truly become incensed at that.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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tinydefector · 2 months

Note

Could I request some human and Rung nsfw scenario? Maybe Rungs curiosity about human anatomy gets the better of him

Divine

Did I use this to write Wings of Primus AU yes, yes I did.

Wings of Primus AU

Rung x Human reader

Word count: 3.9K

Warning: Smut, religious experience. #Valveplug

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Rung's optics fixated on the human's back, his gaze drawn to the mesmerising sight of the gears and orb shifting and glowing with an ethereal light. As he observed this phenomenon,curiosity intertwined with a sense of guilt that gnawed at his spark. Every Time he saw them a small part of him felt guilty over the fact it was his wings that had fused to them.

How had this come to pass? How did the gears and orb become fused with the human's form? These were mysteries that tugged at Rung's inquisitive nature, but the fact that ancient Cybertronian technology had melded itself to a human did intrigued him.

A smile tugged at the corners of Rung's lips as they turned to look at him, their concern evident in their gaze. They sensed something was amiss, perhaps noticing his lingering optics and the weight of unspoken thoughts that hung in the air.

"Rung, is everything alright?" their voice is filled with genuine worry. Rung's optics flickered, momentarily caught off guard by the directness of their question. He quickly composed himself.

"Of course, my dear," Rung replied, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of wryness. "Just lost in my thoughts, you know how it goes. How have things been since Ratchet's examination?" He offered them a small, reassuring smile, attempting to deflect their concern.

“ It went well enough, getting sick of constant check ups, he can't really do much about the orb, it doesn't hurt, it's just kinda there, occasionally it transforms into wings, just don't understand why so many tests are needed” they reply.

Rung listened attentively as the human shared their experience since Ratchet's examination, his wry smile lingering on his lips. Their weariness and frustration over the constant check-ups is understandable and Rung couldn't help but empathise. After all, he was the reason this all happened.

"It's understandable to grow weary of the constant tests and examinations," Rung acknowledged, his tone sympathetically. "Ratchet's thoroughness can sometimes feel excessive, but he truly wants to ensure your well-being. As for the orb, he's worried for your safety."

It was a phenomenon that defied conventional understanding, and Rung couldn't help but be fascinated by it, He had encountered many enigmatic phenomena during his long existence, but this fusion of technology and organic matter was a rare occurrence, but this was different, it wasn't the same as techno organic, terraformers, no this was a part of primus that had literally melted into their body. It sparked his analytical mind, he himself did not know how it came to be, prompting him to ponder the possibilities and implications of such a unique integration.

"I can't help but be intrigued by the melding of organic and mechanical elements within your form, does it affect any of your functions?" Rung asked, his voice carrying a tinge of worry.

"It was kinda hard to get used to when it first latched onto me, kinda learnt my lesson not to go looking at shooting starts again, but it only hurt for about a week and it was sore joints due to extra weight, but don't know how Cybertronians work on the inside but its like its keeping my body healthy, it healed over the burns and fixed anything it rewired, kinda feels natural now"

He knew that living with something as extraordinary as the orb's fusion could be both a blessing and challenge.

“Rung your staring, is everything alright your not having a short circuit are you, do I need to get one of the medics?” They ask, head tilted while they move closer to him.

Rung had always been adept at masking his emotions, burying his own turmoil beneath a facade of calm and composure. It was a skill he had honed over vorns, allowing him to maintain a professional front.

However, the guilt continued to linger within him, a persistent ache that he couldn't easily dismiss. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the situation, The weight of that guilt pressed heavily upon him, tugging at his spark.

Rung's gaze returned to the gears and orb on the human's back, his optics tracing their intricate movements. He yearned to understand, to unravel the mystery that lay before him. "Yes, everything is alright," Rung reassured them, his voice softening with sincerity.

Deep down, he knew that eventually, the truth behind the gears and orb on the human's back would come to light. And when it did, he hoped they would forgive him. “Well back to the lesson I guess You did ask me to help you understand human anatomy, so guess you're gonna have to bear with me as we go along" they state. "So.. where do you want to start?"

He watched as they walked closer, their presence bringing a sense of warmth and familiarity. Rung's gaze softened, his wry smile transforming into a more genuine expression.

"As for where to start, I believe it would be best to begin with the basics," Rung suggested, his tone thoughtful. "Let's start with the major anatomical systems,”

Well humans have the skeletal system, that's our bone structure, muscular system which is our skin muscle mass and a few organs of ours, cardiovascular system, our heart and vein systems, pretty much the main ones we have." They grab Rungs servos as they guild him to different body parts explaining what they were and used for. Rung's knowledge of human anatomy was limited but enthusiasm for learning was evident, his desire to expand his knowledge.

"Rung your staring again, is there something on me, do i need to get ratchet to check my back again?" They ask while quickly turning around while attempting to check the orb.

Rung blinked, momentarily snapped out of his contemplative state. He couldn't help but chuckle at the human's playfulness.

"My apologies, my dear," Rung replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was simply lost in thought, pondering the various similarities between humans and Cybertronians."

"One striking similarity lies in the presence of sensory organs. Just as humans have eyes to see, Cybertronians possess optics. Similarly, humans have ears for hearing, while Cybertronians have audio receptors. The ability to perceive the world through these senses is a shared trait."

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to settle. Rung's gaze softened, his expression thoughtful. "Furthermore, both humans and Cybertronians possess a central processing unit, so to speak. For humans, it is their brain, while for Cybertronians, it is their central processor. These neural centres enable complex processes, allowing for consciousness, decision-making, and emotional experiences."

Rung's voice carried a hint of excitement as he continued to unveil the similarities.

"And let us not forget the significance of the spark," Rung added, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "Just as humans have their hearts, the spark serves as the core of a Cybertronian's being. It is the seat of their life force, their essence. The spark is what defines a Cybertronian, just as the heart defines a human." One of his digits press lightly against their chest as he processes the sound of their heart beat, so similar yet different from a spark pulse.

Rung can feel the wings calling to his spark again as if they were calling though their heart. As the alluring feeling echoed in his processor, Rung couldn't deny the sharp pang of desire that surged through his circuits. His optics drank in the human's form, appreciating the unique beauty that lay before him. He leaned back in his chair, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising heat in his spark. Rung's gaze remained fixed on them, his optics betraying a mixture of curiosity and desire.

"I must admit, I find myself wondering about the intricacies of human interfacing," Rung confessed, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "It is a concept that Cybertronians are quite familiar with, as it serves as a means of connection, pleasure, and profound intimacy. I was wondering if humans have something similar" He wanted to delve deeper into the human experience, to explore the nuances of their desires and connections, and how different they are from Cybertronian.

They meet Rung's optics. “Rung, are you trying to proposition me?” They ask with a laugh, teasing him. Rung's optics widened slightly at the human's teasing response, caught off guard by their playful accusation. a rare display of embarrassment that betrayed his composed exterior. He quickly regained his composure, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Ah, I assure you that my intentions are purely intellectual," Rung replied quickly, shaking his servos while trying to save face, his voice laced with amusement. "As a psychiatrist, I have a natural curiosity about the intricacies of different species' experiences, including the concept of human interfacing." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing, his tone retaining its intimacy and sincerity. “Oh I'm not helping my case” he mumbles.

They laugh, head thrown back as little snorts come from them before they settle. “I'm just teasing Rung, I promise, but your face oh my God it was priceless” they continue to giggle. Rung's optics flickered with a mix of relief and amusement “ cheeky i see” a gentle smile crossed his lips a hint of wryness lingers.

"you certainly know how to keep me on my pedes," Rung replied, his voice returning to its usual calm and composed tone. "I must admit, your playful nature caught me off guard for a moment there."

“Please continue Rung i just couldn't help myself” they reply waiting for him to continue his line of thought.

"Cybertronian interfacing is a deeply personal and profound act, encompassing both physical and emotional connection," Rung explained, his voice gentle yet filled with wisdom. "It serves as a means of not only pleasure but also forging intimate bonds and strengthening relationships. I was more curious if humans have a similar concept." He states while pressing his glasses back up his face.

“Well humans, we call it intercorse, sex, love making, reproduction. Kinda depends on the person but it's a mix of doing it for Fun, pleasure, stress relief, commitment to another or to have kids” they explain to Rung as he listens in rather fascinated.

With that, Rung leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed and open, “ so rather similar to Cybertronians” he mumbles before he looks back at them. 'They crave you' the words echo through his processor making his servo clench onto the arm of his chair, reminding him of the hidden desires that now threaten to consume his thoughts.

"I'm open for you to learn more, take a more hands on approach, just be gentle, don't ruin my clothes'' they respond. It nearly takes Rung off guard again, His optics widened ever so slightly. His spark fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and caution.

"Only if you are certain," Rung replied, his voice steady yet tinged with a touch of warmth. "I assure you, I will be as gentle as can be, and I'll do my best to avoid any mishaps with your clothing." He allowed his servo to rest on their leg, his touch light and cautious. Rung's gaze remained fixed on the human, his optics filled with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. He was acutely aware of the privilege bestowed upon him, the opportunity to learn and explore the depths of human interfacing.

"Before we proceed, I must emphasise the importance of clear communication," Rung continued, his voice soft and earnest. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable or wish to stop, please let me know, or we can adjust accordingly. Your comfort is of utmost importance to me." With those words, Rung's servo shifted slightly, the touch remaining gentle as he removed their shirt. His optics drank in the sight before him, captivated by their skin, the scared marks that run across their skin from the wing mechanism.

Rung's gaze lingered, his optics filled with a mix of guilt as he traces the scars before his digit runs along the ever shifting orb. He awaited their response.

"I'll let you know Rung” they reply, the give a come here motion to him waiting for him to lean down. When he does they lean up and kiss him.

'They are yours to Claim Primus, they wear your wings to present themself for only you' the echoed words linger only for him to hear. Rung Slowly moving, examining and studying their soft form. His servos and digits continued to explore the human's form, his touch gentle yet purposeful. Each reaction, each sound that spilled from their lips, fueled his desire to provide pleasure and to elicit even more of those delightful sounds only for him to hear. Rung's spark pulsed with a mix of anticipation and a growing hunger.

As the human moaned his name, louder and more desperate, Rung felt a shiver of excitement ripple through his frame. It was an affirmation of their desire, "stunning," Rung breathed, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and affection. "Let's move this to a more comfortable place. Rung stood, their body clinging to him as he swiftly moved towards the berth. Rung felt a surge of delight as the human clung to him, their smile reflecting their eagerness for what lay ahead. He savoured the sound of their small squeal

Rung's spark pulsed with anticipation as he led them to the berth he discarded his glasses on the bench as he laid them onto the berth. their bodies pressed intimately against each other. The urging whispers echoed in his audials, Rung gently lowered the human onto the soft surface, their combined heat and desire filling the air around them. His optics drank in the sight before him, a beautiful and willing form laid bare, their pants discarded and their need evident. The moans that escaped their lips fueled his own desire, spurring him to explore further.

"Is this alright?" Rung murmured, his voice husky with desire. With a gentle touch, Rung's digits pressed against their entrance, a wave of pleasure coursing through both of their frames. “Yes, more than alright” The desire in their voice, their plea for more, stirred a primal heat within him, urging him to grant their request. Rung's own arousal was evident.

With each deliberate movement, Rung explored their softness and elicited more moans from their lips. He revelled in their responsiveness, digits pressing deeper and stretching them open, they buck into his hand "Please, Rung," pleads spilling from their lips, their voice laced with a desperate need.

Rung's spark surged with a mix of adoration and desire as he responded to their plea, his touch becoming more focused and deliberate.

Rung continued to explore, to bring them both closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Their shared desire and trust fueled his own arousal, but his focus remained on their pleasure, on guiding them towards a peak of bliss that they both craved.

His little human moans and begs for more. The wing mechanism releases and the metal wings transform, Spread out across the berth from the human's back the wings flutter in delight against their back.. Their legs shake each time Rung's digits thrust back into their soft velvet walls.

'They are ready, claim them, claim them as yours Primus,' Rung's optics widened in surprise and disbelief as the wing mechanism on the human's back released, transforming into metal wings that spread out across the berth. His spark skipped a beat, a mix of awe and realisation surging through him, they looked stunning with his wings, very different from when he last wore them but yet they suited them so well.

His processors whirred, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and desires swirling within him. Rung knew that his wings were a manifestation of who he was, a symbol of his duty and purpose.

"Divine," Rung murmured, his voice a mixture of reverence and uncertainty. Rung's digits continued their thrusting, his touch seeking to bring the human closer to their peak of pleasure. Their moans and the trembling of their legs fueled his own desire, “that's it, let go overload for me” he whispers against their ear.

"Please, more" they moaned, their voice filled with a mix of need and desire. Rungs' other servo comes up to cradle their face. He slowly pulls his digits away moving so that he could be as close to them as the size difference allowed. Rung's own arousal surged, his spark pulsing with a mix of longing and restraint.

Rung moves with purpose and care, his interface plating releases as he slowly presses up against them. “Are you alright?” he asked again only to receive a nod as they try pulling him closer. He slowly presses into their smaller body, the sudden heat and pleasure that hits has him groaning loudly.

"Rung!" They cry out loudly as run sinks into them, arms shooting up to grip onto him. His servo moves Their legs, shifting to rest around his hips, slowly he starts to move and starts thrusting. Their back arches off the bed, wings fluttering and sprawling out more as moans fall from their lips.

Rung's spark surged with a mixture of desire and adoration as the human cried out his name, their voice filled with a potent combination of pleasure and need, need only for him. The sight of their back arching off the bed, their wings fluttering and sprawling out more, stirred a primal heat within Rung, this was for him, they had come to him.

Rung's thrusts were deliberate and measured, aimed at bringing them both closer to pleasure. With each movement, he elicited a symphony of moans and gasps.

“Your stunning, my stunning divine" Rung calls out, his voice laced with desire and tenderness.

The human's moans echoed in his audials, their pleas for more spurring him on. Rung's own arousal surged, his pace quickening as the intensity mounted. The tighten of their body have surging towards the peak of bliss.

He relished every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from their lips. Wishing he could have them on repeat, he could melt just from how their eyes water, how they bite their lip as pleasure takes them.

Rung's voice became a low and soothing presence amidst the growing intensity.

"Let go, my dear," he urged again, his voice filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. "I've got you. Please come undone for me"

Together, they succumbed to the overwhelming wave of ecstasy, their bodies trembling with the intensity of their release. Rung held them close, venting heavily. ‘His’ wings enfolding them in a gentle embrace as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.

They choke out as Rung lifts them up, resting on his knees as he pulls them up with him. Through hazed eyes it's like Rung's plating is Gold, the wings cling to him and for a brief moment when their orgasm hits, they see him. A glimpse of the bot Rung once was.

Gold and silver plating blue markings down his faceplate. Their hand extends to trace one of the diamonds of glowing blue.

Gently, Rung held them close, his touch and embrace a grounding presence amidst the ethereal moment that had just passed. His optics met theirs, a mixture of warmth and deskre shining within them.

And as they remained in each other's embrace, basking in the afterglow of their shared pleasure, Rung held onto their exhausted form, Their head resting on Rung chassis panting as he rolled them so he's laying down. The wings flutter and twitch but make no move to transform back. fingers tracing lines on his plating, it's the orange now, not the shimmering gold they had seen before.

The question that escaped their lips was soft and filled with curiosity, their voice carrying a sense of wonder. "What... what are you?"

Rung's optics softened as he contemplated their question. "I am Rung," he replied, his tone gentle yet resolute. "A psychiatrist aboard the Lost Light, here to help guide and support those who seek solace and understanding."

He paused for a moment, allowing the weight of their question to settle in. The significance of their vision and perception was not lost on him. It spoke to the depth of his spark.

"But I am more than that," Rung continued, his voice carrying a hint of wry amusement. "I am a being who has lived and experienced much more than others give me credit for. An old spark, if you will. Older than most"

He shifted slightly, allowing the human to remain comfortable in his embrace as he continued to run his fingers along their frame. The sensation of their touch, combined with their question, stirred a mix of emotions within Rung.

"I am a bot who has walked many paths, witnessed the ebb and flow of countless lives," Rung explained. "I was once known as Primus, keeper of the all-spark, the divine essence that flows through all of cybertron."

"But I am also just Rung," he added, his voice filled with warmth. As Rung spoke, his touch remained gentle and comforting, his fingers intertwining with theirs. The significance of their vision and their perception of him as the bot he once was, Primus, held a profound impact on their shared experience.

"You have seen something special," Rung concluded, his voice filled with gratitude. "A glimpse into the depths of my being, the intertwining of my own spark. and the divine."

"The wings, they are yours aren't they?" A mixture of emotions swirled within Rung, a sense of awe, nostalgia, and a tinge of sadness. He had thought those wings were lost forever, a relic of his distant past. But now, seeing them once again, merged with another being, it was a profound revelation.

"Those wings were once mine, a part of me from a time long ago." He carefully reached out, his fingers tracing along the edges of the wings, feeling the familiar energy pulsating through them. It was a bittersweet reunion, a reminder of who he once was and the journey he had undertaken since then.

"I never imagined I would see them again," Rung continued, his voice tinged with a wistful tone. "To witness them melded with another, it is a testament to the resilience of them, but I'm sorry it was you they joined with” the remorse in his voice is evident

"I'm not," they whisper, “they brought me here so i have to thank them, i just wasn't expecting this. Wasn't expecting the God of Cybertron playing therapist to a ragtag mixed bunch” they reply, it makes him chuckle as he pulls them further up his chassis. “you have me there my dear”.

___________

Have some funnies

Rung and The human sitting together after.

Human: so… your Cybertron's God?

Rung: *sighing* I was once, but I'm not anymore, I gave that part of myself up long ago.

Human: …. I fucked the God of Cybertron who's also my therapist….

Rung: *looking away embarrassed* please it sound bad enough as is

_________

Human: …..

Swerve: what's wrong squishy, you look like you have been through alot need a drink.

Human: I fucked God

Swerve: *raising his optic ridge* pardon?

Human:*having a panic attack* I fucked Primus Swerve, oh God I fucked an alien species God

Swerve: *looking worried* Was he a good Frag?

________

Human: Rung... I don't have to worry about having a cyberhuman God child do I

Rung: *slightly confused* I don't believe that will be something to worry about, why.

Human: ahh earth religion thing is all.

______

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xximpressions · 1 year

Text

The Duchess (3)

Anthony Bridgerton x Duchess!reader

Series Summary: After coming into a title you did not expect, you have a chance encounter with a handsome rescuer.

Chapter Summary: You try being social

Word Count: 1,996

A/N: Hi lovely people! I hope you enjoy the next chapter! If you do, let me know what your favorite part's been so far down below 😁😘

Bridgerton Masterlist

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Your slow pacing back and forth continued as you considered the formal invitation in your hand.

The elegant cardstock had been sitting relatively untouched since you first opened it a few days ago, but given that the engagement you were invited to was being hosted tonight, you felt it was finally time to make up your mind about going.

While there were no real obstacles that could prevent you from accepting the invitation, the memories of your last social outing were making you weary about seeking out another.

On one hand, these were strangers. People you barely knew and owed nothing toward.

But at the same time, you could not ignore that the Duchess of Hastings’ offer for friendship seemed sincere and was something you would not mind pursuing given how isolated your life had been thus far.

Since you were raised in the country by an elderly aunt that wanted nothing to do with you, your chances for social interactions had been limited for the better part of your existence. Given your sudden marriage barely a month into your societal debut, and the year-long seclusion you had to endure after your husband’s unexpected death, it was not difficult to recognize a part of you longed for some kind of human interaction.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say a huge part of you longed to feel a sense of connection to someone rather than feel like a mere participant in everyone else’s story.

Staring at the card once more, you also recognized that if you wanted that connection, you were at least going to have to make the effort to seek it out.

That said, you ultimately decided to send your acceptance of the invitation. Although, your nerves were alight as you did so.

Those same nerves stayed with you even after you had arrived at Hastings’ House and were formally announced to the other guests already gathered, though you made sure not to show it as you confidently entered the drawing room.

Though you suppose you should have expected it, you were still surprised when a noticeable hush replaced the once light conversation abound within the room.

Given your lack of opportunities to participate in the ton’s gossip, you have never been quite sure how much power a rumor might have over society as a whole. But based on the stares you were pointedly ignoring as you made your way to greet your hosts, it was clear that it was more than you originally thought.

In acknowledging the reaction your arrival had caused, you also had to acknowledge that this was a situation somewhat of your own making.

You came to this conclusion since one of your lady’s maids recently brought to your attention that a certain Lady Whistledown had written yet another sheet featuring your name.

Rather than discuss your mysterious return as a dowager Duchess once more, the author had chosen to write about your recent promenade through the park with a highly sought after Viscount this time.

Reporting on the details as if they suggested some kind of hidden connection between the two of you, Lady Whistledown was not shy in publicly announcing her support of such a match.

While you were glad to have her approval (as opposed to her abhorrence), you were now realizing it still came with the cost of being the center of attention.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” You thought with a touch of humored wryness.

Completely aware of the amount of curious eyes that followed your unhurried steps, you made sure to give a courteous nod in greeting once you were stood in front of the two familiar faces and gracefully said,

“Duke, Duchess, thank you for extending the invitation to dine with you in your wonderful home tonight. I am delighted to be here.”

The couple bowed their heads as well and each gave a kind smile before the Duchess being addressed assuredly replied with,

“It is our pleasure! Taking into account the impression my spirited sister must have made upon our first meeting, we are only too happy you decided to accept.”

You all shared a brief laugh as you recalled how excited the girl had been which was enough to break the formal atmosphere that currently surrounded your group.

Being honest, you said in an amused tone,

“Your sister seems like a charming young lady who certainly made a great first impression. I feel so lucky to have had the privilege of meeting her, though I do hope she is able to hold onto her ribbons a bit more in the future.”

This response encouraged another round of chuckles to be shared before the Lady of the house caught eyes with her butler from across the room.

After receiving a confirmatory nod from the man, she turned to the rest of the gathered attendees and cordially announced,

“Everyone, we are going into the dining room.”

The chatter that had since picked up from the hushed tone it had taken upon your entrance quieted once again as people began to make their way into the elegant room.

Having found your chair located near the head of the table, you were seated relatively quickly while a few others straggled to settle in.

Since you were focused on reading the dinner menu posted on the card in front of your plate, you did not notice when the seat next to you suddenly became occupied.

But you did notice when a voice said with obviously faux astonishment,

“What a coincidence this is!”

Completely caught off guard, you were even more unprepared to be met with a pair of kind, familiar eyes that had a mischievously triumphant twinkle sparkling within them when you snapped your head to the side.

Stunned to see your handsome rescuer sat so close to you, your mind only had the capacity to say with a touch of breathlessness,

“I do not understand your meaning, Lord Bridgerton.”

Taking in the sight of the well-kept Viscount, you watched as that little bit of triumph grew into a pleased smirk on his face as he answered with a certain coyness,

“I merely meant to point out how fortuitous it is that we are seated next to each other for the duration of this meal.”

Starting to catch on, your eyes began to narrow as you said with a raised brow,

“Oh? So this is all a setup then?”

But as if he expected such an inquiry, he was quick to reply with a casual,

“No, this is just a conversation. And given how our last one ended, I simply wanted to ensure that we would not be interrupted.”

As the feeling of being well and truly trapped sunk in, you frantically tried to think of any means of escape, and had to applaud this man’s planning when none came to mind.

Since it would not be socially acceptable to leave when the meal had not even begun yet, and because you were sat directly next to the head of the table at the corner, with a strategically placed candelabrum sitting in between you and the other guests across the way, it became crystal clear that you had little choice but to converse with the only person sitting next to you.

And that just “happened” to be the Viscount.

Though you did not fully appreciate being tricked, you could not deny the pleasantly warm sensation that suddenly went through you as you recognized the amount of effort he put in for you both to meet again.

And while you were the one that chose to part ways, you can secretly admit to yourself that you were glad to be given another chance to interact with your handsome rescuer, even if it was happening on his terms.

With the way your thoughts had been constantly flashing back to the few times you were in the Viscount’s presence as of late, you decided one last conversation might be what you needed to bring you some peace of mind.

So, after clearing your throat, you looked back at the man once you had your composure and openly said out of curiosity,

“I assume the Duchess of Hastings played a part in this?”

Anthony took it as a good sign that you did not appear crossed with him for his deception, and was only too happy to truthfully reply.

“Yes, but Daphne only agreed to help on the condition that I tell you her offer of friendship was a genuine one, and I know she is hoping you will take her up on it.”

Appreciating the honesty and kindness being extended your way, you nodded and said,

“I may very well choose to do so,”

Before shooting a slightly bashful grin in his direction.

The footmen, who were going around the table at this point, chose that moment to serve you both from their trays before moving on to the next guests.

The silence following your first bites continued until you wiped your mouth with your napkin and finally asked after swallowing your food,

“So, what do you want to know, Lord Bridgerton?”

The Viscount in question took his time thinking about his answer before he opened his mouth and calmly said,

“Well first, I would like to know who that man is.”

Knowing exactly who he was referring to, you exhaled a small sigh and allowed your gaze to fall to your dinner plate as you quietly replied,

“He is the younger brother of my late husband.”

At the mention of your husband and his passing, you could see the Viscount about to apologize for your loss—as was the sympathetic thing to do—but before he could get it out, you stopped him with a tight smile and a raised hand. After the fact, you explained with a learned formalness,

“I did not know him, and so I do not feel his loss. Therefore, there is no need for you to apologize.”

Comprehending your story a bit more with that new piece of information, Anthony hid it well, but inside he could not help but to still feel sorry. He was sorry to hear you were apparently married off to a man you did not know. He was sorry to hear you were forced to mourn someone you obviously had no connection to. And he was sorry that this man’s brother was now harassing you on top of it.

Nodding to show his understanding as he mentally tucked away that particular detail, Anthony contemplated you for a few moments before asking in a quiet voice of his own,

“So then, why was your brother-in-law trying to attack you?”

You took a few seconds to think about the best way of answering until you finally just sighed and truthfully said,

“He wants to marry me.”

Not seeing how a marriage proposal could escalate to an assault, Anthony attempted to ask another question but was cut off when you said with a level of reassurance and seriousness,

“There are too many ears here, so I will explain the rest at another time.”

Seeing the warranted doubt clear on his face, you earnestly finished with,

“I promise,”

While gazing directly into his eyes.

When he saw the imploring way you were looking at him to drop this subject, he decided to relent and understandingly said,

“As you wish, your Grace.”

Turning to focus his attention back on his meal, the Viscount could not ignore that his mind was whirling with questions and a new sense of determination.

Catching glimpses of you from the corner of his eyes, he glanced your way for a second or two before thinking,

“No one is going to hurt her again,”

Quickly directing his gaze back to his own plate (lest he be caught staring) Anthony decidedly made a promise of his own when he followed up this thought with,

“And though I do not know how, I do know I am going to make sure of it.”

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#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton x black!reader #bridgerton imagine

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lotties-ashwagandha · 1 year

Note

Hi! Could you write a jealous Lottie x reader one shot where a customer flirts with reader at the farmers market and Lottie tells them to back off?

COLOR OF JEALOUSY

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

word count: 1030

notes and warnings: only this woman would get jealous at a farmers market and i love her so much for it

Ten minutes into the farmer’s market and you were already wanting to go home.

You almost never tended the farmer’s market. It was usually up to Lisa to sell the honey you made at the compound, but she’d come down with a cold, and you had been pressured into the obligation.

Seeing it as a potential date, you’d dragged Lottie with you, which, apart from her continuous compulsive applying and reapplying of bug spray, hadn’t turned out to be too much of a bad idea. She had put up most of the booth decorations, and kept inventory close at hand. You were in charge of handling the cash register, and trying as much as you could to make jars of honey sound appealing to customers.

It didn’t take long for you to tire of those present at the farmer’s market. The crowd was full of pretentious hippie wannabes, who didn’t know a single thing about sustainable living. And they were demeaning. One woman had asked you if you were absolutely sure that your jars of honey didn’t have botulism. You’d almost reached over the counter and strangled her on impulse.

You were tending the cash register, bagging up someone’s items when a woman approached your booth, clad in a burgundy shawl and jeans, her light hair pulled into a braid down her back. In a way, her energy reminded you of Lottie, the way she flowed so casually through the chaos of the market, a constant state of mindfulness hanging in the air about her.

She approached the cash register with two jars of honey. Meeting your gaze, and offered you a smile, and though it seemed genuine it rang with a sort of wryness.

“Is that all?” You asked, a bit irritably, but you were well past caring how others perceived your tone. You’d be lucky if at the end of the transaction you didn’t find yourself trying to drown this woman in the honey she bought.

The woman nodded, letting you ring up her items as she leafed through one of the pamphlets Lottie put out to advertise the wellness center. “You’re one of the purple people, then?” She said, chuckling.

“We are an intentional community,” you corrected almost mechanically.

“I’m not really into that sort of thing,” she sighed, putting the pamphlet down. Again, she met your eyes. “But if they ever let you out of that place, I’d love to take you out sometime. You know, somewhere you don’t have to rip your own vegetables out of the ground for every meal.”

You were a bit taken aback. You shook your head, gathering yourself, planning your response when you felt a hand at the dip of your back, Lottie’s hand. She stood at your side, examining the woman on the other side of the counter, and you could see the shift in her expression from nonchalance to aggravation.

“Will you go make sure there’s still change in the back?” Lottie asked you.

“Of course there’s still change, didn’t you just-”

“Yes, but please, just go make sure. I want to keep up with the afternoon rush.”

Unsure of whether to leave her alone with the woman, you hesitated, but after a moment you relented. You’d had enough of the market for a little while. Grabbing a bottle of water from under the table you retreated to one of the folding chairs a few feet behind the vending counter. You didn’t bother with the change. It was clear enough that Lottie wanted to handle the woman herself, and you were fine with it, if not a bit relieved to have been finally given a break from running the sales.

You watched as Lottie took the woman’s money and bagged her items. Before she handed them to her, however, she took a moment to speak with the woman, and after a few seconds the customer looked to where you sat in the back with an expression close to terror. She scurried away, and you stood, approaching Lottie and leaning against the sales table.

“Whatever you said to that woman scared the shit out of her,” you said, resisting a laugh.

Lottie smirked ever so slightly, glancing in the direction the woman had gone, and you could see she was proud of herself. “She deserved it. She was being a bitch.”

“Oh, so that’s why you scared her away?” You asked doubtfully, sending her a knowing look. “It wasn’t that she asked me out on a date?”

She didn’t respond, only began to rearrange the honey, and you couldn’t resist laughing quietly at the pettiness.

“Lottie,” you pressed, teasing, “are you jealous?”

You were about to tease her further when she stepped towards you, hand snaking around to the back of your neck, and immediately her lips slammed into yours. You could feel the desire in her kiss, the affirmation that you were hers and the fury invoked by anyone who suggested otherwise. You leaned into it, let the brief moment explain with love, with longing, what words couldn’t.

“You’re mine,” she said, and it wasn’t a question, it wasn't a request. It was a demand.

You nodded, breath catching ever so slightly as you met her gaze. “Yours,” you confirmed, and desperately you wished that you were at home with her, away from any possible prying eyes. You pressed a quick kiss to her jaw, and her hands moved down to your waist. “I’m tired of this place,” you admitted quietly, moving your gaze to survey the farmer’s market. “I want to go home.”

She nodded. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was just as sick of all of it as you were. “I’ll call Lisa and have her send someone to cover for us.”

You nodded, relieved, and reluctantly pulled away from her.

You paused, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Hey, Lottie, that woman’s back.”

She bolted to the edge of the vendor’s table, looking around the market. “Where?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m kidding… but I kind of want to know what would happen if she was. I’m starting to think purple is the color of jealousy instead of green, by the way.”

#lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #adult lottie matthews x reader

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roselightfairy · 1 year

Text

I know it’s been a million and a half years since there was any modverse collab content, but in honor of the WIP prompt reminding me that this existed - and our own sweet friends at home - have some modverse kitty content from me and @deheerkonijn to you!

(elf cats live a long time shhh)

...

The furniture in the parlor was . . . stiff.

Not hard, exactly – the sofa where Gimli sat was cushioned enough that no one could have complained, and even if that had been the problem, there were enough throw pillows (lying scattered across the floor where Legolas had tossed them) to remedy them. It was just that it was almost . . . a little too upright to be quite comfortable, as though made for someone with better posture than he had – even if Legolas, lounging horizontally with his legs across Gimli’s lap, seemed to belie that thought. It was like everything in this manor so far: ornately-carved taps and deep-basined sinks; vast archways and tall, narrow windows with fastenings too high to comfortably open. Beautiful architecture: a building made to be looked at, not lived in.

And yet live in it they did – Legolas, who had navigated this place as easily as he did his apartment at home, knowing exactly which staircase to tug Gimli up to dump their luggage unceremoniously on the bed, rummaging unself-consciously through a tall liquor cabinet to help himself (and Gimli, too) to wine that would have come with an absolutely forbidding price tag in Minas Tirith. Thranduil, who had walked in on Legolas doing this in the kitchen and made no comment but a droll, “More excited to see the wine than your own father, then?”

He sat perfectly upright across the room in his own armchair now, nodding along as Legolas spun an epic narrative of their train journey here. Gimli sat quietly and watched him – watched them, father and son, the ways they took up space in this sitting room. Thranduil’s posture made the space into a council table, the armchair into its head; he sat as though holding court – but Legolas was the one who ran it, whose conversation held the room in rapture, both of them rotating into the captivating orbit of his presence. Gimli wasn’t sure how he felt yet about the Prime Minister of Eryn Lasgalen, but this at least he could admire – that he had made this place, stiff and upright as it was, a home for Legolas.

“– and then he was like, ‘Who do you think you’re visiting, the PM?’ and Gimli just said, ‘Yes,’” Legolas was giggling now, nudging Gimli’s thigh with a heel. “Completely straight-faced! I couldn’t stop laughing. Tell him the rest, meleth.”

Gimli laughed, despite himself – and was this a skill that Legolas had inherited from his father, then? He could feel the effort to put him at ease, to spread Legolas’s own comfort into Gimli – and it was working, softening the room around him like the furniture at his back.

He closed a hand fondly around Legolas’s ankle, trying not to track Thranduil’s eyes tracking the motion. “There’s not much more to say,” he said. “Or, at least, he didn’t seem to think so. Shut up for the rest of the train ride. Not a peep.”

“It was great,” Legolas interjected. “You would have loved it, Dad.”

“I’m sure I would.” Was that smile indulgent or tolerant? Either one was more than Gimli had dared to expect. “Well, I am glad you made it here, at any rate.”

“Me too.” Legolas twisted to aim his most endearing hopeful smile right into Gimli’s face. “I’m glad to show Gimli this place finally.”

“I had hoped you would manage it before your wedding,” said Thranduil. “Some other fathers might have hard words to say about that.” This with an arched eyebrow to match the wryness of his voice. “But, ah well, at least you came eventually. Oh – hello, Smudge.”

Gimli blinked, the non sequitur soaring directly over his head. Had he missed something? – but then, even as he opened his mouth to speak, a patter-clacking interjected in the silence and he turned towards the sound to see a slender tortoiseshell cat slinking its way through the gap in the half-ajar door. It moved very slowly, one dainty paw in front of the other, pale eyes narrowed as it took them all in.

“Smudge?” Gimli said.

“Smudge!” Legolas exclaimed with delight at the same time. “My best friend! Oh, Gimli, she’s been around forever. How is she doing, Dad?”

“See for yourself.” The cat – Smudge – made her way slowly across the room, pausing in front of the couch where they sat even as Legolas dropped a hand to the floor. She sniffed delicately at his fingers, nosing up and down his hand before stretching her head forward until his fingers parted around her ears – but just as his hand contracted to scratch her head, she turned deliberately away, letting his fingers drag along the full length of her body before leaving him to hop up onto the arm of Thranduil’s chair.

“Oh,” Legolas laughed. “Is someone mad at me for being away?” His voice turned into a croon at those last words, the tone he used when mock-scolding Athelas and Simbelmyne. “Were you so, so lonely without me?”

“You might have come back to visit earlier for her sake, if not for your father’s.” Thranduil’s long-suffering tone was spoiled by the twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips – and, to Gimli’s amazement, by the way the cat shoved her head into his hand, his fingers curling around the top of her head to scratch vigorously behind her ears. It might have looked regal, a monarch with his cat, except for the loud purring of the cat and the speed of his scratching fingers – not halfhearted at all, whatever he might claim.

“How are the kittens?” Legolas said. “I haven’t seen a picture in weeks – they must be so big!”

“Big enough to cause trouble.” Thranduil waved his unoccupied hand dismissively. “They’re around somewhere – they always turn up just when you don’t want them. Just like her.”

Did his voice – was that a shade of Legolas’s own croon in his voice?

“Smudge,” Gimli repeated, looking at the cat with a new respect. His first day in the home of Lasgalen’s Prime Minister and he had somehow already seen him soften!

“Smudge,” said Legolas, so fondly Gimli could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “She’s been around since I was a little kid; she’s like the mascot of this place. Cats live a long time here,” he added, at Gimli’s questioning look. “Must be the air.”

The air, or maybe the elves themselves – something about them that kept everything around them just a little younger than it should have been, just a little more sturdy. “How old is she then?”

“Late twenties now?” Thranduil mused. “She was only a kitten when she moved in” – moved in, Gimli noted, as if it had been a business negotiation – “but we didn’t know how old exactly.”

“But I was only a few years old,” said Legolas. “So yeah, must be late twenties. She was my best friend when I was little, Gimli. But she’s got a good few years left in her. Don’t you, Smudge? Come here!” He clicked his tongue.

Apparently, the cat’s ire was no more serious than Thranduil’s, for she hopped down from his chair and pattered her way across the floor back to Legolas’s beckoning fingers. When she reached them, though, he swept a hand under her and scooped her tiny body into the air as she squawked in displeasure. But Legolas only laughed, holding her up above his head as her paws flailed in the air.

“Ohh, you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you,” he cooed, and lowered her onto his chest. “Come here, yes, that’s it.” In the same motion she had applied to Thranduil, Smudge drove her head into Legolas’s face, their noses colliding as Legolas giggled again. “Do you forgive me for leaving? Yes, I missed you, too. Oh, yes” – He laughed helplessly as the cat nuzzled his face, his neck, her paws now kneading at his chest. “Come here, I have someone for you to meet.” And without further ado he scooped her up again, sliding his whole body upright in the same motion, to present her to Gimli.

“Be careful,” Thranduil warned. “She doesn’t always take to strangers.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Legolas. “Just give her your hand to sniff.”

Gimli extended it cautiously. He’d never been much of a cat person – had never really understood how they ticked. But if this cat loved Legolas, surely they had at least that in common, right?

Her whiskers tickled his fingers, her nose cold and wet and velvety as it brushed just against his fingertips: once, twice. She withdrew, as if thinking – and then, cautiously, she nuzzled up against him just as she had with Legolas and Thranduil.

Gimli glanced to Legolas, and at his encouraging nod, he dared to scratch her behind the ears, too.

“She likes you,” said Legolas, grinning. “See, I told you she would!” He rested a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, warm and reassuring and meaningful. “Everybody does.”

In that moment, Gimli wasn’t sure Legolas was talking about the cat.

He flicked his eyes across the room to where Thranduil still sat, watching them – still with that tiny, almost soft smile, as though at the sight of his son, all of his dryness couldn’t help but fall away.

At least they had that in common. And Gimli felt, all of a sudden, a rush of fondness for Thranduil – for his father-in-law – for the home he had made for Legolas here, for the love he felt for his son and his cat. For sharing his fancy furniture and his expensive wine with Gimli, for welcoming him here, for the sake of the person they both loved.

And as an irrepressible smile began to bloom on his face in turn, as he relaxed back into his seat, Gimli thought that the sofa might have become just a touch more comfortable than it was.

#modverse #my fic #adventures in cowriting #cats #legolas x gimli #thranduil #smudge the cat #don't reblog this yet there's going to be a picture

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