#and when i say baby i mean like he's maybe four years younger tops than the oldest

[georgiapeach30513]

Scott pilgrim has an incredibly niche and dedicated fanbase and they were stoked for an anime series. Edgar Wright also very clearly thinks of this project as his baby (and Brian O’Malley, especially since he was the creator of it all.) I don’t think they were ever going to let it fail. Especially since they waited so long to do this AND the entire original movie cast basically signed on to do it asap.

The CE turned hater whatevers are hilarious to me at times because 25 losers on tumblr who spend 24/7 stalking his flights and soba noodle prices should have realized that a lot of Scott pilgrim fans also enjoy Lucas lee and a lot of ppl were pleasantly surprised he’d turned up to do this again.

I think Chris has a decent fan base in the comic book crowd (primarily for his Steve portrayal but also the random other things he’s done like Scott P, the losers, fantastic four, etc.) he has a whole fanboy fan base too and those guys are likely the ones tuning in to watch his Netflix movies (lol). One of my guy friends is a huge CE fan - he loves him and Ryan Gosling and the guy literally said one of his all time favs was Chris in the perfect score (LOL). He’s like “I’ve always liked him and his cap trilogy is the best in the MCU and he has a great Ass.” This guy is your standard football watching Vegas hopping guy who will watch stuff like the gray man but probably won’t care to follow up on people magazine lol.

Point blank there actually are a lot of men who admire Chris and his assets (LOL) and they tend to be typical dude crowd. Chris has that ability to appeal to nerds, comic book geeks, women, basic betches, teenage girls, and grown ass men. I think that’s a very special thing.

Say what you want about him but I think more people are upset he’s not doing better movies post MCU than whoever he is dating. Which means - if he starts doing more projects that get people excited you will see more people tuning in for him.

Just my two cents.

Oh 100%!! I love that Edgar Wright was true to Brian’s original creation. The cast, script, director, and animators did amazing! Bringing back the original cast was the cherry on top. They jived really well and it shows.

Those “fans” are seriously just whatever. This is the last ask I’m going to do on the subject. Ignore the trolls. If you give a mouse a cookie! Anyways, Scott Pilgrim has a solid fan base so it was always going to do well.

Ghosted wasn’t great by any stretch of the imagination. I enjoyed it and watched it more than once. But I will say it didn’t crack my top 10 of his projects. He did well. The script sucked. But I also think the role should have went to someone much younger. I don’t know, is Jaeden Martell or Finn Wolfhard too young? Maybe Jacob Elordi or that other kid, Noah Centineo? It wasn’t believable as a “38” year old man personably.

Chris has a wide fan base that expands past women. I promise you. My dad has became a fan 😂 I love when he tells me about one of his movies and says, you would like it and I’m just like, uh huh. Yeah. He did say he wants to watch him be a detective and wants him in a western. So random. That man has watched many of his movies and not by my influence.

Chris has a universal appeal. And I think a lot of his fans want more from him. So many of us will support all of his projects, but don’t dumb us down. Give us good projects to work with. But we can’t deny that there are fans, like myself, who are a fan of him as well. No, I didn’t ever buy into this Prince Charming that Disney sold us, but I also can’t say I haven’t been disappointed in the past year. Am I “mad” at him? Nope. Just want more and better for him.

#Jen.ask

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Hi there! I was going through the skimblegus tag and I found an old ask of yours (hopefully not so old that I look like a weirdo haha) where you talked about their first impressions of each other and I loved it! I was wondering if you had any HCs about Jenny and Jelly meddling to get them together? I love the thought of those two scheming together 😊

As do I! Jenny and Jelly are professional meddlers. I like to think that Jenny does it because she personally finds it fun (and gets *very* smug when her feelings are correct on something/a match she suggests works out - she hand picks cats, you know), but Jelly has the tendency to get way too emotionally invested in how these things go (she also gets so excited that sometimes she’ll just blurt out that so and so likes so and so *right to them* - Jelly’s a bit of a terrible secret keeper for things like that) especially for her family and people close to her. She’s a bit of a fancy free type romantic, you know. 

It’s hard to be annoyed with her enthusiasm, though, because she always means well and is very sincere about wanting other cats to be happy. Asparagus is long suffering with this (though Jelly is well aware that if he ever starts or ends a statement with “Jellylorum” over literally any other nickname, she’s overstepped - that’s the only time he ever sounds like their dad and it’s spooky).

Jenny was the one who started scheming in the beginning, because she was the first to have met Skimbleshanks when he was fresh off the...er...train, having just come from Edinburgh (I like to think that Skimble was a later join to the Tribe, having emigrated with two of his sisters after their grandparents passed on. So not only is he the literal “baby” of the group, he’s also the figurative baby). She just happened to be in the area when they arrived, got to chatting as she does, and *oh what a handsome lad you are* (she gets a good vibe from this one and Jenny is always right), of course invited them somewhere they could stay should they wish, and you know Miss Jenny - he mind is already going a mile a minute. 

She immediately rushes off to tell Jellylorum about her little “discovery”, saying that she feels as though she has finally found the answer to their little problem. 

And of course, after they’ve gotten their greetings and acquaintances all in order, Jelly’s right on board (with a moderate amount of hesitance just because...well she doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. She doesn’t know what kind of tom this “Skimbleshanks” is - but that’s soothed away pretty quick). She’s positively giddy because it actually seems like it might work out this time. They seem to get on well enough. Asparagus wouldn’t keep making the effort to talk to him if he didn’t like him somewhat - Jelly knows this. 

Everything from then on out is a series of gentle nudges and prompts and “Oh, actually Jenny and I can’t make it but you two go on ahead!”s or “Hmm, I thought the girls were joining us?” “So did I”’s (while they spied on them from up in the old milk crates). It’s also a lot of loud sighing and making conversations just a *touch* too loud so that anyone in the vicinity could possibly overhear and maybe be prompted into dropping a hint as to how they feel? What they think perhaps? (Skimble has fallen for this trap more times than he’d like to count - Asparagus is far tighter lipped). Jelly went so far once as to memorize one of the train schedules to figure out when Skimble would be back (because he’d been gone a while and don’t you think Jelly didn’t notice the rather sullen look Asparagus’ face had taken on recently. The schedules are *very confusing* and she really hopes Asparagus appreciates the things she does for him) and coax her brother out to walk with her, and they just *happened* to pass by and oh, look who it is! (And isn’t that the smile of the century that lights up beside her?)

But the boys...are slow. Painfully slow. They just...talk. And walk around. And do...whatever it is toms do together. And it’s like watching a very slow buildup in a silent movie and Jenny’s about to tear her headfur out, while Jelly’s slowly just coming to terms with it, even though she was really hoping on this one. 

But, like, Jenny *knows* they like each other. She’s *positive* they do. And Jelly knows her brother like the back of her paw and she’s *also* very convinced - he’s brought him up several times in conversation completely unprompted! Asparagus never does that unless he’s *thinking* about it. And that’s why it’s frustrating and that’s why they keep gently prodding even though with anyone else they would have moved on already. (Meanwhile the boys are...somewhat oblivious to the exact intent of the two meddlers - though they are *aware* that something’s cooking between them. They’re just a bit...distracted.)

It’s a few years, but Jenny is unbearably smug when it finally happens. There’s no living with her then. 

#and when i say baby i mean like he's maybe four years younger tops than the oldest #and when i say slow - i mean like several years #jellicles ask because jellicles dare #afairytalestray #my headcanons #apologies for this taking so long! life has been busy and go go go #and my thought capacity is very low lmao #also you are never weird for going through tags on my blog - i love it when people dig through my stuff and find things they like!

[h0tchner]

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

#my fics #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #cm fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my content #aaron hotch #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #h0tchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia

[thedigitalnativee]

teach me (dr. strange x oc)

warnings: FILTHY smut... like debauched, unhinged smut probably the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written in my life. younger!oc. some pretty kinky shit (??). really rough sex but with absolutely ZERO aftercare. that’s it i think.

“I’m sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.”

Lucy kept going over that line of her assigned reading over and over. Franny and Zooey was the book. Could anyone even come to New York and attend University without having read Salinger?

That line was one she found herself relating to more than she should have. Of course, she never would admit that openly. It was rather pretentious and arrogant to say such a thing out loud. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t think it to herself. Plus Lucy had had a rather peculiar upbringing.

Her mother was, well for one, not her biological mother. She didn’t know either of her biological parents. She had been left on the steps of the Sanctum when she was a baby. Before she could even recognize who her real mother and father were, with no note or any sign of who left her there. Even if she wanted to find out who and where her parents were, she wouldn’t have known where to begin. So, she had been raised by none only than The Ancient One and Wong.

She was fine though, completely fine... So fine that she had studied and worked herself right to a top-tier education at New York University. Even though she wasn’t living on campus... or declared a major in her junior year... or made any friends... Lucy was fine.

But back to her book...

In high school, she didn’t respect any of her peers. Their interests seemed so minuscule compared to all that she had been exposed to being raised in such an unorthodox environment. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t respect it, their investment in who so and so was dating and what this person said about that person. She just couldn’t.

It was to the point that she only respected two people in her life, AKA The Ancient One, and Wong.

As she continued reading, taking notes for comprehension, she heard the sound of a portal opening. She looked to her left and saw the familiar golden ring forming, figuring it was probably her mom or Wong maybe. But she soon realized she was wrong as she heard painfully familiar large steps coming towards her.

Strange. She thought to herself.

Lucy rolled her eyes, “I’ve told you not to bother me when I’m studying.” She snapped at him.

He stalked towards her frustratedly. She didn’t look away from her book as she felt him getting closer. “And I’ve told you that I get the library from four to eleven.” He said in a low tone.

Lucy closed the green-bound book sharply, finally looking at him with narrowed eyes. He towered above her with his lips in a firm frown and his eyes angry. She always felt the urge to recoil in his presence just from his cold stare. Right then she wanted to back down, pack up her things, and study in her room. But she never backed down to anyone and he was no exception.

“Oh, so you get to have the library for three-quarters of the day and I get barely any time in here?” She crossed her arms. “I’ve got actual shit to study for, you know? Like an actual degree to study for.”

He leaned down slightly, “I don’t give a damn about your silly anthropology degree. I need the library to do real work for real life.” He snapped.

It was this way between them from the moment Doctor Stephen Strange walked through the doors of the Sanctum.

Every day, either Lucy did something to annoy him or he did something to annoy her. They’d end up arguing for hours on end. One argument would turn into another and so on and so on. By the time Wong stepped in, they’d realize that they’d been going at it for way too long.

“Of course you don’t. You have your degree already. That’s just how selfish you are.” She snapped and tried going back to her book.

Strange snatched her book from her and slammed it down on the table next to her. “Move before I move you myself.”

She stood up to him, “Can’t you just go read in your room?”

“Can’t you?” He retorted.

She scoffed, “You didn’t even live here until a few months ago. I’ve lived here my entire life, so I’m pretty sure that I hold rank on library privileges.” She crossed her arms.

Strange examined her. The glint in his eyes took Lucy by surprise. She recoiled slightly, feeling a flutter in her stomach. Then a rush of disgust came over her, remembering just who her stomach had fluttered for.

He was repulsive. A vile excuse of a man who sat around all day feeling sorry for himself. She just didn’t get it. Plus he was rude and cold, always so serious. And he wore casual t-shirts with suede blazers... Who wears casual t-shirts with suede blazers? The Ancient One had better fashion sense.

And yet, she couldn’t deny that he was very attractive.

Fine, she’ll bite.

The man was undeniably, absolutely, overwhelmingly sexy. But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was still repulsive. Just because he looked good— and probably felt good— didn’t mean Lucy could ever like him. It was completely harmless to point out that, because of the combined factors of his bone structure, his piercing eyes, and tall stature, he was technically a handsome man by definition.

“What the hell do you even do with an anthropology degree?” He stepped closer with a taunting smile and Lucy’s jaw clenched. “Do you know how fucking useless a degree in anthropology is? Oh! I forgot you’re in that generation of delusional dreamers. No wonder you think it’s actually possible to make a career out of anthropology.” He chuckled.

She felt her heartbeat with rage at his words. He had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, maybe when he was in school a thousand years ago it would seem silly to major in anthropology. But what the world needed in its current state was anthropologists. He wasn’t going to make her feel bad about doing something that she was passionate about and that was going to better the world.

“Yeah, anthropology is so useless.” She said sarcastically. “It might be useless, but hey, not as useless as a medical degree, am I right?” She snapped back at him cheekily.

Lucy was slammed against the wooden bookcase behind her. Searing pain rang through her head as she winced from the force. Strange’s hand squeezed around her throat harshly, his fingers pressing into the sides. She felt her head fill with pressure as his hand cut the oxygen off from her brain. She twitched between her legs and tried pressing her thighs together. Lucy squeaked as Strange held her to the bookcase, the smell of new and old books erotic somehow.

“You think I’m supposed to feel sorry for you, don’t you? Treat you like a child like Wong and The Ancient One do?” He spit at her.

He was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. It was cold like him and smelled of mint and ice. His piercing eyes glared at her with contempt and his jaw was clenched angrily. A loose strand of his peppered hair fell in front of his face.

Lucy felt a glorious sensation in her stomach as held her there. A mixture between butterflies and a sweet kind of vertigo. A drug-like delirium washed over her in an instant. Too weak to hold her thighs together, her legs had fallen open, her panty-clothed snatch exposed to the air. Strange’s knee had rested on the bookcase just beneath her aching sex. Lucy felt shame overcome her at that moment. There she was, feigning for a man that was strangling and manhandling her. But God, it was so tantalizing— the feeling of his large hand gripping her throat, the electricity forming between her and his knee.

“Well, you’re not a child to me.” He leaned into her. Lucy nearly cried out as his other hand came to her throat, tightening his hold.

He’s going to kill me. She thought. I’m going to die at the hands of a world-class sorcerer.

Lucy wasn’t even frightened by the idea slightly. In fact, it only added to her arousal. The fact that he had that ultimate control over her. He could have easily squeezed the life out of her if he wanted to. Somehow being so out of control turned Lucy on.

She couldn’t hold her moans back anymore. A whimper escaped her lips and she let herself rest on his knee, straddling him like she would a bike. Her cunt was hot against his pant leg as her mouth fell open. She circled her hips slowly, trying to build up friction to satisfy her somewhat. Her mouth watered as she fucked herself with his knee. Halted breaths escaped her lips as her movements grew faster.

Strange looked down between them and saw her lower half moving against him in frenzied, manic fashion. He felt wetness gathering on the fabric of his pants. He looked back up at the young girl, her eyes now rolled back into her head. He loosened his grip on her slightly.

“You’re sickening, you know that?” He started but she only quickened her pace. “Using my knee to get off like a whore. Is that what you are, hm? A groveling little harlot?” He gritted.

His words heightened the pleasure she gave herself. She bore down against him more, feeling her orgasm getting close. But Strange wasn’t going to let her go that easily. If she liked being treated like a whore then he would treat her like one.

“Fucking slut.” He moved his knee away from her cunt. Lucy responded with a disappointed cry as she humped the air in search of relief. Strange pulled Lucy away from the shelf harshly and she whimpered. He crudely pushed her down onto her knees in front of the wooden table she’d been studying at. She screamed out as her knees banged against the cold floor.

“Usually in this instance,” He breathed as he conjured his magic to hold her arms tightly behind her, “I would afford a young lady the pleasure of me eating her cunt.” He started to undo his belt buckle and Lucy shivered. “But you’re not a lady, are you? You’re just a filthy little slut eager for my cock.” He snatched his pants open.

Lucy avoided looking at him directly, ashamed of the burning between her legs at his dirty words. She bit down on her lip as she looked at the bulge in his black boxers. She could tell that he had a reason to be as arrogant as he was.

Strange used one hand to gather her hair into a makeshift ponytail while the other rested on his hip. He looked down at her impatiently, “Go on. Show me how hungry you are for my cock.” He demanded.

Lucy looked up at him nervously, suddenly feeling very insecure. Here was this man who was much older than her and arguably more experienced from the way he handled her. He was more than likely expecting a blow job for the books, something that she wasn’t sure she was capable of.

Strange rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “What? Now you’re scared?” He snapped. He pulled her face closer to his crotch by her hair. “Come on.” He coaxed.

Lucy shifted her weight forward with her eyes still focused on Strange. She saw his chest rising and falling drastically with his breaths as Lucy placed a kiss on the fabric covering his cock. She peppered kisses up to his pelvis, nestling her nose in the hairs on his skin. She took the waistband of his boxers between her teeth, all the while the heat between her legs blazed. Slowly, she lowered herself back down, pulling his boxers down with her. Her teeth grazed the skin of his cock as she slid down the length of him. Strange helped her the rest of the way, eagerly pulling his boxers completely off.

His cock sprang at her, almost slapping against her face. Strange flicked his tongue out to wet his lips as Lucy snaked hers out to tease his tip. Strange tightened his hold on her hair suddenly, “Don’t tease me or you’ll regret it.” He snapped and she nodded submissively.

Lucy wrapped her lips around his tip. She hollowed her cheeks, suctioning his member. Her tongue toyed at his slit, which was leaking pre-cum. Then she pulled back before sinking his full length into her mouth. A satisfied sigh left Strange’s mouth as he threw his head back. Lucy let out a throaty groan as she felt his tip hit the back of her throat, stretching her throat in a way it never had stretched before. He held her there for a long moment, choking on his cock and gasping for air. Then he pulled her back, her mouth making a slurping noise, and let her breathe.

Lucy coughed violently as spit and come dropped down her chin and onto her blouse. She shook and tried to gather air through every orifice she could. Strange used the moment to bend down and rip the front of her blouse open, the buttons hitting the floor as they popped off. Lucy bit her lip and moaned in his ear as he pulled her bra down to expose her breasts. She bucked her hips at him needily as he kept his fingers laced in her soft hair.

“Be patient and stop being greedy or I’ll leave you begging and needy just like this, do you understand?” He asked and Lucy nodded obediently.

He stood back up and fed her his cock again, “Good.” He said as he pushed in past her lips.

Strange sank all the way in again, Lucy shutting her eyes as she struggled to breathe through her nose. This time he pulled back slightly only to thrust back in. He started slowly, gently thrusting his hips back and forth letting himself fill and refill her. Then he grew more aggressive, hungrier, than before. His hips snapped at a violent pace as he began to fuck her mouth. He winced and moaned and cursed as Lucy gargled around him.

Tears formed in her eyes, snot built up in her nose. Her saliva dripped from his cock onto the carpet and from her lips to her thighs. As degraded as she felt, the degradation turned her on. Lucy could feel her cunt dripping in her panties as Strange fucked her willing mouth. The thought that he was using her mouth just to get himself off made her dizzy. That she was being treated as no more than a hole for him to stick his cock in. That he controlled when she could stop. That he controlled when she breathed. She was practically dazed.

Strange pulled her off of him, “No. As much as it satisfies me to see that disobedient mouth of yours put to good use, you don’t get to get off with just my cock in your mouth.” He spoke down to her. “You’re gonna take me in that pretty little cunt of yours.”

Lucy squealed as Strange pulled her up by her armpits. He made her stand up but her legs were too wobbly for her to stand on her own. As Strange knelt in front of her, Lucy rested her hand back on the table. He reached under her skirt and hooked his fingers around her panties. He looked up at her as he slid them down her legs. Lucy pulsated with need.

“Please, Doctor.” She begged in a sweet tone.

Strange halted, letting the cinnamon-colored fabric of her panties gather at her ankles. He looked up at her and Lucy shivered with a twinge of fear. Then he was slamming her against the bookshelf again. “‘Please, Doctor’?” He mocked her. His hand snaked around her throat again. “Open your mouth.” He demanded.

Lucy opened her mouth with no protest at all. She was at his complete mercy. Strange stuck his middle and index finger back deep into her throat, gagging the poor girl relentlessly. When he pulled his fingers back they were drenched in her spit. A line of spit connected her tongue and his fingers. Then he hastily rubbed his fingers into her slick folds.

It felt like Lucy had been shocked with an electric pulse. The pads of his fingers found her pink bud and began rubbing violent circles. He had since released her hands from his magic. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she moved with his fingers. Her head fell back onto the bookcase, Strange’s middle finger teasing her tight entrance.

Lucy let her legs wrap around his waist, hanging off of him like a finger monkey. Strange bent forward and closed his lips around one of her erect nipples. She let out an animalistic grunt. She couldn’t control the lewd bucking of her hips. His tongue poked out and swirled around her areola. Then he sucked the supple flesh of her plump breast into his mouth. His teeth sunk into her skin, piercing her breast slightly. Lucy screamed out and just as she did Strange roughly penetrated her with his middle and ring finger.

“I’m gonna use you like a little sex toy.” He smirked against her blood-pricked breast. Lucy gasped at his crass words that turned her on way more than they should have.

His fingers glided against the soft ridges of her walls. He used his thumb to continue his assault on her swollen clit. Her pussy was pink and raw as every fiber of her body responded to his skillful touch. “Such a pretty pussy. Ripe and pink and it’s all mine.” Her nails scratched his shoulders as she screwed her eyes shut. Strange looked directly at her contorted face, quickening the back and forth movement of his fingers. Lucy felt the tips of his fingers punching against a fleshy spot inside of her cunt. She screamed in pleasure only for Strange to rip his fingers from her core.

Lucy looked at him like he’d gone insane. Strange grabbed her underwear off of the ground and abruptly stuffed them between her sweet lips. “Stay quiet.” He demanded and she let out a muffled whine.

He pulled himself away from her, and used his magic to tie her hands above her head. Her legs were pulled apart as well and she struggled against the restraints that wrapped all the way up her legs.

Lucy looked next to her at Strange, who now stood at the table. Her mouth watered around her panties, sweat droplets formed on her breasts. Strange stood at the table, his lithe yet muscular body on display to her. He read the page that her book was open to on the table. An intent gaze in his eyes as he silently read to himself.

He knew what he was doing to her. He was edging her. Bringing her to the brim but only there. Never letting her fly over the edge like she needed to. He’d left her there tied up and writhing in desperate need of pleasure.

Strange closed her book and gripped it between his fingers. Lucy looked at him expectantly, pushing her body towards him. Strange came in front of her. His tall stature brooding almost. The scent of his cologne filled her nose and sent a wave of euphoria through her. He was so close to her, intoxicatingly close. She could feel the electricity radiating off of him. Her eyes were pleading and he could see how they begged for him just to touch her for one moment.

He waved the hardbound book in front of her face. A teasing smirk on his lips as he did so. “You know I used to be a bit of a bookworm too.” He leaned down to kiss her neck.

Lucy whimpered. “Always somewhere with my nose in a book trying to learn something just like you.” He continued. Lucy threw her head back as he grazed her stomach with the cloth of her book. Her breathing quickened as her mouth drenched her underwear. “This is the greatest lesson you could ever learn.”

Suddenly she felt the soft fabric of the spine pressing against her clit. She cried out again, pulling against her restraints. Lucy’s feet raised off of the ground as intense pleasure flooded her. Her moans were muffled by the panties between her lips. Strange kept his eyes trained on her face as he slowly glided the book’s spine back and forth on her clit.

He was definitely teaching her something important. Never had she ever known pleasure like the kind he was giving to her. She couldn’t think back to a time when anyone had singlehandedly made her feel so good— with something as impromptu as the spine of a book at that.

She was doing it again. Bucking her hips to feel more of the sensation he was giving her. The book slid between her folds. Her pink lips encompassed the spine as his hand and her hips moved together. Although her moans were stifled, the sound of them filled the air. Her cries echoed through the aisles loudly, crudely. Tears streamed down her face from overstimulation but she didn’t want to stop, not even slightly. She wanted him to use her mercilessly, to bring her to the point of her begging him to stop.

His tongue lapped at the bruises he left on her neck. His breath was cold against her skin. When he pulled the book from her heat she chased after it with her hips. Her body shook in deprivation as she felt her orgasm getting further away from her. All at once, she was dropped down, the magic binding her legs and hands disappeared. She squeaked as she was roughly pushed down and her front was slammed against the harsh carpet of the ground.

The side of her face was pressed to the ground. Strange rested his hand on the arch of her back to put her ass on full display to him. Her tear-blurred vision made the books on the shelves hard to see. She heard him lick his fingers and then she felt them rub against her slick folds. She pushed back into his hand, wiggling her lower half lewdly.

Strange took her underwear out of her mouth, “I wanna hear you moan for my cock.” He bent down and kissed her shoulder.

He lined himself up with her slick entrance. Lucy’s cunt puckered around the enlarged head of his prick. He pulled her arms behind her back, holding them there with one hand. His other hand went to her hair to grip at her scalp. Slowly but surely, Strange pressed himself into Lucy. A low sound came from him as every inch of his cock was enveloped in her warmth.

Gasps escaped her as he sunk deeper and deeper into her and Strange grunted. She felt him hit the wall inside of her at her deepest point. She was filled to the brim. No room for anything in her but his girth. Her mouth hung open as Strange rested at that spot inside of her. She felt his cock twitch with excitement just before he pulled back out halfway. Slick noises filled the empty library along with their mixed breaths. His cock was covered in her juices, glistening in the warm lights of the library. Then he snapped his hips forward violently, hitting that spot again but much more harshly. Lucy screamed out and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her pussy clenched around his member as he repeated that same motion at the same harshness.

His pace quickened finally. He would pull out a half-inch only to slam back in quickly. He rocked back and forth with a fervor. She felt him shaking behind her as he took her. He kept a tight grip on her arms and her hair as he fucked her viciously. The sound of his hips slapping against her ass made her deliciously delirious.

Lucy felt her juices running from her cunt onto her thighs. She coated his cock in her wetness, allowing him to easily slide in and out of her. His tip stabbed at that wall deep inside of her. He went in at different angles, seeing which one made her scream the most. It seemed that when he thrusted upward she was the most responsive.

Strange pulled her body against his by her hair. Lucy moaned as he forced her head to rest back on his shoulder. The flesh over her mid-section stretched delightfully, further adding to her state of bliss. Strange’s lips went to her exposed neck again and suckled on her sweet-scented skin. His hand let go of her arms and went to tweak her nipple between his thumb and index finger. Lucy bit down harshly on her lip to quiet her moans.

“You have such a delicious little snatch. Reminds me of how good college sluts are.” He said into her ear.

He grabbed her breast. The pain was so good that she didn’t even care that there was searing, white hot pain in her breast. He squeezed her mound one more time and then slapped the sensitive skin. Lucy thrusted backwards against him. Her movements met his in the middle as he started to go faster. He was practically grinding into her cunt, barely moving in and out of her but driving deeper into her cavity. Almost as if he were trying to push past the barrier inside of her. He brought his hand down to her cunt, stimulating her clit as he fucked her.

He let go of her again. Caught off guard, Lucy fell face first onto the carpet. His cock was pulled from her and she was being lifted yet again. Lucy whined weakly, exhausted and used up as she was. Strange spun her around quickly and brought them face to face. Lucy looked up at him with anticipation clouded with tears. Strange had nothing in his eyes. As hard as Lucy tried to read him, she couldn’t gauge what was on his mind. Even at his most vulnerable, cock practically screaming to release, he still held his firm stare.

Strange abruptly lifted her up into the air, hooking his hands under her knees. Her legs straddled his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck. Her sex was lined up with his cock again and she longed to just sink down and impale herself on him. But she could see that Strange would not like it if she did.

A warmth radiated beneath them. It tickled up Lucy’s legs and then soared through her body. Lucy felt herself being lifted into the air as Strange’s arms wrapped her waist. Lucy panicked suddenly, looking down as a scared noise came from her. The floor got further and further away and the ceiling got closer. The bookcases lining the library getting smaller and smaller. Strange sensed her unease and lifted her chin back up so her eyes met his again. “Look at me.” He said.

Lucy nodded and pressed her body against his more. Their noses brushed against each other. Lucy ached to kiss his lips more than anything. Her breasts grazed against his chest obscenely. They were now completely in the air, floating above the entire library. Lucy stayed focused on Strange as he crossed his legs underneath her. Innocently, Lucy placed a chaste kiss on Strange’s cheek. She was too afraid of how he would react to a kiss on the lips. Strange breathed into her ear, hands running up and down her back. His lips attached to the lobe of her ear. He bit down gently and Lucy winced delightfully.

As Lucy peppered kisses to his cheek and he bit down on her ear, Strange reached between them for his cock. Lucy moaned, feeling his tip run along her soar cunt. Strange moaned as his cock was lubricated with Lucy’s sap. She felt his heart beating faster against hers. A long moan escaped her lips as she felt the tip of his cock slide in.

She stretched around the width of his head. He teased her, not daring to push any deeper. As his tip sat there inside of her, Lucy was so aroused that she felt actual pain. She cried out as agonizing need and desire overcame her. Her pussy burned around him and her nails dug into his skin. The wall inside of her beat like a drum as it craved to feel his cock slamming against it.

“Such a dirty fucking slut.” He growled. Lucy wailed again and shook. “You want more, hm?” He teased her and Lucy nodded exhaustedly. “Use your filthy mouth and say it.” He demanded.

“Yes, Doctor. I need you in me, please.” She begged.

Strange shook his head with a tsk, “Try harder.”

Tears slipped out of her eyes and she threw her head back. She could hardly take any more. “Please fuck me, Doctor. I need to feel your come inside of me. I want to feel my cunt stretching around you, Doctor.” She breathed out, barely able to speak. “P-Please, Doctor, make me your slut.”

With her words, Strange pulled her off of him. Her cunt made a popping noise as his head left her wetness. He pulled her against his chest, hand still on his cock. He had to make her suffer once more before he gave her what she needed. Lucy’s hands clawed at his shoulders. He lined them up again and Lucy whimpered. His hands pushed her hips down and her cunt squelched as she sank onto his cock.

“Doctor!” Lucy cried.

His hand came to her back again and rubbed the flesh over her spine gently. Lucy bottomed out on his prick and his tip hit that spot inside of her. She shivered and buried her face in his neck. But Strange pulled her back so he could see her face. “I want to see you fall apart.” He grunted.

Lucy had to work her way up to a quicker pace. She felt her nerves spike as she was now in control of both of their pleasure. She tried moving up and down as fast as she could but her body felt so tingly that she could barely move at all. She was unstable as she bounced up and down on his thick cock. The only thing keeping her upright was Strange’s firm grip on her hips.

Strange’s jaw clenched as Lucy’s breasts danced in his face. Her hands gripped his shoulders and started snaking their way up to his neck. Her fingers brushed against his veins, driving him insane.

At that moment, he allowed himself to look at the young girl on top of him.

His eyes scanned over her face. Her sweet lips open in an eternal gasp. Her dark brows were knit together tightly, her button nose scrunched. A deep blush spread across her cheeks and neck, accentuating the love bites he had left. Her breasts bounced with her, just taunting him to take them into his mouth. Her walls clenched and unclenched around him, sending waves through his cock. She looked like a dream as she came undone on his manhood. Absolutely sinful, completely filled with his cock, fucking herself to climax.

Lucy felt shame overcome her suddenly as she thought of the reality of the situation. She was suspended in the air, completely in the nude, fucking a world-class sorcerer who happened to be a colleague of her mother’s.

Mother. She thought.

Her mother could have portaled in at any moment. She could walk in and see Lucy screwing a man who was not only much older than her but an authority figure in her life. Wong could have wandered in and seen his friend fucking Lucy, who he had raised as his own daughter as well. What would they have thought if they saw her like that? Defiled and feral as Strange fucked her into oblivion. The thought made her feel sick, yet it did nothing to stop her.

Suddenly, Strange pulled her flush against him. With his cock still inside of her, he floated them back down and gently rested them on the wooden tabletop. He laid back and Lucy placed her hands on his chest. He was deeper now, threatening to rip her open. She could feel him growing in size inside of her. Her nails left scratches on his chest as she began grinding her hips into him. The very tip of his cock glided against the spongy barrier of her cunt at a rapid pace.

He threw his head back as Lucy began going faster on him. Her breaths were curt and short, uneven and ragged. Wisps of hair lining her forehead stuck to the glistening sweat that had gathered at her hairline. Mascara ran down her cheeks from the tears that had streamed down her face. Strange brought his hands up to grip both of her tits, holding them in place.

Lucy’s stomach hollowed as she struggled to keep breathing. Strange looked down at where they were connected. He watched as his cock disappeared and reappeared in and out of her cunt. The sight was hypnotic, putting him in a trance. Just beneath her belly button, he saw a slight bulge protruding from her stomach. His eyes locked on that spot watching closely as her stomach poked out with each bounce. When he realized what he was looking at, his head swooned.

“Fuck,” Strange moaned as he watched her stomach. His hand glided down her body and to her abdomen. His palm rested there, feeling his cock moving in and out of her. His thumb swiped over her clit messily to further drive her toward climax. “You feel that? You feel how deep I am?” He asked her and she nodded feverishly.

She felt the fire in her cunt beginning to blaze through her body. Her movements became untamed as she got closer to her orgasm. Strange pressed his feet into the table beneath them and began to thrust up into her. His cock twitched in her, swelling as he picked up his pace. She felt herself stretching even more to accommodate his growing size as if she weren’t stretched enough already. There was a creeping sensation at her clit, a mixture between a tickle and a sting that felt incredibly intoxicating.

Strange wasn’t going to last much longer. With the combination of her cunt squeezing him and the sight of Lucy losing herself on him, his orgasm was so close that he could practically taste it. His cock stabbed up into her violently as he chased that bliss he ached for. He’d never noticed how beautiful Lucy truly was until then. Of course, he’d looked at her— really looked at her. He’d noted that she was attractive. But as she bounced on top of him, mouth gasping vulgarities as she came, he saw that she was truly beautiful.

He pulled Lucy’s body down on top of his. He tangled his hand in her hair, the other arm wrapping around her back to hold her against him. His hips thrusted into hers at a new, unfettered pace. Lucy gasped and screamed as she felt her cunt deluge with secretions. And suddenly like a strong electric pulse, she shook against him with a long, dragged-out moan. Her body melted into his and he held her close.

Lucy had no breath nor strength left. She was completely spent, now just a willing hole for Strange to use till his heart’s content. She lied there exhausted on top of him, arms lazily draped over his shoulders. Her form easily moved with his as he thrusted deeper and harder. She heard him let out a grunt painfully. The sound of his breath echoing in her ear almost overtook the sound of his hips slapping against her bum. She scrunched her face as she felt another orgasm approaching quicker than the last one. She whined out as she came again within seconds of her first orgasm. Her pussy throbbed in pain and pleasure as she keened in his ear, coming down from her high.

Strange was relentless. His cock touched every spot inside of her that she never knew existed. He got every ridge, every soft spot, every crevice. His tip hit the barrier in her like a fist to a punching bag. Before Lucy had time to gather herself, she felt her cunt salivate around him again. She squealed, using the last of her strength to grip his shoulders. She wasn’t sure she could take another orgasm.

Strange’s hips sped up unnaturally, pumping himself into her like that until his cock shook and Lucy felt her walls being painted. He let out a loud moan, his hips halting with his cock pressed into Lucy’s brink. His come shot inside of her sore cunt. Lucy heard the bookcases teeter as books flew from the shelves all around them. A leg on the table buckled under their weight, causing the table to sit lopsidedly. But neither Lucy nor Strange paid any of the chaos around them any mind. Each spurt of his seed coated her raw flesh deliciously. Lucy felt herself swoon as she felt how full her pussy was. His come overflowed in her, leaking out and mixing with her sap. The power of his orgasm had shaken the room. Lucy feared that her mother or Wong might have caught them with how loudly the books had hit the floor.

She laid on top of him for a while, his arms holding her there. His cock stayed hard for a substantial amount of time inside of her. Every few minutes she felt a twitch and then a cool sensation hit her barrier. His cock released like that until he went flaccid in her core. His heart rate slowed and his hold loosened. She could feel him calming down slowly but surely. The pulsing in her core stopped but she still felt sore and likely would feel that way for a few days. Strange pulled out of her, his prick falling onto his lower stomach flatly. Lucy lifted herself off of him and looked down at his soft shaft. Even with his cock not erect, he hadn’t lost an inch.

Strange sat up and reached for her arm, “Let me see my work.” He pulled her back.

Lucy could barely stand on her own two legs. She slunk back to sit on the table with his help. Her cunt was tender and incredibly sensitive, every step sending a shock through her. Strange slapped both of her knees, silently commanding her to spread her legs. Lucy whined weakly as she let her knees fall apart to reveal her pink sex.

Strange’s eyes were glued to her pussy, unable to look away even if he wanted to. She was swollen and raw. He could see her clit twitching, screaming to be relieved. Her entrance puckered as she breathed deeply. Her core and the entire surrounding area coated with sweat and arousal. He knew that his seed was buried deep in her being soaked up by her soft walls.

Lucy kept her eyes on his face as he studied her dripping core. She bit down on her lip, determined to not make any more noises. Strange slapped her pussy suddenly, a sting reverberating through her. She screamed out and threw her head back, but Strange gripped her hair and pulled her head forward so she had no choice but to watch him repeatedly slap her sensitive cunt. She grunted as his fingers harshly slapped against her clit. His hand became wet with her arousal.

Suddenly he pushed three of his fingers into her and Lucy watched helplessly. His long fingers curved in her, hitting the roof of her insides. Lucy’s eyes rolled back into her head as he wedged a fourth finger into her. She made a squelching noise as his fingers pumped in and out painfully slowly. He pressed his fingers hard up against her ceiling, opening her up so much that she felt cold air inside of her.

She could feel a stream coming out of her. The pressure of his fingers was pushing his come out of her. They both watched as cream flowed out of her gaping hole. Lucy’s mouth hung open in ecstasy at the erotic sight. She leaked out onto the table that had been completely destroyed by their excursion. A cocky smirk spread across his lips as he let go of her hair. Lucy’s arms shook as she tried to support herself on her own. As Strange’s one hand held her roof open, he sunk the index and middle finger of his other hand into the space beneath his knuckles. His fingers pushed in deep and then slid out against the floor of her cunt, gathering his come.

He brought his fingers to tap her lips, “Open.” He demanded. Lucy’s lips parted and as soon as they did, Strange lodged his fingers inside. She wrapped her lips around them and began bobbing her head on them as if she were sucking his cock. Strange pushed his fingers deeper and deeper until he saw Lucy’s face turn red and her neck buck with a gag. Then he pulled them out, leaving her a coughing mess. Mucus streamed out of her nose and tears formed in her eyes again. Strange wiped his hand across her breasts, the saliva and come making her chest feel sticky. She let out a throaty whine as he jerked his fingers out of her core and pulled himself away from her completely.

Lucy couldn’t even open her eyes anymore. She felt like she’d been thrown into the middle of a tornado, chewed up, and spit out. She was outside of herself. She wasn’t even sure if she could make it back to her bedroom. She just sat on the broken table, shaking and disoriented. And yet, Strange was already up and getting dressed.

As he pulled on his pants and buckled his belt, he barely even looked in her direction. It was a stark contrast to the undivided attention he’d given her just moments before. He didn’t seem to be impacted at all by what they had just done. Like it had never happened to begin with. Meanwhile, Lucy struggled to remember how to speak.

Once he was back in his slacks and his sweater, he finally spared her a glance. He seemed to wince at the sight of her. She wondered if he did so because she looked so disheveled or because he was suddenly disgusted by her after getting what he wanted. He let out a bothered sigh and looked away from her. “You should be able to find some kind of contraceptive spell in one of these books.” He said coldly. “If not, there’s always the drug store down the street.” He added.

She looked at him and scoffed, “Seriously?” She snapped.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes and then chuckled, “Don’t tell me you expected anything more of me. We fucked. That’s it.” He snapped.

She felt her heart sink, but some part of her knew it all along— part of her even wanted it (or thought she did). But still, just for a moment, she thought about what it might be like to actually have something with him. It was foolish, she was aware. Strange and her couldn’t stand each other. Their session had felt like a disparaging hate-fuck, something far from caring and tender.

And as he stalked out of the library, letting the old doors close behind him, leaving the displaced books and Lucy, she knew that they would never be anything.

—

okay so, that was a ride... literally.

honestly, i’m probably gonna do a part two because i am not okay with strange just leaving lucy like that. so yeah, we’ve gotta rectify that situation (not me saying this as if i’m not the fucking author please-). but i know strange seems like an asshole but i’m gonna explain further in the next part as to why he acted that way towards her.

anyways rip lucy’s cooch and my dignity.

okay i’m outtie <3!

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #the avengers #mcu imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #dr strange #doctor strange #doctor strange imagine #smut #smutty #smut imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes #loki laufeyson #tony stark #stephen strange #peter parker #multiverse of madness #wanda maximoff #captain america #iron man #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange smut #stephen strange x reader #marvel smut #mcu smut #stephen strange smut #avengers smut

[tennessoui]

48 for the kisses prompt 🤩🤩

48. One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

(actually short this time)

"Tiny master," Anakin marvels, looking down at Obi-Wan. "Tiny, tiny master."

The boy glares up at him with his hands turned into fists at his side. "Anakin, stop--laughing this instant! What if it's permanent?"

"Miniscule. Just absolutely microscopic," Anakin continues as though no one else has spoken. "Look at you. When did you have your last growth spurt, Master? You can't be younger than eighteen."

Obi-Wan splutters and his cheekbones turn red. Apparently, when his master was a teenager, he hadn't yet managed to solidify that famous iron control over his emotions. And whatever holocron had transformed his forty-two year old master back into a boy while leaving his memories intact hadn't left him with the same grip on his bodily reactions.

"Anakin!"

"I can't even hear you from down there, Master," Anakin teases, stepping forward to compare their heights. The top of Obi-Wan's head barely comes up to his shoulder. He gasps as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, I've never looked up any holos of you and Qui-Gon walking together--oh, he was taller than I am now, they must have thought you were a baby--ow, kriff, Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan sneers at him unapologetically as he steps off of his foot. "You should call the Temple before I put you on your knees."

And it's so obvious that he means through incredible violence, but Anakin's never met a threat from Obi-Wan he hasn't wanted to explore, so he closes the distance between them and touches underneath Obi-Wan's chin lightly.

"I don't know, Master, I think we've both enjoyed me on my knees for you before."

Obi-Wan gapes. "Are you--are you serious, Anakin? Do you truly think this is the time? We need to get back to the Temple, to have Che look over me and reverse the effects of the holocron--"

"The holocron that you shouldn't have touched," Anakin points out, reluctantly putting space between them again. "I can't think of any reason why you're being short with me, except that like this you can't really help it."

His deaged master lunges at him.

Really, Anakin thinks to himself as he settles himself into the pilot's chair next to Obi-Wan's sulking form, it's not as if Anakin can help it. For one, of course he's going to be attracted to every version of his master. He's Obi-Wan. That's all that matters to Anakin. He thought they'd covered that when Obi-Wan had panicked about turning forty when his lover was only twenty-four.

Sure, they hadn't exactly covered any sort of age regression possibility, but Anakin thinks the same principles should obviously apply.

And alright, maybe the comments about his master's...smaller stature had been a little too much, but Obi-Wan is just so...so tiny now. So huggable. He'd fit so well in Anakin's arms.

Not to say that his master in his usual body doesn't fit well against him--and in him--and around him--but is it a crime to want to see how this young version of his master fits as well?

"Have you figured out how old you are?" he asks cautiously, quietly. He doesn't particularly care to be kicked in the crotch again.

Obi-Wan sighs. "Nineteen. I, uh. There's a scar. That I got day before my birthday, and it's there, so. And then I was twenty, when I uh."

He crosses his arm and pouts. Or perhaps he's trying to frown the way Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, would frown, but on his nineteen year old face it just looks like a pout.

"When I got my last growth spurt," he mutters, eyebrows furrowed into a glare as he dares Anakin to say anything about it.

"Master Che will be able to fix you, baby," Anakin says, leaning over their armrests to put his hand on top of Obi-Wan's hand. "If she can fix you after the gundark nest--"

"Oh, for the sake of the Force, Anakin, when will you let the gundark nest--"

"Short fuse today, I see," Anakin can't help but say. Obi-Wan lets out an outraged noise and springs to his feet.

Obi-Wan leaving is, of course, never what Anakin wants, so he's very quick to follow him, reaching out and catching him around the waist to reel him back into his arms.

"Master," he murmurs, eyes crinkling at the strangeness of using that name to address a baby. "Baby," he corrects himself, and grins when Obi-Wan's eyes darken and his Force signature goes sticky with pleasure. All the pet names Obi-Wan dolls out to Anakin, and all it takes is just one to make his master lose his train of thought.

"She'll fix you, I promise," he says as he leans his head down. It's...quite a journey. Their height difference so exaggerated should not be doing these sorts of things to Anakin's body, but it is. Oh, it is.

Thankfully at least this time Obi-Wan doesn't pull back or try to knee him in the groin. Instead he narrows his eyes but wraps his arms around Anakin's neck and leans up on his toes to meet him in the middle with a kiss that maybe should have been sweet but never had the chance.

When they separate for quick breaths against each other's faces, Anakin's got one hand down the waistband of Obi-Wan's pants and the other caging him in against the wall of their ship.

"I'm just saying," he pants as Obi-Wan looks up at him through his eyelashes and fiddles with the front of his robes. "We could...have some fun. It's not exactly a short trip back to the Temple."

#asks #kiss prompts #obikin #honestly i know i should have just bitten the bullet and like actually done a different pairing #that actually had a more suitable height difference #but this is the instead bit #it was gonna be vaderwan with stockholm syndrome but i was like #literally cannot fit all of that into like 1k #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi

[expectingtofly]

finally free, they drive

2k

day 1 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: diners/roadtrip

Twenty-four years ago in Mankato, Minnesota, Dean killed a wendigo with a bottle of Jack and a lighter. He told Cas this, how the flames lit the inside of the cave and his dad had to drag him out because he suddenly couldn’t move, how he stayed silent for a week even though his dad begged him to speak.

Seventeen years ago, in Monte Vista, Colorado, Dean burned the bones of a malevolent spirit that sliced a gash through his chest before he could swing an iron crowbar through her foggy figure. As he and Cas passed by the cemetery where he and his dad had dug up her remains, he could almost picture himself standing between the tombstones, his dad tossing him the lighter. Do the honors.

In Evanston, Wyoming, he and Cas stopped to eat at a diner that looked vaguely familiar. As they sat down at a booth in the back, waitress handing them their menus, it hit him.

“Pretty sure Sam and I went through here before.” He couldn’t remember what they'd been hunting. “Years ago. After dad. You know. Passed.”

And Cas was silent a moment before replying, "I wish I’d known you then."

Then he declared he wanted the French onion soup from the specials of the day, like he hadn’t just spoken Dean's thoughts aloud in his uncanny way of knowing exactly what Dean wished for before Dean knew it himself.

Sometimes, while passing semi-trailer trucks on the freeway, when the setting sun glinted off the metal partition between west and east-headed traffic, he wondered what life would’ve been like if he knew Cas when he was twenty-six. When he was so lonely, his chest felt like a vise at night, and he slipped out of mildewed motel rooms to gasp in chilly night air. When he sought out crowded bars because accidental nudges and jostles were substitutes for caresses.

What might’ve changed if he'd known Cas when he was twenty-two, when Sam left for college and Dad left with a cutting, Don't look for me. If, confronted with an angel then, he would’ve been able to believe in good things, if he would've kissed him to not feel so alone.

The radio played Dolly Parton at a diner in Des Moines, a young couple sat at the counter, Cas stacked small containers of strawberry jelly and orange marmalade into a tower, and Dean imagined sitting across from him when he was nineteen. But then Cas looked up at him triumphantly over perfectly balanced preserves, and the what-if's dissolved in a growing warmth in his chest. Cas had been right after all. Good things did happen.

They drove without a destination now that they didn’t need one, changing course frequently, turning off exits to follow signs for roadside attractions, homestyle meals, and scenic overlooks.

Prairie and forest, coast and desert. He'd traveled these roads before, but he was paying attention now. Everything looked different with Cas sitting by his side, when every glance to his right revealed Cas already looking at him.

Re-heated diner leftovers and slices of pie for breakfast, crumbs on the bed, brown bags in the backseat, lunch breaks at rest stops, sitting on the hood to unwrap grease-stained burger wrappers, kept warm from the sun coming through the car’s windows.

Baby had been his home for years. He'd learned her nooks, her curves, how best to settle on the benchseat and tuck his jacket against the door to wake without a crick in his neck.

Moving into the bunker, he'd claimed a room, made a space for every item he owned: a hook for every weapon, a box for every photo, a hanger for every jacket. The concrete walls and sterile bathrooms meant order, control.

He used to be afraid that if he let one item fall out of place, he'd lose his grip on the delicate thread which held him together.

Crackling radio in Omaha, searching for a station. Cassette-tapes pulled out of a box that he hadn’t rifled through since a time when angels were still a myth, god didn’t exist, and death was always close, but not someone they knew by name. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica. Then, out of Cas' pocket, his own “Top 13 Zepp Traxxs,” which he was surprised to learn Cas still kept, the words on the label faded.

“It was a gift,” Cas said, tucking the cassette into the deck and turning up the volume.

Busy diners where their food took ages to come to their table and Dean doodled on napkins to pass the time. Stuffed them into his pocket and forgot until he pulled them out while looking for change to pay for gas. A tiny Impala, a sun with dashes for rays, sigils, tiny flowers which Cas had added to the corners.

An argument on I-70 and sixty-two miles of tense silence. "If you don't speak to me, I can't understand," Cas said, voice quiet under the whir of tires on the road.

Dean changed lanes, watched a tarp flap over the bed of a pick-up truck. "I don't know how," he admitted.

Cas let out a breath that sounded like relief. "We'll learn."

He learned Cas liked brightly colored shirts labeled with the names of locations they visited, oversized because tight sleeves made him itch. He learned that the strangely named items on diner menus had backstories that owners behind counters were all too eager to share when Cas prompted them. He learned Cas hovered in doorways as if he was waiting to be invited inside, learned Cas knew every upbeat song playing over the radio in gas stations, had nightmares too, could stay silent for seventy miles then speak a thought aloud that left Dean stunned for seventy more.

He taught Cas how to pass the time on roads that stretched to the horizon. Name a movie for every letter of the alphabet. Name three items you'd take to a deserted island. Name everyone we've lost along the way—he didn't mean to begin talking about them, but they seemed closer than ever before on the open road, under a vast, cloudless sky. The wind whisked their names from their mouths, and Dean liked the idea of them still existing, here, around them.

A map open on his lap, Cas circled every town they stopped at, traced their route with a red pen. Folded and unfolded the page until the creases made the snaking lines nearly illegible. "I want to remember," he told Dean, and Dean traced the creases to feel their route under his finger. The steering wheel was warm under his palms, the diner floors sticky under his boots, the motel sheets stiff when he pulled them back from the headboard, and he told Cas, "Pinch me," in the dark of an eighty-dollar-a-night room. Cas touched his face and kissed him instead.

The rocky coast off of Oregon delighted Cas. He rolled up his pant legs, clutched Dean's hand as they walked unsteadily over the slippery rocks to step into the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped his hair over his face and he pushed back the strands, grinning back at Dean. Sometimes at night, when Cas slept curled into him, Dean looked at the photo he'd taken of him and wished he had a place of their own to frame it.

Long phone calls to family and friends who told them to take their time, do not disturb signs hung on motel doorknobs, winding backroads and detours. He grew out his hair and told Cas he needed a cut. Cas twisted his fingers through the strands, and mused, "I like it." Dean kept it and noticed the strands curled at the ends.

A sign on the highway in Ohio read, "Hell is Real." He still had nightmares. As cornfields passed, Cas recounted seeing his soul for the first time, and sometimes Dean imagined he remembered the safety of Cas' wings as he pulled him out of the depths of Hades.

Cas got sick in Idaho, complained, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, "I told you that diner was not sanitary." Dean rubbed his back and told him he'd write a scathing review. In West Virginia, over a pile of spilled salt and stale fries that were probably nuked behind the counter, Cas told him he loved him. It wasn't for the first time, but his breath still caught in his throat.

They ate fried okra in Oklahoma City, beignets in New Orleans, and Dean requested Earth Angel on a jukebox in a vinyl and chrome diner in Wisconsin. Slid into the booth to press against Cas' side and watch him fill out postcards. Did you know dinosaurs once roamed where the Rockies now stand? Don't know when we'll be back. We bought new cassettes to add to the collection and I convinced Dean to let me choose the music. Still so much we haven't seen.

The magic fingers bed at the King's Court Motel cost four quarters for fifteen minutes—three more than when he was younger, he griped to Cas. The vibrating massage didn't seem quite as relaxing as he remembered, but maybe he was just used to more magical fingers—this he accompanied with an exaggerated wink which made Cas roll his eyes.

The Impala broke down on Route 66, and the asphalt radiated heat as he ducked under the hood. Cas hovered at his side and he realized he didn't have the tools to fix her.

They ate lunch at a mom-and-pop’s restaurant as they waited for the mechanic to finish, and Cas gave him the pickle from his sandwich. "I'm sorry I never asked you to stay," Dean told him and wished he'd said it earlier. "I never wanted you to leave."

Cas gave him a sad smile. "It's in the past." He tapped his foot against Dean's under the table, and Dean hooked his ankle with his foot.

Cas parted the curtains in every motel they slept in, tilted his face to the sun beaming through the windshield, urged Dean to stop for a cardboard sign reading Fresh Strawberries $2. Reruns of The Three Stooges made Dean laugh until he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, had to catch his breath. This happiness didn't seem so fragile, this time. When they turned on the TV tomorrow night three hundred miles away, The Three Stooges would play into the morning, and when he told Cas he loved him, Cas would say it back.

Crossing over rippling water or curving through wooded land, he and Cas spoke a cabin in the woods, a house on the coast, a home. Dean's head filled with the future instead of the past. Every mile that passed under their tires brought them closer to this dream—or so he thought, until he stopped at a red light, and Cas took his hand, and he realized home sat beside him now.

In a diner in Arkansas, Cas read from a menu, plastic corners curling, and commented, "No matter where we go, every place serves an iceberg wedge salad."

Dean replied, "I think I'm ready to stop driving."

He didn't know where they'd park the Impala for good, but he pictured somewhere with windows, patches of sunlight on the floor. The details didn't matter so much, though, not so long as he had Cas.

"For you to me are the only one," he sang over Robert Plant, glancing at Cas as he turned up the radio, wind whistling through the open windows, road humming under their feet. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness, I'm glad.

#j&kcreatorfest #rambleoncas #shelikestv #user-brooke #userdori #userstarry #tearsofgrace #destiel fic #just some fluff #bc i love the idea of dean and cas taking a long roadtrip after s15 #to bond and work thru stuff #<3 #established dean/cas #expectingtofly writes

[narutogwriting]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

CW: none

Length: 4k+

Inspired by this picture

Requests are Open!

“Naruto?”

Your voice broke out softly through the momentary silence. The wind had been howling almost constantly that night, keeping you wide awake. You weren’t afraid of anything, not really. At twelve years old, you, like many of your friends, had the notion that you were invincible. Nothing could touch you, and you would always come out on top. You would miss that as you grew older, the confidence in yourself and your abilities. The belief that the world was fair, and that the good guys always won.

So it wasn’t really that you were scared of the way the wind screamed, the whistles through the tree leaves or the sporadic loud crashes that came as the wind blew branches and even tree trunks to the ground. Maybe it was the fact that you had experienced the first death of an enemy on a mission.

And maybe it was deserved. He had been a criminal, after all, and you hadn’t delivered the fateful blow; of course not. It had been Kakashi, in a bid to save your life.

So maybe you were scared, or traumatized, or reeling from your innocence being shattered for the very first time. Whatever you felt, you were still too young, too inexperienced, to be able to pinpoint what exactly the distressed tugging of your heart meant.

It was what had dragged you from your own tent to Naruto’s, quietly and nervously. Kakashi was in his own tent, and you had been sharing with Sakura who was fast asleep. Having her by your side did nothing to calm the storm beginning to brew from inside you.

You had opened his tent timidly, doing your best not to startle him awake. He was fast asleep, on his side in fetal position hugging his pillow to him tightly. But when you spoke his name, your voice stirred him even from his deep slumber.

Naruto whispered your name, groggily, confused, but he’d know your voice anywhere.

Yawning, he sat up rubbing at his eyes, peering at you curiously. “What happened?” He asked.

“Can I sleep in here with you?”

If you were brave, then there were no words adequate enough to describe the courage that burned within Naruto’s heart. He was sure of himself, of what he believed. He would do anything to protect the ones he loved. He would do anything for you. You couldn’t think of a safer place than by his side.

“Yeah, of course.”

Relief flooded through you as you dragged your sleeping bag into the tent, fitting it next to his with some distance of course. You were best friends, but you were also twelve. There was something embarrassing about sleeping so close to someone of the opposite gender. But you couldn’t remember a time where you had ever slept more soundly.

And thus a new tradition had been born. For the whole year and a half afterwards, anytime you and Naruto were on a mission together, you shared a tent. Sure some of your friends teased you for it, and whatever jonin leading your team would shoot the two of you knowing looks as if they had some secret knowledge that you and Naruto hadn’t yet discovered.

But for you and Naruto, it was normal, as natural as anything. The two of you already spent all your time by each other’s side—it only made sense that that would include sharing a tent when on missions together.

It was only ever a tent though. It wasn’t like the two of you cuddled or anything. That was just embarrassing! Though you two were now out of the stage of believing in cooties, you were beginning to understand that there were some secret, unspoken rules for the way you were expected to act with the other gender. Ridiculous, arbitrary rules that were as old as time and didn’t account for the complexity that was the gender spectrum, but you didn’t understand any of that just yet.

When Naruto left, you were heartbroken, of course. Shattered even. You’d never known that it could feel like you had a hole in your heart until Naruto had taken part of yours with him. You dreaded the years to come of missing him.

But he had work to do and so did you. Naruto was going to get stronger and there was no way you would be left behind. Every time you missed him, you threw yourself into your training. The years didn’t pass quickly, but you found as time went on you were able to find other things that made you feel more whole even when you weren’t.

And just as suddenly, that void was filled. Blond hair and bright orange clothing filled your vision and kicked your heart up into your throat. You hadn’t expected to see him, but nothing could have made you happier.

You’d worried over the years that when Naruto came home, things would be different. Spending two and a half years apart changed things, and you had grown a lot. But you and Naruto fell into step together like he had never left, and just like that you had your best friend back.

But things had changed, though you weren’t going to admit that. When his blue eyes met yours, your breath stopped. Every time his fingers ran through his hair, it was like you were in another world. Part of you knew things were different, but you were never going to say it out loud. You buried your feelings deep within you, hiding your heart like a secret.

The thing that made you most nervous was when you and Naruto had your first mission together since he’d been back. You, Naruto, Sakura, and Kakashi, just like the mission where you’d first shared a tent. You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed to ask if you would both share a tent like when you were younger. If that had been embarrassing when you were twelve, it was even worse when you were sixteen.

 When your team stopped for camp Kakashi went to secure the perimeter and Sakura to gather firewood. You went to work setting up your own tent when you felt Naruto’s presence behind you. You turned to look at him. He was standing there, scratching the back of his head, pink dusting his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at you.

“I didn’t bring a tent…” He admitted sheepishly. “When we were younger, we always shared a tent, and I figured we’d just do that again… I can share with Kakashi, though, if it’s weird. I don’t mean to—” 

“Naruto,” You interrupted him with a laugh, though the color on your cheeks now matched his. “Of course we can share a tent.” You told him, turning back to your work as you set it up. “Don’t be weird.” You weren’t sure if it was a message to him or to yourself.

Unlike everything else with Naruto’s return, sleeping by Naruto didn’t feel as natural as it had before. There was a tension, almost palpable, settling in the tent. It was as if there was a string attaching your fingers to his, and the more the string pulled you to him, the closer to your sides you kept your hands. You couldn’t know that he felt it too.

The mission was straight forward and accomplished quickly. As soon as it started, it ended, and your team was heading back to the leaf village, only a days journey away. You would stop around the same area you had the night before, camping for the evening before heading home at daylight. You and Naruto had barely talked the whole way.

That night reminded you of the one when you had first crawled into Naruto’s tent. The wind was roaring making it hard to fall asleep. It was winter this time, however, and you hadn’t accounted for the night being so cold. The clothes you’d chosen to sleep in did nothing to keep in your body’s warmth, and your teeth chattered audibly as you curled into your sleeping bag, back to Naruto.

When your name left his hips, it almost startled you. The two of you had crawled into the tent quietly, not even bothering to say goodnight, the weight of the change in your relationship that you could both feel hanging heavy between you.

“Yeah?” You found yourself saying back, almost too quietly for him to hear. Almost.

“Uh, do you wanna, I dunno, sleep in my sleeping bag with me?” He mumbled, the words coming out fast and bunching together. “It��s just really cold, and I’m afraid that your teeth are going to break from clicking together so hard.” He hoped the joke would make it less weird, that you would feel more comfortable.

The question choked you with something you didn’t have words for, a feeling that bubbled in your stomach, spreading warm and shaky throughout your body.

“Okay.”

You crawled slowly, oh so slowly from your bag to his. He tried to scoot to one side, to make room. He unzipped the bag just a little bit, enough for you to crawl in next to him before he zipped it back up. There wasn’t enough room for you to lay comfortably next to him. Your body was on his just a bit, head by his chest and your arms pressed tightly to your side. You felt frozen with excitement and nerves. This was as close to a boy as you’d ever been. 

The silence seemed to go on forever, but it was just a few seconds. Naruto’s arm had been pressed motionless to his sides, but slowly he felt them thaw before wrapping around your body, pressing you to him. 

“You can like, hug me, ya know? Or put your arms on me or something. Just to be more comfortable.”

You nodded, your throat dry as you tried to swallow. You unlatched your arms from your body, a hand going up to rest on his chest. It only took a moment or two to get comfortable, to feel like your body fit perfectly into his. Falling asleep in Naruto’s arms, that was the most comfortable you’d ever slept.

The next morning, there wasn’t an awkwardness. It was something else, something sweeter, shyer. The string pulled your fingers closer, and though your hand didn’t touch his, neither did it pull away. You’d never felt so giddy in your life.

If only you knew what it meant to Naruto.

Naruto couldn’t remember one time in his life that he had cuddled with another person. He was sure that he must’ve been held at least occasionally as a baby, but it wasn’t anything he could remember. No one hugged him as he grew, no one tucked him in at night or rocked him to sleep. Once, when he was four, Naruto had found a puppy that got away from its owner. Naruto scooped the small animal up, holding him in his arms. The puppy had licked him affectionately, and Naruto was embarrassed by the fact that the small action had brought him to tears. Iruka’s hand on his head was the first affectionate touch he could remember from another person. He’d thought his heart would burst at that moment. It was nothing compared to what he’d felt getting to hold you while he slept. 

He’d heard people say that hugging could lower stress, elevate your mood, even help prevent you from getting sick. He’d never understood it. Naruto had occasionally hugged Sakura and gotten affectionate touches from his sensei as he got older, but sleeping with you was different.

He understood now what the experts meant when they spoke about the benefits of hugging. He could comprehend why romantic relationships were so important to people if they got to touch their partner every day. Cuddling with you that night had Naruto’s head reeling, high off an emotion he didn’t even have a name for. He’d never felt so close to another person, so connected. How had he survived sixteen years without this? How had he survived those two and a half years training without you?

It was a mix of emotions as your head hit your pillow that night. You were relieved to have been able to take a shower. A home cooked meal never tasted so good as it did after a mission where you survived off dried meats. The softness of your mattress definitely beat the cold hard ground. But, you realized, you would gladly spend a lifetime sleeping on the floor of the woods if you got to sleep by Naruto’s side.

It was too scary to think about these new feelings. You knew what it was now, that you didn’t just see Naruto as your best friend. You liked Naruto. Maybe even more than liked him. You didn’t know how this could have happened. How could you ever face him again? If he knew how you felt, your friendship would be ruined.

You had resolved to avoid him for the foreseeable future so that you could wait out the feelings. Maybe if you had some time apart, the feelings would go away, and nothing would have to change between the two of you.

Your eyes had finally started to flutter closed with exhaustion when you heard tapping on your window, startling you. Sitting up, you looked uncertainly towards the window before finally getting up and going to inspect the noise. Naruto’s face peering back at you from the other side was the last thing you expected to see.

Opening the window as quietly as you could, you willed the butterflies in your stomach to quell. “Naruto, what are you doing here?” You whispered, glancing back towards your bedroom door, sure that your parents would burst through at any moment.

Naruto looked sheepishly back at you, a bashful grin on his face. “Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked. Rolling your eyes, you did your best to bite back the giddy smile playing on your own lips.

“Yes, Naruto. I’m trying to sleep. What are you doing here?” You asked him again. Instead of answering, Naruto began climbing through your window, making a little too much noise. You shushed him with a stifled giggle as he fell to the floor. “You’re going to wake my parents,” You told him, trying to look stern. Naruto hopped back up to his feet looking at you embarrassedly. 

“I couldn’t sleep…” He admitted, his eyes flickering from yours back to the floor. “I was wondering… Do you think I could sleep here tonight?”

The question hung between the two of you, innocent and unassuming. It wasn’t that weird, the two of you were thinking. You shared a tent on missions; was it that different sharing a bed?

“Yeah, okay.” You agreed, feeling breathless. Naruto was in his pajamas too, you realized, decked in a white t shirt and orange sweats. You turned from him, walking slowly to your bed, doing your best not to make any noise. “You have to leave before my parents are up, okay?” You whispered as you climbed back into your bed.

Naruto nodded enthusiastically, following after you. “I will, believe it!” He said a little too loudly for someone that wasn’t supposed to be there. You shot him a look, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Climbing into the bed after you, Naruto got comfortable under the covers, and the two of you laid next to each other silently. Staring at the ceiling, you wondered if Naruto could hear the sound of your heartbeat as it rang in your ears. This was fine. This was normal for two best friends.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, more awake than you had been before. You closed your eyes, doing your best to get some rest and failing miserably. You were too aware of Naruto’s presence beside you. He seemed to have fallen asleep long ago if his rhythmic breathing was anything to go by.

And then, suddenly, you felt him rolling over. His hand reached out in the darkness, finding you and pulling you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him before his body went still again. You froze, looking up at his face. Was he awake? Had he meant to do that? It was impossible to tell with his eyes screwed shut. 

You felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in your life. Nothing had ever felt so right.

The next morning, as promised, Naruto was back out the window before your parents woke up. The two of you had stayed in that position all night, and when Naruto began to shift awake, he looked at you with a shy, lopsided smile. All he said was a quiet “good morning” before he was sneaking out.

And there was no way to hide now that things had definitely changed. It was unspoken, but you both knew it. Neither of you knew what to say about it, didn’t know if you even should say anything about it. It wasn’t bad. It was good, better than good, but so new and unexplored for the both of you that you didn’t know how to approach the subject, so you said nothing about it. 

It became a regular occurrence for Naruto to climb through your window every night to sleep in your bed. Each time he did, it became easier for Naruto to pull you into him as he fell asleep, and every morning when he left, you wondered how you had ever slept without Naruto’s arms around you.

All of your friends noticed the change between you and Naruto too, though no one said anything. They all exchanged curious glances with each other, seeing how easily Naruto touched you now and the way the two of you looked at each other just a little bit longer than you used to. But no one knew about your and Naruto’s extended sleepover, and so they all whispered among themselves, but said nothing about it to your faces.

When your parents decided to move back to the village that you had been born in, they gave you the option to stay in the leaf. You were only sixteen, but you were a ninja afterall. You were more than capable of making your own choices and taking care of yourself.

And of course you stayed. This was where your life was, where your friends were. Even more importantly, this was where Naruto was. 

So when you told him your predicament, that you needed to find a new place to stay, he didn’t hesitate in offering to stay with him. You were sitting at his kitchen table when he said it, and he immediately began pushing things around the small apartment. “You see? We can put your bed here, and can move this over here…” He motioned to the space he had created. “It may be a little cramped, but at least until you can find something else?”

Of course your friends teased the two of you about your new living arrangements. Never when you were together. Everyone was insistent, desperate to be the one that got one of you to cave and admit your feelings for each other. For your part, you just smiled and said, “He’s my best friend.”

And that flew for a while. The same people that had been sure you and Naruto were meant to be began to wonder if they had it wrong all along, began to wonder if you and Naruto truly were just friends.

They didn’t know that you never got around to getting your own bed at Naruto’s house. That first night, you just shared his bed because you’d been doing it for so long. The same thing happened the next night, and the night after that, and the thought of getting a separate bed just didn’t seem that important. And anyways, you’d gotten used to sleeping by Naruto’s side. Naruto knew that if you got your own bed, he would just climb into yours every night.

You were only sixteen, but Naruto wanted nothing more than to spend every night by your side. He couldn’t remember a time in his life where he’d ever been so happy. There was so much on his mind all the time, the oncoming war, getting Sasuke back. And even with the chaos surrounding him, Naruto was at peace because of you. He had a confidence that everything would work out okay. He couldn’t imagine a scenario in which it wouldn’t.

It was the first time that Sakura and Ino had stopped by since you’d moved in that it was pointed out how unconventional your arrangement was. Sure, you both knew it wasn’t exactly normal, but it worked for the two of you. You didn’t see any harm in it.

Naruto was away on a mission when the girls had stopped by, needing to borrow something. When you let them in, they excitedly looked around the small studio apartment, wanting to see if and how you had changed Naruto’s place.

“Uh, where’s the other bed?” Sakura asked as you closed a cupboard, pulling out the tupperware they needed. 

“Hm?” You asked, placing it on the table. “Oh, I haven’t gotten one yet. We usually just share.” You said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. You’d shared your bed with Naruto so long, it no longer embarrassed you. You’d just never had a reason to mention it.

Sakura and Ino’s jaws dropped. They looked from you to each other, wondering if you were serious. You picked up on their shock, looking back at them sheepishly. “What?” You mumbled, feeling your face heating up.

“Are you guys, like, dating?” Ino placed her hand on her hip, looking at you expectedly. You shook your head. 

“No, of course not. He’s my best friend! I just haven’t gotten my own bed yet. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal!?” Sakura exclaimed. “It’s a huge deal! You guys live together, share a bed together… you’re practically married!”

Ino nodded in agreement. “Sakura’s right. That’s a weird thing for two ‘best friends’ to be doing. It’s not normal.”

Sakura and Ino’s words rang through your head all day after they’d gone. Was it that weird? Sure, the whole thing had been nerve wracking at first, but now it was just part of your dynamic like everything else was. Of course you still harbored your feelings for Naruto, but you’d pushed them deep down, pretending they weren’t there in a bid to save your and Naruto’s friendship.

You were already in bed when he got back from his mission that night. He threw open the door, dropping his bag and sighing loudly. “Are you awake?” He called as he made his way to the bathroom.

“I am now,” You laughed, rolling your eyes as you heard the shower start. You yawned, your body tired despite how awake your mind was. It was a while longer before Naruto was finally ready to settle in for the night.

With a loud yawn, he dropped down on the bed beside you, stretching. “I missed this,” he said, turning over as he pulled the blankets over the two of you. He reached for you instinctively, a happy sigh leaving his lips as you cuddled into his chest.

But Naruto knew you better than anyone, and he could tell something was on your mind. “Everything okay?” He murmured against your hair, moments from falling asleep.

“Is this weird?” You asked him timidly, afraid to hear his answer. 

Naruto froze for a moment before pulling away slightly, just enough so he could look down at you. “Is what weird?” He asked back slowly.

You shrugged. “Sakura and Ino stopped by today. They saw we share a bed and… I don’t know. They said it wasn’t normal.” You were afraid to voice the thought, but you couldn’t help it. The seed had been planted, and it wouldn’t stop growing.

But Naruto just rolled his eyes in response. “You’re gonna listen to them?” He asked with a small laugh. “What do they know about normal?”

“They said it was only normal for people that were, like, in a relationship. Not people that were just friends…”

Naruto was quiet, and you could tell he was mulling over the information, no doubt wondering--much like you were--if they had a point. He pulled away even more, and you could see in the moonlight that he was blushing. “Are we just friends?”

The words hit you like a freight train, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. You weren’t ready for this conversation. Things had been going so well, you’d been so happy and comfortable. You weren’t ready for things between you and Naruto to change, not yet. But now you didn’t have a choice.

“Do you want to be?” You whispered back.

The silence lingered, heavy and suffocating. You felt ready to cry. You loved Naruto. You didn’t want to keep it a secret any longer, but you didn’t want to lose him either. If he didn’t feel the same way… You didn’t know what you’d do. You couldn’t think of anything any more devastating.

Reluctantly, you brought your eyes up to meet Naruto’s brilliant blue ones. They were staring earnestly into yours, searching for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. Slowly, shakily, he brought his hand up to your face, brushing your hair back. His touch was soft, barely there, and it sent shivers up your spine. 

Finally, he leaned in to you, bringing his lips to brush against yours in a sweet, shy kiss. The motion was unsure, nervous. He’d been dying to do that for months now, and he had no idea how you would react.

Naruto’s kiss sent your head reeling. You’d always thought that kissing Naruto would send your heart racing, but instead it slowed, calming every nerve in your body.

When Naruto pulled away, he was wearing a grin that matched yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” He told you, stroking your cheek. You could only smile in response, pulling him in to kiss you once more

Naruto had gone his whole life touch starved and alone. Affection was so scarce, he hadn’t even known what he was missing. 

Sharing a bed, sleeping next to you, kissing you goodnight. It wasn’t scary or unsure.

It felt like coming home. 

#narutoxreader #naruto uzumakixreader #naruto #naruto uzumaki #naruto imagines #naruto headcanon #naruto imagine #naruto headcanons #naruto x you #narutoxyou #naruto x reader imagines #naruto x reader imagine #naruto x reader headcanons #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki x reader imagines #naruto uzumaki x reader headcanon #naruto uzumaki x reader headcanons

[xeulousluv]

Almost

AN: Hello everyone, I am fairly new to posting on this app, so therefore I am still learning how to use it. Hehe :) Anyways, I hope you are having a great day!

Warning: Nothing really, maybe a little bit of angst? 

Zayn and Y/n broke up and all he’s left with are the videos she took during their senior year of high school.

September 1st, 2010: 

The camera was set up in her hand as she was slightly fixing her hair, a huge smile plastered on her makeup covered face. He always thought she looked better without makeup, but sometimes you couldn’t beat the insecurities. 

“Here we are, the first day of senior year! How are we feeling, Zayn?” 

Next to her stood himself, a much younger version of himself. Two years to be exact. He was almost unrecognizabel, with his usual high school attire adoring his body. A white tee-shirt, black skinny jeans, and not to mention his varsity football jacket hanging off of his shoulders. She looked lovingly at her boyfriend, her eyelashes beating against the softness of her rounded cheeks. 

“I’m ready to get out of here, the last three years were the upmost worst years of my life.” Zayn spoke truthfully, he hadn’t expected to make it past the ninth grade, but with the help of Y/n, he managed to make it all the way to his graduating year. Y/n gave him an offended look before responding, “Hey! If it weren’t for these last three years, you would’ve never met me, let alone had the courage to talk to me. Am I really that bad?” 

She laughed out while speaking, all so he knows that she is joking and would never accuse him of thinking such things. Though, he was already two steps ahead of her and was laughing along at her sad attempt of looking offended. “Of course not, baby. You are what kept me going.” With that, Zayn kissed her temple and she let out a small giggle before stopping the camera. 

September 5th, 2010:

Random small talk was heard on the computer sitting in front of Zayn, before her face showed with a bright glow. She was so beautiful it almost hurt. She was laughing at something her friend Emery said, though it was completely inaudible, he just let the smile take over his face hearing her laugh again. 

“I don’t exactly know why I turned this on, but hello! We successfully made it through the first week of school, and let me just say, it was not fun. The teachers still hate me.” Again, Y/n laughed towards the camera. 

“I remember this one time last year when Mr. Lambert threw me out of class because I wouldn’t stop laughing. In my defence, he was talking about the safety of condoms and Zayn kept mocking him. That was a detention worth going to.” Zayn remembered that day clearly. He sat to the left of Y/n, Mr. Lambert’s first mistake, and would whisper in her ear how he would show her the proper way to wear a condom when they got to her house that night. To say he did end up showing her was an understatement. 

The camera then turned to her friend before she continued on with what she was saying, “Anyways, Emery here, has informed me about this back to school party for seniors at Anthony Stilettos house. So, we are heading to the mall so we can get a nice looking outfit for tonight. I’ll see you guys later!”  And with that the camera switched off.

He thought that was the end of the video, but when she popped back on his screen, he was pleasantly surprised. She wore a black dress that just reached her knees, the end of it rippled and flew each time she took a step. Her hair and makeup was done, and her shoes matched her dress, she really was the most beautiful person he has ever met. 

Without saying anything, Y/n moved the camera to where the view was now on Emery. She wore a simple tight red dress that fit her like a glove, she was placing bobby pins in her hair before realising a camera was watching her every move. Emery turned away from the mirror Y/n had in her room, and started making random poses into the camera. The video finally ended with Y/n facing the camera back to herself while laughing at it. 

October 7th, 2010: 

It was homecoming. Their final homecoming, and of course, Zayn asked her to be his date. He didn’t go all out like the previous years, this particular year was asked right after they finished giving each other their all. They were bunched up together, all sweaty and breathless, and that is when Zayn asked her to go to homecoming with him. He thought it was gross because of their previous activities, but Y/n thought it was sweet, endearing even. It was personal and intimate, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Plus, she was tired of all the attention that comes with getting asked to homecoming. 

Her dress was a beautiful shade of baby yellow, Zayn wore his usual black suit but with a yellow tie and a yellow rose pinned to his coat pocket. The night couldn’t have been anymore magical. 

“Z, are you ready to go? Emmy and Dallas are waiting in the car.” Her soft voice echoed through the speakers, she was worried about being late. But more so, excited about what the night had planned for the couple. Zayn was fixing his hair, like he does any other day, however today, he wanted to look his absolute best. “Just one more second, love. Gotta look perfect before leaving these four secured walls.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes into the camera before another smile took over her face. It only got wider as he finally announced that he was ready. 

“Baby, you look handsome! You don’t need all that hair gel, make one wrong move and we’re calling you Uncle Jesse.” Zayn scoffed, his hands finding their place on her hips, him being pressed up against her back. His chin resting on her shoulder, they looked so in love. They were so in love. 

October 31st, 2010: 

Fall was Y/n’s favorite season, meaning Halloween was by far her favorite holiday. She squealed into the camera when Zayn walked out in his Peter Pan costume. “Baby, you look so fucking adorable!” She cooed, though Zayn was having none of it. “Do we have to go to this party? Can’t we just stay in and watch scary movies, I promise I will protect you if you get too scared!”

He knew it was no use, Y/n had been going on and on about Anthony’s costume party for the past week, so when she started laughing, Zayn internally groaned. “Brave of you to assume I will get scared during a horror movie. How about we go for just an hour, then you and I can come back here and watch whatever movie you want?” 

At that, his ears perked, he could go for an hour. That gives him all the more time alone with his love. “Hocus Pocus? That’s my favorite.” 

“Yes baby, we can watch Hocus Pocus, do this for me, and I’m all yours for the rest of the night.” A grin was stretched across his face as she leaned up and gave a peck to his lips. Adoration shining brightly in her eyes as she looked up at him. “You are so lucky I love you, Y/n.” 

“I love you, Zayn. More than you will ever know.” 

December 31st, 2010:

“Hola, my favorite people! Happy New Years Eve, I hope you guys are having a good day. My family is having a little party to bring in the new year, even though you won’t be watching this until later when I decide to post it, I hope you guys have an amazing holiday. Be safe now. Bye!”

Christmas and New Year’s was hard for Y/n. She had major separation anxiety for everyone she grows close to, so not being able to see the people she loves for a whole two weeks was taking a toll on her. Not to mention, Zayn went back to Bradford for the holidays, so he wasn’t there to keep her calm. All she had was the emails and messages he would send her.  

However, that night was different. She didn’t know what it was, but the air felt more intoxicating. There was something she was missing and the young girl couldn’t put her finger on it. 

Emery got ahold of Y/n’s camera without her noticing, pressing the ‘record’ button and smiling.

“Hi, as many of you may know, my name is Emery White. Before questions start racing through your head about where Y/n is, she is currently in the kitchen talking to one of her neighbors, and she knows nothing about this so, shhh!” Emery held her index finger up to her mouth, even though she is talking to a camera. 

“So, the time is now 11:58, meaning it is almost New Year’s and I got a message from a good friend of mine to get her camera and start recording. Oh wait, she’s coming over! Act normal!” 

“Emmy? Why do you have my camera, wait no, when did you get my camera?” Emery turned her neck to look at Y/n, and smiled while looking at her friends confused face. “It’s almost midnight, I figured we could record the big moment for your journal thing.” 

Y/n looked at her watch and sure enough, it was 12:59, and the people around her were counting down. By the time Y/n looked back at her friend, Emery had switched her position to behind the camera, her smile now stretching to her eyes. She gave a confused smile towards the camera before shaking her head. 

10..

9..

8..

A tap was felt on Y/n’s shoulder making her turn around, not believing her eyes, she had to do a double take. There he was in all of his glory. Zayn stood in front of her with a bouquet of random flowers, her eyes widening in complete shock. 

3..

2..

1!

Before she could fully process his presence, Zayn had planted his lips against hers in what he would call, one of their best kisses. His arms went around her waist while hers were around his neck, keeping him as close as humanly possible. She was the first to pull away from the kiss, tears forming at the bottom of her eyes but never fell. Zayn pulled her back, this time her face went into his neck as he whispered out a small, “Happy New Years, baby.” 

May 22nd, 2011: 

Senior prom, a day Y/n has waited her entire life for. Getting all dolled up for one night of perfection sounded glorious. Unlike most people, her dress doesn’t reach the floor but goes a little ways past her knees. It was a light shade of green, she wasn’t usually one for the cliche pink and blue, and her stomach was laced over showing her belly button peircing. She felt on top of the world, the most gorgeous she has ever felt in her entire life. 

Zayn was in a nude tuxedo, a lightish green tie tucked into the blazer. “It’s prom day, baby, how do you feel?” The now well-known camera placed in front of his face, though he paid no attention to it, but really the girl behind it. “Like I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world. How did I get so lucky, hm?” 

The blush was evident on her face, he could see it perfectly now even with the camera facing him and not herself. He could still see the light in her eyes. Looking back on it, he couldn’t imagine living his life without her, how could he let her go? 

It wasn’t like they got in a fight or anything, Zayn and Y/n were going to different colleges and he didn’t want to do the whole long distance thing. He felt she deserved better than that. So even though the breakup was absolutely not a mutual agreement, Y/n somewhat understood and let him walk away. 

“You’re such the charmer, Zayn. Always got me blushing for no good reason.” 

“I would be a bad boyfriend if I didn’t.” 

Now turning the camera to face both of them, Zayn placed a kiss on her lips before turning off the camera and letting their night go on as best as it could, for it would be one of the last good memories they have. Except at the time, neither of them knew the last time would actually be the last time. 

June 4th, 2011: 

“Hey everyone, I just want to start off by saying congratulations, we made it. Graduating today was the most amazing feelings, and I’m sure you all can agree with me. The past four years have really taught me a lot, I know I sound like the Mallory Barnes, our valedictorian that gave the speech today, but I’m serious, you all have been amazing. Teachers included.” 

Y/n wasn’t in her usual attire. She was in a comfortable baggy hoodie, and that’s all you could see as her camera was propped on the desk in the corner of the room. Her hair was in a messy bun, no makeup, and her glasses were sat perfectly on her nose. What no one could notice was the slight puffiness to her eyes, the way they were red and tired. But Zayn noticed, however. When Y/n first uploaded this to her instagram, Zayn couldn’t bare to watch it, so seeing it now definitely brought back a feeling he tried too hard to push away. 

“In the past four years I have learned about friendships, I learned about love, and I learned about heartbreak. I have got to say, high school brought me some really great friendships that I will cherish forever. I am finding it very difficult to say goodbye, but we are bound to go off and do bigger and better things. The future awaits for us.” 

“I just want to thank you guys for the amazing memories, and I hope you guys make your dreams come true.” Y/n sighed into the camera, she was really bad at saying goodbye, though you would think it would be easier considering no one likes high school. However, Y/n loved every single second of it, maybe not the learning but the memories made.

“Now, I am going to get really sappy for a minute and say a massive thank you to the man who has loved me for the past four years. Zayn, I know we haven’t talked in a few weeks, and you’re probably not even watching this, but just know that I am so proud of you.  I don’t know how I could not be. I really hope you make something wonderful of yourself. You were by far my favorite part of this journey. Thank you for sticking with me and for loving me. And even though we aren’t together anymore, I love you.”

“We almost had it all, didn’t we?” 

AN: Yeah, I don't think I like this babahahah. Love the concept but someone out there could definitely write it better. 

#zayn mailk #zayn x reader #zayn malik fanfic #zayn malik angst #angst fanfic

[rebrandedbard]

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts I’d love to see either 46 or 9 with geraskier

Ooo nice choices! Since there were two requests for number 9, I’ll answer it on this one so that anon and @itiswhatis-andwhatitisisgay both get the alert. Keep a sharp eye, anon! I’ll do 46 for you next!

9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

WC:  1371

Jaskier’s Champion

Added a younger Ciri into the mix because my immediate thought was that the phrase sounded like an upset toddler crying. Decided Ciri was going to be Jaskier’s little bitty champion and come to defend him from her mean dad.

-

“It isn’t funny!” Ciri wailed, stomping her little foot in the snow. “It isn’t funny!” she repeated, pushing at Geralt’s legs as if her tiny arms had enough strength to move him. Her face was boiling red and streaked with tears, a bit of snot dribbling from her nose. Geralt tried to bend down to wipe it away, but she batted at his hands, crying out in rage, “No, no no!”

“But Ciri—”

“Go a-way!” she screeched. “It isn’t funny!”

When he tried reaching for her again, she picked up a handful of powdery snow and threw it at him. “Go! Right now!”

Jaskier put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, Ciri,” he entreated. “It was only a little prank, and Geralt apologized already. Nobody was hurt. It was only a bit of fun—nothing but a playful tease. Perfectly harmless.”

“No-o-o-o!” she cried once more, long and piercing. “We don’t want you!”

Geralt winced, looking at Jaskier with a desperate plea in his eyes.

Jaskier shrugged over the top of the hysteric tyke’s head. “She may be no more than a baby, but she has the sense of justice of a morally-staunch old woman.”

He sneezed, startling Ciri, who turned to Geralt with a glare of pure scorn.

“Bless him,” she demanded.

Geralt held his handkerchief out to Jaskier instead. “Bless you,” he sighed obediently.

Ciri reached up on her tip-toes and snatched the handkerchief away, tossing it back at him. She pulled a little hanky of her own from her cloak and handed it to Jaskier in its place. Then, with a sniff, she turned and started pushing Jaskier toward the stables. “Let’s go,” she said, picking up her little knapsack. She struggled, dragging Jaskier’s pack once more through the snow. She made it another two feet from the inn door before she had to stop and catch her breath.

“Cirilla, little cub, I really don’t think this is necessary for a simple—”

“It is nec-ess-ar-y!” she insisted. “He pushed you. He pushed you in and you got sick.”

They’d had a little play-fight in the snow four days ago, happy as a pack of puppies set loose to romp. Towards the end, Geralt had crept up behind Jaskier and pushed him into a snowbank, unaware of the duck pond that lay hidden beneath. Jaskier had come sputtering to the surface, soaked through, and it was a half hour’s walk back to the inn. He’d caught a chill before they could get him warmed up, and for three days after, he’d been resigned to his bed.

Ciri had been frightened, asking over and over if Jaskier was going to die—a question that, when first asked, had doubled Geralt over in laughter. Her little green eyes had been so huge and sincere. He just couldn’t help himself. Ciri hadn’t let him come near Jaskier since.

“It isn’t funny,” she mumbled again, as if she could see the memory playing over in Geralt’s mind. And perhaps she could. She had a touch of magic in her.

“It isn’t funny,” Geralt agreed. He knelt down to eye-level to speak with her. “And I’m sorry I laughed. I would be very sad if anything should happen to Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled at that, slightly smug. Oh would you now? he seemed to say.

Geralt glanced up at him with a look that told him to behave, then reached out to pick up Jaskier’s wet bag. She grunted at him, but he ignored her, heading towards the stables. He began to strap on Roach’s saddle and tied Jaskier’s bag to the side, speaking slowly as he did.

“So you’ve decided to leave me behind. Where are you going?”

“Not your business,” Ciri huffed, refusing to look at him.

Geralt hummed. He caught an anxious look from Jaskier, but simply reached out and took his lute case, tying it to the saddle next. “Your uncles will be waiting for you at home; they promised you plenty of presents for Yule this year. But I’ll be there too. Perhaps you’d rather go to Oxenfurt with Jaskier. There would be lots of parties in store for you, and the groundskeeper’s dog will be having her litter soon. Maybe they’ll give you a pup.”

Ciri frowned as Geralt took her knapsack and tied it with the rest. She hesitated a moment, then held her head up and said, “Oxfurt.”

“Then you’ll need coin for your travels.” He pulled a pouch from his belt and put it in her hands. “Here. This ought to be enough to put you up in a cozy room on the way. Make sure you don’t walk too much. Jaskier still needs his rest. And feed him lots of soup, understand?”

Ciri looked between Geralt and the pouch. She turned to look up at Jaskier, too confused to remember her temper. When she turned back to Geralt, he had Roach’s reins in hand.

Geralt looked down at her and asked, “Can I come close enough to bid Jaskier goodbye?”

Ciri gripped the little purse tight in her hands. She looked between the two of them, the hint of a pout beginning to form on her lips. Her face was becoming red again as if she were trying very hard to hold something in.

So Geralt leaned over her head and gave Jaskier a kiss. Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt gave his face a cheeky pat, then Geralt was off, leaving Roach’s reins in his shocked hands. “Goodbye!” he called, pack slung over his shoulder. “Take good care of Jaskier for me, Ciri.”

Then Ciri was crying, chasing after him with a heartbroken wail.

“Don’t go!” she sobbed, latching onto his leg.

Geralt tried to suppress a smile, hiking up his burdened leg to take one last performative step. “You don’t want me,” he said.

“No!” she cried again, hugging his leg even tighter as the tears rolled down her face.

“You do want me?”

“No-o-o-o-ho-ho-o-oh!”

Despite her unintelligible responses, Geralt turned and dropped his bag, sitting on the frozen ground. The moment he was within reach, Ciri threw herself at him. She beat his chest with her tiny fists, then wrapped her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. He hugged her, wrapping her in his cloak to keep warm.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she shouted.

Geralt nodded. He pet her hair, shushing her gently. “I promise.”

“No leaving! Ever!”

“What,” Jaskier asked, “was that all about?”

He stood towering over Geralt with his hands on his hips. His face was flushed, far too flushed to blame on the cold, and he was looking at Geralt with his sternest no-nonsense expression.

Geralt smiled innocently. “I was doing as I was told. Seemed to work out well.”

“Not that,” Jaskier said. “The whole—!” He gestured a circle around his face, then flicked his hands at Geralt, eyes landing on his lips. He cleared his throat and looked away, flapping his hand in an empty motion. “That.”

“The kiss?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed. “Yes, that.”

“Hm.”

“Oh-ho-ho, no! Don’t you ‘hm’ me! We are talking about this one, Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled, offering Ciri his handkerchief. “Ciri doesn’t like when you’re sick,” he said.

“And?”

“And I don’t like seeing you sick either.”

“But what has that got to do with—”

Ciri wiped her eyes and tugged at Geralt’s cloak. “Did you kiss him better?” she asked.

“Yes, princess,” Geralt replied. “He’s all better now.”

“Then you can stay.”

Geralt picked Ciri up and put her in Roach’s saddle as the realization crept over Jaskier. He turned to take the reins back once more, winking at Jaskier. “Unless you think he needs another kiss, Ciri,” he added casually.

Jaskier scrambled after them, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I need a—!”

“I need a kiss better,” she said, holding out her hands.

Geralt craned up and kissed her cheek before instructing her to hold on tight to the saddle horn. They were only two days away from Kaer Morhen. There would be plenty of time to kiss it all better once Ciri was in the care of Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert. They had all winter.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #young!ciri #jaskier's champion fic #angst and fluff and angst and fluff just back and forth #y'all know the drill by now #ask game

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think? #but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

[babyboy-cody]

ch. 01 | finding out

summary: after feeling so different for the past week, you decided to go to the doctor in order to find out what was actually wrong with you. the cause of you feeling this way was something you weren’t expecting.

warnings: depictions of early signs of pregnancy, clueless grayson, mentions of sean, implications of smut, mentions of abortion

quick note: okay so this is my first ever grayson series, so hopefully i make you guys proud. some of the pregnancy signs are things that some people don’t go through, so i wanted to make it as realistic as possible. any feedback would be great! <3

word count: 2.6k

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Waking up early in the morning, you never expected to feel like shit. From the position you were laying in, your tender breasts were pressed into the bed, causing you the slightest pain. You groaned and winced as you went to turn. Just from moving, you felt nauseous and dizzy, the blinding light from the sun pouring into the room caused you to squint. Grayson wasn’t in bed beside you as usual. He always woke up at the ass crack of dawn to start his morning routines of breakfast, exercising for two hours, and shower. The rest of his day is spent doing activities, such as woodworking/building, spending time with you, long-boarding, or exercising some more.

A wave of cramps suddenly hit you, causing you to muffle your long moan into your pillow. You tucked your body into the fetal position, tucking your hand under your sweatpants to press down on your lower stomach, hoping that the pressure would ease the aggravating pain. For the past week, you’ve been constantly getting cramps. The breast tenderness happened only a day later. Premature cramps are the usual sign of starting your period. What confuses you is why you woke up with no blood staining your underwear or pants.

Sluggishly grabbing your phone from under your pillow, you opened up your usual period app. The last time you had gotten your period was exactly the same day as last month. Your eyebrows furrow when you see that you should’ve started your period exactly two weeks ago. You hastily sit up, immediately shutting your eyes as a wave of nausea hit you like a tsunami. There was brief commotion coming from the kitchen, followed by Grayson yelling, “Ethaaannn!” You faintly heard Ethan’s boisterous laugh, which only amped up his younger brother’s annoyance.

You swallowed the forming saliva at the back of your mouth. You suddenly felt so exhausted, even though you had a whole ten hour rests with no interruptions or disruptions. Swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you slowly got up, shutting your eyes to avoid feeling dizzy so fast. You desperately craved Grayson’s warm skin against yours in order to make you feel better, especially when his strong arms were wrapped around you, holding you nice and tight against him. As though the universe heard your thoughts, Grayson enters the bedroom, a comfy hoodie adorning his upper body as gray sweats adorn his lower half. He looks so comfy and warm and soft with his messy hair and growing bed and bright smile.

“Look who’s finally awake!” He announced and spread his arms wide, running over to playfully (and gently) tackle you into the bed.

“Gray, Gray, baby, be gentle,” you quickly told him, hands grabbing onto his arm as the room suddenly spun. “I’m not feeling too good today.”

He immediately sat up, using one hand to push his long hair from his face as the other slowly sits you up. His eyes were full of worry as they scan you up and down. You smiled tiredly and gently stroked his jaw, loving the feeling of his scruff on your palm.

“What’ve you been feeling?” He was quick to ask you, desperately wanting to know why you’ve been feeling sick and what could’ve caused it. “Do you think it’s cause E was sick last week?”

“I mean, maybe,” you shrugged. “I’ve been getting cramps and my boobs have been hurting as usual before I get my period.”

“So you’re starting you’re period?” He questioned, thinking that could be the reason.

“I don’t think so, babe. I’m getting symptoms I’ve never gotten before and it’s worrying me,” you quietly told him, your voice holding such worry that he’s never heard before. “I’m so exhausted and dizzy and I can’t even stand without feeling like I’m gonna pass out.” You rubbed your hands over your face, groaning at the uncomfortable churning in your stomach as you suddenly thought about eating. “I can’t even think about food without feeling like I’m gonna throw up everywhere.”

“Baby, you need to make an appointment for the doctor or the GYN to see what’s going on. You don’t know if this could be something serious,” Grayson anxiously tells you, his large hands cupping your cheeks to make eye contact with you, his thumbs lightly stroking your warm skin back and forth.

“I will,” you held onto his wrists. “I promise.”

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After your serious talk with Grayson yesterday, you made an appointment to go to the gynecologist the very next day. Nerves were bubbling in the pit of your stomach, causing you to use the bathroom four times in the past hour. Ethan and Kristina were worried as well, unsure of what to do or say to make you feel at ease and less anxious. If what’s causing your sickness something terminal, they knew that Grayson would quite literally go insane. You were his person. Grayson was a believer of soulmates, and he knew deep in his heart and soul that you were his.

This morning, it was eerily quite. The air was awkward and tense with no one knowing how to break the ice. Grayson’s jaw was clenched and he watched your every move carefully. You were feeling a little better, only eating in small quantities and being forced to drink lots of water (by Grayson). Your appointment wasn’t until 2 in the afternoon, so you had plenty of time to do your morning routine and talk to Grayson. He insisted on staying in the bathroom when you shower and do your skin care.

“Gray, I’m not dying,” you joked lightly.

“Don’t fucking joke like that!” He raised his voice, glaring up at you as he sat on the edge of the top, elbows on his knees with his fingers interlocked. “That’s not fucking funny.” There was anger in his tone, and you realized how insensitive it was of you.

You knelt down in front of him, unlocked his hands and slithering more between his spread knees. He doesn’t look at you as he looks down at the ground between your own knees. “Hey,” you whisper, hands on his broad shoulders, lightly shaking them. “Look at me, please.” When he does, you see the slightest of tears along his waterline. Your heart breaks when his face scrunches up in agony and his eyes shut, his hands immediately covering his face to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Grayson…”

He sniffles into his hands, shaking his head frantically. “I can’t lose you,” he weeped so softly, his voice muffled behind the barrier of his hands. “I can’t fuckin’ lose you the same way I lost my dad. I-I just can’t.” You let him pour out his emotions, all the while holding onto his shoulders and gently pushing his hands away from his face to wipe away his warm tears. The area around his eyes and cheeks were tinged red, his beautiful eyes now turning puffy. “You don’t understand h-how broken I’d be without you, Y/N. It’s like… a piece of me might die.”

“Baby,” you whispered brokenly, shaking your head as you hurriedly pull him into your chest. His head buries itself in the crook of your neck. “I am so so sorry for making that joke, alright? Hey, look at me.” You lift his head up, wiping more of his tears with your thumbs. “I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, that everything is okay.” At the sound of your soft whisper, he lets out a quiet and shaky sigh. The thought of now hearing your voice anymore physically hurts his heart. He hesitatingly nods, desperately wanting to believe your words. But looking into your eyes this very moment, seeing the determination and confidence in your face, he has no other choice but to believe you.

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Sitting on the exam table in the cold room that slightly smells of hand sanitizer and wood, you didn’t know what else to think. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess as they tried to unravel itself to form a coherent sentence in your head. Grayson wanted to come in with you, but you had told him to stay in the car, out of fear of him hearing dreadful news. You closed your eyes and breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm the storm that’s beginning to make itself known. What you didn’t hearing was the door opening and the OB-GYN, Dr. Khaleesi, stepping in. She was a lovely Indian woman who was older than you by 20 years. You’ve been coming to her for a year and a half now for your usual STD checkups or any worries you had with your uterus. She was the sweetest woman you’ve come to known and you never felt judged by her.

“Everything alright, Y/N?” She asks as she shuts the door, leaving you both in privacy. She holds the clipboard to her side and sits onto the rolling stool to slide herself closer to you.

“Just nervous,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Well, it’s just me,” she tells you softly, her accent sounding so elegant as she gently pats your knee. “Now, it says on the appointment form that you’re hear for a checkup regarding your period.”

“Yes, um, I’m late on my period - about two weeks now. But I’ve been feeling a lot of cramps and breast tenderness and all the symptoms of starting my period. And I don’t know why,” you sighed and picked at your nails, not sure how to keep still.

“Alright, well, I’m going to be asking you a few simple questions and I want you to answer as honestly as possible,” Dr. Khaleesi tells you. “What day was your last period?”

“The 6th of May.”

“How long does menstrual cycle typically last?”

“Six to seven days, give or take.”

“And are you sexually active?”

You blushed as you thought about Grayson. You hadn’t forgotten the romantic picnic dinner he had set up in the backyard with a large projector hung up. Sitting there under the stars with him, being in such a close proximity to that man always made you feel so nervous. But having his hands on you, his lips on yours, his large and muscular body between your thighs, it made it all worth it. You most certainly didn’t forget how many times he made you orgasm in under an hour. You were thankful that Ethan and Kristina had gone to their own date night for a few hours.

“Y/N?” Dr. Khaleesi’s voice broke you free from your thoughts, causing you to clear your throat out of embarrassment.

“Y-Yes, I’m sexually active,” you softly responded.

Dr. Khaleesi nods and checks off the small YES box beside the question. “And how often do you engage in sexual intercourse?”

“Um, about three to four times a week.” You suddenly burst out into laughter at the surprised look on her face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she laughs as well. “At least one of us is getting some action, huh?” She laughs again when you cover your face, muffling your small groan. “Back to the questions. When was the last time you were sexually active?”

“I’d say last week, but I’ve been feeling these symptoms for the past two weeks now,” you hesitatingly told her, secretly not wanting to know the cause in order to avoid the dread and heartbreak if something was terminal.

“And what symptoms have you been having?” She asked you, now looking at your expression rather than the clipboard in her hands.

“Um,” you looked up in thought, “Nausea, cramps, breast tenderness, sudden feeling of exhaustion, loss of appetite, and I’ve been peeing a lot more.”

Dr. Khaleesi nods silently, her sudden silence makes you feel incredibly uneasy. You swallow down and exhale a shaky and audible sigh. She gives you a reassuring smile. “Do you mind if I exam your stomach?”

“N-No,” you quietly said and laid back on the cushioned exam table. “Go ahead, please.”

And after hearing your consent, Dr. Khaleesi pulled on some blue latex gloves and hovers her hands over your stomach. You pull up your shirt and pull the cracked skin of your bottom lip with your teeth. She gently presses down in different areas of your stomach, periodically asking, “Does this cause any pain? Discomfort?” And each time, you shook your head. As she was getting to the end of the exam, you went over every single possibility. What if it’s a tumor? What if you’re pregnant? Could it be cancer? Is it internal bleeding? Somehow, you couldn’t find a reason for each possibility to happen. You had no family members with a history of chronic illnesses. And you and Grayson always used protection, never birth control because of the harmful effects to your body. When Dr. Khaleesi was finished with the brief exam, she sighs softly and lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I know why you’re feeling like this, Y/N. And before I tell you, I want you to know that I am here if you ever need advice on how to do this, okay?” She tells you in a reassuring and motherly tone.

“Just tell me,” you whispered, voice cracking as you strong to keep a strong front. But with every second, it slowly disappeared, revealing a vulnerable and terrified woman in front of the doctor. “Please…”

Dr. Khaleesi sighed quietly and licked her red lipstick stained lips. “You’re… pregnant. Presumably one month pregnant.”

If you were standing, you were sure you would’ve dropped to your knees. Your mouth dropped open, trying desperately to form words, but all that came out was a weak squeak. Tears lined your waterline as you shook your head in disbelief.

“N-No, that’s… that’s fucking impossible,” you frantically said, shaking your head even more as you hastily stood up and walked over to the other side of the room. Your hands went to your hair as you paced back and forth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my, God,” you whispered to yourself, muffling a sob with the back of your hand. “I.. he’s been talking ab-about having kids for-for so long and…” your voice shook between every word. “We’re both so young!”

“We have options, Y/N,” Dr. Khaleesi gently told you as to not scare you if she rose her voice to speak over yours. “There’s abortion-”

“No!” You shouted. “That… That is out of the question. I-I need to talk to him. I need to see where his head is at first, and-and then I can talk to you about… options,” you whispered the last word. You are pro-choice, but you know deep in your heart that you couldn’t terminate this pregnancy. If Grayson thought the opposite, you’re not sure what would happen next.

“Would you like me to schedule your next appointment in one week?” Dr. Khaleesi quietly asks you as she notices the mental battle you’re currently having. “That way you have plenty of time to discuss what you both think, okay?”

You hesitatingly nod and look over at her with an expression that nearly broke her gentle heart. “I-I’m scared, Daksha.”

At the sound of her name exiting your lips, she immediately crosses over and pulls you into a hug. She understands that this may be unprofessional to her bosses and what other patients may see as inappropriate, but she would never let a terrified woman feel alone.

“You are going to be okay, child,” she tells you quietly, one hand wrapped around your shoulders as the other lightly pats the back of your head. “Whatever you decide, I will help you along the way, okay? Do not forget that.”

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CURRENT TAGLIST

@etherealdols @certainaesthetic

#grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan

[kunikuzxshi]

Can I please request for LoV content though this time the reader isn’t anyone’s s/o per say, just like everyone’s mama in a sense, always being the one who care for them and give them love, big spooning, cuddle, help them with various stuff. And because they are ‘LoV mama’ they are quiet dominant and everyone listens to them and respect them. Can I get headcannons for LoV interactions with her? And if possible for another post a sequel of how they will react when they found out that she has a lover who basically babies her and she likes it too. How will they react? Will they treat her differently? Jealous? Thank you so much!!!!! 💕💕💕💕

Awwwww 🥺 just let me know if you want me to tag you whenever I do the other post ❤️ it got really laggy before I could add more so… :’)

Just some small stuff, I’ll do like one shots and the other thing in another post or two if you want me to tag you or somethin lol

Part 2

Kurogiri

Lemme tell you right now, he is absolutely relieved because now he’s got someone else to “babysit” the league

He finally feels comfortable enough to have a day just to himself

^ He’s just happy he doesn’t have to constantly worry about Dabi burning down their base, or Shigaraki turning Toga to dust

He’s kind of like a kid in a way

^ Like he’s looking for praise in a way, but not really

Encourage him when he’s doing a good job

Let him vent when a certain brat pisses him off

And PLEASE help him discipline said brat

^ He will literally beg you, just do it please

He definitely appreciates you the most out of everyone

He likes getting a pat on the back when he’s doing a good job, or even just having a drink with you when “handjob” is finally asleep I had to I’m sorry I love that nickname so much

You’ve got either really insulting nicknames or really sweet ones for everyone in the league, but you guys only use them when it’s just you two

You guys randomly get Magne pride stuff, like the transgender flag or those pins you find everywhere during pride month

^ Sometimes Toga too

^ And you if you’re part of it, but he goes without you if it’s for you, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise

He likes head pats but that’s all he’s comfortable with

Shigaraki

Ok, he’s definitely a bitch to you too

^ at first at least

In general, he didn’t really like people and his tolerance for everyone was pretty low for a long time

The only people he interacted with were the same few people, and they basically spoiled and groomed him, so it takes him the longest to warm up to you

He doesn’t like being told no, so expect him to act like a toddler when you tell him he can’t do something

He does kind of like having another decent parental figure even though in his head afo’s a good dad

He might invite you to go with him to GameStop or something like that

^ Or maybe just to grab a quick snack from a ramen shop or something along the lines of that

He’s somewhere between a moody teenager and a four year old, just remember that

Please don’t get mad at him, he feels bad after an hour or two

^ Kurogiri has to make him apologize for whatever he did though because he’s too stubborn to do it himself

He lets you pick out one of his good controllers and headsets so you can play with him in your own room, or with him, he doesn’t mind

Once he’s fully comfortable with you, he’s clingy as hell

Always asks for hugs or head scratches, most likely both

He tries his best not to snap at you like he does with everyone else, and he probably has the most patience with you

He doesn’t really cuddle with you since it’d be a little weird if you guys aren’t dating, but he does hug you from behind every once in a while

Likes to be close to you in general

He likes when you take care of his scars and wounds for him, or when you get him to stop scratching his neck

^ Cause it shows you care, and he doesn’t really think anyone really does except for Kurogiri and AFO

Probably the touchiest one

Expect to be giving him some form of attention every second, whether it’s talking to him or just holding his wrist

Probably the one that enforces your rules honestly (if you have any)

Basically he’s a simp, but like the platonic kind of simp

Dabi

Dabi’s a bit like Shigaraki

It does take him a bit to open up, but only about half the amount of time it takes Shigaraki to

He does feel bad when you get mad, and it takes him about the same amount of time to feel guilty

He definitely invites you to go places with him, but it’s usually a bar or a good spot to commit arson

He’s basically a moody teenager, that’s it, so he’s at least manageable

Sometimes he goes with you to get snacks or drinks (soft drinks basically), but if he does, expect to be the one paying

Might give you a cigarette every once in a while if you smoke, and he always offers to light it for you

He definitely likes to vent to you about his day, or how Shigaraki’s been bugging him more than usual

^ It’s mainly because you’re the only one that listens though mainly

^ He still appreciates it though, don’t get it wrong

One of his favorite pastimes is to walk around the city at night with you and maybe Kurogiri

He’s not very touchy in general, so don’t expect anything more than a pat on the back

Sometimes though, if you want a hug or something he’ll let you get one from him

He’s still not touchy at all, so don’t ask for very much

^ Lemme put it this way, expect more from pretty much everyone else except him

Spinner

He always runs to you about Dabi picking on him for his quirk when Kurogiri’s not around

Sometimes he asks you to play a game with him, but not very often

^ Even Shigaraki probably asks more than Spinner does

He’s pretty quiet with you most of the time, and he won’t usually talk to you unless you start a conversation

^ Basically he only talks to you when he needs to

He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’ll go out for food with you since his quirk makes him pretty easy to spot, but he does offer to help cook every once in a while

He likes to show you his collection of knockoff stain clothing

He has made efforts to try to get to know you more, but he’s a little shy

Get him Stain merch and you’ll automatically be his favorite out of everyone in the league

^ Shigaraki might kill you though, just a heads up

Don’t touch him unless you’re treating his wounds, he’s worse than Dabi is

Magne

She loves going out with you and Toga

^ Could be for food, or maybe clothes shopping, hell, even just a walk

^ She just likes spending time with you, but yes, it is preferred if Toga and Twice could come along

She’s gotta be the sweetest person out of the whole league

She’s probably called you her sibling a few times just so you know her opinion on you

You’ve got at least a few matching shirts and jackets with her and Toga

She probably offers to help you around the base more than anyone (except kurogiri)

You’re definitely in the top 3 favorites

She likes to do skincare routines with Toga, Twice, and you

Definitely paints her nails and asks you how it looks first

She’s totally onboard with you sitting in her lap, but it’s just for hugs, don’t get it mixed up

She’s probably one of the touchiest people out of the league

^ Not nearly as much as Shig, but she’s probably third

Toga

You’re a sibling too, 100%

She asks you to sharpen and clean her knives daily, but she always repays the favor by helping you cook or by cleaning 2-3 rooms

She’s given you one of her favorite knives to keep for your birthday, or just any special event of yours

She always asks you to put her hair up for her, and if your hair is long enough, she asks if she can do your hair

She’s really picky about anything she gets you, and she always pays attention to the smallest details in everything she gives you

She’s given you quite a lot of jewelry she stole from corpses, whether you wear it or not

^ You can sell it too, and she’s fine with it, just tell her thank you first though

She always wants to watch you cook and she’s even tried to make your favorite food once or twice with Kurogiri and Magne

She asks you to paint her nails for her, even if you’re not good at it, since one hand always turns out better than the other

Face masks and cleansers are a must, she prefers if you do more skincare stuff with her, but that’s the bare minimum

Definitely has a picture of you, Magne, her, and Twice as the wallpaper on her phone

She’s somewhat touchy, she’s all for hugs and maybe hand holding every once in a while

^ That’s it though

Twice

He likes to smoke with you (if you do)

^ If you don’t, he still likes to talk to you when he does

He’s really interested in your hobbies and what you like to do

He’s comfortable with taking off his mask fully when it’s just you two and no one else

He thinks your laugh is cute in the same way a puppy’s cute

He likes being cared for by you, and you’re always going to be in his top 3

His all-time favorite thing about you is just the simple fact that you accept him for who he is, flaws and all

He comes to you for head pats at least four times a day, and he likes holding your hand because it makes him feel safe and secure

He loves how gentle you are with him, and how you try your best to understand him

^ He does feel extremely bad when he involuntarily insults you

^ Tell him you know he didn’t mean it and that you still like him please

He loves cuddles, but only when he’s tired

^ It’s usually just him laying his head on your shoulder though

Again, having you around in general makes him feel safe

So after a long day of fighting heroes, he just wants to sit with you until he falls asleep

Compress

He basically the only other person besides Kurogiri that doesn’t have the mindset of a 15 year old or younger

It’s nice that he’s got someone other than Kurogiri to talk to now

He offers to help with chores the most

Likes to entertain you with magic tricks, and he always shows you his newest tricks first

^ Please tell him he did a good job and that it was convincing

He knows a good deal about you, like your favorite food and your favorite spot in the city

Sometimes he goes on walks with you when the tension after a mission dies down

He takes you out for food once or twice a week, and for a snack run every other week

^ He always gets a lot of stuff though, so it’s ok

He’s always the first to notice anything about you, like a new haircut or a new shirt

^ He’s always the first to compliment you on it too

On a scale of 1-10, he’s probably a 3 as far as being touchy goes

He appreciates praise and maybe pats on the back, but he doesn’t really care much about themselves

He doesn’t really actively seek your attention like Shigaraki does, but he doesn’t complain when he gets it

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #kurogiri #mr compress #league of villains #himiko toga #twice mha #jin bubaigawara #magne bnha #spinner bnha

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Desires and Daydreams

Me: oh yeah I’ll have this edited and out by tomorrow morning! Also Me: Ha! Sike! Time fo post at night again :)

All in all I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out. A busy week with ball fucked me over time and energy wise. However, I now have a full 7k word fic for y’all so that’s good! I quite literally just finished editing this so I hope it’s as good as my mind told me it was about two minutes ago. Especially considering it’s a little gift of sorts for the amazing @doodlevore (AKA I saw this gem of a drawing, flipped out for a hot minute, and then decided it was writing time) Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and I hope I did your artwork justice Doodle :)

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Aw c’mon Doc!” the man halfheartedly whined as he attempted again to grab the small ‘medic’. Once more 2b had ducked under his hand, glaring up at him through his goggles. The taller of the two just laughed at the sight, near daggers of teeth glimmering through his toothy grin. No way in hell could he take that glare seriously like this. “You act like I was planning to hurt you. You really think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“No,” 2b started, halting his words momentarily to dodge another attempted swipe at him. Getting caught by the man wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure - hell, he could name several things automatically worse than being grabbed by him in this hellscape of Nevada - however that did not mean that he wanted to be scooped up like some doll and put through whatever his teammate had in mind for him and the other two who were both currently busy dodging the taller’s other hand. Again his glare settled on the younger hacker. “But that does not mean I’m going to keel over and let you do whatever, Deimos. Now would you stop trying to grab us for five minutes!”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Deimos protested, swiping at Hank only for the shrunken mercenary to vault themself over his hand. Go figure, he was still going to be difficult. Hell, they all were. When he was the smallest of the group he was at their mercy and even went with it half the time, but the moment he got to have some fun they all decided to be as difficult as possible. In all honesty it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. Watching them run around like little mice was pretty entertaining. That didn’t mean he didn’t have plans he wanted to follow through with though! Whatever, he’d play their games for now. He’d get them eventually, and when he did he’d have his fun. “I’d stop if you all would just stand still for five seconds, but no. You all clearly wanna play so I’m gonna keep up the cat and mouse game we’ve got going.”

“But that- Deimos, you aren’t getting my point here at all!” 2b yelled up at the man, ducking under yet another swipe at him made by the youngest of their little crew. He was fairly certain it was impossible to miss what he was saying so either Deimos was less intelligent then he had grown to suspect over the years or he was flat out ignoring the man’s request to quit trying to grab them. A brief comparison of the two had crossed out the former option rather quickly. That cocky, smoking son of a gun. “Sanford! A little help?”

“Why me?” The Chad of a man yelled back as he scrambled to his feet after having to get down to avoid being grabbed. In the back of his mind he already had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was asked. He wasn’t stupid after all.

“He usually listens to you better than me!” The older hacker shot back, nearly running into Hank as he prepared himself for the next ‘attack’.

“So we’re playing that card now. Good to know.” Sanford grumbled softly, no real venom in his tone. 2b was right, at least in most contexts. He probably was the closest to Deimos out of them all and the other two’s usual intimidating approach to get Deimos to listen really wouldn’t work with them the size of the man’s hand. A sigh tugged itself from his throat as he directed his words up at the seemingly giant hacker. “Dei, c’mon now. Can’t you quit with the whole trying to grab us thing? It’s- AH!- not all that fun!”

“Damnit.” Deimos cursed under his breath, having missed Sanford yet again. Who knew trying to just grab his teammates would be so difficult. It was definitely fun, this little game of cat and mouse like in those old cartoons he’d managed to pirate, but it was still harder than he expected to actually grab them. Guess not everything gets to come easy. Or maybe he was going too easy… “Maybe not for you. Just stand still and make it easier on yourself if you’re having such a bad time.”

“That’s- Dei, you chucklehead, quit the games already and stop trying to grab us like rodents!”

Deimos just shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. His grin still stood proud on his face in all its sharp toothed glory. This was too much fun to give up so easily. Really, they expected him to quit the moment he started having fun? Please. He’d gone through too much to waste his opportunity. Getting his hands on shrinking tech had to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, despite the difficulties and hurdles he had to jump to do such a thing. What had been a normal, boring day with no missions had turned into him watching his three shrunken teammates dash across the worn table while dodging his attempts to grab them. He was going to enjoy this, whether they liked it or not. Call this revenge for all the times he was teased for being the smallest out of all of them, or call it him being an ass. He didn’t care. For once the younger hacker wasn’t the small one in the group and boy did he have plans for it. Oh he had plans…

“Mmm…how ‘bout no.” Deimos hummed, slamming a hand down on the table next to 2b. Just as he’d hoped the man tensed, trying to keep himself steady on the shaking table. His eyes locked onto the temporarily paralyzed unofficial medic like a hawk’s to its prey, smirk morphing into a full on grin. Without hesitation he grabbed the man in a firm fist. There was one of the three. “Ha! Gotcha Doc~!”

“Mmgh- I can see that, Deimos. Now put me down!” 2BDamned didn’t shout at his teammates often. There were a few times he did, yes. Prime examples of such times included (but weren’t limited to) tracking blood all over the base, doing something absolutely reckless and facing the consequences, not following the plans they had for missions, etc. Not once had he expected to ever be yelling at one of them, specifically the smallest of their team, to put him down. Hank? Maybe. Sanford? Long shot but not impossible. Deimos? No. And yet here he was, trapped within the grasp of the younger hacker with seemingly no way to escape. It’s not like the little wiggling that his loose enough to be breathable yet tight confines could do was helping much.

“But what if I don’t wanna, Doc?” Deimos hummed, resting his other hand on the table for the first time in the past twenty-five minutes that he’d been trying to grab the others. “What if I wanna keep you trapped in my fist for the rest of the day huh? Maybe longer. It’s not like you can exactly free yourself, now can you? Huh? You gonna wiggle yourself out of my hand, 2b? Claw your way out like some baby kitten?”

“I swear to Jebus, once we’re back to normal I am going to kill you myself.” The dissenter growled, trying again to free himself from his confines. He could only imagine how utterly idiotic he looked, wiggling around like some fish out of water in Deimos’s hand. Talk about humiliating.

“Sure you will. Sure.” Deimos rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he thought through his next moves. He could just grab the other two and get on with his plans but…oh that ruined the fun of the chase! His plans and stomach could wait, he wanted to enjoy this just a little longer. Now what could he do to achieve such a thing? “And besides, that’s an ‘if’ to you, Doc. If you get back to normal. Can’t do that without my help after all, so maybe you should let me have my fun~”

“I will. Don’t think I- wait. What?” Well now that wasn’t something anyone stuck at four inches tall wanted to hear. Yes, he could probably figure out how the hell Deimos shrunk him (assuming that the hacker had gotten the information and technology from the AAHW) however Deimos had at least a bit of a point. Things would be so much easier, faster, and less dangerous if he just reversed whatever the hell he did. He….he fucking planned this. He- oh the younger hacker was in some deep shit once they were back and he was the smallest again.

“Mmm you heard me, 2b. Getting you three back requires the help of me, unless you’d rather be crushed under the boot of some agent trying to get back to normal yourselves.” Deimos hummed, his words practically swimming in cockiness. “And I don’t think any of us want that. So either you let me have my fun, or you three get to stay pocket sized until you do.”

“Deimos, don’t you even think about it.” Hank growled, eyes narrowing behind his goggles as he stepped closer to the hacker. Being this small was bad enough. It wasn’t like a MAG agent where they weren’t completely dwarfed in size. No. He was stuck the size of a fucking mouse being toyed with by their basically gigantic teammate. And to top it all off the threat of being stuck at this size now loomed over the mercenary’s head. Just fucking wonderful.

“Aw but what if I did, Hank?” The hacker asked with a raise of his eyebrow, turning his attention from the medic in his fist to the shrunken killing machine that was now glaring at him over his arm. It really was something else to see them so tiny when they usually towered over everyone. How the tables turn. “I would think this is a nice situation for you. So long as you’re hidden it’s not like the Agency could find you now. No ones gonna look for a four inch tall Hank, now are they- Hey! Sanford!”

The mentioned man’s head lifted from where he had landed on the table, 2b now laying next to him after a less than graceful ‘rescue’ from the younger hacker’s hand. His feet scrambled against the old table, attempting to gain enough traction to allow for him to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to stand on ice, feet slipping out from beneath him. The doctor beside him wasn’t doing much better in the department of getting to his feet. Judging by the disappointed stare he felt burning two holes into his chest once he finally got to his feet, Hank wasn’t all that impressed with their sudden lack of coordination either. Wait, no. Hank could come later. Right now he had to deal with the giant Deimos that was currently pouting at him.

“Sorry Dei, but I’m siding with Doc here. Just put us back to normal before Hank decides to find a way to kill you at this size.” As Sanford spoke a tone far less confident then he had hoped for laced his words. Something that probably doomed him to not be listened to. Judging by the new level of cocky smeared across the hacker’s face? He was right too. Well shit. That didn’t help anything.

“Hmm…maybe but, and hear me out, I’ve got a better idea.” No one had to ask exactly what Deimos’ ‘better idea’ was. He was all too happy to demonstrate it, Hank quickly finding himself laying flat against the table with the hacker’s hand pinning him in place. The small shocked grunt from the mercenary didn’t go unnoticed by the other two, their eyes darting to their now trapped teammate. Both failed to notice the brief warning look in Hank’s eyes behind his goggles until it was too late, a warm calloused hand pinning them to the rough grain of the wood. Well, there went the idea of escape.

A sharp laugh chased away the silence that had previously filled the air. Beneath the rim of his visor two eyes simply watched as the three small forms writhed beneath his hands. Proof of the point he had been trying to prove. The point that his three shrunken teammates had wanted to be false. No way to escape now. Not unless he allowed for it, that is. A small lightbulb lit up in his head at the thought. The idea was tempting, were he to be completely honest with himself. Give his friends hope only to crush it like a spent cig under his boot once more by trapping them in a new way. Oh but then there was the option of dangling freedom just in front of them. That was an idea…and there were so many more possibilities too. In the back of his head a small voice attempted to grab Deimos’ attention. Yelling at him in every way it could think of that even thinking about doing that to his friends was wrong, even if it was playful at its roots. He shouldn’t do such a thing to them! Though, thinking logically, there was no way they wouldn’t do the same or something similar were their positions switched. Deimos knew that much, being the shortest of their gang. A soft scoff sounded from his throat, mind made up on the matter. Unfortunately for the three pinned to the table, in the end the voice of reason was all too easily ignored by the younger hacker as he adjusted to lean forward in his chair. The smell of cigarette smoke grew in strength with each hum that passed the man’s lips, the three pinned beneath his hands only able to watch as things seemed to get worse for them.

“Heh. Much better.” Deimos said with a smile, gladly ignoring the glares he was now getting from his little friends. “Now what shall I do with you-“

Ggnnnrrrr……

“-three….”

Anyone with half a mind would think that after being interrupted by your stomach you would be embarrassed and most likely apologize. The three shrunken men on the table thought that after being interrupted by his stomach Deimos would be embarrassed and probably laugh it off. Maybe even give them a chance to run without thinking. What they didn’t expect was for him to start laughing. A deep chuckle from the back of his throat too, not just an embarrassed little giggle. It was a genuine fucking laugh. First off, why the hell was he laughing? Second, what the hell did that mean for them? After a moment of thought one thing became clear. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, the three knew what the answer to the second question was long before it was even asked. Nothing good. That’s what it meant. Especially not with that dumb grin still sitting on his face. 2b, eyes locked on Deimos’ expression, had opened his mouth to attempt prying an answer out of the younger. Before a single word could leave his lips, however, his world was flipped on its head.

Literally.

For a brief second everything stopped. The warmth and pressure from the hand holding him to the table disappeared, cold washing over him and sending a shiver down his spine. That’s when a new type of pressure appeared. It was still rough and warm, the grip of a calloused hand for sure, but it was much more concentrated than just smashing him to the table. Specifically around his right ankle. His eyes couldn’t go ‘dinner plate wide’ any faster than they did the moment he felt said pressure appear. The less-than-manly scream he had heard beside him roughly half a second earlier started to make a lot more sense by the millisecond. Especially once he was dragged backwards and up, a very similar noise escaping himself. For a brief moment everything spun before his sight leveled out. What he didn’t want to see was Deimos grinning at him. Upside down.

“Annnd there we go. Sanford, Hank, I hope you guys still have a good grip at this size~.” The hacker jabbed, grinning at the little chain his friends had formed once he started picking them up. Pinched between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger was Hank’s torso. They were currently holding onto Sanford’s ankle, looking less than pleased with the situation they were in. Sanford was gripping onto the ankle of 2BDamned as he dangled, worry painting over his features. Then there was 2b, dangling at the end of the chain upside down with a look quite similar to Hank’s plastered on his face. All in all, quite the interesting little chain they made up as he leaned back in the chair.

“Damn straight. You two drop me and you’re dead.” The ‘medic’ grumbled, all too willing to make his displeasure known.

“Aw, don’t you worry, Doc. If they drop you I’ll make sure you have a nice, soft, warm landing~”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to be dropped on my hea- Deimos, what the genuine fuck does that mean?” He shouldn’t have asked. The moment after the words left his mouth 2b knew he never should have asked what the younger hacker had meant with his words. Dangling over the man’s lap having to stare him in the face while upside down wasn’t ideal. Absolutely not. However, he found much preferred it to dangling inches above Deimos’ open jaws, the smell of cigarette smoke laced breath hitting him almost as hard as the realization of just how sharp the man’s teeth were. He supposed he never noticed with Dei a. rarely ever purposely showing them off, and b. him being smaller than the older hacker. That didn’t stop him from mentally smacking himself upside the head for not taking more notes of it sooner though. Especially when he was getting so…up close and personal with them now. Fuck he was close to those daggers.

“Dei- Dei, think about this!” Sanford shouted as he stared down at the sight of the man’s open mouth, praying that his friend would listen to at least some reason. Sure, they gave him shit for being the smallest of the group often. He especially did. Not once though had he, or the other two as far as he knew, expected that said teasing would lead to them possibly having to spend the day trapped in said hacker’s gut though. If they had, they would have backed off a little. But now the threat was more present than ever. And knowing Deimos? It might be longer than a day too. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. Jebus Christ….

“Oh I have San. We’re past that point now.” Deimos hummed, his tongue lazily snaking itself over his lips as he glanced over the string of teammates that dangled from his hand. Slowly his stare became distant, his mind beginning to wander. Just how would each of them taste exactly? Would they all taste the same? But what if they each tasted different? Now wouldn’t that be something. Perhaps he wasn’t too far off picturing Sanford as a juicy sausage in his little moments to himself. Oh that would be perfect. The warm feeling of drool trailed itself lazily down his chin, each thought regarding the possible tastes of his friends encouraging an empty rumble from his midsection. He just had to find out now.

“Deimos, lower me any further and I’ll make sure you choke to death.” The man only laughed, eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth once more.

“Sorry Doc. ‘S too late to stop now.” Any screams of protest from his teammates fell on deaf ears as Deimos lowered the end of the little chain into his mouth. Immediately he was hit with the taste of black coffee, hints of iron, and oddly enough what tasted like whisky poking through and tickling his tongue. The soft, pleased hum escaped him long before he could even think to stop it, his mind far more focused on getting that flavor to coat his tastebuds than his actions or the saliva steadily dripping down his chin.

2BDamned had a different opinion on the matter. Specifically about the claim that it was ‘too late.’ It was not too fucking late. In fact, it was anything but. Deimos’s mouth, which absolutely reeked of cigarettes might he add, was still wide open. He wasn’t slipping down the tight tube he could see in front of him yet. He was being rolled around and licked over like some sort of candy, something which he apparently had to remind Deimos he wasn’t with a smack to the tongue. Sharp teeth surrounded the unofficial doctor on both sides, Sanford’s grip on his ankle still like iron despite the saliva now thoroughly coating his body. Try as he might to push himself out with his hands they only slipped and slid across the wet surface of Deimos’s tongue. Far too similar to how he was steadily slipping backwards.

“Dei…Dei, you can pull us out now…” Sanford yelled up to the man, ducking his head between his arms to avoid the feeling of daggers dragging down his head and neck. Jebus, his teeth really were sharper up close. The white knuckled grip he held on 2b’s ankle refused to budge as he slipped further in, eyes locked into the sight before him. Not once did he ever expect to watch the older hacker slowly disappear down his best friend’s throat with nothing he could do but hold on and pray. Yet here he was. Fuck. “Dei-!!”

“Sanford, don’t even bother at this point.” 2b groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. Deimos wasn’t going to listen to shit. That much was clear now if it wasn’t an hour and a half ago when they’d woken up in his hands. He didn’t want to admit it, not by a long shot, however as he slid further back there wasn’t any way the dissenter could convince himself otherwise. He, and the other two, were doomed. “He’s not going to-“

Ulp~

“…..listen. God damnit.” What else was he to even expect at this point?

Try as hard as he might, Sanford found he couldn’t grip the unofficial doctor’s ankle any tighter. Not without the possibility of breaking something, considering that he most likely had already passed the ‘try not to bruise the man’ stage. No doubt the clearly handprint shaped black and blue bruise would be there in a day tops. A scolding was nearly cemented in his future now, however Sanford couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Compared to the hole Deimos was digging himself, with a smile on his face no less, he’d gladly take the talking to. Speaking of the hacker, either he was genuinely out of it for some reason or he was just trying to be a grade A dick.

“Deimos!! Cut it out, man!” He yelled, trying his hardest to squirm away from the licks and shifting of the man’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, nothing seemed to work. It started at his hands but all too quickly the sensation of a wet tongue dragging itself up, over, and around the pyromaniac’s arms and to his torso. The dark lenses of his signature glasses fogged over with each warm breath that washed over his body. Goosebumps dotted all exposed skin, any fabric quickly becoming drenched with saliva. The sensations slowly crawled their way down Sanford’s body, more of him no longer dangling and instead slipping across the hacker’s tongue by the moment. He watched his hands, and by extension Doc’s feet, slowly slip beyond his vision into the void-like entrance of Deimos’ throat. His arms followed not long after, the darkness enveloping more of his vision by the second. Talk about a way to spend your day.

Glk~

A soft groan rumbled around the shrunken men, the sound’s maker all too lost in his thoughts. Tastes of warm sausage, coffee, and the lingering hints of whisky and iron danced across his tongue. Each lick up the parts of Sanford’s body which remained momentarily in his mouth brought a shiver up through his spine. With each second the small body inched further back, pulling his hand toward his mouth. His fingers and the body pinned between them slipped past the hacker’s lips with ease. Layers of cloth, along with the occasional sensation of scarred skin, pressed against his tongue. The taste of a rare steak and a much stronger metallic hint, again not unlike that of blood but somehow much more pleasant, seemed all too eager to attack his taste buds. His spine seemed to reduce itself to jello in a matter of seconds, relying on the backrest of his chair for support. The smoker pulled his fingers from his mouth with a small pop, jaws shutting around his final shrunken teammate and leaving his mind to ponder over the tastes and sensation attacking his mouth and mind alike.

The word ‘still’ had been completely wiped from Deimos’s dictionary, if it had even been there to begin with. At least that’s what Hank would have told anyone who asked. His eyes had narrowed behind his red tinted goggles and now they seemed to grow thinner with each movement from the muscle beneath him. As if the heat and lingering cigarette smell from the hacker’s breath weren’t enough, the wet feeling of saliva continued to sneak itself into every fiber of his being. First his skin, then lighter clothing items like his bandana and mask, and finally seeping through his coat and multiple other layers of clothing. And just what was a better cherry on top then being rolled around near constantly. Every moment they seemed to find themself in a new position within the confines of the young hacker’s mouth. While their grip remained on Sanford’s ankles, the same could in no way be said for his patience with the man who had caused this hell by shrinking them. He swore, Deimos better enjoy his time being able to hold them like dolls because the moment they were back to normal the man would be getting a firm taste of his own medicine. Whether it be by him serving as lunch or by another form of revenge was yet to be decided. Hank could only plot so much, though. Despite how much more bearable he found thinking about a way to ‘return the favor’ to Deimos to be, he needed to at least show a little of his own irritation to the man. After all, he wasn’t just some snack. They were still Hank J. Wimbledon god damn it, and they’d prove it if they had to. How he would do that remained a mystery for what felt like hours of constant licking and flipping…until said proof came. It came in the form of a kick to the inside of Deimos’ teeth. A kick which sent him sliding backwards-

Ulk-

Glp~

And the oddly shaped lump in Deimos’ throat disappearing behind his collarbone.

Deimos’ eyes had widened in shock, a hand quickly pressing itself to his throat as it happened. In his opinion, it happened too quickly. All too fast the warm weight disappeared from his mouth, pushing itself backwards with force into his throat. Far too soon did he lose the previously vivid taste of barely cooked meat and metal, leaving him with only the memory and lingering fragments of it like the other two tastes. Too quickly had the lump in his throat been pushed down by two final swallows, disappearing down behind his collarbone. For a moment he sat there in silence, the room lacking sound except for his heavy breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest he waited. Waited for the one thing that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. Moments passed with nothing before the feeling he’d been waiting for rushed his senses. A filling warmth pooled itself in his stomach, moving around against the walls of the organ and pulling a warm chuckle from the man. His hand trailed to rest over his stomach, feeling the small bodies shift and fight beneath layers of clothing, muscle, and skin. Fangs glimmering in a grin once again as he poked at the squirming fullness in his gut.

“Well look at that.” He laughed to himself, relaxing back into his chair. His stomach gurgled under his hand, what he guessed to be a thank you of sorts now that he had what he wanted within it. Though something told him the others wouldn’t be thanking him all that much. “How are you three holding up in there?”

“Deimos, do not laugh at us or so help me Jebus- Hank, get your arm out of my face!” The words were quickly followed by what Deimos could assume was 2b pushing Hank off him and into his stomach wall from what he could feel. Those three couldn’t seem to stay still. Well, he couldn’t truly blame them if he wanted to. It had to be slippery, trapped in a wet, moving organ like his stomach and all. The mental image of his three teammates slipping around in his stomach, trying their hardest to gain footing or at least a comfortable position, drew another laugh from him. This was great.

“Dei, c’mon.” Sanford added, giving his own kick to the wall in case he had failed to grab the hacker’s attention before. Try as he might to stay out of 2BDamned and Hank’s little squabble fate seemed to have other plans as he was shoved back into them every time he got away. Or maybe that was just Deimos being Deimos. “You’ve had your fun, now spit us out you chucklehead.”

“Mmm yeah no.” Deimos hummed, drumming his fingers mindlessly on his belly as he took in the little shocks that each harsh kick or punch sent through his body to his brain. Each movement registered in his brain as a pleasurable little shock, but the harsher they were the more enjoyment they seemed to cause him. Not that he was complaining. Last he checked his teammates could tire themselves out with squirming all they wanted to if it felt this nice. “See, that’s not really the plan here. Not for a few hours at least.”

“What now?” Sanford’s voice had dropped its hopeful tone, now more monotonous and serious. Beside him he heard a growl, one he assumed to be from Hank. Was the smoker trying to get them killed? Again he punched the wall. “Dei, quit joking.”

“I ain’t joking, ‘Ford.” The young hacker replied bluntly, his shit eating grin more than audible in his words. A long, over dramatic sigh made its way from his mouth with ease as he adjusted his position to one more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as one could get in an old chair. Smiling to himself he gave his stomach a little shove, feeling the three bodies inside shift and move under the pressure. “I just wanna sit and enjoy this for a while. It feels too nice to just give up.”

Silence fell upon the three currently held within the confines of the man’s stomach, each sitting there taking in Deimos’ words until the pressure from outside had lifted. Once it did, they all reacted their own way. Hank, for example, sat still for about ten seconds tops before a punch was thrown at the wall. Sanford, on the other hand, debated whether Hank’s approach or his attempts at reasoning with their ‘captor’ would be more effective at getting Deimos to spit them up. Then there was 2BDamned, who sat in what would’ve been an unnerving silence had they not known him. Knowing him, though, changed the meaning of the silence from ‘is this man insane to be so calm?’ to ‘Deimos just dug himself a grave’ in a split second.

“Deimos,” The unofficial medic started, “you have ten seconds to at least start spitting us up or I will force myself back up your throat simply to beat your ass.” Despite the warmth of their current confines, a chill shot up Sanford’s back. As far as he knew, the last thing you wanted to be was at the end of Doc’s threats. The man often had little to no issue going through with them, and Deimos wasn’t some special case. The laughter they heard (and felt shaking their ‘cell’ for that matter) was all it took to solidify that Deimos didn’t take them seriously at this size. Guess said threats don’t work when you’re four inches tall at best and your ‘captor’ is a smug ass bastard.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, Doc.” Deimos chuckled, giving his stomach a firm pat which only seemed to serve to jostle around its captives more. “I might not be able to handle spice like San’ but I do know my way around feisty snacks~.”

“We aren’t food, Deimos.” Hank growled, kicking the floor beneath him. The flesh sunk under his boot, a sickening squishing sound heard as a result. A small shiver trembled up the walls, one which failed to register with the black-clad mercenary as in pain. Oh just wonderful. The sharp toothed asshole was enjoying this.

“Mmm you sure, big guy? Cause you seem like food to me right now.” Within only a few seconds of the words leaving his lips the hacker found himself met with a pleasant shockwave up the spine. Clearly a certain black-clad mercenary didn't like being called food, if the fighting he felt wash over him like a tsunami of warm, fuzzy electricity meant anything. A soft groan crawled out of his lips, his hand lazily tracing circles over his stomach. ”mm oh c-calm down in there. I didn’t mean it. I will let you out, Jeez.”

“Deimos, this isn’t funny. Spit us out.” 2b snapped, kicking the floor.

“Mmm sorry, Doc. Can't hear you heheh…” the hacker spoke, words blurring softly as he melted back into the chair.

“I’m serious!” The words fell on deaf ears.

“Dei, c’mon…” Sanford this time. His eyes drifted softly shut.

“Dei…” His grin turned into a simple smirk.

“Dei…” Didn't he get he wasn’t spitting them out yet?

“Deimos…” Oh full names now. How fancy.

“Deimos..?” Wait…that didn’t sound right.

“Deimos.” Was he losing it?

…

“DEIMOS!”

The hacker jumped, blinking rapidly as his eyes darted around. What was going on? Where were they? Who did he need to kill? Where were the others? Thoughts rushed through his head as wide eyes darted around everything in sight, looking for something they recognized. Anything to show him where he was or what was going on. Relief came to him in the form of Sanford standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to get his attention. Most importantly though they were in their base. Safe. No one was here. They weren’t under attack. He was just daydreaming. Sanford and the others were here and he was just…daydreaming- oh damn it. Go figure it was too good to be true. A groan, this time annoyed, rang from Deimos’ throat.

“Jebus- Dude, are you alright?” Sanford asked, eyebrows knit with worry and…an emotion Deimos found himself unable to name. Like he’d seen something. Something…weird. Almost like concern but not at the same time. For a brief moment an idea reared its head, only to be smashed down like a weird game of whack-a-mole within the hacker’s mind. There wasn’t any need for such an absurd idea. It’s not like Sanford could have seen his little daydream. Nope, that was safe in his head. The smoker shook his head to clear it, quickly flashing Sanford a sharp toothed grin.

“Yeah man. Just zonin’ out and daydreaming a little ‘s all. Nothing to worry about here heheh,” he laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder playfully. His eyes scanned the man’s face again, trying to see if his statement had done its job. Although the worry had dropped from Sanford’s face, the other emotion remained. Now what on earth was that for?

“Daydreamin’ huh? ‘Bout what?” The pyromaniac asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from Deimos’ eyes to his mouth, then back again as he spoke. He didn’t seem to not believe Deimos when he said he was daydreaming, so what on earth was that look for? And why was he looking at his mouth so much? Giving into the call of curiosity the sharp-toothed hacker brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes widening mouth momentarily when his fingers found a trail of saliva dripping from his lips to his chin. He’d been drooling. Whoops.

“Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Deimos lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which he then wiped on his pant leg. So that’s what Sanford had been looking at. Oh he must’ve looked downright stupid too. Well now wasn’t that just great? He just had to hope the Chad hadn’t decided to take a photo.

“Honestly I don’t even remember what it was about.” Liar, he remembered all of it. The vivid tastes, the squirmy fullness, the thrill-

Grrrnnnggg…

Ah shit. Busted by his own stomach. For a second the hacker sat there stunned, blinking dumbly as his cheeks heated up with a pink tint. Ok just play it cool Deimos. “….though if I had to make a guess? Food heh.”

“Yeah, that would make sense heh.” Sanford laughed softly, playfully jabbing the smaller man in the stomach. He seemed to buy Deimos’s story, bringing a sense of relief to the hacker. At least he wasn’t going to press on it. “Your stomach was anything but quiet, you know.”

“Go figure. And when I can’t say anything about it too.” Quickly laughter had found itself spilling from Deimos’ mouth, his mind having calmed down when he had heard the sound from the other man. He seemed less concerned, or whatever that emotion he couldn’t name right now was. As another grumble shook through his middle the hacker lowered a hand to rest over his stomach. He got it already. He was upset the daydream of his wasn’t real after all too. Not much more he could do besides try and find something to eat now though. “Say, I’m gonna go try and snag something to shut my gut up. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ll pass this time.” Sanford spoke with a small shake of the head and a smile. Try as he might to play it off as friendly, it seemed that odd emotion that Deimos couldn’t name was just bound to show itself in his words. “You just go shut that thing up before the Agency uses it to track us.”

“Oh ha ha. I’m going.” Deimos laughed, giving Sanford one last playful punch to the shoulder before running off. He had food to track down somewhere in this hellscape of Nevada, unless he wanted a beating from Doc that was. He just needed something small or, hell, even temporary if he happened to come across a shrunken grunt or agent. They would work out just fine so long as he didn’t let the others find out what he’d used to shut his stomach up. Couldn’t give away anything that could relate to his little hidden desires. The emptiness in his gut wasn’t something he’d wanted back, but alas, a daydream is only a daydream and he wasn’t getting any fuller just walking around. Now where would his best chance to snag someon- something be…

…

Sanford watched as his friend ran off, smile slowly fading as Dei disappeared from his line of sight. That look of caution slipped back onto his face as he slowly turned his back to head to his room. He needed a moment to think about what he’d just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t just forget what was now burned into his mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the younger hacker had been daydreaming about if you had seen him while he was in the zoned out trance of his. Mouth wide open and drooling with a hand pretending to dangle something above it, an active stomach topping it all off like some sorta weird cherry on the sundae of his best friend’s little fantasy. Oh no, he knew what that meant. And hearing him mumble the names of their other teammates, along with his own, at least once through it all? It spelled out the man’s daydream in big neon lights. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, despite how he tried his best to shake it off.

He wanted to believe it when he tried to tell himself that Deimos wouldn’t ever shrink them, much less try to eat them. He really did. All that he’d seen along with logic itself, however, pointed him at it with the firm proof that his words were lies. The man would no doubt take advantage of it, if he ever found a way to shrink them, even if he were to keep them as safe as possible. Just as he had with any unfortunate shrunken agents or grunts he happened upon when he was alone (or at least when he thought he was) Safe or not safe, the fact of the matter still stood. Sanford did not want to spend however long within the confines of his friend’s gut, especially if he wasn’t alone. Being in there had to be bad enough. Him not being able to do anything about it either only made the situation worse. Reasoning with the hacker was most likely hopeless and he wasn’t about to beg. What was left? Pray? God, if Deimos ever managed to get his hands on the Agency’s shrinking technology then one thing was downright certain. Boy were he, Hank, and 2b doomed…

#soft vore #mawedness combat #it took me long enough #but it’s finally done #i have so many ideas for fics based on drawings by a handful of artists #this one though…this one made me go for it and write it #congrats doodle #you and your art shot me with my own inspiration Gun #and I’ve just gotta say amazing work again #you were one of the main three/four who inspired me to write M4dc0m #anyway #I hope you enjoy the fic you caused :)

[jaewin97]

Do you hate me?

You have a feeling Taeyong hates you and Taeyong hates himself for feeling the way he does, especially because of Donghyuck.

word count: around 2100

fluff, misunderstandings, mutual pining (?)

A/N: I kind of quickly proofread it, so sorry if there are any mistakes!

Upon hearing the ringing of the doorbell Donghyuck is quick to run out from his room towards the front door, almost falling on his butt as his socks slide across the wooden floor. 

Taeyong, who was having his meal at the kitchen table, almost chokes on his food at the sudden commotion and turns to watch the younger boy with a bewildered expression, ready to yell at him for running in the dorms. But as Donghyuck opens the door, albeit a little out of breath with a wide grin plastered on his face, he simply closes his mouth again and is quick to straighten himself as best he can as he registers who's at the door by Donghyuck's loud greeting. 

"Baby!"

"Hey cub!" he hears you say followed by a sweet giggle. He assumes Donghyuck has you locked in a strong hug as you let out an 'oof'. He internally curses as he turns back to his food and sees that he had splattered some rice on the table as he was choking. Taeyong quickly gets up and grabs a napkin making sure to clean up as he hears you and Donghyuck walking towards the kitchen. 

"Oh! Taeyong hyung, I didn't notice you were here!" Donghyuck exclaims as he finally reaches the kitchen with you in tow. "YN came to visit me today!"

"Hello" you softly say, as you timidly bow towards Taeyong. 

"Oh um, hi" Taeyong replies as he sets his gaze on you. You looked absolutely adorable, dressed in black jeans and what looked to be an oversized hoodie. As he took in your appearance his gaze lowered down and he realized that your hand was interlocked with Donghyuck's hand. Taeyong felt his face heat up as he quickly looked away and grabbed his plates which still had plenty of food in them and placed them in the kitchen sink. 

"I- I have to go change. Sorry. Um, it was nice seeing you" he quickly said as he looked down and made his way towards his room. A loud slam from Taeyong closing his door resonated in the dorms causing you and Hyuck to slightly jump. 

"That was so weird. He was already dressed" Donghyuck commented as he let go of your hand and made his way to the refrigerator. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked.

You stood in your spot not understanding what had happened. You thought back to plenty of other times where Taeyong had also abruptly left when you had arrived or when it looked like he was uncomfortable to be in your presence. 

Maybe he doesn't like me? Or what if he thinks I'm annoying? Could it be because I'm younger and he finds me immature or loud when I'm with Donghyuck? All these questions flooded your head and you decided it was best to just ask the man in question. You didn't want him to be uncomfortable in his own home and you didn't want to cause any discomfort with him and Hyuck. 

"I think he hates me." 

You heard a pained groan as Hyuck quickly shot up and hit his head on the refrigerator. 

"Ah fuck" he whined as he turned to you with a pout causing you to walk over and stand in front of him. He slightly bent down to your level as you reached a hand out to rub the spot he had hit. 

"Why do you say that?" Hyuck asked. 

"I'll tell you in your room" you sighed as he stood straight and nodded, motioning for you to follow him down the hallway. 

Once you reached his room, Donghyuck proceeded to close his door and play some music from his speaker in case anyone heard you two talking. You proceed to tell him your thoughts as you both laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. 

"I don't think he hates you. I think it's the opposite but I for sure think you should talk to him about it if it bothers you or if you think it bothers him" Hyuck responded once you were done. 

"What do you mean it's the opposite?" you asked as you turned to face him. 

Hyuck sighed and opened his mouth to answer when his room door opened. 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I thought Johnny was here." 

You both looked towards the door as you saw Taeyong standing there before he quickly made eye contact with you and quickly turned around and left. 

"See!" you whined as you turned to look at Donghyuck with a pout earning a laugh from the boy. 

"Go talk to him" he exclaimed, shoving you off his bed and pulling out his phone.

"B-but" 

"No 'buts' yn. Do it or else I'll call him in here and all three of us can talk about it" he glared as you begrudgingly walked to his door. 

"You're so evil," you said, sticking your tongue out at him, causing him to smirk and wink at you. 

You exited his room and made your way towards Taeyong's, mentally planning out what you were going to say to him. Before you chickened yourself out, you knocked on his door as soon as you reached it. 

A soft "come in" was heard as you shakily turned the handle and walked in. 

Taeyong stood in the corner of his room watering his plants with his back to you. After hearing you softly clear your throat his head snapped towards you. 

"O-oh yn. U-um what's wrong?" he stammered as he put the water bottle he was using to water his plant down on his desk and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"I um... I wanted to talk to you about something" you gulped.

"Of course! Have a seat" he pointed to his desk chair near him. You timidly nodded and made your way over. You felt like you could taste the awkwardness that was in the air and it caused your hands to begin to get clammy. 

Taeyong muttered a quick 'give me one second' before he walked out of his room and came back in a few seconds later with a dining table chair.  He set it slightly next to the desk chair which you were sitting on and he took a seat. 

"So what's wrong?" he shyly asked, making quick eye contact with you before looking down at his hands.

"Do you hate me?" 

His head quickly snapped up as he stared at you in shock.

"What? No! Why would you ask that?" 

"I just- I'm sorry. It's just whenever I'm near you, you either leave or look really uncomfortable. I just wanted to apologize for making you feel this way and I wanted to ask you so I can figure out what it is I can do to make you feel comfortable" you responded feeling your cheeks heat up as his gaze held yours. His eyes scanned yours over and over as he furrowed his brows and locked his jaw. 

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. You did nothing wrong, you could never do anything wrong. I'm just an idiot. I've just been trying to sort some stuff out when it comes to you- I mean it's nothing like you causing me trouble or anything it's the opposite! I mean- wait! I don't want to hurt you or Donghyuck. I could never do that to him" he rambled.

Your brain was trying to process what just happened. Did he confess? Or are you reading into it? Hurt me or Donghyuck? What? 

"I'm- wait. I'm so confused. So is it just that you don't like me? You're trying to figure out how to be around someone you don't like? If it's something I said or did I'm sor-" 

"No!" he quickly cut you off. "I don't know how to express myself with you. I'm sorry. This is so frustrating. I know what I feel. I know what I want to say, what I want to do. It's just- whenever I'm near you my brain malfunctions and I act like a complete idiot." he confesses looking down at his hands again, noticing they were slightly shaking. 

"Taeyong I don't understand" you whispered. 

Taeyong took in a deep breath and nodded. 

"I like you. I like you a lot and I know you and Donghyuck have something going on and I don't want to ruin it. He's my little brother and I would never do anything to purposely hurt him. I hate myself knowing I could potentially hurt him because I can't control my feelings." He didn't dare move an inch as he finally let out what he had been holding in. He squeezed his eyes shut as he realized you hadn't said anything for almost a minute after he had finished speaking.

"Nothing is going on with me and Donghyuck. " 

Hearing this he finally looked up at you. You were staring at him with watery eyes and rosy pink cheeks, he swore his heart almost leaped out of his chest.

"But you guys always call each other baby or couple nicknames and you're always together and-" 

"He's like my little brother" you cut him off, gaining the courage to reach a shaky hand and grab one of Taeyong's. "I'm a year older than him and since all of you are males and his siblings are young he needs an older sister's advice sometimes when it comes to struggles he may be facing or just asking how to approach girls." 

Taeyong's mouth opened and closed as he processed what you just told him, the feeling of your hand in his wasn't helping him either. 

"so... oh." he let out as he felt his face heat up. 

"I like you too." 

Hearing those four worlds caused Taeyong's world to stop. His heart was beating so fast and he felt like his face was literally on fire. He bravely looked up and met your gaze which conveyed sincerity and determination. Your own cheeks were a darker shade of red and your chest rose and fell at the same rate his did. 

"Really?" he managed to ask in a slight tremble.

"Yes. I have since day one" you responded sincerely. 

"Wow. I- I don't know what to say" he let out a shy giggle "I never thought you would feel the same way. I mean, I thought about the 1% chance that you maybe could see me in a different way other than your friend or Donghyuckie's leader but then I always shook it out of my thoughts. So I really have no clue what to do. My mind and heart are both racing if I'm honest. I think I'm in shock."

You let out a giggle as Taeyong's eyes widened and he placed his left hand on top of his heart. He looked up at you and let out a big smile.

"You're so cute," he said.

"I should be telling you that" you said shaking your head as you felt yourself become even more shy if that was possible.

"You have no idea how crazy you drive me." he whispered as he timidly grabbed your hands in his and slightly leaned forward.

You felt your mouth dry up as you felt him rub small circles on the back of your hand.

"I want to take you out. Can I?" he asked looking up at you with a small smile.

You could only nod as you both leaned closer to one another. Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his cute pouty lips as you swallowed.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered as his eyes bulged out and he shyly nodded.

You could feel his shaky breath as he licked his lips and placed a hand on your cheek. You slowly brought one of your hands and placed it on the side of his neck, gently running your fingers along it.

You closed your eyes and then you felt it. His soft lips gently molded with yours. Your heart skipped not one but two beats as you realized that you were finally kissing him. Taeyong was in cloud nine. He couldn't believe he was finally kissing you! He wished for this for what felt like forever and now here he was, he couldn't help but smile into the kiss as he finally realized that his wish came true. He could finally call you his, kiss you whenever he wanted and be able to give you all his love unconditionally. This was to be the start of something the both of you would look back on and recount to your future grandchildren. The story of how you both got together and fell in love. 

#nct #nct 127 #nct taeyong #nct haechan #lee taeyong #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #nct lee haechan #nct lee taeyong #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #taeyong x reader #taeyong nct #taeyong #haechan nct #HaeChan #haechan x reader #nct fluff #nct 2020 #nct smut #nct au #nct aus #nct angst

[mapleandgingeroatmeal]

The Mighty Nein Ranked by How Good They Are With Kids

-For these purposes, "kids" means anyone between ages five and ten.

-Ratings are a combination of Enthusiasm (how much they like/want to be good with kids) and Experience (how well do they know kids/how good at they at wrangling them).

1) Veth: Experience 5/5, Enthusiasm 5/5

This one is obvious. Veth gets bumped to the top just because she's the only one with canonical experience dealing with littles. She raised Luc until he was lets say almost three. Not many years, but the ones she did get are pretty big ones where you learn a lot. Even when it comes to older kids, growing up as a girl in a one-room-schoolhouse kinda town there's no way Veth didn't end up looking after younger kids growing up. She's also got that crucial mothers mindset in that she likes kids and thinks of helping them as part of her identity. When you go into a situation with confidence and ease, kids pick up on that and listen better in response.

2) Yasha: Experience 4/5, Enthusiasm 4/5

Either this or #6 will be my most controversial take, but hear me out: Yasha comes from a communal, matriarchal society where child-rearing would be a group experience and duty. Yasha changed diapers and maybe taught some lessons growing up. Assuming this, she would also have an idea of what kids at a given age may be capable of, which is very important. She's also someone that would enjoy the genuine personalities and antics of kids a lot. Yasha likes soft things, after all. Imagine her at a princess tea-party.

If you want some evidence in canon for this, look at her interactions with Luc in 110. Yasha is awkward with most people, but she immediately sweeps Luc onto her shoulders. This is a ballsy move that speaks to confidence and also experience. She knows how to hold him well enough to get him up there smoothly, and she does it with so little hesitation that it seems like something she's done before.

3) Fjord: Experience 4/5, Enthusiasm 2/5

Premise One: Fjord is a pack-oriented dude. He focuses on survival, but once you're in his circle he will fight the entire world for you and be very concerned with your well-being. Premise Two: Fjord grew up in a shitty orphanage, the kind that would be under-staffed and overflowing, with many kids who struggle and don't get the help and attention they need. Conclusion: Fjord as an older kid would be asked/expected to step in with the littles a lot. He would know how to do the mechanics of caretaking, like diapers, tying shoes, etc. He's also of a personality that would spend extra time soothing fights and nightmares and things as best as he could.

When it comes to enthusiasm, Fjord also was bullied a whole lot and had a terrible childhood. He can deal with kids so well partially because he has no illusions about how cruel or intelligent they can be. If he has to do it he'd be pretty good, but I don't think he'd ever choose to spend a bunch of time with kids.

4) Caleb: Experience 2/5, Enthusiasm 4/5

Caleb and Fjord are pretty much inverse of each other here. Caleb was an only child and his small town's Golden Boy. He didn't have siblings to learn about, and in his town he'd be allowed and encouraged to study instead of doing something like babysitting. Not lower than a two because in a small town, kids do run around in packs outside, so he's at least for sure interacted with littles in his life, which puts him above everyone still left.

Even without much experience though, Caleb seems like he really likes kids! He wants to be a teacher and is great with Luc on multiple occasions. Liking kids just fits with the goofy, sincere parts of his personality as well. Like Yahsa, Caleb would appreciate how earnest and uncorrupted by the world a child can be.

5) Caduceus: Experience 1/5, Enthusiasm 4/5

Caduceus is the kind of guy that probably thinks he's great with kids, but if you left him with one he would have zero coping skills. Remember that he grew up the second-youngest of four in a very isolated setting; it's very possible that Clarabelle was without exaggeration the only child he'd ever seen before the m9.

So Caduceus would like kids alright, as we saw with Luc, but he's not one to ever dumb himself down or really conceive of perspectives outside his own. He'd give kids knives and tell them horror stories is what I'm saying. I actually think Clay would be great with teens, because he's not one to condescend (well he is but not in that way), and he would assume they can take responsibility and understand complex ideas.

6) Jester: Experience 0/5, Enthusiasm 4/5

I have a feeling I'm gonna get some arguments to this (which I welcome; please come try and change my mind), but I genuinely think Jester Lavvore, esp early-campaign, would be terrible with children. She's got a perfect storm of personality traits to be bad at this: A Very Adult sense of humor, no ability/willingness to filter herself or control her first instincts, and a mostl-harmless rich girl innocence that would make jt hard for her to be patient or prioritize things that aren’t fun for her.

7) Beau: Experience 0/5, Enthusiasm 2/5 Much like with Caduceus, Beau is a prime example of why working with kids and working with teens are such different jobs. There are several canonical examples of Beau enjoying gaining the trust of teens by doing things like giving them explosives or booze.

For a 16-year-old who wants to grow up and discover themselves, throwing-star lessons and free reign of town are actually great and important strategies for gaining their trust and respect. But a 2nd-grader put in the same situation will feel lost, unsupported, and then cut their hand off with a bladed monk weapon. “Sorry”, says Beau with a shrug. “You shouldn’tve left me with a baby. I fuckin hate kids”.

#cr #cr meta #m9 #critical role #my writing

[visd3stele]

magic and kids

summary:

A/N: I really hope you like it. Thank you for your requests. Loved writing it.

art credit: @phantomrin

TW: none

@britishbookworm2 requested (if you want to leave a request as well, click)

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It's been four years since Taryn decided the mortal world would be a more suitable place to raise her child than Elfhame. Even if her sister was now High Queen, the fairies would still make life hard for her and her baby. Maybe not on purpose, she admits it. But magic runs wild, free and unstoppable. Used to it, the Fae Folk barely notices the dangers. And frankly, they don't care. Not allowed to use it on humans as cruelly as before, some meaner courts claim innocent ignorance. How can an entire society of enchanted beings change overnight? How could they be expected to adjust to human fragility all of a sudden?

So Taryn took her baby, promised her sister to visit and fled to Heather and Vivi's. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought. Getting used to the mortal world, that's it. And if her baby had longer canine than normal, or his ears sharpened to pointy edges to the top, it passed unnoticed. Her son certainly didn't stood out the way Vivi did, even with light brown eyes that looked orange in the sun and rusty red hair. He didn't need much glamouring either, not like Oak, Oriana or Madoc. By the time she sent him to preschool his hair was long enough to cover the ears and no one seemed to notice the teeth even without magic.

For all the talk Taryn did on how she wanted her son to be free of his father in all ways, snapping at Oak when the boy tried to teach him magic before he knew how to properly walk and forbidding her family to bring Fairyland up, she named him Renard.

Fitting, though not what she should have done. Maybe part of her can't let Locke go, not entirely. She knew he didn't particularly wanted the baby, that everything he promised her were pretty lies. But for a few months, it has been real. Their marriage, their love, their lives. She saw her dreams come true, one after another: the mistress of an important household, throwing parties for courtiers, motherhood.

Now that everything she wanted snaped broken in tiny little pieces carried away by harsh winter wind, Taryn Duarte couldn't phantom having her child become like his father.

"It has nothing to do with magic, for fuck's sake!" Vivi exploded once, after Taryn better than not threw Oak and Oriana - who came to visit - out of the apartment for trying to reach Renard's magic. "He won't become a sly, selfish fox if he can change appearance or grow horses out of leaves. It's all about his up-bringing!"

"I want him to be normal, Vivi! That's why I took him here!"

Renard has been barely one year old when the argument happened. But it was enough to take his mother's words to heart.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Four years old Renard and twelve years old Oak played outside, jumping in crusty piles of autumn leaves. The princeling hadn't given up his plans to teach his cousin magic. He refused to let go of such opportunity: a friend he didn't have to hide of, one he could play with like he used to in Elfhame.

"Hey, Ren-Ren," Oak said, "check this out!" The older boy held up his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, lip grazed between his teeth. Nothing happened for an alarming amount of time. And then... the leaves twirl around the two cousins, splashing then with guts of wind and scarce dew as it swept them up in a friendly tornado.

Renard chuckled in delight, stretching to catch some of the closer leaves. But as soon as he touched one, the whole thing fell apart. "No!" Do it again, Oak. Do it again."

"I'm sorry, Ren-Ren," Oak faked a yawned and laid on the ground. "Magic is very serious business. Very consuming. I'm too tired to even move." He let his eyes close dramatically, watching Renard between his lashes. Truth be told, every time he did magic Oak felt good. Vibrant. As if the earth itself reached out and gave him life. But Renard didn't need to know that yet. He can definitely learn it by himself if Oak's plan works out.

The younger boy pouted and dropped on the ground. "Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"You know, Ren-Ren, you're half fae. That means there's a pretty good chance you're magic too."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't know that. Come on, give it a try!"

"No, Oak! I'm not magic. I'm not like Father, I'm like Mom. Like Mom, just like that."

Oak straightened himself, but didn't rose from the ground. "Ok, Ren-Ren. Listen up. Magic is not bad. It's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"

"Yes!" Renard nodded enthusiastically. "It's super fun. When you do it, Oak." At that the named boy own enthusiasm faded away in an instant.

"Thank you, Ren-Ren," he deadpanned. "But do you know what's more fun than watching me practice magic?" Not giving the kid a chance to answer, to even take in the question, really, Oak said "To do it yourself."

"Do you really think I should try, Oak?" Clearly, the little boy was attracted to magic. And clearly something was stopping him. But his older cousin slowly made whatever that was seem less big and scary, dragging him along in his qualms.

"Totally!"

Renard pushed his lips forward with his tongue, sticking it out through the gap in his teeth. Caramel eyes shone with desire, his red hair flown around by a cold, pleasant wind. "Ok," he gave in, as expected. "How do I do it?"

The smirk that lightened up Oak's face can only be describes as evil. Though no ill intention hid behind it. Only the knowledge his plan worked out, just like his sister, Jude's.

"Listen to me very carefully, alright? There is not just one way to make magic, Ren-Ren. You have to find your own. But for now, try the basics. Think really hard on what you want to happen. Something easy. Got anything in mind?" Renard frowned, then his eyes landed on a tree which still had some green leaves on its branches and nodded.

"Perfect! Now, imagine whatever you want to happen. Imagine it happening. Are you imagining?"

"Yes."

"No!" Oak groaned. "If you're paying attention to me, then it means you're not focusing on magic."

"But how will I know what to do if I don't listen to you?"

"I told you! Magic is your own, Ren-Ren. It comes naturally. So, dig it up. Use your imagination."

Renard tried to shut out the world around him, picturing the sole tree in his mind. A warm pull tugged at him and he followed. His magic, he tried not to dwell on the joy, but instead focusing on his practice. His magic reaching out. Because he reached out first.

The boy allowed the warmth to take control, guiding him through it. The tree now carved in his mind by detail wasn't enough. He needed action. But just imagining the leaves to fall wouldn't do. Renard couldn't say how exactly he knew it. He just did. Something more tender was needed. The half fae kid had to imply what he wants and trust his magic to follow his lead.

So Renard made himself cold. Chilly. Feeling a breeze of wind creeping inside his clothes, whipping his skin gently. Enough to rip a leaf off a tree, though. Which it did. The wind he summoned couldn't be felt, not really. Only by himself and the green leaves that departed one by one from their branch as if plucked by an invisible hand.

Oak gasped. Then grinned. And then he laughed. Renard broke free of his concentration, pleased to see his magic didn't falter. Not until every and each green leaf from his chosen tree didn't fall. The sight made him still in awe for a couple of seconds. But soon enough he joined his cousin with a bubble laugh, jumping up and down and running to tackle Oak in a tight hug.

"I did it, Oak! I did it!"

"Yes, you did, Rem-Ren. Indeed, you did. Congrats!"

"Can we show auntie Vivi? And auntie Oriana?"

When Madoc and Oriana first came in the mortal world, Taryn wanted nothing to do with them. But years of being cared for by the blue skinned, white haired, pink eyes woman showed their tale. She agreed to see her, but only her. She could be part of her child life, if she wanted.

"Sure. But don't you want to show your mom first?"

"Mom and auntie Heather work a lot. We can show them later." Renard said, but he felt his magic shrinking at the thought of his mother. His Mom didn't like his father. And his magic comes from his father. Is that why his magic doesn't want to reveal itself near Taryn? He hoped it was just him overthinking it, because he loves his Mom and wants to share this with her.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Oak stayed with auntie Oriana, who was his mother, so Renard couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. He would want to be with his mother as much as he can as well. So he did a little trick for auntie Vivi, who told him to stay where he was, brought a camera and ordered him to glamour the tea cups again. Renard made them look like pumpkins, since the Halloween being over the corner made him impossibly anxious - in a good way.

Turns out even mortal technology can be fooled by fae's magic. Vivi showed the clip to Heather, who coed over him until Taryn came home.

"Hello, treasure. How was your day? Wanna give mommy a kiss?"

Renard jumped into his mother's arms, pressing a strong kiss on her cheek before starting to tell her about all the fun he had with cousin Oak. "And then he said I should try magic too."

Tamryn stilled. "And?"

"Look, Mom!"

Renard broke a vase, then, with a twitch of his fingers put it back together. "Auntie Vivi says I'm a natural."

"Does she? That's amazing, sweetheart."

But his mother didn't sound thrilled. In fact, her smile wasn't even a smile at all, but a thin line. "I'm sorry, mommy. I knew I shouldn't've done it, but I didn't know why. Now I know: you don't want me using my magic. It'll make me bad, like father."

Renard pushed his lips up front, scrunched his nose up, wiggled his toes, all in an atempt to stop the tears hurting his eyes from falling. When he realized it was in vain, he took off running to his room.

When Taryn entered minutes later she found her son curled on his left side in the middle of the bed, hugging a black goat plushie his uncle Cardan gave him on his birthday tight to his chest. She hated herself for causing the pain struck look on her son's face.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom." Renard wiped his nose with his jumper's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Mommy was just scared, but that's not your fault. You could never be bad. Magic is not bad. Of course you can practice all you want, but we'll settle some ground, basic rules first. Ok?"

"Really?"

"Rules you can never, ever break. Really."

"Thank you, Mommy! You're the best! Just wait until Oak hears about it."

A/N: Renard means fox in french. Also: oops, guess I finished it earlier than expected and didn't really felt like waiting days to post it 😅

#taryn duarte #folk of the air #cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #tfoa #oak greenbriar #madoc #magicfolk #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #wicked king #my fic #my writing #imagines #imagine #fanfic