#honestly not in any hurry to put weight on my feet either

[edenmemes]

skyward sword sentence starters

more to be added !

❝ you promised to meet me before it starts, remember? ❞ ❝ you seem pretty...relaxed about the whole thing. ❞ ❝ is something wrong? what’s the hurry? ❞ ❝ sometimes i just don’t know what’s going on in your head. ❞ ❝ i'm not like you. i fail at everything i try. ❞ ❝ a shrimpy boy like you hardly looks the part of a hero. ❞ ❝ swatting a few monsters will be no trouble for you. ❞ ❝ run and play this time. get in my way again, though, and you’re dead. ❞ ❝ don’t even pretend that was an accident! ❞ ❝ do you doubt these eyes? i look upon your shirt and i see a single thread loose on your sleeve stitching. ❞ ❝ this is no place for one such as you. and yet here you stand. ❞ ❝ i need to vent all this unhealthy anger,     and your agony is such a great stress reliever. ❞ ❝ remember what we discussed. restrain yourself. focus on the task at hand. ❞ ❝ do my words anger you? do my words sting? let them. ❞ ❝ you don’t come by here just to see me, do you? ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? you just made a face like you wanted to say something. ❞ ❝ oh, i get it. you’re trying to weasel out of having to practice. ❞ ❝ i guess it’s not all bad. at least i’m getting paid. ❞ ❝ there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about.... ❞ ❝ would you wake up, straighten up, and grow a backbone already? ❞ ❝ nice try, but you’re not fooling me. ❞ ❝ i...i have to go. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ folks were always cheering me on like it was a parade. but as you know, time passes. ❞ ❝ you keep some very strange company, friend. ❞ ❝ i don’t know if it’s safe yet...i’m going to stay here awhile longer. ❞ ❝ oh no. you’ve done it now! there’s no escaping this one! ❞ ❝ so, what now? are you going to cry? ❞ ❝ i can’t begin to tell you how sorry i am for pulling you into all of this. ❞ ❝ what is wrong with you? just look at what you’ve done! ❞ ❝ what we’ve seen here today defies explanation. ❞ ❝ you put up more of a fight than i would have thought possible out of such a soft person. ❞ ❝ did you really just draw your sword? foolish. ❞ ❝ should you heed the call of destiny,     i don’t know what dangers you may have to face. ❞ ❝ i can’t help being such a coward...i’m really sorry. ❞ ❝ i fear i spent far too long teasing and toying with you. ❞ ❝ you do your people proud. ❞ ❝ how long do we have to live in constant fear? ❞ ❝ i'll just beat you within an inch of your life! ❞ ❝ dawn is drawing near. it has been a long night for the both of us, hasn’t it? ❞ ❝ you were limp and unconscious. i feared the worst. ❞ ❝ what do you think you’re doing sneaking out with that? ❞ ❝ such a beautiful day, but we’re too busy to enjoy it. some things never change. ❞ ❝ i guess you’ll never learn unless you run into trouble one day. ❞ ❝ look at my face. if that’s your idea of a joke, i’m not laughing. ❞ ❝ you appeared to be relishing that snooze, so i declined to wake you. ❞ ❝ huh? oh, uh, nothing. really, i was, uh...talking to myself. ❞ ❝ you’re looking a little pale... ❞ ❝ i imagine you and i will cross paths again. until then, do not lower your guard. ❞ ❝ you certainly are persistent... ❞ ❝ all that may be well intentioned and true, but it doesn’t mean it’s right. ❞ ❝ i’m prepared to pay the price for what i’ve done. ❞ ❝ i had no idea we were fated to carry such a heavy destiny. ❞ ❝ i need your strength to tip the scales in our favor. ❞ ❝ all this training, and no results! ❞ ❝ all i’ve hears so far is a bunch of babbling about destiny,     but that’s a load of garbage. ❞ ❝ when night draws her tenebrous curtain across the sky, i come here. ❞ ❝ what in the world just happened? did you use some kind of magic? ❞ ❝ please, see it through and prove the legends true. ❞ ❝ i was happy just spending my days hanging around with you. i wanted that feeling to last forever. ❞ ❝ you are vital to a mission of great importance. ❞ ❝ the chances of that happening are just about less than zero. ❞ ❝ i hate to break it to you, but today’s the day i bust up this adorable little fantasyland you’re living in. ❞ ❝ this is a war, and the fate of the land hangs in the balance. ❞ ❝ i know you, and you’re no hero. ❞ ❝ you’re messing with me. say it again, i dare you. ❞ ❝ you float through life with your head in the clouds. ❞ ❝ i don’t do charity for wimps. ❞ ❝ what’s this...? what is it that my eyes behold? ❞ ❝ don’t even think about it! are we clear? ❞ ❝ the point is your work here is done. i got it covered from here. ❞ ❝ my eyes foresee a hazardous, thorny road ahead for you... ❞ ❝ you...this is your fault, you know. ❞ ❝ my heart is bursting with thoughts of you. ❞ ❝ i have a serious dilemma on my mind right now, and you’re distracting me. ❞ ❝ i’ll make you proud. you’ll see! ❞ ❝ feels dangerous. something could jump out at us at any moment. ❞ ❝ we’re talking about a tale that’s been passed down over a lot of years, so i wouldn’t put much stock in it. ❞ ❝ i have the right to experience an unfettered and passionate love, don’t i? ❞ ❝ i’ll tell you, it gives even a big guy like me the creeps. ❞ ❝ oh...how can i get you to notice me? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling nothing i can say will talk you out of it. ❞ ❝ my love for you is wider than the horizon and deeper than the clouds. ❞ ❝ trust my piercing eyes...listen to my pure and innocent voice. ❞ ❝ i feel so excited, so cheerful, so full of life. ❞ ❝ i sense a silent power dwelling somewhere in your frame. ❞ ❝ this turn of events has left me with a strong appetite for bloodshed. ❞ ❝ there’s no doubting it. the gears of fate have begun to turn. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. i was lost in thought there for a moment. ❞ ❝ don’t men open doors for a lady anymore? how long am i supposed to stand here waiting for a little chivalry? ❞ ❝ i hate even saying this, but i guess you got it all figured out. ❞ ❝ you must not push yourself. you’re still recovering. ❞ ❝ you think you’re pretty suave, don’t you? ❞ ❝ i know you’re in a hurry, so i really appreciate you taking the time to help. ❞ ❝ i saw it, but i was able to escape by the seat of my pants. ❞ ❝ do you have any idea how that made me feel inside? furious! outraged! sick with anger! ❞ ❝ you’re really something else. i could never imagine myself doing what you’re about to do. ❞ ❝ i must aid you in fulfilling the great destiny that is your burden to carry. ❞ ❝ i should have believed you...i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ lately, when i think about you, my head gets all fuzzy, my heart races, i get short of breath, and i feel all dizzy... ❞ ❝ you should know better than that to fret about me. ❞ ❝ thanks for jumping in there to rescue me. ❞ ❝ hey, hold on there! what are you trying to pull all of a sudden? ❞ ❝ your face cries out in earnest wonder, and that cry is: ‘what’s this?!’ ❞ ❝ i promise up front not to murder you. ❞ ❝ you...didn’t hear any of that, did you? there’s no way you heard, right? ❞ ❝ i tell you, all sorts of weird things are going on lately. ❞ ❝ calamitous visions appear before me... ❞ ❝ you...make me so happy...i think i’m going to keel over... ❞ ❝ i wanted you to be the first to see me like this. ❞ ❝ i can’t imagine a more fitting color for you. it’s as though you were born to wear it. ❞ ❝ i bet you can’t even decide what to have for lunch on your own, huh? ❞ ❝ amazing, right? wrong! it is beyond amazing! ❞ ❝ it can’t be easy for you, can it? ❞ ❝ you’ll see in time that you have your own role to play in all this. ❞ ❝ trust in fate to guide your feet. ❞ ❝ i bet you’re here just to check me out, right? ❞ ❝ i just hope nothing has happened. i’m worried sick thinking about it. ❞ ❝ whoa...you’re kind of imploding my mind right now. ❞ ❝ if you wanna live again one day, you should head for home. ❞ ❝ you have a great journey before you, and those clothes...they don’t look up to the task. ❞ ❝ did you manage to get even a wink of sleep last night? ❞ ❝ ever heard of banging your knuckles against the door? it’s called knocking. ❞ ❝ so, uh...yeah. just how long have you been standing there? ❞ ❝ honestly, it’s almost as though you become a completely different person when you worry about me. ❞ ❝ you showing up here must mean we’re connected somehow. like fate. ❞ ❝ sorry to put you through that. i guess i owe you one now. ❞ ❝ to tell you the truth, i’m feeling a little frustrated, and right now i just need someone to vent to. ❞ ❝ what’s with you? leave me alone if you don’t want anything. ❞ ❝ hearing that is such a...huge weight off my mind. ❞ ❝ though your journey will put you in harms way, you must endure. ❞ ❝ i'm just deadweight. what kinda use is that to anyone... ❞ ❝ seriously, what is that thing over there?! ❞ ❝ before i say another word, i feel like i owe you an apology. ❞ ❝ during your long journey, you’ve grown so much. ❞ ❝ from the moment i laid my eyes on you, i could tell you had a gentle and generous heart. ❞ ❝ oh dear...i don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden... ❞ ❝ you don’t appear to have any serious injuries. for that much we can be grateful. ❞ ❝ i can see into those dopey eyes of yours. ❞ ❝ i can finally smile and laugh again! thank you ever so much. ❞ ❝ i think i might of broke something. ❞ ❝ is that it? i thought it was going to put up more of a fight. ❞ ❝ i thought we were goners this time. sort of glad i was wrong about that. ❞ ❝ what? i don’t seem like my usual self? ❞ ❝ this place needs a name. a name fitting for this rugged, adventurous wilderness. ❞ ❝ what were you thinking? you scared a year off my life! ❞ ❝ care to explain just what you meant by ‘our special moment alone’? ❞ ❝ my advice? work hard and wish with all your heart. ❞ ❝ say, you look all flustered. ❞ ❝ i fear we can’t dwell on our success. ❞ ❝ the world is bursting with undiscovered surprises, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ you're not exactly mr/mrs.perfect either, are you? ❞ ❝ this is easily as scary as i thought it would be. ❞ ❝ i swear this neighborhood’s getting crummier every day. ❞ ❝ you ain’t as dumb as you look. ❞ ❝ i was going to ask if you wanted me to take care of you forever... ❞ ❝ i need to learn how to keep these delirious dreams in check. ❞ ❝ maybe you should forget about everything that happened here tonight. ❞ ❝ can you imagine a more gruesome fate? ❞ ❝ there are more monsters about than before, so be careful. ❞ ❝ human desire is an insatiable, fearsome thing. ❞ ❝ i sense an evil presence on the other side of this door. ❞ ❝ you understand, don’t you? i’m not wrong about this, am i? ❞ ❝ i never wanted to lay eyes on you again. ❞ ❝ i would have gotten discouraged if you hadn’t come by to cheer me on. you gave me motivation. ❞ ❝ who do you think you are, getting involved in my business like that? ❞ ❝ i just wish there was more i could do for you... ❞ ❝ i don’t even understand how you could make such a wild accusation! ❞ ❝ it was at that moment i finally realized. i realized that...i love you. ❞ ❝ make sure you come home every now and then. nothing like a good sleep in your own bed. ❞ ❝ you’d better not keep me waiting. ❞ ❝ make sure you put your heart into it! i won’t stand for anything but your best. ❞ ❝ how could you be swayed by the temptation of material gain?     do you have no honor? ❞ ❝ you really want to hear about all my troubles? that’s kind of you. ❞ ❝ you...weren’t supposed to see that whole spectacle. how embarrassing... ❞ ❝ you have only succeeded in buying us a little more time. ❞ ❝ watch it! that’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your life! ❞ ❝ you look like you need to get something off your chest. ❞ ❝ know that all the questions you have now will be answered in time. ❞ ❝ there is nothing natural about these tremors. ❞ ❝ you might just be the person i need! you seem pretty good with the ladies. ❞ ❝ it’s great to hear you’re so confident in me. ❞ ❝ ideal love is unfettered and passionate. anything less than that can’t really be called love at all. ❞ ❝ you're incessant buzzing around my head like some irksome gadfly when i’m this busy is...making me very disagreeable. ❞ ❝ you may not have noticed, but i’m trying to hide here.     could you please scoot along? ❞ ❝ you'd better keep your eyes to yourself, if you know what i mean. ❞ ❝ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ❞ ❝ you...you came to see me! i’m so happy. ❞ ❝ your job is simple! you make sure none of these monsters lays a claw on me. not...one...claw. ❞ ❝ now is not the time to be picky about who will help you. ❞ ❝ watch carefully while i demonstrate what a real hero looks like. ❞ ❝ you are something else! there is nothing you cannot do. ❞ ❝ if you think about how often we meet, you have to admit that our relationship has gone beyond friendship, you know? ❞ ❝ i’ll make the affair so excruciating, you’ll deafen yourself with the shrill sound of your own screams. ❞ ❝ i was right, then. there is something special about you. ❞ ❝ i should have reprimanded you the last time we met, but instead i was...soft. ❞ ❝ ha-ha! you didn’t see that coming, did you? ❞ ❝ you really are a snake in the grass. ❞ ❝ you are indeed worthy of being called a hero. ❞ ❝ i’m not used to getting stared at like this. it’s making me blush. ❞ ❝ i can’t hide anything from you, can i? ❞ ❝ the longer i train, the more i realize i’ll never measure up to you. ❞ ❝ whoa...you took out every last one of them. ❞ ❝ i know how bad this must look to you right now, but i assure you i mean no harm. ❞ ❝ it’s all very strange, but i doubt there’s much of a connection between these things. ❞ ❝ you're a weird one, climbing all the way up here. ❞ ❝ don’t cry --- it’s perfectly, mostly safe! ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by that thread of fate. destined to fight. ❞ ❝ meet me in battle, and the thread of fate that binds us will be soaked crimson with your blood. ❞ ❝ i do not wish to dwell on what may have happened if you hadn’t been here. ❞ ❝ you have awakened a wrath that will burn for eons! ❞ ❝ you really like those fantasy stories, eh? ❞ ❝ there is one teensy, tiny thing i lack...namely, mercy. ❞ ❝ i must warn you, i won’t go easy on you this time. ❞ ❝ i might be willing to forgive and forget if you’ll strike a deal. ❞ ❝ since i know i can be honest with you, i’ll admit i got a little sulky. it was frowns all around. ❞ ❝ i see you’re still among the living. ❞ ❝ i saw them dragging you off unconscious, so i tailed them. ❞ ❝ i want you to visit me at my house tonight. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to say a word. i can see how you feel by the spark in your eye. ❞ ❝ you’ll see. i’ll be as tough as you in no time. ❞ ❝ it’s not like ‘oh, hey, that person’s back! i’m so happy!’ or anything like that... ❞ ❝ whoa...that’s some really terrible handwriting. ❞ ❝ i would very much like it if you would go out with me. ❞ ❝ truly? you choose me? ❞ ❝ i swear to you, whatever it takes, i will drag you into an eternity of torment. ❞ ❝ you and i, we’re bound by a thread of fate. ❞ ❝ i’ll watch over you, protecting you from afar. ❞ ❝ until then, we’ll keep our love secret. ❞ ❝ this news has just filled my heart with rainbows! ❞ ❝ this place seems strangely familiar... ❞ ❝ don’t you gotta take care of your own business first? ❞ ❝ they’re not going to do anything nice if they catch you. ❞ ❝ it’s not humane to tease someone this bored. ❞ ❝ i’m not some sideshow for you to gawk at. ❞ ❝ it’s weird to say out loud, but that’s just how i feel right now. ❞ ❝ you can’t break me with interrogation. you’ll never make me talk. ❞ ❝ word is there’s a huge treasure hidden in these here ruins... ❞ ❝ what? that’s not weird to say! ❞ ❝ ...i understand your true feelings. better than you know. ❞ ❝ all the fairytales that we heard growing up...they appear all too real. ❞ ❝ do i look sad? no, i’m doing what i want to do! ❞ ❝ i don’t know what came over me! i had no clue i had the talent to make something like this. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t be out here in the open with no way to defend yourself. ❞ ❝ you do have the tendency to cause trouble for those you ‘help’. ❞ ❝ as far as i’m concerned, i got nothing but time. ❞ ❝ don’t you play coy with me. i know that you know, so why not let me in on the fun? ❞ ❝ so you really think a sob story like that is going to work on me? what a joke. ❞ ❝ i’d take pleasure in punishing you, but i have no time for recreation. ❞ ❝ sorry to leave you on your own, but you look like you can handle it. ❞ ❝ remember --- it’s a secret to everybody. ❞ ❝ it isn’t as action packed as what you’re doing, but maybe this is my destiny. ❞ ❝ don’t you just love the way it smells down here? ❞ ❝ defending the land...it’s my purpose, i think. it’s why i’m here. ❞ ❝ what do i know...you might just surprise me. ❞ ❝ fibber! you’re a fibbity fibber! ❞ ❝ you needn’t even say it. i can tell from the look of sheer astonishment on your face. ❞ ❝ you have had this destiny thrust upon you without warning...    or choice, for that matter. ❞ ❝ don’t do anything heroic and get yourself caught. ❞ ❝ ...you want to tell me but you can’t? ❞ ❝ you know, i really worry about you. it’s a weakness of mine. ❞ ❝ try not to get in the way of my shots, ok? ❞ ❝ i haven’t slept a wink in...ahhh...i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had my suspicions, but until now i wasn’t sure. ❞ ❝ you seem a good deal stronger than the last time we met. ❞ ❝ i would be remiss if i didn’t let you know of the weight on my heart. ❞ ❝ i have a reputation to protect, you know. ❞ ❝ listen closely. do you hear that? ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters

[ragingbookdragon]

Even Though We May Be Hopeless Hearts Just Passing Through, I Was Made For Loving You PT. 1

Batsis x Kyle Rayner

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I realize the other story didn't follow the whole, dating the brother's best friend trope, so I decided to remedy it. And what do you get when you cross a hopeless romantic with someone who's new to love? Perfection. That's what. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Saturday mornings, in Dick’s opinion, were meant for sleeping in and quite possibly going to IHOP when everyone finally crawled out of bed at ten. They were not meant for being shoved in the side by a little brother.

“Golden-boy,” a voice grouched from beneath the bedside. “Your phone’s been going off for an hour. Either put it on silent or answer the goddamn thing.”

Dick let out a tired ‘pfft’, rolling onto his stomach, face buried in the side of the bed as he looked down to the floor. “Annoyed much, Little-wing?”

“I am going to shove that phone so far up your—”

Reaching over, Dick put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Where are you?

“Still in bed,” he responded, sentence ending in a groan as he stretched. “Why?”

You were supposed to be on the flight back to Gotham two hours ago.

Dick’s eyes went wide, and he sat up, gaping at the bedside clock. “It’s today.”

It is today. I can’t believe you forgot it was today.

“Oh my God, it’s today and we missed our flight.” He stumbled out of the bed, barely registering the shout from Jason as his foot landed in his brother’s stomach. “Jason, get up! It’s today!’

“What’s today?” his little brother griped, rubbing his abdomen.

“(Y/N)’s coming back!”

Jason’s eyes went wide, and he scrambled to his feet, hurriedly finding his bag to change out of his nightclothes. “Christ, I can’t believe we forgot that (Y/N) was coming home today!” he looked at Dick. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Dick yelped. “How is this my fault!”

He scowled. “Big brother wanted everyone to be with a sibling for the night, so they’d be together and be punctual but you and I both know neither of us have any concept of time.” His scowl grew. “I knew I should’ve bunked with Cass. She’s on time no matter what happens.”

Dick threw Jason’s sweatshirt at him. “Dress now, bitch later.” He put the phone back to his ear. “We missed our flight, but we can drive there.”

Your car’s in the shop.

“Shit,” he hissed, spinning in a circle to help his brain circuit enough to think of something new. “Uh-uh-uh—”

“Kyle!” Jason shouted, pointing at him. “Kyle’s like thirty minutes away from Manhattan! We’ll go to him for a ride!”

Dick grinned. “We’ll find Kyle.”

You sure Kyle’s at home?

“Pfft, Kyle’s always home on the weekends. He’s lazy.”

Just get here. (Y/N)’s plane is going to land in less than four hours.

“We’ll be there,” he said. “Is Diana coming too?”

Of course. She is (Y/N)’s mother.

“Nice. Alright, see you in Gotham, Bruce.”

Love you boys. And be careful. I’ve already heard that Cass, Tim, and Steph got into a fender-bender with Damian and Duke.

Dick blinked. “They’re…they’re legitimately driving separate cars? How’d they hit each other?”

Don’t ask.

The line went dead, and Dick looked at his brother. “Ready?”

Jason nodded. “Already got an Uber to Kyle’s place.”

“We could always just Uber to Gotham?” he offered, and Jason recoiled with a shocked look.

“And pay a ridiculous amount of money instead of just paying Kyle’s gas? Fuck no, big brother.” He shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets. “C’mon!” he chirped, rather excitedly. “Our baby sister’s coming home!”

***

When he swung the door open to yell at whoever was pounding on it, he wasn’t expecting to see two of his best friends grinning like idiots. “Wha—”

He’d barely gotten a word out when Jason shoved a bag of fast food in his hands. “Get dressed. You’ve gotta drive us to Gotham City.”

Kyle blinked, glancing down at the bag before looking at Dick. “Why?”

“Our sister’s coming home, and we overslept and missed out flight outta here.”

“And you came to me…why?” he asked.

“Because you have the functioning car.” Jason retorted, antsy on his feet. “C’mon Kyle. We have to hurry! (Y/N)’s coming home!”

Figuring it was better to agree than to argue, Kyle relented, handing back the bag of food before he disappeared into his apartment, reappearing moments later, dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, a graphic tee, and his usual slim casual jacket. He took the bag back and started digging around in it.

“Who’s (Y/N)?” he inquired, biting into a breakfast burrito as he locked his front door behind him.

“Our baby sister.” Jason said.

“I thought Cass was your baby sister?”

Dick nodded, getting out his own breakfast from the bag. “She is. But (Y/N)’s like…the OG baby sister.”

Kyle blinked, glancing over at him as he pushed the elevator button. “That makes no sense.”

“He means that (Y/N) was around before Cass was.”

“And she isn’t with you guys why?”

“She’s been on Themyscira for the last few years training with her grandmother and the other Amazons.” Jason answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world, stepping onto the elevator.

Kyle merely stared at the two brothers who were looking back at him; he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Wait, your sister’s an Amazon?”

“Yep.”

“Who’s her mom?” he asked, stepping between them.

“Wonder Woman.” Dick said.

Strike two. “Who’s her dad?”

“Batman.” Jason responded.

Believe it or not, Kyle went three for three punches to the gut. “Bruce and Diana had a kid together?”

“Yeah.” Dick murmured. “I think it’s also why B’s so insistent against inter-team-relations.” He nudged Jason behind Kyle. “First time he attempts dating a coworker he ends up with a baby.”

Jason snorted. “And all those lessons about, ‘Children, whatever you do, don’t date anyone on your team. It’ll only lead to babies and limited visitation’.” He laughed again, then he frowned. “I don’t think any of us have followed that lesson.”

Dick opened his mouth to make an excuse but all that came out was a pitiful, deflate of air followed by, “That’s actually a good point.”

The elevator dinged and they watched the doors open before walking out towards the parking garage. They climbed into Kyle’s car, Jason in the front because his legs were longer than Dick’s, and Dick was a contortionist anyways so if anyone deserved to have their knees in their chest, it was him.

Halfway through the drive Kyle asked, “You guys are paying for my gas, aren’t you?”

All he received was unsure responses and he merely sighed.

***

He figured he should’ve just dropped Jason and Dick off at the airport in Gotham and drove home, but he couldn’t help but want to see just what the daughter of Wonder Woman and Batman looked like. He imagined a little girl dressed in a Batman suit three sizes too big and wielding a sword and a lasso way too heavy for her. It made him smile, the way that the two brothers gushed about (Y/N). From their praise, she was their world. Kyle had to see her though, because nothing was going to satiate that curiosity of seeing the big Batman’s daughter.

He watched Dick and Jason crane their necks like birds as they looked around. And honestly, the family shouldn’t have been that hard to find considering that every time Kyle was around the entirety of the Batfamily, they were like psychos on steroids—he very much so understood why the entirety of Gotham’s villains became flighty when every member of the Batfamily was out patrolling.

Kyle wasn’t expecting a voice to crack over the airport, loud and bubbly. “Brothers!”

All three of them stopped, even him who wasn’t even a sibling, looking over towards the call and Kyle’s jaw dropped as a young woman sprinted over to Dick and Jason, slamming into them with the weight of a train. The three of them collapsed into a pile on the floor, but they were laughing so Kyle assumed the siblings were alright.

“Princess!”

“Baby girl!”

“Oh, I am so glad to see you both!” she exclaimed. “I have waited so long to come home!” she was on her feet in moments, pulling them to theirs as if they weighed nothing. And Kyle knew Jason weighed a lot—he’d been crushed under his best friend before in fights.

Suddenly, she stopped and looked over at Kyle who immediately felt his heart lurch under her sharp gaze. “Who is this you have brought?”

Jason gestured to him. “(Y/N) this is Kyle. He’s a friend of Dick and mine. Kyle, this is our little sister, (Y/N).”

She huffed laugh. “I am not little, Jason. I am twenty-one.” Reaching out, she immediately pulled Kyle in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. “It is good to meet you, Kyle.”

“You too,” he murmured, feeling his cheeks warm as she pulled away and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Any friend of my brothers is a friend of mine.” (Y/N) smiled. “Are you a superhero as well?”

He couldn’t help but toss a quick glance towards Jason who nodded. “Uh, yeah. I’m a Green Lantern.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in wonder, and she let go of his shoulders in favor of grabbing at his hands until she found his ring. She stared at it, murmuring quiet, ‘ooo’s and ah’s’. “That is simply amazing!” she chirped, looking at him, and then she silently gasped, raising his hand near his eyes. “Oh…your eyes are almost the same color as your ring.”

Her smile made Kyle’s heart beat a little faster as she expressed, “They are beautiful.”

They gazed at each other, too captivated in the moment to understand that the family had gathered around them by then. Someone’s hand curled around (Y/N)’s wrist and she looked over seeing Dick tugging her hand away.

“C’mon Princess, let’s go get your things on the belt.”

She smiled and followed, giving a small wave to Kyle, who returned hers shakily whilst grinning like a dope.

Someone elbowed him in the ribs, and he gasped, holding his side as Jason muttered, “Don’t ever stare at my sister like that again.”

Kyle blinked, glancing at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you goddamn skirt-chaser.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kyle spluttered.

“You’re thinking about it.” Jason warned, pointing a finger in his face. “Make a move on (Y/N) and I’ll kill you with your own ring.” Kyle recoiled just as she and Dick were coming back, both holding a suitcase.

“Father!” she called, glancing at Bruce. “Dick and I have retrieved my luggage.”

He smiled at her. “Let’s go put it in the SUV then.” He paused, looking over the large group. He and Diana had ridden together, and since his children had fender-benders, they’d picked up Cass, Tim, Stephanie, Duke, and Damian; there wasn’t room for (Y/N) too.

“Father? Is something the matter?” (Y/N) was staring at him with concern.

“There’s not enough room in the SUV for you too. Maybe we—”

“There’s room in my car for (Y/N)!” Kyle blurted out, smiling nervously at Bruce. “I can follow behind you.”

Before anyone could screech ‘NO!’, mainly Dick and Jason, (Y/N) lit up like the morning sun. “Oh, that is a wonderful idea!” she grabbed onto Diana’s arm. “We should all stop for ice-cream though! Mother, what do you say?”

She smiled at her and leaned over, kissing her head. “I say that sounds like a fantastic idea, daughter.”

Kyle grinned and held out his arm for (Y/N), her giggling as she took it. “You know, I don’t live in Gotham, (Y/N), but I do know a good gelato store around the area.”

“What is gelato?” she asked, and he groaned.

“Oh, I can’t believe you don’t know what that is.” He started off, pilling her along, leaving everyone behind. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you.”

Jason’s face pinched and he looked over at Bruce. “Can I break the no-kill rule just once?”

Bruce blinked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched his daughter laughing along with Kyle, both looking like newlyweds already. “Believe it or not, I’m strongly considering it.”

“Bruce.” Diana admonished. “Let (Y/N) and Kyle become friends. You know she doesn’t have many outside this family here.”

Dick growled. “Except Kyle doesn’t want to be friends with (Y/N), Diana. He wants to be her boyfriend.”

“They just met though?”

“Yeah, and Kyle’s a propose on week two type of man,” Jason griped. “Jesus Christ, this is going to be a disaster.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but (Y/N) and Kyle said gelato and you guys are just standing here.” Tim said. “Can we go now?”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily x batsis #batfamily x batsis imagines #batfamily x batsis imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #batsis #kyle rayner x reader #kyle rayner x reader imagines #kyle rayner x reader imagine #kyle rayner imagines #kyle rayner imagine #kyle rayner #green lantern x reader #green lantern x reader imagines #green lantern x reader imagine #green lantern imagines #green lantern imagine #green lantern #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

(Because - as has rightfully been pointed out - the angel needs his cuddles, too.)

--

“Crowley?”

“Nnnnh?” The sprawl of limbs dozing on the sofa shifted, resolving into six feet of lazy demon.

“Can you help me with this?” Rising up on his toes, Aziraphale gestured with the book in his hand. “I can’t quite reach the top shelf.”

“Don’t you have a stool or something?”

“It’s on the other side of the shop, and you’re right here.”

With another groan, Crowley rolled off the sofa in a strange, almost fluid motion, and sauntered across the room. “Where does it go?”

“Just there.” He pointed again as Crowley took the book, glaring at the top shelf. It was, in reality, slightly too high for either of them to reach.

Crowley stretched, standing on his own toes, one hand resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder for balance, until he could just barely get the corner of the book into the gap between two others, and shoved it hard into place.

“There. If that broke the thing, s’not my fault.”

“No, I wouldn’t dream of…thank you, my dear.”

“Mmmh.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a half-grin before wandering back towards his favorite resting spot.

Behind his back, Aziraphale pressed his own hand to where his shoulder still burned with lovely heat.

--

“Crowley? I think I could use a hand again.”

“Are you serious?” he groaned. “You going to tell me you can’t reach your own mugs now?”

Aziraphale glanced at the cupboard again. It did look too low for that, didn’t it? “Of course not. I…I think I should reorganize my wine. I need you to hold some bottles for me.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Some of those wine bottles haven’t moved in over a century. Why would you need to do this now?”

“That…” He felt a flash of embarrassment, quickly turned it into indignation. “That’s hardly any of your concern, now is it? You come to my shop, day after day, just to lounge about. This isn’t one of your – your ancient temples, you can’t just laze around while the human worshippers fan you and feed you peeled grapes…”

A shadow fell across Aziraphale, and he turned to see Crowley, leaning against the doorway to the little kitchen, lopsided grin on his face. “That’s a very elaborate fantasy you’ve concocted.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and turned back to the wine, grabbing a few bottles at random. “It’s not a – a fantasy. I know what you used to get up to in Egypt. And Greece. And a dozen other snake-worshipping cultures.”

“I was hardly—oof.” He grabbed the bottle of red that Aziraphale had all but thrust into his stomach, long fingers dragging across the back of Aziraphale’s hand, leaving behind a trail of fireworks.

“Good. That.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, staring at a row of champagne bottles. “That should go in the, er, Italian section. Tuscany.”

“You going to arrange them geographically now?”

“Of course! Region, then year, then type of grape. Perfectly logical. These are from, um, Piedmont.” He held out two more bottles.

Shrugging, Crowley put the first on the table and reached out. Aziraphale stood perfectly still, so that he couldn’t miss Crowley’s smallest finger brushing against his thumb in passing.

--

“Now what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m – I’m sweeping under the sofa. Kindly move those – those pipe cleaners you call legs.”

“You never sweep.”

“That’s entirely untrue.” Aziraphale reached as far as his arm would go, vaguely sliding the brush from side to side. Shuffled a little to the left, until his shoulder bumped up against Crowley’s calf, fire bursting through him again.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, and in an instant the legs were gone, neatly folded up beneath him.

Blast. Aziraphale glanced up with feigned concern. “You better not be putting your boots on…ah.” Crowley wiggled his toes, covered in a black snakeskin sock that was a little too skin-tight and convincing. With a grin and a shrug, the demon curled in on himself again, neatly out of the way, and turned his attention back to his mobile phone.

“Right. Well. Good.” Aziraphale ducked his head, and scrubbed hard at the floor.

--

“Crowley, help me move this chair.”

“Crowley, hold this ladder while I climb.”

“Crowley, hand me that cloth, I dropped it again.”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley…”

“Crowley…”

--

“Crowley, come over here, I need your hands again.”

“Are you going to pay me for all this work?”

“Nonsense. I’m exploiting you, like any good capitalist.” He pressed his hands down on the cover of the book, sharp scent of glue filling the air. “Come along, I can’t actually go over there to get you.”

Another string of garbled syllables, and once again Crowley stood at his shoulder. “What are you doing this time?”

“I’m rebinding this book. The glue sets overnight, so I need you to hold it while I get something heavy to put on top.”

“Um.” A long pause. “I can get something heavy for you.”

“No, I need you to hold this.”

Another pause, this time the silence tinged with suspicion. “Don’t you have a – a press or something?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly forward, away from Crowley. “Will you just…stop asking foolish questions and do as you’re asked?”

Two hands slapped down onto the cover, perfectly between Aziraphale’s without touching either of them. He could feel the warmth of Crowley’s shoulder, so tantalizingly close.

“Well?” Crowley finally prompted. “Aren’t you going to move?”

“No.” He swallowed. “Not when you’re holding it wrong. Look. You need to be here, in front of the book.”

“Yeah. Where you’re standing.” Aziraphale could feel the look Crowley shot through his glasses.

“Oh, fine.” Removing his hands, Aziraphale stepped back and to the side, letting the demon take his place. “No, not like that! Honestly, my dear fellow, you need to pay more attention.”

“Wha—?”

Before he could think better of it, Aziraphale’s hands shot out, carefully encircling Crowley’s waist, just above the hips. “Center yourself,” he said, nudging to the left as his arms soaked in wave after wave of heat. Not enough. “And a little closer.” An infinitesimal push, enough to bring his chest almost, almost against Crowley’s back. He ached for it, that last bit of space.

Well. There was one option.

“Good. Now. Just need to position your hands correctly.”

Leaning forward, Aziraphale placed his hands on the backs of Crowley’s, pressing against his back. His feet shifted, and now his chin rested on that black-clad shoulder, and his legs bracketed Crowley’s, his arms rested against Crowley’s…

Every part of them, together.

With his eyes closed, everything else fell away, except for Crowley, his presence fluttering under Aziraphale’s skin like a second heartbeat. He drank it in, more and more, trying to fill every empty space inside himself, but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough—

“Angel?”

In an instant, he was back in the shop, stumbling away. “Yes. That. That should…I’ll…”

Aziraphale spun and hurried away, closing his ears to the worry in Crowley’s voice.

--

“Crowley? Can you—”

“Nope.”

“I…” Aziraphale tried to muster up his indignation again, but after the bookbinding fiasco, it was impossible. “Of course. I’ll just…”

“Nope, I need your help.”

He turned, slowly, to where the long shape of his companion sprawled across the sofa, one foot over the arm, the other dangling off the side, hands folded behind his head.

“What…what do you need.”

Crowley lifted one hand and pointed to a shelf behind the sofa. “That one.”

“I…” Aziraphale moved closer, trying to see what he was pointing at. “You want a book?”

“Mmmh. Right there.”

Frowning, he took a few more steps. “Isn’t that a dictionary?”

“Nnh? No, not that one, that one.” The finger didn’t move.

“Why…why can’t you…?”

With a snort, Crowley dropped his hand, tucked it behind his head again. “Sprained my back doing all your chores. I’m out of commission. I need a book to entertain me during my long convalescence.”

“And what happened to your clever little telephone?”

“Finished it.”

“You…you finished it?”

“Yup. Browsed the whole internet. Found the end. Lousy twist in the last chapter.”

From the tilt of his head, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley’s eyes were shut, lost in the perverse joy of his silly claims. That should have made this easier, but he still hesitated as he leaned across the sofa, rested his hand on the back. His arms passed over the top of Crowley’s head by several centimeters.

“Did you mean…this one?” His fingers hovered over a likely tome.

“Hmm. Nope. Further down.”

A step to the side, knees coming close to where Crowley’s leg carelessly hung, as if it were too much work to pull it onto the sofa with the rest of him. “This one?”

“One shelf down.”

He bent even lower, until his stomach hovered, just above—

Crowley struck, fast as a serpent, his lazy sprawl suddenly a flurry of motion as arms and legs grappled Aziraphale, constricted, twisted around to slam him into the sofa cushions, to lie there with Crowley straddling his middle, hands pressing down on his shoulders.

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered so that he could hardly breathe.

“Good. Now. What do you want?”

“I…” Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t…”

“Yes. You do.” One hand shot up and ripped his glasses off, tossing them aside, then pressed down again on the angel’s chest. Golden eyes bore into him. “Bless it, Aziraphale, all day you’ve asked me to do everything except for – whatever it is you need! Just tell me!”

“I…” He pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way his skin burned, electrified, alive. “I can’t. It’s…it’s foolish. It’s too much…”

“Angel.” Softer now, so soft it could break his heart. “Nothing will ever be too much. Just ask.”

“No…”

“I can’t help you if you don’t ask.”

With an effort, Aziraphale managed to press one trembling hand against his eyes. Tried hard to steady himself. “Crowley. I…I don’t know how to explain it. I feel…cold. Empty. Alone, even with you here. Like something inside me just…died, and left me hollow…”

The weight shifted, easing off his shoulders, and when he looked, Crowley was sitting up. Further away.

“Do you…did Heaven do something to you? When you left?”

“No.” How his voice shook! “No, I – I thought that at first, but…in truth…it’s been coming on…for simply ages.” The shop grew misty, and Aziraphale closed his eyes again. “A little worse every time I – I felt my superiors’ disappointment. Every time I failed at a task. Every…every time I visited Heaven and realized…I didn’t belong.” He tried to rub his eyes again and found they were wet. “No…no this isn’t anything but…my own…inadequacy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true! I’m not…not strong they way you are.” His hand reached out, grasping, and found Crowley’s, wrapping gently around his fingers. It surged through him again, warmth, strength, solidity. Everything Aziraphale lacked. “I can feel it in you. It’s beautiful. And I want – want to drink it in, fill myself, but I’m bottomless, I just take, and take, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough!” He pulled his hand away, ready to flee from the sofa, to hide from his shame. Ready for his only friend to pull away in disgust at his selfishness, his greed.

Instead, Crowley lowered himself, stretching his long body across Aziraphale, head tucked under his chin, hands resting on his arms. “Is this better?”

It swept through him again and again, with every beat of Crowley’s heart. Not just heat. Something that Aziraphale had been lacking, craving, for more centuries than the Earth had existed.

Love.

A sob escaped him, pitiful, even as he drank it all in, greedily, more than he ever deserved, possessive arms twisting around Crowley as if to pull him into Aziraphale’s chest.

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured, and his hand pressed against the curve of Aziraphale’s cheek, brilliant as starlight. “How’s this? Any different?”

“Yes, it’s…” There was no hope he’d ever be able to control his voice again. “It’s stronger when…ah…when we touch…directly.”

“Got it.”

And just like that, the weight on his chest vanished, leaving him empty and cold again.

Of course.

Aziraphale sat up, trying to wipe his eyes dry, humiliated by the loss of composure. “If you want to leave,” he managed, blinking them clear, “I won’t…”

Crowley stood before him, jacket and tie discarded, fingers flicking down the buttons of his black shirt.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“You said touching directly, right? Skin to skin?”

“You…you can’t be serious.” A different sort of heat began to race into his cheeks.

“Nrg.” Crowley shrugged, rolling the shirt off his shoulders as he did. “If it helps you…”

“No, my dear – you don’t understand. I want more than – than you could ever give me. I’d – I’d drain you entirely if I could.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He pulled off the last layer, a blac vest, then bent forward, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides. Everything I have is yours. Our side, remember?”

Aziraphale bowed his head, fists clenched in his lap. “You…can’t mean that…”

“Angel.” He felt the warm press of Crowley’s forehead against his own. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

Slowly, slowly, Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie, trying to remember how to loosen it.

--

Moonlight filtered in through the bookshop windows.

Crowley lay on the floor, Aziraphale curled up against his bare chest, arms around his shoulders, one leg hooked over his knees – clinging to him like a lifeline even in sleep. Some of the strain was finally starting to leak out of his furrowed brow, though he was still a long way from looking like himself.

The fingers of one hand ran through Aziraphale’s curls, carefully, rhythmically. Crowley had never seen the angel sleep before, but as soon as he’d started carefully scratching at his scalp, those blue eyes had begun to drift shut. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but if there was even a chance that this was helping him rest, Crowley would be damned, blessed, and cast into the void before he’d even consider stopping.

Everywhere they touched – which was just about everywhere – Crowley could feel something, an energy buzzing off Aziraphale’s skin. He’d felt it before, many times, but never this distinctly; it curled into him, whether he wanted it or not, flowing through his veins, keeping his heart beating.

“Y’know,” he whispered, slightly worried that the motion of the air would be enough to waken the angel. “You really shouldn’t have worried. Steal my strength? Ridiculous.”

Aziraphale shifted, just a little, pulling himself closer.

“I don’t have a blessed ounce of strength of my own. Or warmth. Solidity? Give me a break.”

A cloud must have moved out of the way; the moonlight suddenly grew brighter, and the pale angel seemed almost to glow in the silver light. Ethereal beauty.

“No. Whatever I’ve got, whatever’s kept me going, for thousands of years – it all comes from you.”

His angel shivered, just faintly, and Crowley quickly miracled up a thick blanket, wrapping it around both of them. Aziraphale sighed, fingers kneading and relaxing across Crowley’s skin.

“So you see, s’not a problem if you need it all. It’s already yours. Everything I have. Everything I am. Yours.”

--

Crowley was wrong for two reasons.

First, the warmth they felt hadn’t begun in Aziraphale, any more than it had in Crowley. It was a different kind of force, generated by their proximity to each other, and flowing constantly from one to the other, an eternal cycle. The strength belonged to both of them, and neither of them.

Second, of course, it would never run out. After all, love is increased – never diminished – by being shared.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens fluff #ineffable partners #crowley #aziraphale #sleepy cuddles #ineffable snuggle #emotional hurt/comfort #protective crowley #lonely aziraphale #crowley loves his angel #sneks give good hugs even in human form #this got long #my writing #tumblr fic

[violetlilysunshine]

Flip These Lines

Boyfriend Harry Holland x Actress Reader

Summary: Helping Harry with some work usually comes with a little loving. 

WC: 1,544

Warnings: friendly teasing, suggestiveness, one sexual-ish joke

A/N: y’all asked for it. Plus it’s nice to break up all the Chris I’ve been posting with a little bit of Harry :)

MASTERLIST - Join my TAGLIST

“Hi!” you grinned as Tom opened the door for you.

“Hey, Y/N, c’mon in,” he smiled back, pulling you in for a one-armed-hug, “good to see you, ‘s been a while.” 

“Yeah, filming’s been crazy,” you answered, “glad to be back here though.”

“Well, Harry sure missed you. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got home last night,” Tom informed you, making you chuckle, “glad you guys got to reunite though, he’s much more tolerable now.” 

“Hey, I can hear you!” Harry called from the other room.

You laughed, shaking your head at Tom, “I’m glad we got to go out last night, but I missed you too, ya know?” you teased Tom, knowing Harry was still listening.

“Yeah? Missed you a lot,” Tom said, playing along with you, “what d’ya say we hang out later, maybe grab some dinner together?” 

“ALRIGHT GET IN HERE!” Harry yelled from the other room.

You and Tom laughed for a second before he held his arm out, gesturing you towards the living room. 

Harry flashed you a bright smile from his spot on the couch, he was resting against the corner, half on the back of the sofa, half on the arm; he had one leg tucked under the back cushions, the other bent over the edge with his foot resting on the floor. He opened his arm towards you, his smile widening even more.

You practically skipped over, sitting down in front of him and starting to pull your legs towards you.

“Ah,” he scolded, “no shoes on the couch, Tom’ll kill you.” 

You laughed lightly, knowing he was absolutely serious, putting your feet back to the floor, untying your laces, and toeing off your shoes, before pulling your legs up again and crossing them criss-cross-applesauce.

Harry was quick to lean forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. He had his laptop open on the cushion next to you, a text document pulled up.

“Watcha workin’ on?” you asked lightly, expecting him to not answer and close the lid.

“Oh just tryin’ to write a script,” he answered, snuggling into your neck, “actually,” he pulled back, “would you maybe want to read it? I’d love your input…” he trailed off.

You were stunned that he was willing to share with you; most things with him and work were kept very tight-lipped, either by his choice or the studios’. When you didn’t answer right away, he started to get nervous.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, darling, don’t worry about it.”

“No no no,” you hurried, pulling the laptop across the couch and closer to you, “I want to,” you smiled, “just surprised you want to and can share with me is all.”

You hunched forward over the screen, resting your elbows on the cushion and your chin in your hands. He followed you, one arm still wrapped around your middle, the other on the trackpad as he scrolled around the screen. 

“Alright, so start here, love,” he whispered in your ear, “and don’t be afraid to make suggestions if it doesn’t sound good or doesn’t make sense or something,” he smiled, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

“Okay, babe,” you smiled, leaning back into him, taking the weight off your arms, and starting to read. 

His hand rubbed up and down your side gently, the other rested on your calf, as he hunched over you. He placed a few kisses to your neck and shoulder as you slowly read over the script. 

“So what’s the idea here?” you asked quietly, in your own little bubble as Tom, Harrison, and Jacob played video games on the TV mounted next you, “like what’s happening before this?” 

He explained a little bit, giving some character descriptions as well, before letting you read again.

You sat there quietly for probably about 10 minutes. Harry’s hands passed soothing touches to you; his lips tapped your neck, jaw, and shoulder occasionally. His eyes scanned the page as well, checking for typos and things like that because he might as well. You could feel his chest and stomach rise and fall against your back as he breathed, comforting and relaxing you. 

“Hey,” you spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper, “I think you should flip these lines,” you said pointing at the screen, “it’ll flow better and the tension will build smoother, ya know?” 

He reread the section, his hand ceasing its movement on your tummy as he focused: “Yeah, love, that makes sense, I think I like it better that way too,” he smiled, highlighting the text and flipping the lines around. 

“Okay, now I gotta read that again,” you giggled, scrolling back up to get into the scene again with the new order.

Harry chuckled at you, pressing another kiss to your cheek, “whatever you say darling.” 

He suddenly tightened his hold on your waist, giving you a small hug, “sorry,” he whispered quickly in your ear.

“For what?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Don’t think I did that when you got here,” he smiled, “or this,” he said, just before pressing a kiss to your lips.

You giggled as you pulled back, “mmm I don’t think you did either.”

He smiled at you, nudging his nose against your cheek, “okay, back to reading.” 

You turned back to the screen, starting the scene over again and then continuing on. He smushed your cheeks together as he read with you, wanting to see the new section as well. 

You read past it, liking the new change a little better, and so did he. A little further down you highlighted a section and made a note, “sorry, this just sounds a little weird, could use some rewording.”

“You don’t have to apologize, love, I want your opinion.”

“Okay, well, just a note for later,” you smiled, “do with it as you wish.” 

He chuckled at you, “alright, darling, whatever you think.” 

You smiled, going back to reading, nearing the end of what he had.

Jacob tapped Tom’s leg, pulling his attention from the screen, “hey,” he whispered, grabbing Harrison’s interest as well: “look at them,” he said, nodding towards the two of you, hunched over the computer, curled up in each others’ space.

“I think it’s cute,” Harrison whispered back.

“God he’s so in love with her,” Tom smiled, shaking his head.

You were too focused on the script to be aware of anything else happening in the room; Harry, however, heard everything. His attention was caught as soon as the screaming at the game stopped.

“Can’t believe she’s getting to read the script that we don’t get to know anything about,” Harrison added.

“Yeah,” Tom said a little louder, pulling your attention away from the screen.

“What’s that about?” Jacob asked, nodding at Harry.

You weren’t sure exactly what they were talking about, but you clasped your hand over Harry's on your tummy, turning your head to focus on the conversation.

Harry didn’t know what to answer; this was something he told the boys that he ‘wanted to do on his own’, but he couldn’t help but bring you into the mix. 

“What can I say,” he answered them after a while, “you’re not as cute as her,” he shrugged, squeezing you lightly once more.

You smiled, sinking back against him a little further and he placed another peck on your cheek, just next to your ear. 

The three boys laughed lightly, shaking their heads and turning their attention back to the game while you both went back to working. 

You soon finished what he had written, but when you got to the end, you didn’t make any effort to move. You wanted to stay held in his grasp like this forever; you loved having him wrapped around you and were determined to soak up as much of it as you could.

“So what’d you think, darling?” he asked, pulling you to rest back on him as he settled against the arm again, “honestly?” 

“It was really good!” you answered, turning your head to look up at him, “can’t wait to see it on film,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his jawline.

“Yeah? You think so?” he asked, doubting himself a little bit.

“Of course! It’s gonna be big, I know it.”

He smiled at you, about to say something in response, but Tom beat him to it, “would you two get a room?” he called, watching the two of you fawn over each other.

“What’du say?” he asked, passing you a wink.

“Mmm, sounds lovely,” you smiled, sitting up.

“Ewwww,” Tom groaned, scrunching up his face.

You and Harry both laughed loudly at that; you picked up your shoes and Harry grabbed his laptop before taking your hand and guiding you towards the hall. 

“We’ll try to keep it down!” he called over his shoulder, laughing loudly.

He led you into his room, gesturing you to get comfy on the bed as he turned to close the door behind the both of you, “pick a movie, love.” 

Just before the door latched, you heard a yell from Harrison, “USE PROTECTION!”

“DUDE!” Tom yelled in response, causing Harry to laugh again and finally close the door. 

TAGLIST: @xamourx @spider-barnes @hogwartsmarvelmommy @tulipholland @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cupids-crystals @sunwardsss @bvttercupbby @mcushvft @elishi03 @golden-hoax @mistakenpersonn

#harry holland #harry holland fluff #harry holland x reader #harry holland x female reader #harry holland x fem reader #harry holland x acrtress reader #harry holland imagine #harry holland oneshot #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland fanfic #violetlilysunshine #violetwrites

[littlesniggy]

Devine Juice

Anon: Heyo! How are ya? I hope all is well! I was wondering if I could get Zoro with a chubby fem s/o who wants him to help her lose weight but he gets a turned on my her. He tries to make a move but she’s too shy. He thinks it’s cute, and works through it and makes his move. Nsfw please!

If not have a lovely day/night and have some good vibes!

-🥐 annon

Hey Anon! Thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy it! I honestly have no idea how Zoro would be in a relationship other than still being lazy but I think it's not too far off. Maybe.

Pairing: Zoro x chubby fem! reader

Warning: 18+, nsfw, smut, insecure reader, tongue and finger f******

Word count: 1,7k

“Huh? Help you lose weight?” Zoro looked up at you from his lying position, his eyes wandering up and down your body. “How come?” he asked, his eyes lingering a little too long on your curvy hips. “I like the way you look.” He added. You blushed slightly, fidgeting with your fingers and looking at your feet, not noticing his wandering eyes.

“I…I just want to get in shape a little more.” You said quietly, not telling him that you might or might not be a little insecure about your body, especially since the two of you haven’t done the naughty thing yet. You were wondering what he would think about your body. You weren’t wearing anything that didn’t suit your body – you knew you were looking good – but it was always a different thing seeing someone in clothes and seeing someone naked.

“What were you thinking about?” You looked at him, a little bit confused, blushing about your thought. “W-what?” you stuttered. Zoro raised an eyebrow and sat up. “What kind of training do you want to do? Cardio? Muscle? Both?” “U-uhm….I guess cardio is the best way to lose weight…” you suggested. Zoro nodded and got up into a standing position.

“Then let’s get going!” he announced, walking past you towards the training room he was always using. “What? Right now?” you asked, following him. “But I have to get changed into work out clothes before!” Zoro sighed and looked at you over his shoulder. “Fine. But hurry! Your training is about to start!”

It was harder for Zoro than it was for you. Not that this light training he was doing with you had him sweating or anything but he always had to look over to you. You were too focused on doing squads, not realizing that he had stopped moving, his eyes following a small bead of sweat running down your neck and disappearing in your cleavage. He slowly moved around you as if he was checking if you were doing it right but honestly he just wanted to take a look at your butt sticking out every time you crouched down.

Wild fantasies came to his mind when seeing your legs tense up and easing again. He imagined your legs wrapping around his hips – or better yet his head – as he made you cum over and over again. Now it was his turn to not notice how you stopped and looked at him, face red from the workout.

You tried to catch his attention but he seemed to be lost in thought. Confused, you knitted your eyebrows together and caught the bulge between his legs out of the corners of your eyes. A gasp escaped your lips, snapping Zoro back into reality.

“Did you say anything, Y/n?” he asked. You pointed down at his crotch, your face now beet red from embarrassment and you averted your eyes. Zoro’s face turned red Immedeatly but he caught himself soon after.

“Sorry. I just can’t help it. You’re just too….tempting.” he said, making you blush even further if that was possible.

“D-don’t say something like this when I’m sweating like an animal.” Your voice was meek, barely audible. How could he say something like this in a situation like this? You were not looking sexy in any way right now! But Zoro seemed to have a different opinion on this matter.

“If you could see yourself right now you’d think the same.” He chuckled, coming closer to you. Instinctively, you made a step back and Zoro stopped, looking at you a little bit concerned. “You okay?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?” why were you backing away? Did he scare you?

“I-it’s nothing.” You tried to play it down but he didn’t buy it. “Tell me.” He made another step towards you, halting right in front of you and looking you in the eyes. Butterflies filled your stomach; you bit your lips, unconsciously inhaling his scent. He smelled so nice. Zoro put a hand under your chin, lifting it up. You hadn’t even noticed that you were staring at the floor in front of you.

“Tell me.” He insisted again, his calloused thump gently stroking your bottom lip. “I….I just feel a little insecure.” You answered reluctantly but honestly. “Why? What could you possible feel insecure about?” it was a genuine question and it made your heart flutter. How could he not see your potential insecurity? Especially since he was simply ripped.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I know.” God, he was making this really hard for you. Every word coming from his mouth, every honest compliment he made had your insecurities pushed to the furthest corner of your mind – little by little.

He leaned down, his lips only brushing against yours.

“I’ve noticed that you keep pushing our first time further and further away, always finding an excuse. First I thought you didn’t like me.” His hot breath ghosted your skin, his low voice making your knees weaker.

“I love you.” You said, almost sounding like you were defending yourself. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t like him – cause the opposite was true!

“I know. And I love you, too. But now I get why you did it. And I have to tell you your reason is stupid.” Ouch. “It’s not stupid. It’s normal to feel insecure about your body from time to time.”

“But you don’t need to. Maybe I have to show you just how perfect I think you and your body are.” He closed the distance, giving you no option to protest as he started kissing you. His hands moved over your arms and rested on your hips, lazily massaging your hips.

Then, his hands moved up, under your sweaty shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head. You tried to hide yourself from his eyes but he gently pushed your arms down, looking at your body.

“You wanna know what exactly I like about your body?” No sound left your mouth as hhe moved his lips to your mouth. “Your lips….” he kissed your neck. “And your neck….” Lips touching your collarbone. “…and this part….” Your face heated up again when his hands found their way under your sports bar, pulling it off as well. “And especially those two.” He grinned, burying his face between your breasts, his hands massaging the soft flesh.

You let out a small moan, your look one of arousal and embarrassment. He moved further down, kissing your belly, appreciating every single inch with either his mouth or his rough hands until he stopped at your waistband. He looked up at you, waiting for you to either give him permission or stop. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding slightly.

Zoro pulled your leggings down, leaving you in your panties. His hands moved up and down your legs, massaging the flesh there as well. The closer he got to your core the wetter you got. Kneeling in front of you, he must be seeing the dark stain on the fabric. He grinned at you, licking his lips before letting his tongue glide over your clothed sex, making you moan and your legs quiver.

He pulled you down to lay on your back, positioning himself between your legs.

“Do you know how much I’ve waited for this, Y/n?” he whispered, his hands hooking under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down, exposing your wet heat to his eyes. “Z-Zoro…” you started but stopped, not knowing why you said his name. The swordsman smiled at you before he made himself comfortable between your legs, laying on his stomach, his hands hooked under your thighs and holding them in place while he spread your legs.

“Itadakimasu.” He purred before his tongue licked over your slit, making your hips jerk against his mouth in response. Zoro pressed you down even further, rendering you unable to move too much. And that’s when he went to town.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking at it while circling his tongue over it. You moaned out in pleasure, throwing your had back. You could feel his grin against your wet core as he let go if your clit, sliding his tongue over your slit over and over again, making wet noises as he did. His tongue dipped inside your sex, ravishing every inch it could reach. Your juice was flowing out like a river as he tongue fucked you, your legs trying to get free from his grip.

You couldn’t hold back your moans, even when you pressed your hands against your mouth, not doing too much to muffle the shameless sounds.

“Zoro…!” you gasped as he sucked at your clit again. His one arm let go of your thigh, entering your sex with two fingers and moving them in and out, curling them inside of you in just the right angle.

You managed to get his other hand off your thigh somehow as well and wrapped your legs around his head, pushing him closer into you. You heard him groan in pleasure as he picked up his pace, licking up every bit of your sweet juice and slowly driving you to your orgasm.

“Shit…Zoro! I-I’m gonna….!” But it was too late and you came with a breathtaking orgasm that knocked all the air out of your lungs.

Your muscles slowly relaxed, Zoro still drinking the sweet nectar between your legs. Nothing was to be wasted!

Breathlessly, you laid there, trying to get a clear thought again. Zoro got up from between your legs, licking up the rest of your cum from his mouth, grinning wide.

“Do you still feel insecure? Do you still wanna postpone our first time together?” His smirk was almost cocky, knowing you wouldn’t say no after he just drank you like you were a bottle of his booze.

You grinned at him as well, confidence filling your body. “Then show me what you’ve got. I can take more.”

#one piece #op #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #Zoro x reader #ns.fw #sm.ut #insecure reader #chubby reader #female reader #op Roronoa zoro #request #thank you

[nctsworld]

meet me at the borderline

☆ jaehyun x reader | dance au | enemies to lovers | smut | 4k   

→ summary: although you and jaehyun are rival dance team captains, you two end up talking with your bodies in the dance studio one evening. → warnings: smut, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), table sex, mirror sex, some praise kink, swearing, some angst → rating: explicit → notes: part of a longer fic that i yearn to write one day, but until then… this is what y’all will receive 

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

It’s 8pm on a Friday night at the university’s main dance studio. Everyone on campus is either attending frat parties, at the clubs downtown, or at home, so you’re taken aback when you walk in and are greeted by the one and only Jung Jaehyun. 

He immediately stops dancing and hurries over to his phone on the floor to turn off the music playing. The panting dancer holds your gaze through the wall-sized mirror and takes off his cap for a moment to wipe his sweat away before putting it back on. 

“I was here first,” he states firmly with a squint of his eyes, anticipating for you to leave, but Jaehyun knows to expect less of you. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you stride into the room, hearing the door click behind you, and cross your arms with a shrug. 

“Did you book the studio for tonight?” 

He tenses, “No, I didn’t, but—” 

“If you don’t have another excuse for me to go, don’t be such a baby and I’ll make sure to stay out of your way.” 

The dance captain eyes you sauntering towards the back corner of the room, setting your backpack down. As you sit on the floor and begin to change shoes, he appears in front of you.

“Look, I’m trying to practice the set for the competition. I hate to be a dick—”

“No, you don’t; you love being a dick.” With a bitter, wide smile, you look up at him, still putting on your sneakers.

Jaehyun glances up for a second, as if in deep thoughts, with pressed lips. He then raises an eyebrow and nods his head side to side. 

“Perhaps, but anyway, I didn’t bring my headphones today and we shouldn’t even be seeing each other’s choreo before the show—” 

“Well, good news,” you stand up and begin to tie up your hair. “Unlike you, I brought headphones, so you can practice in peace. Oh, and I hate the sight of you and your flat ass, so I won’t even look at you dancing. We good?” 

You fold your arms once more. From one captain to another, you hold his stare, not wanting to back down from this mere fight. All you want is to get in some practice before the weekend with a proper mirror, is that too much to ask for? 

It takes some time, but the opposition yields to you, tilting his head to the floor and grumbles under his breath. As he walks back to his side of the room, you’re surprised he backed down so easily without a snarky response. Maybe Friday nights were his off days too.   

“At least I have an ass,” Jaehyun’s holler echoes against the walls. 

Ah, you spoke too soon. Placing your headphones over your ears to drown out your surroundings, you start your usual warm-up. Shortly, both of you dive into your separate worlds of melodies and movement. 

About half an hour later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor for a water break and set your headphones aside. You take a sip from your bottle and go against your word from before, indulging in a glance at the other dancer in the room.

Even though Jaehyun is an ass (and lacks one),—and you’d never tell the following to his face—he’s still a pretty sight to see, especially when his shirt occasionally rides up to flash his abs. 

When he catches on that you’re taking a longer break than usual, he pauses his music.  

“Were you practicing your set too or were you freestyling?”

Caught off-guard by his conversational piece, you squint at him coming closer to you. You could answer honestly, but opt to hold your ground against his seemingly innocent question. 

“Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “Cause your footwork’s a mess, like always, and if you, as a captain, dance like that for your piece, I can’t imagine what your whole team looks like.” 

Your nose twitches prior to the clenching of your jaw. You’re fully aware of your weak points when dancing, as most dancers are, but to have the audacity to bring it up unprovoked? You slam your water bottle against the floor, the echo reaching all ends of the room, then stand to match his stance. 

“Well, you’re one to talk.” You stomp your way over, closing the empty space in between, and are now only a few steps away from him. “You’re tense with all your upper body movements. You’re like a hard stick from the hip up. It’s like you have no control over your core—”

“Whoa, hold on,” he holds a palm up and rushes to lift his shirt up. “Look at my abs and tell me I don’t have a good core.”

You’re definitely looking, a little longer than you should because you’re finally getting a close-up glimpse of his abs, and they’re the type that you could wash clothes off of. But it’s not like you haven’t seen abs in your life nor do you want to stroke his ego, so you maintain your demeanor and roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t say that. I said you have no control over your core.”

Jaehyun lets out a huff. You can’t detect it, but it’s laced with a tinge of disappointment over how unfazed you are. He frees his shirt and jogs over to his phone. A few scrolls later, he finally blasts music that you’re fairly certain isn’t part of his dance team’s set for the competition (you may have also gone against your other word and listened to what he was practicing to, but only for a little bit). 

“Fine, I’ll show you.” 

At this point, you’re amused because never in a million years you’d expect Jaehyun freestyling in a room alone with you. He starts off by feeling the sharp beats and flowing rhythm of the music and when he has a handle on it, he makes a deliberate effort to add body rolls, chest pops, and more in his freestyling to lay out his case. 

While taking mental notes, out of habit, you’re grooving along with him too with modest rolls, head nodding, and taps of your feet. He can tell you’re holding back, but Jaehyun smiles, basking in how you seem to be enjoying this from the smile reflected on your face as well. 

When he stops, he cocks an eyebrow at you, awaiting for your new verdict.

“Maybe you’re not as bad as you were before.”   

He grins, hard enough that his dimples show, and you dig a hole to hide away the underlying flutters of your heart. 

Still an asshole, but a cute asshole.  

“Now, show me what you got, Captain,” Jaehyun crosses his arms with a nod.  

You’re shaking your head, not wanting to be judged by Jaehyun any further.  

“Unless... you’re scared that I’m right about how shitty your footwork is?”  

If there’s anything stronger than the fear of judgement, it’s the power of spite. 

The song’s already onto the next, but the melody flows easily through you. Similar to Jaehyun, you place emphasis on your footwork, being conscious of switching your weight between the balls and heels of your feet and slowing your moves in order to be more sharp, more clean, but all the while purposefully hitting the beats and giving meaning to the moves. 

Your body’s out of control, owning all the floor space around you. When your body leads you to end up in front of Jaehyun, you snag the hat off his head and put it on. While you stick your tongue out in response, he’s laughing, thinking how you look better with it on than him, and he realizes how he’s never seen you in this element. 

“My footwork still shitty?” you ask, still dancing. 

“There’s room for improvement,” Jaehyun breaks his fixed stance, now beginning to dance along with you. “But you’re not that bad either.” 

Soon enough, you two are entangled in an unspoken dance battle, trying to one up the other with harder, stronger, better movements than the opponent. The moment Jaehyun drops his breakdancing skills, you bite back with your own strengths—fierce, sensual motions and dare to invade his personal space, in hopes he becomes flustered. 

And he does, because he freezes at the sight of your bent ass, which is practically against his hips, and how your fingertips ghost the floor, then you shoot straight up and roll into his body. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, glancing up at him with shallow breaths, restless from the ongoing battle. 

“Care to beat that?” you whisper, suddenly aware of your hands tugging the fabric of his track pants over his thighs. Your chest heaves, and Jaehyun’s drawn to the view in his proximity. 

Despite his crude ogles, he’s super conscious of ensuring that his hands are not touching you, fearing he’s reading the situation wrong, that perhaps this was only due to the adrenaline and anger you’ve both pented up over time. It’s not as if you’d ever want him, even if he was the last man on Earth.

Although you can’t read his mind, Jaehyun’s absolutely right. 

So why do you inch closer to his face?

Time slows as he begins to meet you halfway. Both of you are breathing in sync, hearts beating almost as one. You turn to grasp the crook of his neck, while he steadies you by your waist.  

However, when your lips crash into his, time speeds up and it feels like it’s slipping away. All your movements are rushed as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The kissing—open-mouthed, hungry, and needy—doesn’t falter anytime soon. 

When you drop your touch from his neck, he runs his hands through your hair before caressing your cheek, deepening the kiss with more pressure. You’re sighing, humming into each kiss, and as Jaehyun pulls away to kiss your neck, you’re melting, knees feeling weak amidst your soft moans and eye rolls. 

Not wanting to actually melt in front of him, you tug at his shirt in between kisses, prompting him to follow you towards a small table on one side of the room. Once you’re there, you sit atop the table and continue kissing Jaehyun, who’s standing in between your spread legs. The handsome figure reverts back to kissing your neck, but this time feels adventurous, letting his hand snake under your t-shirt and grasp the side of your stomach. He embraces the smoothness of your bare skin, adores how you feel with every contact.   

There’s not much thinking happening, just lust coursing through each of your bodies. The lust distorts you so much, you don’t hesitate to take off your shirt and toss it to the floor. Jaehyun takes in your beauty for a brief second, before he follows suit and takes his shirt off too. His mouth captures yours again, while his hand kneads your ass and tugs you closer to his hips. 

Throughout his kisses that span all over your body, your hands roam and grip the entirety of his toned upper body. Almost instantly, you feel what you can only assume is his growing hard-on pressed against your core, causing you to moan.

“Can I finger you?” Jaehyun asks the filthy question with a certain air of courtesy, leaning his perspired forehead against yours. You nod fervently and squeak a simple, “Yes.” 

As you stand to get rid of your shoes and to wiggle your panties and leggings off, you notice Jaehyun laying the t-shirt he was wearing on the spot where you sat. He answers the confusion plastered on your face. 

“These tables are used for everything in this building; you never know what could be on them.” 

Today truly marks a day where you’ve never seen this many sides of Jaehyun before, but you don’t let yourself dissect the moment for too long. Since you still have your sports bra on, you opt to strip it off too, and jump back onto the table.  

Because you’re completely naked in front of him, Jaehyun takes more of his sweet time to bask in the sight in front of him, unsure if he’ll ever see you like this again. 

“Are you gonna keep staring,” you cusp his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Or are you going to finger me?” 

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” he seethes along with your name. Without warning, his fingers hover under your exposed warmth, making you gasp. 

Jaehyun chuckles deeply, “You’re dripping wet for me and I haven’t even put my fingers in yet.”

His fingers continue to painfully tease you, rubbing long, horizontal lines back and forth across your folds.

You bite your lip, fuming, “Jaehyun, stop teasing and put them in already,” 

“Tell me I’m a good dancer.”

You sigh a half-chuckle and roll your eyes prior to muttering, “Fuck you.” 

The tease dips his fingers just slightly into your sex, then pulls out right away. And again, and again. You’re getting more frustrated by the second, pouting with piercing eyes. Jaehyun always liked it when he had an upper hand on you during arguments, but he likes it even more like this.

“Tell me I’m a good dancer, and I’ll put them in.” 

“Fine,” you scowl. “You’re a good dancer, but you know that alre—fuck.” 

He plunges two digits deep into you, and your walls clench in gratification. 

“You’re right. I know I am, I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

You want to kiss the smirk off his face, but instead, you’re leaning your head back and gripping the edge of the table, reveling in the sensation of his fingers filling you. The music from his phone may be still playing, but all Jaehyun can focus on are your heaven sent moans and the way your body writhes, all due to him. 

With his free hand, he trails his nails lightly down the spine of your back, making your sex pulse around his fingers even more. He palms the middle of your back as he begins to plant kisses on your clavicle, down your chest, then on one of your nipples. The label of a tease sticks with him. He dabs his tongue lightly here and there, barely traces a circle around your tip. 

When he decides you’ve had enough, he puckers his lips tight and his cheeks become sunken. And when he’s not sucking, his tongue flicks as hard as the suctions, like strobing lights. You react in a frenzy, hands reaching towards his hair, to stuff and tug them between your fingers.  

“Oh, God, Jaehyun...”

When Jaehyun takes your other breast into his mouth, your moans tether further as he also increases his fingering pace, causing you to grip onto his hair harder. You fear that it might be too rough, but then again, he deserves a little pain for all the fights you’ve had.  

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, still with your nub surrounded by his teeth. He maintains his rhythm, enthralled with the obscene sounds of your pussy taking his fingers. 

Feeling a little conscious, reasoning that his hand must be drenched with your juices, you stutter, “S-sorry.” 

“No,” he pulls away from your mound, shakes his head, and pulls his hand from your back to caress your neck tenderly. “It’s fucking hot.” 

Jaehyun kisses you with intensity, the speed of his wrist never relenting. You can’t even properly kiss him back because the pleasure is overwhelming, so much that if moans were a shade of paint, yours would be splattered all over the studio’s walls. You reach your peak with cries of his name, your honey glistening over his fingers. 

After he pulls them out and you’re coming down from your high, he runs over to his backpack and rummages through it. Your eyes flicker, noticing the little silver package in hand. Jaehyun wastes no time in coming back to your side. He places the condom next to you on the table and strips off his clothes in record time. 

Before he has a chance to open the condom, you jump off the table to grasp onto his wrist, gesturing for him to lean his backside against the table. He’s in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him.  

You stroke his hardened length, admiring his size, but waste no time in tasting him to avoid Jaehyun’s potential banter about how big he is. However, he’s not even in the right mindset to do so; he’s in a trance, stuck on everything you’re doing. 

Subconsciously or not, everything’s a competition with you two, so you showcase what you’re capable of doing with your tongue. Like him, you begin to be a painful tease, only giving small kitten licks on his cock. Then the next laps of your tongue are broad, but gradual.  

Wanting to see everything you’re doing, he holds your messy hair in a makeshift ponytail since the hair tie you had on must have flown off during the former scenes. Jaehyun grunts sharply as you ease him into your mouth, the warmth welcoming and encircling him wholly. After you bob and swirl your tongue concurrently, giving him a sneak peek of what you’re able to do, you stroke him lackadaisically and meet his eyes.  

“Now, you tell me I’m a good dancer,” you command.  

A brief chuckle escapes from above, “I don’t think you’re in the same position to ask me of that.” 

You challenge his words by taking his possession within your mouth once more. Holding him by the base to cover the area your mouth can’t, you jerk your head fast. With each bob and each swipe, more and more of your saliva covers Jaehyun’s desire. The slurps are so loud, so lewd. His face trembles and his grip tightens on your hair, the pleasure rising within him sooner than expected. 

“Okay, okay. You’re a great dancer—fuck, fuck. Slow down. I don’t want to come just yet.”  

You pull away, an extended line of your spit mixed with his precome draws out from your lips. Perking an eyebrow with a smolder, you light up your wrist rapidly. “Do you mean it?” 

He’s breaking apart from your actions, baring his teeth and grimacing. “Yes, yes. I fucking mean it.” 

With a smirk, you immediately drop him from your hand. He drags you upward into a mad kiss, in retaliation for the edging. Breaking apart from one another, you hurry to your original spot on the table. Jaehyun eases the rubber onto his cock and tugs you by your hips, having your ass laid on the very end of the table. 

He raises your legs up, to be partially extended in the air and engulfed around his body. You have one elbow perched on the table and one hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. Jaehyun stabilizes you by having a grip on the fold behind your knee and hustles to line his possession up with your sex. The moment it is, his hand meets your waist and he inserts himself fully into you. 

Your back arches from his girth hitting you. Both of your moans expel, mingling with each other. He thrusts experimentally, testing the waters to see how you like it. Determined, deep thrusts. Shallow, swift thrusts. A mix of both. 

It didn’t matter, because you cry in ecstasy either way.   

Being aware of the music still playing from his phone, he wonders if he can plunge into you to match the beat. The current song was electronic and bass-heavy, making it difficult for him to truly match it, but your broken whimpers and name-calling don’t object to the fast thrill. 

God, he can feel the way your pussy contracts against his inches. 

“You know,” he pants heavily. “If I didn’t have good core control, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

It takes a bit of effort to come up with a response. All you muster up is, “N-not necessarily,” before you lapse into your elation. 

As you emit your endless moans, you spot your reflection in the wall-sized mirror. The sides of your bodies are parallel to it, and your eyes can’t tear away from the spectacle of you getting fucked by Jaehyun from another angle. It’s unbelievable how fit he is, but you see every flexed muscle and tendon in the mirror—from his neck to his ankles. 

“Do you like watching me fuck you?” 

His gaze confronts yours in the mirror, and you whimper with barely a bounce of your head.  

Jaehyun’s thinking about how beautiful you are, but he holds his tongue back. Rather, he grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss, except the kisses are hardly materialized because your lips are constantly parted. Your hot breath fans against his face and he’s attentive to how close you are to him. Not just physically, but beyond that too. He can’t explain it, but it’s as if you’re under his skin. 

He knows this will inevitably end, it has to, but he also knows he’ll want you again.  

Jaehyun’s officially hooked—to your taste, to your scent, to your air, to your everything.  

And he’s not the only one who feels that way too.  

You inform Jaehyun that you’re nearing again, and he readies himself for his own little death too. Once you disintegrate, he kisses you for the last time, followed by spurts of his seed, releasing himself into the condom.  

The two of you are heaving, sticky messes. Regardless, both of you hold onto each other for a little bit longer. Eventually, you must withdraw and you do.   

The tension in the room seems to shift as you both begin to catch your breath, like everything that just happened was a dream. You don’t regret it, neither of you do, but reality blankets over. You’re the first to reach for your clothes and begin to put them back on. Jaehyun peels off the condom and follows your footsteps. 

“This stays between us,” you express from afar, averting his eyes.  

“And it’s only a one-time thing,” Jaehyun adds, but is immediately unsure if he should’ve said that.

“Exactly, it’s like you read my mind.” 

Your chest clenches for a beat as the words come out of your mouth. You shake your head, trying not to think about it.  

“Are you going to stay in the studio a bit longer?” 

Reading his question as a simple inquiry, you don’t pick up the hopefulness in his tone nor do you see the look in his eyes.  

“No, no. You can finally get the studio to yourself. I’ve had enough practice for the night.”

Already dressed, you hurry to grab all your gear and stuff it into your backpack, prepared to leave. You’re practically out the door in an instant as you mumble your good-bye.

“I’ll see you around, Jaehyun.” 

While you’re walking home, Jaehyun’s still sitting on the floor of the dance studio with his hat in his hand, remembering the way you looked with it on.

At the same moment, you’re both trying your best to stop thinking about the other. 

Keeping this a secret between the two of you, you could do. If your team knew what went down, the best case scenario would be that you lose captaincy. The worst case was that you wouldn’t be a part of your team anymore. However, in either case, your best friends, who were also on the team, would likely question your loyalty and dedication, wondering why you’d ever do such a thing in the first place. The same applied to Jaehyun. 

Seeing Jaehyun again was inevitable. Your teams often collided during practice hours and sometimes fought for the studio. Although it’d be awkward, it’d be manageable. At least, you hope it would be. 

But the only thing neither of you could truly promise, nor did you two desire, was keeping this as a one-time thing, especially now, when you’ve had a taste of each other and yearned for more. 

One more month until the competition. 

What more could possibly happen between you and Jaehyun until then? 

#jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #nctcreations #nct #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #mywritings #myfanfics #jaehyun x reader

[scuttling]

Promise

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 5,844 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Biting, Hickies, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Oral Fixation, Unprotected Sex, Tie as Restraint, Dirty Talk, Mention of Somnophilia Summary: Two weeks after the events of 'Patient', Spencer is feeling a little bit like a third wheel. Sophie and Aaron come up with a plan to show him how much he means to them. Collection: Part 4 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr. Link to A03 or read below! For the last couple of weeks, Spencer has almost exclusively been staying the night at Aaron and Sophie’s. The three of them arrive at work together every day, go to lunch together every day, leave together every day, and no one has commented on that or found it strange in any way. He’s honestly a little disappointed; he’s happy, in love, and this is arguably the best time of his life, stuff he would most like to share with other people, but they either don’t notice or simply don’t care. It's frustrating.

He wears one of Aaron’s ties to work on a Friday, because he’d been in such a hurry to throw some clothes into his bag during a rare pit stop to his apartment that he didn’t grab enough, and he figured no one would notice, since they haven’t noticed anything else up to this point.

However…

“Hey. Hotch has a tie just like that, doesn’t he?” Garcia asks when he’s down in her cave looking over some age progression renderings she made for him. He looks down, runs his fingers over it, shrugs.

“Does he? I didn’t realize.” She sweeps her gaze over his face, tilts her head like she’s trying to figure him out, but ultimately, she just smiles.

“Maybe not. I see a lot of ties around here, you know? Anyway, see how…”

Later that day, he takes some case files up to Aaron’s office—purely for make out purposes—and they’re kissing pretty hot and heavy when Aaron slips his fingers around the knot of his tie and twists it, so it tightens around the base of his throat. He moans, a little startled, and very turned on, and Aaron hums against his lips.

“So fucking gorgeous when you wear my clothes, Spencer, but especially this. It’s so tempting, draws my attention right to your pretty throat.” His lips move there, brushing tenderly up the side, and he bites down gently, not enough to leave a mark, but enough that he feels it in his dick. “If I had my way, you’d be constantly covered in bruises here. Everyone would look at you and know you belong to someone.” Spencer licks his lips, exhales deeply.

“I wish you could,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers through the hair at the back of Aaron’s head. “Maybe—maybe just one?” He’s lightheaded at the thought, both of having Aaron’s hot mouth tease a bruise there and of being seen for the desperate, needy slut he is. Of the whole team, the whole office, the whole world knowing he is taken, happily, regularly, by not one but two beautiful human beings.

Aaron presses his hand against Spencer’s cock, which is extremely hard, giving away all of his secrets, and he huffs against his throat.

“Yeah. You want me to suck and bite your neck until you’re purple and aching, and then you want to walk right downstairs and show it off, don’t you? No doubts about who gave it to you, about who your daddy is. About who you belong to.” He nods, breathing heavily.

“Yes. I want them to see, I want them to know.” Aaron walks him back so he’s leaning against the edge of the desk, and he runs his hands slowly up and down Spencer’s body, brushing his lips so softly over his throat. It feels good, but it’s not what he wants, and Aaron knows it, the tease.

He shifts his hips, rubs against Aaron for friction, and when he finds his cock he gasps, fists his hand into Aaron’s jacket. He lifts his leg, pressing against Aaron’s thigh, and gets them to line up beside each other, sliding easily due to the fabric of their suit pants.

“Oh, fuck, Spencer,” he groans, hands falling to the desk on either side of his body. “Needy boy.” He tugs down the collar of his shirt a little more, bites down hard at the base of this throat, and Spencer moans, clutches at him, rubbing frantically.

Aaron’s mouth is hard, sucking deeply, and Spencer knows that what he’s doing is actually breaking blood vessels beneath his skin, but it feels like he’s sucking the life out of him, leaving him dizzy and achy and desperate for release. He twists his fingers in Aaron’s hair, tight, and humps his hips up against his hard body, his hard cock, and he comes so powerfully he sees stars, panting and shaking through it until he leans his weight back against the desk, his energy depleted.

Aaron pulls back, looks at him with dark, lustful eyes, and bends for a hot, wet kiss.

“Perfect, beautiful boy,” he rasps when the kiss breaks, and he unclasps his belt, takes out his cock, looks down at Spencer’s mouth; it’s all he needs to do to get Spencer on his knees, and he’s sure he looks filthy—his face is hot, and his collar is still loose, with what must be a huge, dark hickey blooming there—because it only takes a few seconds for Aaron to spill down his throat, his hand under Spencer’s chin while he swallows him down.

He helps him to his feet, and they kiss, work to right each other’s clothes and hair even though Spencer feels like his face is the real problem—his eyes half-lidded, his mouth slack and his tongue peeking out the way it always does when he’s satisfied. Aaron looks at him affectionately, probably at the dopey look he’s so capable of putting on his face, and he kisses him again, softer, then brushes his lips over his nose.

“I love you. Want me to come down and make you a tea?” he asks softly, so sweet, but Spencer just shakes his head, swallows.

“No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy, and I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Aaron sighs, sweeps a hand gently over his cheek.

“My time is your time. You’ve taken nothing I didn’t want to give.” He kisses him fully on the mouth, and Spencer hums happily against his lips. “Is there anything I can do for you before you head back to work? Or, I guess you should probably head to the bathroom first, to get cleaned up,” he amends, and he looks down at Spencer’s crotch like he would prefer to clean it up himself, slowly, with his tongue. Spencer shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I’m really alright. I love you,” he murmurs, kissing his lips, “and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” Spencer slips past him, out the door, and when he’s done cleaning up in the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror; he thinks he looks wrecked, debauched, but maybe that’s only because he knows that he is. He pulls down his collar, looks at the huge, dark, angry bruise Aaron left, smiles, and covers it back up.

Mostly.

When he takes his seat, Sophie looks up at him, sweeps her eyes over his face, his throat, and he can see her breath pick up. God, she’s so easy to get going, it’s not even fair. She makes eye contact, swallows, looks up at Aaron’s office, and then stands, locks her computer, and heads upstairs.

About ten minutes later, she’s back; he looks up at her, and because he looks at her so much, he notices all the little things that have changed—her hair, previously falling in voluminous waves, looks a little flat, and her chest is red, flushed, and when she logs back into her computer, he notices the edge of a purple bruise on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, barely concealed by the white v-neck t-shirt she wears. She meets his eyes, sweeps her tongue over her lips, and buries herself in work.

He’s hard, again.

No one notices, again. They take a case in Orlando, a serial killer case like many before it, nothing so out of the ordinary that anyone should be particularly on edge, but Spencer is, and Sophie can’t figure out why. He’s retreated into himself, not as talkative, and snippy, when he does speak, so she doesn’t start the car right away when they climb in, hopes for a little partner/girlfriend heart to heart before they go canvassing for leads.

“Spencer. Hey,” she says softly, pressing her hand to his cheek when he won’t make eye contact. “Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been distant all day. I’m worried about you.” He presses his face against her palm, looks up at her with sad eyes.

“I hate when we’re on a case, and I know that you and Aaron will get to sleep together, and I’m stuck in my room by myself, all alone.” She sighs, because that can’t be all it is, but it makes her heart hurt anyway.

“Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“It’s not just that, it’s the bigger picture. You two are… out, for lack of a better word. People see you, they know you’re together, they know you’re in love. I feel like the third wheel, sometimes. People don’t know that I mean anything to either of you. They don’t know I love you, or that you love me, that we…” He shakes his head, presses his lips together like he wants to cry. “That when the three of us make love, I feel like the man I’m supposed to be. That I feel really seen for the first time in my life.” She puts her other hand on the side of his face, brings him closer for a slow, loving kiss, breathes against his lips.

“I’m sorry, honey. You’re right, none of that is fair to you, and we haven’t been very thoughtful or attentive to your needs around this. I promise things will change. I don’t know how, exactly… It’s complicated, I know you know that. But you deserve to be just as seen as Aaron and I are, so we’ll find a way to make it work.” She rests her nose against his, softly kisses his lips. “I love you so much, Spencer, and so does Aaron. You aren’t a third wheel, we’re all equal.” He nods against her cheek.

“I know, I do, and I love you both so much. I don’t want to make your lives harder, but I want more. I need more.” She pulls back, brushes her fingers through his hair, runs a soothing hand over his arm.

“Of course you do, and we want that too. You’re not asking for anything we shouldn’t have already given you.” She feels guilt like a pit in her stomach at the fact that they didn’t think of this, try to get ahead of it. Poor Spencer. “It will work out, baby, I promise. We’ll find a way. And I’ll sleep in your room tonight,” she adds, knowing it’s a small comfort, but she hopes it makes him feel better until they can make the big things right. “I’ve slept in your room before, when things were hard, it’s not like it’s a big deal.” He closes his eyes, nods tightly.

“Right. No one needs to know.” She frowns, because that’s not what she meant, but he pulls back, buckles up his seatbelt, and she does the same, at a loss for what she can do in the meantime to make him feel seen.

When she’s in Aaron’s room that night, getting ready to duck into Spencer’s, she has an idea, runs it by him. His face abruptly goes serious, dark, and he takes her face in his hands, kisses her roughly.

“Are you sure? Anyone could see—it’s not like we’re in a low-traffic city,” he warns, but she nods. She’s pretty sure, after talking to both of them, that this is something that Spencer would enjoy, that would maybe make him feel a little bit better about it all. She wants to do it.

“Yeah. We’re the only ones on this side of the hall, so I figure that’s as safe as we’ll get, in terms of the team, and… I’m okay, with anyone else. If it will make him happy.” She grips the hair at the back of his head, presses their foreheads together. “You’ll be there for me, right?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, caressing her face, and she sighs against his lips.

“Thank you. I love you.” He says it back, kisses her, and she takes a step back, grabs her stuff, walks to the door. “I’ll text you, let you know when we’re ready.”

“Okay. Remember your words. Use them if you need them.” She nods, leaves the room, knocks lightly on Spencer’s door.

“Hey, honey,” she greets, and he steps aside, takes her bag, closes the door behind them. She pulls him down for a gentle, slow kiss, smooths her hands over his body like she’s trying to commit him to memory. “Hmm. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he says with a soft smile. “I was thinking about earlier, in the car, and I wasn’t fair. It makes sense that people can’t know until we figure things out; I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.” She thanks the heavens above for the perfect segue, because she’d been struggling with a way to explain her idea without sounding like a babbling, horny idiot.

“It makes sense that the team can’t know,” she corrects, and she leans up for another kiss. “Or people we work with. But other people, people we don’t know, that would be fine, right?” He tilts his head, looks a little confused by her question.

“What do you mean? Like, if we went on a date together? And people saw us?” She nods a little.

“Yeah, something like that. Or even… you know. If people saw you kissing me, or they saw us having sex. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?” Her heart is racing, and his breathing picks up, she can tell; she can tell her words affect him just by the set of his mouth, the way his hands move to her hips and tighten there. It’s so fucking hot.

“Yeah, yeah. That would be okay. Would that be okay with you?” Aaron was right then, when he’d suggested that their boy might be harboring a hidden exhibitionism kink; she smiles, pleased, proud of their man for noticing.

“It would be okay with me,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his. “There’s a chaise couch thingy on the balcony out there. I thought maybe you and I could put on a show for Aaron; and if someone else is out on their balcony, and they happen to see us, all the better. They’ll see how horny you make me, how hard and loud I come for you. How much I love you, need you, want you.” Her last words are spoken directly into his ear, and he shivers, lifts her up and presses her back against the wall.

“Fuck. Yeah, I want to.” His mouth moves frantically over her throat, his hands on her back, and he makes sure she’s supported before moving to pull her shirt over her head, so he can kiss and lick and squeeze her exposed tits. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah, Spencer. I can’t wait to feel you, to show the world what you mean to me. What you do to me.” He’s panting, and he puts his hands on her again, moves them to the bed, lays her back on it.

“Sophie, so good for me, always giving me so much. Always pleasing me, always.” She tips her head back, moans, and when he drags her pants down her legs, then her panties, she sighs, horny, happy, pleased. A little nervous. But she wants to do this for him more than anything.

“Let me text Aaron real quick,” she says, but she pulls his shirt off first, pushes down his pants and boxers, wants to see him, feel him. He hands her her phone, and her fingers are trembling a little as she types out the text.

Showtime.

Spencer is, of course, as sweet and kind and sexy as ever, when he lays her naked body back on the chaise, which is directly across from Aaron’s balcony. He looks into her eyes, makes sure she’s okay, and she nods, a signal to begin.

They very mindfully keep their eyes on each other, don’t pause to try to seek out Aaron—she knows he’s there, even though it’s dark, because he said he’d be—or to check for anyone else. They both decided it would be better that way.

Both hands cover her breasts, rubbing slow circles, stimulating her nipples, and she moans softly, letting her head fall back, moving her arms up on either side of it. He kisses her mouth tenderly, then trails his lips down her throat, between her breasts, down her stomach; he dips his head low, takes a gentle taste of her slick, throbbing pussy, and then one of his hands leaves her chest to press open her thigh, giving himself more room to work.

“So fucking beautiful. Wet and open—you really want me, don’t you, sweet girl?” His voice is a little louder than it would normally be, and she quickly realizes he wants to make sure it carries over to Aaron, so he can hear them as well. She tries to remember to be really loud, even though it goes against her instincts.

“Oh, yes.” He spreads his fingers where they rest on her tit, then pushes it up, harder, and she moans. “Mmmh, yeah.”

“So perfect for me. Horny, slutty, gorgeous girl for daddy.” She snaps her eyes shut, bites into her bottom lip; she hadn’t counted on him bringing out the daddy tonight, while they’re doing this. It makes her feel dirty, and extremely aroused.

“Yes, daddy. I’m so horny, s-so slutty,” she stumbles when he slides his tongue between her lips, then up over her aching clit. “Oh, god, yes. Yes, daddy.”

He takes his time, goes slowly, slips his tongue through her folds, nibbles them with careful teeth, and she is just a mass of flesh and nerve endings sinking into the sofa, squirming under his hands, whimpering and moaning at his every lick, touch. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion except her heart, her heaving chest, and her brain is already deliciously empty, like static on a broken television—it’s either her mind’s way of protecting her from the anxiety she knows she should be feeling at being this exposed, doing something so, so illegal and filthy and wrong, or it’s just Spencer.

She thinks it might actually be just Spencer.

He looks up at her from between her legs, so gorgeous, flushed, turned on, and he presses two fingers into her open mouth, which only makes her sink deeper into the place that’s all pleasure and need and wanting to please him. He pumps them into her mouth a few times, then pulls them out and sinks them deep into her pussy, making her arch and sigh.

“There you go, baby, that’s it,” he praises, dragging them in and out, in and out, in and out. He leans in to press the point of his tongue against her clit, divine sensation right where she wants it, and she comes around his fingers, moaning and gripping the edge of the cushion in her hands. “That’s a good girl. Good girl.” He shifts up, moves his hand up her body, slips his wet fingers back into her mouth so she’ll suck them clean.

She’s never felt so good in her entire fucking life. Aaron has been trying to resist shoving a hand into his boxers and jerking himself off, but his willpower is wearing thin.

Watching Spencer bring Sophie off with his mouth and his hands was... stimulating to say the least; she dropped into subspace so quickly and completely, he could see it from even a balcony away. Spencer is getting better and better at dominating her every day, better than him, even, because he has a refinement, a subtle nuance, that Aaron hasn’t found on his own quite yet.

It’s when he fucks her, though, that Aaron starts to lose his resolve. Maybe it’s because he’s truly just a spectator for the first time in their relationship, or maybe it’s because he knows—even if they don’t—that they’ve amassed a small audience, but he spreads his legs, rubs his hand over the bulge in his boxers, tries to keep breathing.

The tie thing is a tease, just truly unfair.

Before Spencer pushes into her, he reaches a hand down, pulls out a tie—one of Aaron’s, the one Spencer had worn to the office the day he’d marked him—and wraps it around Sophie’s wrists, knotting it tightly to keep her hands together, and he tucks it into the arm of the chaise so she’ll keep them above her head. She doesn’t make a sound, just stares up at him, subservient and willing, and it makes Aaron’s head spin. He can’t imagine what it does to Spencer.

With a couple of kisses, he’s inside her, up on his knees, his hands on her hips, and she wraps her thighs around his waist, lifts her ass up, and lets him pound inside.

“Oh, daddy. Fuck me,” she moans, and he licks his lips, pulls her against him with each thrust so he’s deep, fully sheathed inside her. “Yeah, just like that. All the way inside me. Tight, but I love it,” she pants, and he squeezes his eyes shut—so he won’t come, Aaron knows.

“Yes you do. Such a good little slut for daddy, taking my big cock even though it's tight. Your pussy’s mine, and I take what I want, don’t I?”

“God, yes. Take it, take it,” she mutters, and Spencer slowly brings his hands up to cover her throat, because she needs grounding and they can both tell. He slides his hands up and down her throat, not choking, just rubbing her there, and she moans, a wrecked and dirty sound. “Will you come inside me, daddy? Fill me up? Can I sleep with it inside me?” Aaron swallows hard, puts his hand in his pants and starts jerking his swollen, leaking cock. Spencer hums.

“Yes, baby, I’ll fill you with come. You can sleep with it. Maybe I’ll wake up in the night, stiff, and pump some more into you while you sleep. Would you like that?” She moans, bucks hard against him, nods.

“Yes, daddy. I’ll take whatever you give me. You do what you want to me. I’m just your pussy, just here for you to use. Use me.” He thrusts into her faster, his hands tight on her hips again, and he comes, snapping his body hard against hers.

Aaron knows he gets quickly spent and tired, but he jackhammers his cock into her a dozen times anyway, determined, and she comes calling Spencer, her hips stuttering against his until they both slow and settle. Aaron comes too, just a quiet grunt followed by a long, satisfied sigh.

Spencer unties her arms, kisses her wrists, and picks her up; it’s easy, because he’s still inside her, and her legs are still around him. A couple of people applaud and whistle from a balcony above, and Sophie tucks her face into Spencer’s neck, wraps her arms around him, and they go inside.

The two of you are incredible, he texts Spencer when he goes inside as well. I love you both so much. So perfect, so beautiful. Take care of each other.

We love you, too. I think tomorrow, you two should let me watch.

Aaron closes his eyes, exhales long, climbs into bed.

The next day, they somehow manage to work together as if nothing happened the night before, as if his two perfect partners didn’t fuck in front of a live audience, as if he didn’t bring himself off in public as a result.

It’s enough to keep him in a state of passive arousal all day, and he hopes and prays it’s not enough to give him an erection, because he doesn’t have time for it.

That night, though, is another story entirely.

Roles are reversed, as requested; Spencer sits on his balcony, in the dark, but they don’t look toward him, just the way he and Sophie didn’t look for Aaron. She said it helped, and he wants to keep her as comfortable as possible, knows this is a lot.

Aaron lays back on the chaise, and he gently palms Sophie’s head as she holds his hips, kisses and licks his dick; he knows she’ll fall hard sucking him off like this, and he liked how submissive she was for Spencer yesterday, would like to get her there himself too.

“Hmm. Good girl, baby,” he hums, brushing back her hair; she’d run her tongue over him all night if he let her, and it would get him off, too, but he wants to make it good for Spencer, so he reaches down and lifts his cock, guides her mouth down onto it.

She moans on him, wraps her hand around the base, presses her lips tight and bobs her head, slow and steady, and he tips his head back, rubs her arms, encouraging the treatment.

“Yes, baby, suck on daddy’s cock. You’re always best with your mouth full, aren’t you, my sweet, slutty girl?” She hums around him, shifts so she can get a hand between her legs, which is his absolute favorite, and moves faster, her hand and her mouth together, wet and hot, enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. He knows he won’t last long if she keeps that up, lets them both enjoy it for a moment before putting his hands on her cheeks and pulling her off gently. “Enough of that; climb up for daddy,” he instructs, and she slinks up his body, presses her mouth to his for a heated, eager kiss.

It lasts a while, because she feels so good, tastes so good, like him, and then they separate, panting against each other. “How do you want me, daddy?” He sits up, runs a hand up her body, and then guides her to sit back on his dick, making them both gasp. “Hmm, yeah. Thank you, daddy,” she murmurs, and she presses her hands against his chest and starts to move atop him.

She’s perfect, as always, fucking quickly, slamming into his thrusts, and one hand falls back to steady herself against his thigh; her chest is flushed and red, nipples hard, and he can’t resist, has to lean in and suck one into his mouth, roll it around on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, mmm,” she sighs, wrapping her hand around the back of his head and holding him close. “You know my body so well because it’s yours, daddy. Yours to use, to fuck, to come inside.” He releases her breast and stares up at her, her breathing hard, her mouth open in a silent moan. She’s gorgeous, unabashed, riding his cock like she was made for it; he knows Spencer has to be touching himself as he watches her body work, her hips roll against him.

It’s relatively quiet, and he hears someone mutter, same girl, different guy, and he’s forced to really think about this for a moment, what they’re doing, the kind of line they’ve crossed. He wonders if this will be something done once, remembered fondly but out of their systems for good, or something they’ll need, will have to learn to navigate around safely, healthily. He thinks about how different it is for her, as a woman, compared to how it is for them as men.

She either feels none of the same apprehension or simply hides it well, because she only bounces harder against his thighs until she comes whimpering his name. He groans, puts his hands on her ass and squeezes it, urging her to keep going until the sensitivity passes, not to stop or slow. She knows what to do—another voice says riding it like a champ—just tosses her hair over her shoulder, scrapes her nails through the hair on his chest, moans long and loud.

“Mmm, yes, daddy, thank you daddy. Thank you for not letting me stop—I’m just here for you to use, to take your come. I’m your slut.”

“Yes, baby girl, you are a slut for daddy. You live to be fucked hard, destroyed by me. By us.” It’s the only time they’ve acknowledged Spencer, and Aaron can hear a faint groan coming from his direction. “One man is not enough for a needy, desperate slut like you. You need two. Separately, together—you belong to us both.” She runs a hand through her hair, bucks hard against him, reaches down to rub at her clit again; god, if she comes on his cock twice he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants, and he leans up again, bites down on her nipple, and she cries out in pleasure, digs her nails into his chest, and comes again. He puts both hands hard on her hips, forces her down onto his cock a handful of times and then comes as well, pumping into her tight channel with a groan.

She pants, catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, and he gets her into the bedroom, lays her back on the bed, and watches her body move as she works to catch her breath, still shivering with aftershocks, clamping down tight around his cock. She touches his face, his hair, and he only pulls out when he hears a light but insistent knock on the door.

“It’s Spencer, baby, I’ll be right back,” he promises, kissing her, and when he opens the door Spencer flies in, grabs him hard, kisses him, then makes his way to Sophie; he touches her softly, stroking her hair, whispering words of praise until she’s shaking and the only thing that will soothe her is his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

It’s the first time he actually notices how differently she sees them, as their sub. Aaron is the one who makes rules, gives orders, disciplines and corrects, and Spencer is softer, earning obedience with his actions more than his words. Aaron pushes her, overwhelms her, and Spencer is the one who helps her through when she’s overwhelmed, and it’s why this works, why it works when he’s dominating Spencer, too. There’s no clashing of personalities, it’s all complementary, all necessary. All important.

He has to find a way to make this right. “Strauss was… confused, to say the least,” Aaron explains to them at dinner a few nights later. “And I could tell she thinks I’m just a couple more twenty-somethings away from being a cult leader or something,” he says—only half joking, Sophie can tell, “but she knows, now. All that’s left is to tell the team, and then live with whatever repercussions may come.” She reaches out for both of their hands, squeezes them.

“Well, the team was okay with us when we disclosed, and this is a little more unconventional, but we know them. I don’t think we’ll have a problem. If anyone else has one, that’s beyond our control. It doesn’t say anything about us; people have always found a reason to dislike something different just because it’s different.” She glances at Spencer, who is looking so soft, pleased, that she doesn’t know how they didn’t see the signs before. He’s like a whole new person, now, their person.

"One more thing," Aaron says, and he's looking at the both of them, his face sweet and loving too. He crosses the room, opens a drawer, pulls out two small jewelry boxes and sets one in front of each of them. He crouches between them. "I know it might seem a little soon, but this isn't anything serious, just a reminder, a promise. I don't ever want either of you to feel like we aren't all equal here: equally valued, equally important, equally loved." Sophie opens hers—a delicate gold band with a small diamond in the middle—and Aaron pulls a third out of his pocket, thicker, simple, just gold, identical to the one Spencer opens. "Please don't ever think you can't talk to me when something is bothering you, and don't ever forget that I love you."

She leans over, kisses him, kisses Spencer, and they kiss each other, and the night gets away from them and they have sex in so many different positions and combinations it’s like Twister, but everyone feels fulfilled when they drift off to sleep, and that’s the most important thing.

Telling the team is… interesting, to say the least.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know,” JJ says, nodding, and Aaron, Spencer, and Sophie just look at each other where they stand. Spencer frowns, confused.

“What do you mean, ‘thanks for letting us know’? That’s it?” Morgan crosses his hands behind his head.

“Yeah. We’ve known for a while, but this is like you guys coming out, as bi or pan or whatever you two are,” he says, gesturing to the guys, “and then as like… what’s the word, baby girl?” he asks Garcia, and she waves her feathered pen at the three of them.

“Throuple. It’s like a couple, but, you know, three.” She smiles kindly.

“You knew,” Spencer repeats, and Sophie glances at Aaron, shoots him an indulgent smile. “You knew, all along?”

“Since the day you guys had your ‘partner evaluations,’” Prentiss admits with a teasing tone. “You two are extremely obvious. It’s like you can’t get laid without looking like two blushing, giggling little school girls after. So not sneaky.”

“I literally saw you two making out at Rossi’s party,” JJ says with a laugh. “I was going to tell Hotch I thought you were cheating on him, but Garcia convinced me not to. She was on to your whole thing before any of us.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Spencer asks, looking like he’s about to pull his hair out. Sophie knows he’d been so upset he couldn’t share their relationship with anyone, and they knew for most, if not all of it, so he’s understandably kind of losing it.

“What were we supposed to do? Order a cake and make you a banner that said, ‘Congrats on the threesome!’?��� Prentiss jokes, and Garcia leans back in her chair to look at her.

“Throuple.” Prentiss waves her hand, accepts the correction, and Sophie reaches out for Spencer, smooths her hand over his back, presses her nose to his shoulder.

“Okay, well I think this turned out well. Let’s go make a cup of tea, baby,” she murmurs, and Spencer lets himself be led away, muttering about stupid friends that drive me crazy. Aaron follows behind them, presses his hand to her lower back, and Sophie sighs, content.

#aaron hotchner x original female character #hotch x original female character #latina original female character #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x aaron hotchner

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 15

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Peter and you have started another prank war. Who will come out on top?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thanks to anon for submitting this idea for a cute fluffy scene to include in the story! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 29 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6,812

It soon became clear that the prank war was back on.

Just as you had resolved to the previous night, you squirted lemon juice in Peter's coffee when he wasn't looking.

He made a face upon tasting his ruined coffee, but just gave you a look of sleepy contempt as he dumped it in the sink rather than complaining. He knew what he had done to deserve it. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to get you back.

He had his revenge later in the sitting room. He called you over, stating he had a question about a book. When you got closer to him, he then asked, "Hey, do you smell popcorn?"

You raised an eyebrow, and of course took in a big whiff. Big mistake.

You immediately gagged, your nostrils having been assaulted by the rankest smelling fart you think could have ever been expelled from a human body. It even rivaled Yondu's incident with dairy.

Peter lost it, doubling over with laughter as you backed away with your mouth and nose covered.

"Ugh! You nasty fecker! Oh my god!" you cried out, still backing away. "What's wrong with you!"

Kraglin, Drax, and Rocket were now also laughing from their places near the television. Drax laughed the loudest, saying, "Quill! That was brilliant! I'm not even mad that I lost the bet! HAHAHA! I'm going to try that!"

The bet he was referencing had happened moments prior, when Peter saw you in the hall and hurried into the sitting room whispering to his friends that he bet 20 units he could make you willingly smell his farts. Ah, what an immature lot they are.

You would have smacked Peter, but that would mean getting closer to him and the smell and you thought better of it, instead turning with the intent to leave the room completely, leaving them still laughing in your wake with only revenge on your mind.

You tried to think about what you had at your disposal, and remembered that you still had the whoopee cushion after you had snatched it back from Kraglin during the last prank war. You kind of wish you knew where your spider went though. It proved marvelously effective last time. After Peter threw it at you and it resulted in your arm getting injured, you hadn't really thought about what happened to it afterwards until now. You obviously hadn't taken it, so you just assumed that it must still be with Peter. You momentarily considered looking in his room for it, but the thought of searching through his stuff felt strange to you, even if you would be looking for your own toy.

You remembered the sticky notes in your desk up stairs and thought if worse came to worse, you could always pull a classic "Kick me" sign.

You decided a walk might help you consider your options better and so you collected your earbuds from the hall table and made your way towards the back door. You noticed Gamora in the kitchen on your way, and realized she might actually have the answer to one of your questions.

"Um, hey, Gamora?"

She turned to give you her attention. "Yes?"

"I was wondering..." You suddenly felt ridiculous for asking, but pushed it down, "if maybe you had seen if Peter still had that toy spider of mine? I was wondering if I might have it ba-"

"Nuh-uh. That ain't happening."

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, but not at her, for she hadn't been the one to answer, and she was just as surprised by this sudden third-party interjection.

It had been Yondu who had spoken, and he spoke again. "I'm the one that's got it, and I ain't givin' it back." He sat at the table looking at you with his arms crossed and wearing a smirk, as if daring you to complain about it. He had snatched it the night you dislocated your elbow, around the time he was scolding Peter and Kraglin and calling an end to that prank war himself after it had resulted in an injury.

You raised both eyebrows in surprise now. "Excuse you?" you say, surprised at his boldness and a bit irritated at how he now seemed like a scolding teacher who had confiscated contraband from a naughty child.

"Yondu, you can't just steal her property." Gamora chided.

"Ya heard me. Last time she and Quill had it that happened," he gestured to your arm. "So I'm keeping it since clearly neither of the two of 'em seem to have any sense. She wouldn't be askin' for it back if they weren't gettin' into it again."

You exchanged a look with Gamora. Her expression told you that she seemed to agree with his argument, but didn't want to risk saying so, and that she now seemingly regretted being involved in this situation.

Deciding you were on your own you opened your mouth to tell him off, but before you could he spoke again.

"Don't try denyin' it either. I saw ya putting that sour juice stuff in his coffee. I know the two of ya are back at it again with that prank war stuff," he said almost smugly. "Ya ain't getting it back." He didn't want another prank war to result in more injuries, and if he was honest, he was still slightly salty about having been caught in the crossfire of one of your pranks that had been meant for Peter. He thought outright admitting to confiscating your spider toy would hopefully send the message to you to knock it off before you got started.

You bit your lips and narrowed your eyes at him, half embarrassed at being called out like that. You then shook your head. You were not about to demand or beg for the return of a rubber spider like a child. You straightened your back slightly and said, "Whatever. Keep it then. Don't care." in your best flippant tone. You turned away, putting in your earbuds and added, "Going for a walk. Try not to burn the house down," as you exited out the back door and left the two of them in the kitchen.

You didn't need that spider anyways.

***

It was a cooler day out, overcast in a way that made you think it might rain that night, and you were glad you thought to grab a jacket before you left for your walk. You thought you might visit your old tree, and assess that old door while you were out there. There wasn't a whole lot you could do with your arm still in a brace, but you knew you could still at least open it and give it a general look to see what you might need to build a new door for it.

However, when you got there you quickly realized that the door was simply too awkwardly big and slightly too flimsy due to decay from the elements to risk trying to open it with just one arm. You didn't want to risk falling in it and either causing further injury and/or not be able to climb back out if it turned out the ladder rungs descending into the tunnel were bad too. You were now kicking yourself for not having fixed it months ago when you first noticed how bad it had gotten. At least at that period of time your arm wasn't in a brace and you didn't have eight houseguests to worry about.

You sighed. For now you settled on making a list in your phone of the different materials you'd need to make a sturdier door in the future when you were less... indisposed. No big deal. The world wasn't going to end if you couldn't fix it immediately, and honestly it was probably dumb of you to come out there right now in the first place. Sure, maybe you could get the door built in your current state. Maybe. If no one was around to see you breaking the doctor's orders on the weight restriction and then tell on you to Fury. But that didn't change the fact that you'd then need to carry it out there somehow. Something you definitely couldn't do in your current state. There was perhaps the option to bring the materials out there and assemble them on-sight, but you knew you couldn't carry them out there in a timely fashion either. Could you if you asked for help? Absolutely. Were you going to? Not a chance.

You hung out around the tree for a bit, just listening to music before deciding to head back, and that's when you noticed some pine cones littering the ground.

This gave you an idea. You remembered once when you were little and your dad took you and your brother camping. Your brother had hidden pinecones in the bottom of your sleeping bag. Your feet came in contact with the foreign objects, and being met with weird almost scaly feeling forms instead of the softness of your sleeping bag made you jump right out of said bag with a shriek.

You grinned. You had found your revenge prank. You only hoped that it would have the same effect on a grown man finding these at the foot of his bed as it did on seven-year-old you finding them in your sleeping bag.

Now you had another reason to be glad you wore a jacket. You could hide the pinecones in the pockets as well as hiding them inside the jacket itself and zip them inside.

You loaded up several pinecones. Enough to be sure he'd notice when crawling into bed, but not so many that they'd be noticed as you snuck them into the house.

You arrive back at the house to find the house mostly quiet, and it made you worry that Peter might be in his room and you wouldn't be able to place the pinecones.

However, just to your luck, you managed to catch a glimpse of him and a few others out front through the kitchen window. Perfect.

You quickly make your way upstairs and headed towards Peter's room. The upstairs seemed to be empty and you were just about to congratulate yourself on your good fortune as you already started pulling pinecones out of your pockets, until you noticed Rocket standing in Peter and Gamora's room.

Seeing him caused you to start and you dropped a couple of your pinecones on the ground due to your arm brace hampering your ability to reflexively catch them before they fell. The sound of the pinecones hitting the floor caused Rocket to startle in turn.

"Uh..." you said awkwardly, stepping into the room and picking up your pinecones, "What you doing?"

Rocket, who had been digging through a dresser drawer, responded with, "...Nuttin. What are you doing?" He eyed the pinecones in your hands.

"Nothing." You responded.

An awkward silence fell for a moment. You both knew the other wasn't really supposed to be there, that the only reason for being there right then was mischief of some sort, and you both knew that the other knew that you knew. There was only one thing for it.

Rocket spoke again. "Right..."

You nod. "Yes... good. So... carry on then?"

Rocket nodded slowly. "Yeah..." He turned back to looking for whatever it was he was snooping for.

Taking the hint, the unspoken 'I won't tell if you won't," you carried out your plan, removing the pinecones from your jacket and placing them at the foot of Peter's bed under the blankets.

You finished quickly, catching Rocket's gaze again before you left. A silent nod was all that was exchanged and you were on your way.

***

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. You read, you listened to music, you got roped into a game of Monopoly that went on far too long because Mantis kept needing reminded of the rules. You didn't entire blame her. It was pretty obvious that it was everyone but Peter's first time playing.

Speaking of Peter, you were surprised he hadn't tried to mess with you the entire game, and you wondered if Gamora might have got on him after hearing Yondu say he could tell that the two of you were starting in on another prank war, or if Yondu had scolded him himself.

Sometime after the game had finished- Gamora won, and Peter pouted- you went to get a drink from the kitchen. When you returned to the sitting room to grab another book to bring upstairs to read you saw Drax approach Yondu and ask, "Yondu, do you smell popcorn?"

Not wanting to sit through another round of what Peter had done to you that morning, you quickly grab a random Sci-Fi/Fantasy book from the shelf and turn to get out of there just in time to hear Yondu reply with, "What the hell is popcorn?"

This was immediately followed by the sound of a very loud fart along with Drax's booming laughter.

In startled surprise you sharply turned in their direction to see Drax laughing and Yondu's face scrunched in both confusion and what was likely disgust.

Peter was laughing too, but at Drax rather than Yondu's misfortunate proximity to his offender. "Drax! Buddy, the fart's supposed to be silent."

Drax didn't seem to mind his mistake, just simply responded with "Ohhh!" and continued to laugh while Yondu shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

Taking in the sight you couldn't help but giggle too at just how ridiculous the situation was. You brought a hand up to your mouth to suppress it, but the sound caught the attention of Yondu and Peter anyway. Yondu's eyes narrowed and Peter was pleasantly surprised that you found the situation funny as well.

You broke their gaze and retreated to your room. Better to escape before you risked smelling anything awful.

***

It wasn't hard to tell when Peter found what was waiting in his bed that night. However, instead of girlish screams like the night he found the spider, he let out a cry of, "Gah! What the hell!?"

You grinned as you sat on your bed reading your book. Mantis was already fast asleep in her bed, and she stirred at the sound of Peter's cries just on the other side of the wall. After looking toward you and seeing you sitting calmly she determined there must not be any danger and soon fell back to sleep.

A few minutes later, though, you were surprised to see Peter walking into your room.

Startled at the sudden intrusion you jolted and as he approached you, rather quickly at that, you said, "Hey- what are you doing?"

He stopped in front of you with a smirk and raised his arms. It was then you realized he had been carrying a shirt bunched up as if it were being used as a sack.

Unceremoniously he emptied the shirt/sack over your head, showering you with all the pinecones you had hid in his bed.

"Hey!" you complain, raising your good arm to shield your head from the coniferous onslaught.

Mantis stirred again, lifting her head to see what was going on.

"This is for leaving those in my bed." he laughed, turning to leave. "And don't think that counts as me getting you back!" he added as he stepped out the door.

Mantis yet again laid back down to rest upon seeing the disturbance was just Peter's shenanigans. You got the feeling that she must be used to it.

***

The next couple days were mostly spent with you and Peter battling back and forth via small pranks.

Yondu obviously noticed, and despite him acting like he didn't want the two of you to get started again, he didn't say or do anything to stop it. It was clear it was keeping your mind off what what had been bothering you, so he just let the two of you be. Especially as it seemed to be harmless.

Kraglin mostly stayed out of it this time. Sure, he helped Peter some, but he was still more likely to bend to Yondu's orders of "This prank war is over!" from last time. That, and he still felt bad about what happened with the incident with the spider, even if it had been mostly Peter's idea.

Peter got you with the old 'shoulder tap misdirection' a couple times, where he'd tap one shoulder and either be on the other side when you turned to look, or have walked away completely.

You hit back by turning the batteries backwards in the remote, knowing he'd likely be the first to use it that morning.

After he finally figured that one out, he decided he'd retaliate by turning all your books backwards on the shelf. When you walked in that evening to see him mid-prank, you simply sighed and rolled your eyes. Seemingly embarrassed to have been caught mid-prank he laughed nervously and straightened up, rubbing the back of his head.

You rolled your eyes and left the room, hoping that since he'd been caught he'd then turn them back right way round. Knowing it was unlikely, you decided to shove some newspaper in his shoes. You could hear Drax in the background laughing at Peter for getting caught as you walked away to retrieve an old newspaper from the table in the hall.

He clearly must have found it at some point the next morning because he got you back around lunchtime by pouring just a little bit of water in your seat right before you sat down to eat.

You jumped from your seat the moment you felt the cold water soak the left side of your ass and after a few seconds of reaching back to feel the wet spot and checking the chair you looked over to where he was sitting and narrowed your eyes.

He simply grinned at you like he had pulled the best prank ever.

Taking a breath, you straightened and just shook your head, warning him that he shouldn't escalate unless he wanted you to do the same.

He didn't seem to take your warning seriously.

***

The next morning when getting ready you saw that Peter had struck again. You didn't know when, or how he had managed to find the time to both sew a pair of your socks shut halfway down with sloppy grey stitches and place them back in your dresser (on top so they'd be first picked, of course) without you noticing, but you did know that this meant double war.

He had pranked you twice in a row, without waiting for you to have retaliated against his last prank first. Or, more likely, he had set this prank and then pulled another without waiting for you to find the first one. Tsk, Tsk, Peter. Bad form.

You found another pair of socks, luckily he had only bothered to adulterate one pair, and then went to confront him.

"You're really asking for it." you say, thrusting the socks towards him in the hall.

"What?" he asked. Trying to act innocent, no doubt.

"You sewed my socks shut. I warned you, don't escalate unless you want me to do the same."

There wasn't really any anger in your voice despite your warning tone, which Peter took as a good sign. "I didn't escalate-"

"Oh-ho! Don't try that with me! You double pranked!" As the words left your mouth you internally cringed. This reminded you of how the two of you had bickered like children in the grocery store. You pushed the feeling that you sounded like a teenager in a Disney sitcom aside for now.

Peter eyed you for a moment before crossing his arms and smugly replying, "Technically no. You interrupted my book prank and then stuffed paper in my shoes. So, because I technically didn't finish my prank, you double pranked."

"No-" you started.

"Yes." He laughed. "So if anyone escalated, it was you." He said in a teasing voice, aiming a couple pokes to your abdomen and making you flinch back at the touch.

"I did not!" you argued, smacking his hand away.

"Eh... ya kinda did..." he drawled out with a grin. "So, I think that means you gave permission for all unwritten rules of pranking to just be thrown out the window." He chuckled, a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"No-" you said warningly. "I did not." You could tell he was just trying to piss you off, but you weren't going to let him win.

"Yeah, I think you did..." He lightly laughed. "So anything else that happens... you'll only have yourself to blame." He said the last bit in a sing-songy voice and went to walk into the kitchen. He stopped momentarily and turned back to you with a grin. "However, you can always avoid any further annoyance by just declaring me the prank master..."

You blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Declare I'm the prank master and you won't have to worry about what I'll do next."

You scoffed at him. "You're dreaming."

Peter grinned wider. "Nope. I'm just 'The Prank Master.'"

You narrowed your eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. "You're gonna regret that," you warned, earning only a chuckle from him. There was no way you were going to declare him master of anything.

You made your way to the pantry to find something quick for breakfast and Peter went to pour himself some coffee.

That's when you found it. Your next prank idea. And boy, was it going to be good.

While grabbing a pop-tart from the pantry, you happened to notice a certain box of gel food dye sitting next to your spices. Your eyes lit up, knowing exactly what you would do with it. You quickly pocketed the blue vile and hid the rest of the box behind the spices where it couldn't be seen for security purposes, just in case Peter would happen to have the same idea. You weren't going to do it right away, but knew it couldn't hurt to have the little bottle on hand just in case...

***

After breakfast you decided to head out to the shed to survey the pile of spare wood you had.

In the shed you found Rocket. This wasn't surprising as he spent a decent amount of time tinkering in the shed since you showed him the workshop. You still hadn't gotten around to finding the spare key for him, just letting him continue to use yours since there wasn't a lot you could do out there anyway until you got the brace off anyway.

You greeted him with a simple, "Hey," that Rocket returned as you made your way back to the spare wood to look over what you had on hand as far as repairing the old tunnel door to get an idea of what might you need to pick up from town.

Was it useful to look now seeing as you likely wouldn't get the brace off for at least a couple more weeks? No, but you were restless and you were really just looking for an excuse for something to do until that night when you could enact your prank.

"Whatcha doing?" Rocket asked, barely looking up from whatever plans he was drafting up on the old pad of paper you left out in the workshop.

"Nuttin," you reply, finishing up your shifting around of the wood and determining that you might have just enough of the right cuts already out there to make a full door, but you might need to pick up some more wood for it, as well as some brackets, later.

Rocket grunted in response and you start to walk back out when something caught your eye over by the long workbench.

You looked down to examine it, and a slight smile played on your lips.

"Did you fix my stool?" you asked, turning to him.

He didn't look up. "Nope."

You raise an eyebrow, mouth twitching upwards in humor. "Oh really? Then who did, if not you? Other than me, you're the only one who comes out here."

Rocket's gaze remained on the notebook. "Dunno. Must have been a 'stool fairy.'" Those last two words were laced with sarcasm.

You smirked. "Ah. I see. Well if you happen to see this 'stool faery,' be sure to tell him I said thank you." You turn and begin to walk out of the shed.

Rocket's ears twitched back for just a second and he grunted out in response, "Uh huh. Sure thing."

***

Unfortunately the stars didn't align that night for you to use the gel coloring on Peter. You had to time it just right to both make sure no one got caught in the crossfire and to not make it obvious you were up to something.

This, however, was probably for the best because Fury's visit the next day caught you off guard. You had been so busy pranking and being pranked and researching door construction and tunnel maintenance that you had managed to lose track of the days and didn't realize it was time for another weekly check-in until you heard him knock at the door that late afternoon. The sound actually startled you at first, and you mentally cursed him for insisting on keeping the times he'd show up a surprise.

Again, probably for the best you weren't able to pull that prank. You weren't sure how pleased Fury would be with you if he saw what you had planned to do to Peter if you had succeeded in going through with it.

The visit was brief. Same old news about the Guardian's situation; nothing changed, little to no progress made. It was time to re-stock the rations again and the guys helped Maria with that like last time. The doctor also accompanied them, and of course he ignored your case for removing the brace and instead just set the hinge to a slightly increased range of movement. He did say that as long as you continued your 'good behavior' it might be ready to come off the next week. You weren't going to hold your breath. Oh, and he also increased your weight restriction to ten pounds. Yay...

At one point Agent Hill pulled you aside like last time, wanting to check in to see if matters regarding your mental health had improved since the last visit.

You answered honestly that they had, but didn't bother to mention that the reason why was likely because Peter had managed to keep you annoyed enough that you didn't have time to dedicate enough thought to what had previously been bothering you.

She tried to pry more, but you weren't really giving her anything, so she just resigned that what she had been able to garner was good enough and the two of you rejoined the group just before Fury announced they would be leaving.

***

It didn't take long after they left for Peter to resume being his annoying self.

You were in the sitting room trying to read, but Peter kept singing along to a song on his Zune that he had come to realize you absolutely hated. To make matters worse, it seemed that he was intentionally singing as poorly as he could just to annoy you. He even got Kraglin to join in with him.

How could you tell it was just to annoy you? Well it didn't start with the singing. It started with tapping. Constant tapping. With his foot on the floor. With his knuckles on the coffee table. He even came up behind you at one point after you refused to react and started tapping you on the head as you sat curled on the sofa attempting to read. That one finally got you to react and scold him to knock it off, and that's when he switched to singing.

Of course, you told him to take it somewhere else. Did he listen? No. He instead moved to sit right next to you and sang louder.

You threatened to chop him in the throat if he didn't take his annoying self somewhere else, and while that got him to stand up, he didn't leave. Instead that's when he recruited Kraglin, who had walked in just a few moments prior to see what all the racket was, and who also didn't hesitate to accept an earbud from Peter and follow his lead.

You tossed your head back on the sofa in frustration and let out a growl as you gritted your teeth.

Peter broke his singing to laugh and tell you that he warned you, all you had to do to make it stop was admit his was the master.

And that's when you threw the pillow at him.

Well, you had been aiming for him, at least. You would have hit him too, had he not dodged at the last second, allowing for the pillow to instead smack Yondu, who no one had noticed had walked into the room, right in the face.

Your eyes widen, as do Peter's and Kraglin's. Only they're trying not to laugh as Yondu's stony face stares at you.

In your startled shock you stammer as you attempt to make an apology, but as he picks the pillow up from the floor all you are actually able to get out is, "I- Uh- I didn't mean-" and a nervous giggle.

Yondu stands back up, pillow now in his hands, and cocks his head at you. "Oh so ya think that's funny, huh?" He starts to walk towards you.

You of course deny it, trying to set the record straight that it had been meant for Peter, but the glint of a playful grin mixed with his grouchy façade made you unable to suppress a nervous grin as he approached. He then tossed the pillow back at you and you deflected it back onto the sofa.

"Nah, I think ya thought that was funny, even if it was meant for my boy." He was standing over you now and Peter and Kraglin were snickering as Peter encouraged him, saying that he thought you definitely thought it was funny to have hit Yondu with the pillow.

"Looks like someone needs to teach ya a lesson in manners, missy." Yondu said as he reached out and squeezed rapidly right above your knee.

Caught off guard you instantly throw back your head and cackle, your hands instinctively reaching for his as you kicked out. "No! Stop it!" you cry out between giggles before managing to free yourself and stand up from the sofa.

Abandoning your book you attempt to escape, but Yondu just grabs you by your good arm and pulls you back, effortlessly succeeding in securing you in a headlock and purposely arranging it so that your good arm was between the two of you and your braced arm was out to the open. He knew with the limited range of motion the braced arm had available you wouldn't really be able to use it to help free yourself in any meaningful way. He then proceeded to give you a noogie.

"Hey! Cut it out!" you complain, uselessly pushing against his shoulder from behind with your good arm. You cursed your arm brace. Without it you could have gotten out of this hold in 3 seconds tops. You still technically could, but didn't want to use that method unless you had to. You didn't want to risk hurting the older man, after all.

Yondu paused a moment and pretended to think. "...Nah. I didn't get an apology yet."

"Ugh! Fine! I'm sorry about the pillow! Happy? I already told you I meant it for Pe-TER!" You squeaked when Kraglin cheekily couldn't resist coming up to pinch your ribs in your current vulnerable state. "Knock that off!" you ordered. It of course only earned you another tickly squeeze from the first mate and the three men to laugh as you commanded Yondu to let you go before you made him.

"Ya ain't gonna make me do nuttin, missy." Yondu laughed, clearly believing he could take you in a fight any day even if your arm wasn't injured. "Where's my apology for when ya pranked the sink and it sprayed all over me?" Yondu asked with a mischievous chuckle. He then pinched your nose shut just to mess with you further. This prompted you to smack his shoulder with your good hand, but he did let go, laughing about how you were a 'feisty one.'

"Yeah," Peter egged on for the sink comment, laughing. "He yelled at me for that!"

You huff out a sigh. "Fine. Sorry for that too. Now this is your last warning to let me go!"

This only made Yondu and the other two laugh and Yondu went to noogie you again. Clearly they were underestimating you. Well, you did try to give him a warning...

In one quick motion you positioned your foot between his so that your leg was locked behind his thigh, reached your good arm up to rest your hand on his forehead, and threw your weight backwards, sending you both to the floor.

Yondu went easily, clearly having been caught off guard and landed on his back with an "oof!" and subsequently released you. Surprisingly though, he didn't seem angry about landing on the floor.

As you both sit up he was actually chuckling, to your surprise.

"Damn, didn't think ya had that in ya." Yondu laughed as he stood up.

Peter and Kraglin, who had went momentarily silent when the two of you fell, were now laughing again. Kraglin made a joke about how he didn't know you could actually fight.

You just grumbled and grabbed your book, deciding you would retreat to your room to finish reading for the night where you were less likely to be annoyed.

Ironically, the whole ordeal actually caused you to forget about the prank you had intended to pull on Peter until you again missed your chance to do it. Oh well, there was always tomorrow, right?

***

The next day you announced to those in the kitchen that you were making a run into town and told them if there was anything they needed to let you know now while you were making a list.

They didn't list-off much. Again, SHIELD provided them with pretty much everything they needed. Some razors, hair conditioner, lotion, and a couple requests for some Earth snacks they had come to enjoy were among the items requested. Simple stuff.

Then Yondu decided to be cheeky and claim his request was for you to take Peter with you again.

"No way," you say flatly, remembering the last run into town. "Not happening."

Yondu just grinned and leaned against his chair. "Fury said ya got to. Ya can't leave without a buddy 'til yer arm is healed up." He elbowed Kraglin and added, "Didn't he, Krags?"

Kraglin, clearly not expecting to be suddenly roped into the conversation said, "Uh, yeah. When you was in the other room talking to that Miss Agent Hill lady when they was here yesterday. He-uh- he told us then." He wasn't exactly the best liar.

You narrowed your eyes. "He did not." You looked to Gamora, who seemingly then immediately realized she had anywhere else to be before you could ask her to confirm.

"Ya can always ask him yerself." Yondu smirked, sure that like last time you wouldn't dare call Fury to confirm.

"Or I can not do that because I know he didn't," you countered.

"I wouldn't be too hasty girl," Yondu drawled. "'Cause what if I'm right? Ya leave without a buddy, and we can just call him and tell him ya broke his rules... and well, we all know what he said he'd do with ya if ya did that."

"You know, I didn't really take you to be such a snitch." You say, irritation clear in your voice. You knew it was at best childish, and at worst fighting words, but you were too frustrated to care.

Instead of being offended, Yondu just laughed and leaned back with his hands folded behind his head. "Gotta do something to pass the time. 'Sides, I think 'blackmail' has a nicer ring to it than 'snitchin'."

You glare at him, not giving him the satisfaction of telling him that he was technically right. This wasn't him being a snitch. This was blackmail. You just didn't understand why this was the hill he decided to die on.

He continued. "Yer better off to just save yerself the trouble and take Peter."

You eye him for a bit before deciding this time you would call his bluff. Partially because you knew he was lying, but also because a tiny part of you was afraid he wasn't, and you knew what would happen if he wasn't.

You dialed up Fury, knowing that the consequences for possibly annoying him with a dumb phone call were vastly less than what they'd be if you disobeyed an order, especially since you were already skating on thin ice. He also seemed to be less upset with you lately due to your 'good behavior,' so at least you had that going fo you. You almost thought you saw Yondu's smirk falter when you started dialing. Almost.

To your surprise, Fury answered after only a couple rings. You put the phone on speaker, and inform him your reason for calling was to confirm something that had been said.

"They're trying to tell me that when Agent Hill pulled me aside yesterday you instructed them to tell me that, under your orders, I am not allowed to drive into town without taking someone with me until my arm heals. Is that correct?"

Fury was quiet a moment before he answered, his voice seeming neutral. "I did not say that."

Yondu and Kraglin's faces fell slightly, and like a child you made a quiet, "Ha!" noise and stuck your tongue out at them, but before you could thank him, Fury spoke again.

"But I am now."

Your eyes widened and shot back to the phone, as if you'd be able to see your director in there. "I'm sorry, what?"

Yondu burst out laughing at your expression, and Kraglin joined in with a grin.

"Effective immediately I'm requiring you to bring a companion on any trips you make into town. Mr. Quill would be the safest choice, but as long as they pass for human, I don't care who it is."

You tried not to sputter. "Sir-... that-... Why-??"

"It's not a bad idea," he said cooly, adding, "and if you're gonna call me to settle a petty squabble then you better be prepared to get an outcome you aren't going to like." He didn't sound angry, more just matter-of-fact.

You blinked. Did he really just imply he was doing this just to annoy you? "Sir, I ask you to reconsid-"

"If you want to keep going, Agent, I can easily make this decision permanent."

This set off another round of laughter from the guys, including Peter from behind you who had walked into the kitchen with Gamora at some point. You didn't know how long they were standing there, but it seemed he had also heard Fury's decision.

With slight heat in your cheeks, you respond to your director. "No, sir."

"Good. Have a good day, Agent." Fury replied, and then hung up. If you didn't know better, you'd say his tone sounded almost amused.

You put the phone back in your pocket and rubbed your hand over your eyes while the others teased you.

"That's what ya get for not just listenin' to me in the first place, girl. Now ya really do have to do it!" Yondu laughed.

"I hate you," you say bluntly.

He only grinned in response and called over to Peter. "Ya heard the man, boy! Looks like yer takin' a trip!"

Peter grinned cheekily at you and you roll your eyes. "Fine. Get ready," you order as you walk past him and out of the kitchen. Then, seeing an opportunity to let out some frustration (probably misplaced in this instance, honestly) you turned back with a smirk and added, "This time don't forget to go potty before we leave!"

You turned away again, but not before being able to see the cheeky grin fall from his face and hear him yell back, "Not cool, dude!" along with some snickering from the others in the background.

Little did you know, though you probably should have, that decision to embarrass him would seal the fate of your nerves, and possibly your sanity as well, on the trip to come.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #gotg fanfic #gotg fanfiction #x reader #yondu udonta #peter quill #kraglin obfonteri #nick fury #rocket raccoon

[morganaspendragonss]

come deliver me back home

@911lonestarangstweek day 5 - n is for...nightmares

title from home by barns courtney

ao3 | 1.2k | hurt/comfort, nightmares, hurt mateo, soft & supportive tarlos

Mateo is dreaming that he’s trapped.

His friends are staring at him from outside, ignoring his pleas as he bangs on the window and begs them to help. The smell of gas invades his nostrils and a candle is burning just feet away, but he can’t move to blow it out. All he can do is call out to his friends and wait for the inevitable.

Fear builds in him as time ticks on, Mateo aware of his every breath.

And then—

And then—

A rushing sound. Heat, searing his skin. And a flash of bright, painful light, before—

He wakes up with a gasp. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest and his mouth is dry, sweat beading on his skin. Mateo can almost feel the heat of the explosion and the sight of it lingers whenever he closes his eyes, so he knows he’s not going back to sleep again.

It’s the third night in a row that his sleep has been interrupted by nightmares of the explosion, of all the ways things could have gone wrong that night. Mateo’s been able to hide it pretty well so far, and he’s got no intention of letting anyone else in on it if he can help it. With everything Cap’s been dealing with trying to get the station back up and running, plus Mateo knows that TK and Carlos have been struggling ever since the fire at their place, so none of them need him falling apart on them, too.

And he knows he could talk to someone else—Paul, Marjan, maybe even Judd—but he barely sees them anymore. He’s still stuck at the 129, and with the way all their shifts have been lately, it’s becoming harder and harder to find free time to hang out in.

Besides, they all have their own problems. Judd and Grace are preparing for the baby, and Marjan and Paul are… Well, Mateo is sure they’re busy.

And his thing isn’t that important. It’s barely even a thing. He’s fine.

He’s fine.

Mateo reaches out for the glass of water on his nightstand, ignoring the way his hand trembles, only to groan when he finds it empty. For a brief moment, he debates staying in bed, but the mere thought seems to make his thirst worse, so he sighs heavily and throws back the covers, shoving himself to his feet.

His steps are uncoordinated as he stumbles through the darkened house. He rubs his eyes, a huge yawn creeping up on him, which must be why he misses it.

Voices.

Two voices.

Mateo freezes in the entry to the kitchen, stopping short as he finally spots TK sitting on the counter with Carlos standing between his legs. Their foreheads are pressed together and Mateo can hear them talking quietly, and he suddenly feels like an intruder on something he’s definitely not supposed to be witnessing.

Neither of them have seen him yet, so Mateo tries to creep backwards out of the kitchen. He can handle bathroom water for one night if it saves him from this kind of embarrassment.

He’s been living in Cap’s house for a while so Mateo thinks he pretty much has the floor plan down pat. But it’s dark. And he’s tired. And he’s walking backwards.

So he misjudges the number of steps needed to clear the corner, and his heel hits the skirting board. Mateo can’t suppress his cry of pain and shock as he stumbles and falls, sprawling in an undignified heap on the floor.

The whispers still, and Mateo only has a second to commiserate over his situation before the kitchen light clicks on and he suddenly has both TK and Carlos staring down at him.

“Uh. Hey guys,” he mumbles, trying and failing to contain his shame. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, a worried frown creasing his brow. TK doesn’t say anything; instead, he just drops to his knees and runs a critical eye down Mateo’s body, clearly searching for any injuries.

Mateo flushes, TK’s gaze sending his embarrassment hurtling to a peak, and he pushes himself upright, almost falling straight back down as he trips over his feet in his hurry. “I’m fine,” he says hurriedly. “I’m great. Don’t worry. I’ll just, uh. I’ll just go, and you guys can get back to, um. Whatever you were doing. Sorry to interrupt.”

He turns to leave but Carlos stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Mateo,” he says softly, and suddenly Mateo understands exactly what TK means by the ‘Carlos cow eyes’.

Because, holy shit. It’s honestly a good job Mateo isn’t a criminal; there’s no way he’d be able to keep his mouth shut with those eyes. As it is, he stutters and stumbles through another deflection before his entire body sags, Carlos’s ridiculously empathetic gaze rendering his tongue useless.

Carlos smiles encouragingly and puts an arm around his shoulders, steering him to the kitchen counter. A steaming mug is almost immediately placed in front of him, and it takes Mateo a second to work out that it’s not, in fact, coffee as he was expecting, but hot chocolate.

He lifts his brows at TK, who just shrugs.

“What?”

“Hot chocolate, dude? I’ve never seen you drink this before.”

“It’s comforting,” TK defends, though his expression doesn’t show any signs of offence. “Don’t tell Marj.”

Mateo grins, the moment of levity taking some of the weight off his shoulders. He takes a sip of the hot chocolate, barely suppressing a groan at how good it tastes—this is very clearly not the powdered stuff he’s always used himself.

“Maybe don’t tell my dad either,” TK says wryly. “Carlos makes a mean hot chocolate, but my dad would freak if he knew how much sugar was in it.”

He snorts. “Got it.”

A comfortable silence falls over the three of them, but Mateo can feel the way TK and Carlos’s eyes keep falling on him, both of them utterly failing at disguising their worry and concern.

“What are you guys doing down here?” he asks, hoping to delay the inevitable. “When I first saw you, I thought… But…” Mateo trails off, wincing, but TK’s easy laugh settles his embarrassment slightly.

“We have a perfectly good bed for that, ‘Teo,” he points out. “We just…” He exchanges a glance with Carlos, then turns back to Mateo, a knowing look in his eyes. “Good sleep is kind of a luxury these days, you know?”

Mateo nods; he does know. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Same here.”

And it’s incredible, he thinks. Because, as the three of them stand in a kitchen that’s not their own, drinking from someone else’s mugs and delaying going back to the guest bedrooms containing all that’s left of theirs, Mateo feels closer to both TK and Carlos than he ever has.

Their situations aren’t the same, he knows this. Mateo can’t compare to the trauma that comes with almost dying; he can’t imagine the nightmares that must come with that. But he’s learning that, maybe, that doesn’t matter as much as he thought—that, maybe, it’s enough just to understand.

They’re all here, and Mateo knows.

For now, that’s more than enough for him.

#911lsangstweek #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #mateo chavez #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #userbones #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyeslonestartag

[imkylotrash]

Change The Ending

Pairing: Ron Weasley x reader

Request: They're searching for the deadly hollows and it's the moment where Ron leaves. You can choose whether reader goes or stays, either way it's going to be angsty for whoever gets left behind. Anonymous

A/N It’s currently 1am and I have a dog that’s going to wake me in 5 hours 🙃

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​

It takes you weeks to find the first horcrux. Another couple of weeks before you manage to steal it from Umbridge. And that’s when you realise you have no idea how to destroy the locket. Wearing it makes everything harder but it takes a toll on Ron more than the rest of you. He yells at the slightest inconvenience and refuses to apologise even after taking off the locket. You all thought Harry had a better plan than this, you thought Dumbledore had a better plan than this. But you said to the bitter end when you told Harry you were coming so you keep quiet. Ron, on the other hand, has made it his mission to keep you all miserable and that starts with Harry. 

“I’ll take the locket now,” you say holding out a hand to Ron. He’s been wearing it for four hours which is five hours less than the rest of you but he’s much worse when he wears the locket so you all agreed that you could handle it. 

“Fine,” he sneers almost throwing it at you rather than giving it to you. Before all this when you were still at the Burrow, you and Ron had a moment. It was at the wedding right before you had to flea when he asked you to dance. It’s the first time you’ve felt like he actually noticed you which makes you feel slightly pathetic because you’ve noticed him since the third year. Better late than never, you told yourself. But now it was like looking at a stranger. 

“Hermione got us some food,” you try with a smile but he only groans. 

“It’s probably just mushrooms and nuts. I’ll pass.” You bite back what you really want to tell him because no good will come from it. You’ve all been working hard to stay cheery but all Ron does is mope around and while you understand that he’s worried about his family, he seems to think he’s the only one with people to worry about. 

“Is he in a mood?” Harry asks once you’re outside the tent. He nods to the locket around your neck. 

“It’s been worse,” you just say not wanting to stir anything between those two. The tension is bad enough as it is. Harry nods knowing what you’re trying to avoid. You both grew up in muggle homes right around the corner from each other so you’ve known each other for almost all of your lives. But you can’t get between him and Ron, you refuse to take sides. 

“We’ll figure something out soon,” Hermione says trying to convince you as well as herself. And she’s right. You do figure out that the sword of Gryffindor will be able to destroy the horcrux, but you have no idea where the sword is. 

“Great! Another thing we have to find,” Ron says throwing out his arms in real tantrum style.

“The sword is easier to find. Dumbledore hasn’t hidden it,” you try to reason with him but it’s impossible when he’s wearing the locket. He’s angry and lashing out at anyone who’s near him. 

“No one ever said this would be easy, Ron. I told you I couldn’t promise you to be home for Christmas,” Harry interjects and you really wish he hadn’t because Ron goes mad. 

“Yes, the family I abandoned to follow you! But you’ve got no clue what you’re doing. And clearly, you’re not in a hurry,” he yells pushing all the right buttons to get Harry upset as well. You lock hands with Hermione watching it all unfold. 

“Take the locket off, Ron. Please.” You reach out your free hand hoping that it’ll calm him down a little if he’s not feeling the weight of the horcrux. But he’s way past the point where he has to wear it to be affected by it. Even with you holding it, the nasty words continue to leave his mouth. 

“It’s not like the rest of us don’t have someone to worry about,” Harry argues fed up with Ron’s behaviour. 

“You don’t have a family!” Even you can’t defend him after that. Bringing up Harry’s family is a low blow especially for Ron. Mrs. Weasley would be so disappointed in him. 

“Get out!” Harry yells doing his best not to punch Ron right in his face. 

“Fine with me!” Ron scoffs grabbing his few items and putting them in a backpack. 

“Can we all just please calm down. Let’s take a walk, clear our mind.” You’re begging at this point because you know what comes next if Ron decides to leave. But the damage has been done. Harry won’t ask Ron to stay after what he said and you can’t blame him. You all have people to worry about. Family isn’t just blood. 

“Please, Ron,” you say quietly pretending it’s just the two of you but he’s beyond the point where you can bring him back. He’s upset. 

“Are you coming or staying?” he asks abruptly raising an eyebrow. There’s nothing you’d like more than to call it a day and go home to the Burrow for one of Mrs. Weasley’s famous meals but how could you when the world is depending on you to kill Lord Voldemort? You can’t abandon the mission even if your heart is screaming for you to follow Ron. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper hot tears falling. 

“Suit yourself.” It’s the last words he says before storming out the tent. You’re all in shock over how fast everything happened. You bring the locket over your head grabbing your wand from your bed. You won’t run after him and beg him to stay. That’s too much even for you. 

“I’ll take the first watch. Get some sleep.” You head outside to sit down. Inside the tent, you hear them shuffle into bed without another word. The quiet night calms you down a little but you can’t help the ache that’s settled down in your heart. Ron becomes a taboo over the next couple of weeks. You try to carry on as usual but it’s clear that he’s missing and it’s wearing you all down. Suddenly, the chain seems much tighter around your neck. The night he comes back, you’re not exactly in a forgiving mood. Hermione screams enough for the both of you so you decide to go inside and pretend like you didn’t see him. You’re thrilled that the locket is now destroyed and that you have a weapon to kill the next horcrux with but you’re not ready to pretend like everything is fine. He left and more importantly, he left you. Without any hesitation, he got up and left you behind. It takes a while before you’re even willing to look in his direction but he keeps trying to make it up to you. He brings you breakfast in bed, offers to take the night shift, he even takes it upon himself to bring you fresh flowers every night before bed. 

“Can we talk?” you ask him one day. Immediately, he’s on his feet following you outside the tent. You’ve decided to make peace with him because the group can’t handle being divided and honestly, you’re tired of being angry. 

“I’m sorry I left.” 

“How did you find us?” You know he’s told Harry and Hermione already but you were too upset to listen to him. He gladly tells you seemingly pleased that you’re even talking to him. 

“I hated the way I left things between us two. Merlin, it was just getting good and then I acted like a complete prick.” At least he has a little bit of insight, you note already feeling your anger slowly evaporate. 

“You did.” You’re not about to pretend he wasn’t the world’s largest asshole even before that night. 

“I came back because it was the right thing to do. But mainly, I needed to change how things ended between the two of us. I needed to know you didn’t hate me.” For someone as thick as Ron, he really has a way with words. 

“I could never hate you.” He smiles at that taking it as encouragement and sneaks his hand closer to yours. It takes you back to the wedding and his hesitation behaviour when he asked you to dance. 

“If you’re going to kiss me, you may want to do it fast before I change my mind about forgiving you.” You keep your face neutral but inside you’re smiling like crazy. This is the Ron you fell in love with and you really hope he’s here to stay.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#ron weasley x reader #ron weasley gif #ron weasley blurb #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley #hp blurb #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #hp #hp gif

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Answer

Requested by: anonymous (“Congrats on reaching over 2.5k followers! I was wondering if I could request something with Joe trying to talk the reader out of doing something stupid, but in a funny way?”)

Summary: When Valentine’s Day turns unexpectedly stressful, your favorite coworker Joe Mazzello is there to offer moral support. I may have gotten a little carried away with this one, but it’s all in the spirit of the holiday! 😂 I hope you enjoy it. 💗

Warnings: Language. 

Word Count: 2.2k. 

You can find all my writing here!

Oh my god, this man is about to ask me to marry him.

You are suddenly aware of every immaterial detail, because this is the sort of night you’re supposed to remember forever. This is the sort of night, the sort of story, you’ll be retelling all your life: to parents, to friends, to overly-chatty hairstylists, to coworkers, to children, to grandchildren. The music is slow, sophisticated, French. The dress you’re wearing is lavender and just a stitch too tight in the ribs. The tablecloth is white, the flowers in the centerpiece ruby-red roses. The candlelight bathes Ryan’s face in hot, flickering gold. And he’s smiling, broadly, artfully, like he knows something you don’t. Like maybe he always will.

You’re trying to follow what he’s talking about, but you can’t. It’s some meandering summation of your last two years together: meeting at your mutual friend Sarah’s New Year’s Eve party, numbers tapped into each other’s iPhones, sushi and green tea, browsing through book stores, murky movie theaters and hands entwining on shared armrests, Fourth of July picnics where you socialized gamely with one another’s extended families, kisses that started out light and fleeting in the chilly lobbies of restaurants like this one and turned into hours spent in the rustling shadows of your bedroom. And although the details sometimes evade you, the arc of Ryan’s story is clear: that the journey was perfectly linear, every piece in place, every want and ritual accounted for. That the time has come for the inevitable conclusion.

He reaches across the table to take your hands in his. The last of your beef bourguignon lays unclaimed and forgotten in its bowl. Your appetite has vanished entirely.

“Pierre,” Ryan tells the moustached waiter, grinning triumphantly. “Could you bring out dessert now, please?”

You hear your chair squeal as you bolt to your feet. Your ankles wobble as you balance on your strappy, rather painful silver heels, the ones Ryan likes so much. “I’ll be right back,” you announce. You flash him a reassuring, innocent smile. You gesture apologetically to the wine and water glasses, like it’s all their fault. The perfect fall guys. How dare they interrupt this magical evening.

Ryan suspects nothing. Or—worse, far far worse—he doesn’t care. “Sure, baby. Take your time.”

You zigzag, rather unsteadily, around the restaurant tables—all those other nameless candle-lit couples reminiscing and giggling and feeding each other spoonfuls of quivering chocolate mousse—and crash through the restroom door. There are two college-aged girls touching up their makeup, stark and bone-white under the florescent lights, and they peer quizzically over at you. You take shelter in the nearest stall and lock the door.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” You stare at the wall, waiting for a sign. There’s an artsy black-and-white picture of the Eiffel Tower hanging there. Another trivial detail to one day tell your grandchildren about. “Oh my god,” you moan again.

You root through your purse, pull out your iPhone, and find Joe Mazzello in your contacts. You’ve never called him before; you have his number solely in case of work-related emergencies. But your fingers are moving swiftly, almost autonomically; and time is rolling irrevocably forward like a freight train.

“This is clearly a pocket dial,” Joe says as soon as he answers. “There’s no way you’re thinking about me and my subpar sandwich-making abilities on Valentine’s Day.” He’s right about his sandwich skills; they’re honestly abysmal. He’s the worst employee at Quiznos. He always spills the honey mustard everywhere. You, on the other hand, take great pride in your consistently neat, uniform application of condiments. But, nevertheless, Joe is your favorite coworker. Your favorite coworker by a margin that ships could sail through like a drawbridge.

“Help,” you croak.

“Uh...?” Joe’s voice changes. He’s not exactly serious yet—you’re not really sure what a serious Joe Mazzello would even sound like—but he’s definitely apprehensive. “Are you locked in a trunk somewhere...?”

“Wait, no, sorry. I’m not being kidnapped. I’m at L’amour Vrai.”

“Oh, nice!” But he doesn’t sound that thrilled about it. “With Ryan, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, therein lies the problem.”

Joe is confounded. “...Did he forget to bring you a massive teddy bear and a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher, or...?”

“I think he’s going to ask me to marry him,” you say in a rush, breathlessly. “He’s been rambling about our relationship and being weird and sentimental all through dinner and I think dessert is going to be, like, a giant bowl of chocolate mousse with a ring hidden in the bottom or something and now I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“And you don’t even like chocolate mousse,” Joe notes.

“That’s not really the point, but yeah, true.”

“So what are you going to do?”

You don’t have an answer. You don’t even have threads of thoughts that could be woven into words. Because no matter how seamless and fated Ryan’s story of your relationship sounds, you feel that something is missing. You’ve always felt that way. And you’ve waited—patiently, undemandingly, faithfully—for that one last piece of surety to drop out of the sky and click into place for the past seven-hundred and forty-four days. You’ve waited for indelible magnetism, for that sensation of free-falling, for love; you’ve waited until you started to suspect those things didn’t exist at all except in fiction. But sometimes, just recently, you think you might be catching glimpses of them: in how Joe sends you a clandestine smirk when a customer is agonizing over whether they want cheddar or swiss, in how he invents new combinations of fountain drinks for you to taste and rank on a highly scientific ten-point scale (Cherry Coke-Dr. Pepper is the current champion at 8.5/10), in how he complains incessantly about having to close but will wipe down the same counter fifteen times while you count the money in the register so you don’t have to lock up alone. And those transitory glimpses are enough to show you exactly what a lifetime with Ryan would mean living without.

“You don’t want to say yes,” Joe realizes quietly. “You wouldn’t be freaking out and hyperventilating in the bathroom if you did.”

“I don’t think I can say no.”

Joe snorts. “Lady, this isn’t the sixteenth century. You’re not being traded to this guy for some cows or a military alliance or a duchy in Germany. You can always say no.”

“But we’re in the middle of this fancy restaurant and he’s got the staff in on it, and everyone is going to stare when he asks me, they’ll probably start clapping and making TikToks and I’m going to look like a total bitch if I don’t say yes.”

“Well, yeah,” Joe says, a little darkly. “That was probably the plan. To put you in a position where you felt like you didn’t have a choice.” And you recall that Joe doesn’t seem to like Ryan very much, hasn’t said a single nice thing about him in the six months that have passed since Joe joined the illustrious Quiznos team.

“Maybe I should say yes and then after tonight never speak to him again.”

“You’re...gonna ghost your fiancé? You legitimately think that’s a better plan?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s only going to get harder to back out as this thing picks up momentum. The families will get involved. There will be dress fittings, venue shopping, cake tasting...oh, wait, actually, don’t back out until after the cake tasting. And invite me.”

“I could fake my own death. Or enlist in the Peace Corps. I’ve always wanted to see Mongolia.”

“But then you’d have to give up your promising career in sandwich making.”

“They might have Quiznos in Mongolia.” You sigh, defeated. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I’m definitely ruining your Valentine’s Day.”

“There’s not much to ruin, honestly. I’m re-watching Tiger King and eating my weight in Skittles.”

Oh, right; Joe and his girlfriend Julie broke up last week. And come to think of it, despite the fact that you don’t have any identifiable reason to feel this way, you’ve never really liked Julie either. “I’ll gladly trade you.”

“I mean, sure, I fucking love chocolate mousse. My apartment is only three blocks away. I can hurry over there and put on your dress and heels and earrings or whatever you’re wearing, but I feel like Ryan might catch on.”

You laugh, your first real, involuntary, jolting laugh of the day. “Genius. Let’s do it.”

“You can say no,” Joe tells you, seriously now. This, as it turns out, is what a serious Joe Mazzello sounds like: warm, concerned, measured, his typically frenetic energy temporarily wrangled. “If he asks you to marry him and you want to say no, you can say no.”

“Okay,” you reply, taking a deep breath, resolved.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll say no.”

“Cool.” Joe sounds pleased; proud, even.

“Alright. I’m gonna go. Thanks, Joe. Seriously. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You can mop up my next honey mustard spill as a show of gratitude.”

“Deal,” you say with a smile, and then you hang up.

Waiting for you back at the table is the moustached waiter cheerfully playing a violin, Ryan’s luminous grin, and a glass chalice full of chocolate mousse. Jesus christ. Chocolate fucking mousse.

Ryan motions for you to take a bite. You obediently sit down, pick up your spoon with a quaking hand, dip it into the center of the chocolate mousse...and lift out a diamond ring. You unleash a gasp of horror that Ryan mistakes for—or, perhaps, is determined to believe is—elation.

Ryan plucks the ring off your spoon, wipes it clean with a red cloth napkin, and slips out of his chair to kneel at your feet. Blood is pounding frantically in your ears. Your courage has evaporated. Your legs feel numb, jellylike, boneless. How the hell are you going to walk out of here after you say no? How the hell are you going to say no at all?

Ryan is reciting some generic, Hallmark-card speech. The other restaurant patrons are beaming, clapping, already assuming your answer. Ryan asks you the question. Your trembling hand is now resting at the base of your flushed throat like a noose. Your words are ghosts.

“I...” you sputter. “I...um...”

“Go ahead,” Ryan says, nodding, smooth and undaunted. And suddenly you know that Joe was right; every single part of this was planned. Ryan turns to the crowd. “Aw, folks, give her a hand, she’s shy!”

And as they cheer and whistle encouragingly, as Ryan waits for your acquiescence, as your hope for those things you’ve only caught glimpses of begins to wither like autumn leaves, someone steps between you and Ryan and fills up the hollow, hungry space left by your silence. It’s Joe.

“No no no,” he tells Ryan. His voice is ostensibly matter-of-fact and yet formidable. “She’s not shy. She’s just trying to figure out her answer. And she doesn’t need some random strangers in a French restaurant to help her out with that.” Joe looks at you and raises his eyebrows. “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”

“What the...?!” Ryan exclaims, his eyes shifting from you to Joe. The other patrons are extremely bewildered. The waiter’s violin playing screeches to a halt.

“No,” you say, your courage flooding back in, a slow smile igniting across your face.

Ryan doesn’t understand. “No...?”

“No. My answer is no. The past two years have been nice, but this is over now. I’m not right for you, Ryan. You’re not right for me either. And I think you know that. So goodbye.”

You stand, sling your purse over your shoulder, and follow Joe out of L’amour Vrai; but not before you yank off your silver high heels and leave them there on the restaurant floor. The other guests are in scandalized uproar now. Ryan is still kneeling, furious and in shock. Outside it is bitingly cold and your breath turns to fog in the night air; the chilly concrete sidewalk soothes the aching soles of your feet.

Joe is ecstatic, his eyes gleaming under the streetlights as you walk together. “That was incredible! Did you see his face?! He totally thought he was going to be able to bully you into saying yes and you were not having it, you are a beast my dear, I hope some of those people put you on TikTok, I hope you get TikTok famous for being freaking awesome, then you can get rich and buy a mansion and let me live in the pool house and I’ll never have to work or suffer another honey-mustard-related catastrophe again—”

“Joe.” You stop him abruptly, resting a palm against his chest, gazing up at him beneath the cold stars. And after a moment he understands, and he kisses you. You catch more than a glimpse of those beautiful things you’d feared might not exist. They light up like the goddamn Eiffel Tower.

“I’ve wanted that for six months,” Joe says as he pulls away, softly, shakily, smiling almost shyly.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I think I have too.”

Joe takes your face in his hands and kisses you again. He tastes like heat and harmony and laughter and Skittles; but more than all of that, he tastes like love.

#sleepover event! #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzelo x reader

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not... Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: depictions of gore

Word Count: 1.8+k

Author’s Note: This story is heavily inspired by a dream I had around two months ago and it pushed me into writing it. I haven’t ever thought that I would be writing and publishing a story. Let alone in English since it’s very far from my mother language, but I have to admit I like it way more. As I am pretty proud of it, I’ve decided why not just try? This story is not going to be updated very frequently as I hardly find time and motivation, but I have the whole story mostly planned out and I have plenty of ideas for it! There are 7 chapters written altogether as of now and I will try to update at least once a month. I’ve started writing longer chapters from the 6th and those will take longer to finish, but I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 1: The Awakening

Your eyes are met with complete darkness, unable to perceive your surroundings. The creepy, dusty and smoggy atmosphere isn't making you any less uneasy and confused either. Quite the contrary, actually. An unbelievable sickening feeling takes over your stomach and a great migraine is ever so present. Steering your thoughts to completely different places than they're supposed to. You feel the rapid thumping of your heart and panic floats in your head.

It takes you a few minutes until your dilated pupils get used to the blackness, but when they do, you're able to see the outlines of some demolished furniture. Upon fixating more on your surroundings, you distinctly spot the torn plain green wallpaper and empty broken picture frames hanged up on the wall. The tattered blinds covering the cracked windows tell you it's night and you seem to have gained consciousness in the middle of it.

Though, when you attempt to rethink through your day and previous whereabouts, you come up blank. Something like a heavy fog restrains your memories. A metaphorical lock put around it to secure them away from your conscious mind. As much as you try to concentrate on the past, you're left with nothing. It doesn't only leave you grasping for the forgotten past, but it makes you feel stranded and gasping of any, and very needed, recollection.

A sharp inhale of air makes your head rapidly turn in the direction of the sound and squint your eyes. You can hardly see the body of the person. The dark corner makes it difficult to focus, yet the figure still seems to take notice of you instantly, “Who are you…?”

Speaks up a very groggy voice and you can deduce their voice is coming from the shadows. Utterly hidden by the dark abyss. It sounds masculine, so you leave it at that, not taking too much interest in finding out any more information about the strange human. He seems to be in the same situation as you, but you still decide to be cautious around him. He's only a stranger to you, so you aren't going to blindly trust him. After all, stranger-danger is a rule, right?

You choose to stay guarded for now.

“Why does it matter to you?” You harshly reply. There really isn't anything to go off when it comes to his personality and intentions. As much as you'd like to be happy about seeing another human being, you don't know in what situation you are stuck in and you aren't the stupidest, neither the smartest, in the world. You'd rather stay cautious than die, “I'm surprised you have the audacity to speak to me even though you're obscuring your identity from me.”

“Well, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?” The stranger suggests, but you're inclined to not let him get through you.

“It doesn't matter to me. All I want is to get out and find whoever brought me here,” you simply say, “or search for my way home. That, doesn't have to involve you, nor your help.”

You turn your back to his voice, brushing him off with your words. Fixating your sight on the few boxes scattered throughout the room. You're sure he can feel your annoyance, but it's valid. He's making non-significant propositions, which is honestly irritable.

“I could help you. We could have each other's back.”

“What have I just said?” You inquire with an annoyed tint, “You have nothing of value to offer me, and you can't even step out of the shadows.”

With that said you slowly start to stand up from your position and look around for a possible exit. The floorboards creak under your weight as you step from foot to foot. The first thing that comes to your mind is to head straight for the windows for some unknown reason. Upon taking several steps to the blinds, you hear the stranger's footsteps echo. Your feet leisurely continue, but you're tempted to check behind you, therefore you do. Just in case he proves to have any malignant tendency.

There's still no silhouette of the other human, hence why you can't confirm what kind of a movement he's executed. With that done, you turn your head back and concentrate on the task at hand.

Once you get close enough to pull the blinds open, a loud screeching noise travelling throughout the whole street alerts both you and your companion. Blood pumps through your body at faster pace and you begin to be sceptical at heart upon hearing the scream of an unidentified creature.

“What the hell was that sound?” You can hear a slight waver in his voice. Presumably from not being able to decipher the inhuman noise from outside.

It didn't seem to scare you as much as it scared him. Although you did flinch back from the window, your guard has stayed high nonetheless the fright you experienced.

You shrug, but after realising he cannot possibly see you very well, you give him a response, “How am I supposed to know? Do you think I'm a witch?”

“Uh– yes and no?” After those words leave his mouth, your head turns to what you assume is his direction and give him a nasty glare. Offended thoughts swim in your head along with the throbbing pain of a headache.

A relatively loud scoff escapes your mouth and you fixate him with a harsh look.

You're sure he's going to die by either your hands, or he'll serve as sacrifice to the creature.

“You've chosen your destiny now, man.”

The scoff that leaves his mouth this time tells you that he's against the idea or he just plainly thinks you're joking. Either way, he's sold his soul by saying those words.

Cutting the conversation off, you finally get to glance outside the window, and you yell out a curse, which is enough to let the thing outside know of your existence. In the matter of seconds, it flies to your window and starts banging against it. It's long arms slam the panels with surprisingly little force. You fall back and try to scramble to your feet as quickly as you can. Can't go around risking your life even upon seeing the strength of the shadowy figure.

The man, who has chosen to stay anonymous up until now, decides against his better judgement to flee on his own to help you up. It doesn't show much strength, but the window already adores quite a few cracks, so you don't think it'll hold up for long.

“Just hurry up!”

As soon as you're stabilised and on both of your legs, you book it to the door. At first, the handle doesn't let you open them, but after a few sharp tugs it gives out and you fall to the floor again. You let out a curse once more, supporting your body on your forearms and stand up. The stranger only snickers behind you.

You stay silent and get your thoughts and clumsiness together.

“Here! We could hide in one of the other rooms!” He hurriedly tries to tug you to the direction he's talking about, but you don't budge. You can't take any risks when you don't know the house's layout and the person in front of you.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” you ponder over your thoughts, but after you hear glass being shattered, you run to another room and to the closest closet you can find. Completely disregarding the terrified look the man threw your way. You duck to the ground as hastily as you can and cover your mouth just in case. Soon wooden boards start creaking in the hallway and, even though you wished the man would be a sacrifice, you hope he's found a safe place and survives this monstrosity.

A rather loud groan is heard somewhat close to you and you peek through the small gap in the closet doors to see a rather disturbing view. One that you wish you haven't.

The creature has found a dead rat (rather beheaded the poor creature beforehand?) and is holding it to its bloody mouth now. Multiple sharp teeth sink over and over into the freshly killed animal, happily munching on the treat. It's turned sideways to you, so you can very clearly see all the contents of the rodent's body as it eats it. It's guts and blood spilling everywhere on the floor and on the demon itself.

You shudder, avert your eyes, and just look at your curled-up knees. ‘What in the name of hell have I just witnessed?’

It takes less than ten minutes to finish its fiesta and you can see the unidentified creature turn to smoke from your peripheral vision. It stays in that form and floats out of the room and you guess it leaves out the window it broke.

Silent tears start to fall down your eyes and you honestly aren't surprised. The whole encounter was traumatic to say the least. To you, it was as if you were the protagonist in a horror movie, being hunted down by some unknown force. Except this is real life that we're talking about. Your life is currently put at stake and you don't want to die so early. Be at the hands of the creature or some other mythical thing.

This won't be the worst thing to happen to you, Reader.  Or will it, now?

Was that demon chasing somebody before I yelled out?

It had seemed to be occupied by something else before you got startled by its presence on the little roof below the window. You can still remember the soulless holes for eyes staring in your direction vividly.

Was it me luring it to us? Could there be more people?

You sit there, contemplating the event that has just happened, for what seems to be forever. Blank stare put onto your hands as you cry and your body succumbs to total numbness. That is until the closet door creak open, forcing you to look up.

There stands a man of average height with messy brown hair. You notice just now how he exactly looks upon not having that much time to do so an hour (was it?) ago.

His eyes convey an emotion close to yours, which is utter fear and confusion. He silently offers you his hand and you gladly, albeit shakily, take it. He pulls you out the door and towards another room with a dusty and an almost broken bed, pulls you into his lap and tucks your head into his neck. Letting you quietly cry while he gently runs his hand across your back. You don't even care a stranger has you in his lap. He lets you cry until you have no more tears running down your cheeks.

Your guarded feelings towards the man begin to crack amidst the comfort you crave right now.

When you're done, you both can't get yourselves to break the silence. You’ve distanced yourself from him, but you both are too afraid to even utter a word and accidentally lure the creature back in. Although, he decides to break it with a small whisper and with an attempt of a comforting smile.

“Do you mind sharing your name with me now?”

#technoblade #dream #sapnap #apocalypse au #reader insert #mcyt x reader #mcyt #techno #dream team #dream x reader #dreamwastaken #l'manburg #shadows #??? x reader

[kikilefangirl]

New Light

Barry Allen x Reader

(Quick Note: Happy Inauguration Day! After all the craziness and stress four years in the making, I wanted to write someone as kindhearted and sweet as Barry Allen.)

(Word Count: 1837)

“I’m on my way, Felicity, my train was running late—“

A hard shoulder slamming into your chest cut you off mid sentence and knocked you all the way to the hard ground.

Between the roar of trains coming in and out of the platform, shuffling footsteps, and your friend’s worried yelling through the phone, disoriented was a nice way of putting it. Your still head was spinning as you stumbled to your feet.

“Oh my, oh my god, I am so sorry—let me, uh— and you’re...already...up.” He rambled.

So it was a man who ran into you. And he was going on and on nervously as he picked up your fallen items. He had a thin build and dark hair, but you could only focus on his clumsy hands and apologetic eyes.

“It’s totally fine, just be careful next time.” You joked and pushed your braids away from your face.

The man rose to his feet and held your phone and purse out towards you. As you took them and gave him your best smile. There was something about his absentmindedness that was kind of charming and intriguing.

“I, uh, um...Barry Allen. I’m Barry Allen....Barry is my name.” He said.

You held in your laugh for fear of flustering him more and settled on a curious gaze. Barry wiped a hand on his back pocket and offered it to you.

“Nice to meet you, Barry. I’m Y/N.” You replied as you shook his hand.

You decided to omit the Queen part of your name, for now. Barry seemed sweet and genuinely interested in you. Having a dead father, a brother back from the dead, an out of control sister, and a mother on trial for mass murder tended to scare away any potential partners. You shifted your weight.

You had to get going sooner rather than later, but not wanting to let Barry go just yet, you took out a pen out of your purse and wrote your number on his palm.

“Try not to mow anyone else down today, and maybe give me a call if you're still in town, Barry.” You told him.

He stuttered through a response and turned a bright pink. You nodded with a smile and promptly walked off to your awaiting car.

“Barry Allen.” You repeated his name out loud once inside and heat built up in your cheeks. You hoped he’d call.

...

Oliver was waiting in his office for you when you walked up to the entrance of Queen Consolidated.

Pushing through the glass doors, you didn’t spare a second thought on the curious stares people sent you, you had spent your whole life getting them. A ping on your phone made you smile as soon as you saw it.

Sorry I ran you over earlier...I don’t really know places to go out here, but I could find somewhere if you still wanted to go out with me?—Barry Allen (from the train station, sorry again!)

A warm, bubbly feeling took over your whole body. Barry gave you a feeling you had rarely experienced: he was genuinely good. You needed some positivity in the midst of your chaotic life.

Before you could reply back, a woman’s voice and body stood in your way. You had only made it to the front desk.

“Excuse me—“

“No unauthorized personnel, here.” She explained.

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you looked up from your phone. Tons of other people were free and clear to pass by, but of course you, the black girl was stopped. Clicking your tongue, you tried to move past her.

“Do you have an ID for Queen Consolidated? If you don’t I’m going to have to ask you to leave before I call the police.” She said.

Bullshit.

“My name is Y/N Queen. Move.” You sniped. You were already running late as it was, but today of all days a white girl just had to try you.

“I’ve never heard of you. I’m calling the police.” She threatened. Her hand was already on the buttons. You huffed. What had started as an annoyance had escalated into full blown danger.

You quickly dialed your brother’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“You’re late, Y/N.” Oliver chastised from the other end.

“Actually, I’m downstairs being blocked from the elevator, in a building we own, and a company we have shares in. Get down here, now.”

For a few tortuous minutes, you stood there waiting at a stalemate. The security was bounding down the steps; they were big men in dark suits and earpieces.

You ran your tongue on the roof of your mouth, a mix of anger and fear and shame. Oliver wasn’t supposed to bail you out. You were just as much a Queen as he was and should’ve had the same access as he did. You ground your teeth and folded your arms.

You were relieved when the elevator dinged and Oliver stepped out of it.

His eyes widened in surprise for a split second, before the realization of what was happening sunk in. To anyone that didn’t know him, Oliver might have looked calm. But the clenched jaw, pulled back lip corners and the way he furled and unfurled his hands as he adjusted his suit said otherwise.

“Who told you that you could physically block and try to remove my sister from the area?” He said with a straight face, staring directly at the woman.

You smirked as she stumbled through a range of bullshit excuses and ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Queen’ over and over again to no avail.

Oliver protectively ushered you into the elevator, but before the doors could close you yelled, “Might wanna see who’s hiring!”

On the way up, you brushed off Oliver’s questions and concerns. You had lived your entire life black, this was nothing new to you. But after five years away, it probably was to him. You weren’t a teenager standing by his or your dad’s side anymore.

“I’m fine, Ollie. Drop it, please.” You pleaded.

“That woman was going to call the police on you, Y/N.” He continued, still bewildered.

“I get that being on that island wasn’t your fault, but I’ve held my own as a black woman for five years without you or dad. Things like that are just a part of the package.” You explained.

As the two of you stepped off the elevator, you softened when he gave you a long hug. It was his apology, and you leaned in, accepting it. Five years was a long time away.

“I only came by to check in on you. With the break in and all, plus Mom’s party tonight...” You trailed off.

Oliver offered a small smile as the two of you rounded the corner. You blinked in surprise when you saw none other than Barry Allen talking to Felicity. Your mood instantly brightened.

“Barry!” You called out. At the sound of his name, he saw you and fell flat on his face. Clumsiness was becoming a theme between you two. You hurried over and helped him up.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed, but Barry stared at you, confused. You held Barry’s full attention as if no one else was in the room. It was refreshing, really.

“Hi-hi again, Y/N...What are you doing h-here?” He asked. You held Barry’s full attention as if no one else was in the room. It was refreshing, really. Too bad Oliver had to ruin it.

“Barry, how do you know my little sister?” He said it, more than asked it.

Oliver gave Barry an icy glare. The threat in his voice may have had an effect on everyone else, but it made you roll your eyes in annoyance. He just had to add the little sister part. Barry straightened up and swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the process.

Damn it, Oliver. You two were very hot and cold lately and it bothered you to no end.

“I met him this morning, Ollie, mind your business.” You snapped. You turned back to Barry and smiled.

“There’s a party at our house tonight, you should drop by if my idiot brother doesn’t kill you first. Text me for the address.” You declared. Your eyes burned with defiance as you stormed off, matching Oliver’s mood. You guessed you really were siblings.

As you left, you hoped Barry would show.

...

The annual Queen family Christmas party was honestly, the most awkward two hours of your life.

You, Moira, Thea, and Oliver stood in an almost empty living room. The only guests seemed to be the caterers. Barry hadn’t texted you, either.

“Maybe...people got lost on the way.” You offered. Moira smiled at you and patted your shoulder.

“Thank you, dear, but we all know the real reason. Nobody wants to be seen with the likes of me.” She said. She was right. You shot her an apologetic look and handed her another drink.

Oliver took the opportunity to whisk you away from your mother and sister, “Y/N, help me with the drinks, please.”

You obliged without protest. You had already been stood up by half the city and Barry. Family really was all you had.

“What, Ollie?” You asked in an exasperated tone.

“I know that you took on a lot, while I was on the island. And I know that being the oldest wasn’t easy, especially for you in the public eye. I read the tabloids.”

Oliver’s admission made you a little teary eyed. He was the first person in the family to truly consider you family. He was your big brother. He caught up on all of the horrible headlines and rumors that swirled about you after the news broke about the Queen’s Gambit.

“Which is why I invited someone special, tonight. For you.” Oliver said. You raised a brow in confusion.

“I’m not that great over text.” You turned around and your mouth dropped open a little. It was Barry, in a really nice suit looking finer than ever. You gave him a hug and he took your hand.

“I’m also not a great dancer, I’ll try not to step on your toes.” He admitted. You led him to the dance floor and nodded to the musicians.

“Don’t worry about it. There isn’t much of a crowd to judge you.” You joked.

You and Barry swayed to the music, talking and laughing the whole way through. Barry Allen, you found, really was the ray of light you needed in the moment. The past few months were some of the hardest in your life, filled with dark moments and uncertainty.

As Barry held you and told you corny science jokes and yes, stepped on your toes once or twice, you realized you had never met anyone as sweet and as kind as him.

When the night was over, you couldn’t help but look forward to the next time you saw him.

#black!reader #poc!reader #dctv #barry allen #barry allen x reader #oliver queen #Oliver Queen x platonic! reader #Oliver Queen x sister! reader #the flash #arrow

[writeforfandoms]

Shake, Rattle and Roll 5

We’re on to chapter 5 folks! Next chapter will be the last chapter, then the epilogue.

Masterlist

Summary: More obstacles come between you and the end of this night. Then there were two more murders.

Warnings: Murder (non descriptive), swearing, the usual. 

Tags: @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric @sarahjkl82-blog @giizhkens-cedar

--

You wanted to bang your head against a wall. Or revive Damon to murder him again. Really, at this point, you weren’t too picky. 

“The cook didn’t have the keys.” You stated it plainly, just to make sure you understood correctly.

“Unfortunately that does seem to be the situation,” Ezra agreed. He sounded mildly put off. Mildly. 

You blew out a breath slowly, letting your cheeks puff out with the force of it. Okay. That’s okay, there were other doors in the house. Now that the four were in the library, you might be able to chance the front door. 

“The front door is similarly locked,” Ezra started, interrupting your thoughts. “I believe the girl implied the back door would be locked, as well.”

“Well this is a pickle,” you muttered, rocking your weight back and forth on your feet. “Okay. We need the keys to get out of here.” You met Ezra’s gaze and realized you were both thinking the same thing: Damon. 

“Searching for the keys will not bother me, dove, if you care to continue keeping watch,” he offered.

You hesitated and then nodded slowly. “Remind Cee not to look,” you muttered, half-imploring. 

“I will.” Ezra met and held your gaze for a few long moments before he dipped his head and turned away. You refocused your attention on the hallway, listening for any sign of the prospectors. A shout gave you some indication that they had discovered the empty library. The big question now was where would they go next? Continue searching room by room, or outside? Neither was a great option for you three, honestly. 

A hissed curse from Ezra drew your attention, and you shifted enough to look back at him. “What now?”

“No keys,” he growled, sounding frustrated. His hands were both clenched as he glowered down at the floor.

“What the fuck.” You kept your voice low but couldn’t keep the note of disbelief out of it. “Okay. Time for a new plan.” You hurried back to Cee. “Where else might the keys be?”

Cee shot you a bewildered look. “The study, maybe?” 

“Right.” You turned her carefully away from the bodies and guided her to the doorway. The other prospectors were still in the library, although you doubted they’d stay for long. “Study’s on this side of the library, if we book it I think we can make it.”

“It is a bold choice,” Ezra offered from behind you. 

“It’s our only choice.” You sighed. “Ready?”

The three of you booked it down the hall and into the study. Ezra shut the door exceedingly gently behind you all and flipped the lock, for all the good that would do. The three of you set to searching for the keys, quietly. Just in case anyone decided to check the study. 

“Found them,” Cee told you quietly, holding up the keys. An actual old-fashioned key ring with physical keys. You hadn’t seen one like that possibly ever. 

“Good job, kid,” you murmured to her, giving her a smile. “Now we need to figure out the best exit route.”

Ezra hummed as he joined your little conference. “The front is the clearest and closest exit,” he summed up. “The kitchen door is less visible, but requires us to cross the hallway again. The back door has much the same problem - we would have to cross their path without being seen.”

“Guess we need to know where they are, first,” you said, briefly tipping your head back to look at the ceiling. You were so sick of this, so ready to just go home. There was a reason you’d gotten out of the prospecting game. 

“I can go,” Cee offered.

“No,” was your immediate response.

“Not a chance, little bird,” came Ezra’s protest, a second after yours. 

“Cee, darling, the goal is to get you out of here alive,” you pointed out. “So no, you’re not going. I’ll go.” You stepped away from the two, towards the door. “Just wait here until I get back.”

Without waiting for a response, you unlocked the door and pulled it open slowly, peering out. Nobody in the hall. Good. You crept cautiously towards the library, peeking around the doorway just enough to peer inside. Nobody in there, either. Well, that was… not great. The longer you were out in the hallway, the worse your odds got. Your skin was already crawling with nerves. 

A noise in the kitchen got your attention, and you crept that way, keeping low and walking as silently as you could. You paused in the hall outside the kitchen, listening. 

“Found it,” Mikken grunted from inside. 

“Show us,” Felicia demanded. 

You carefully looked around the doorframe to see what they were talking about, just in time to see Inumon pull her thrower and shoot the two blondes. They both fell, dead before they hit the floor. 

“Two down,” Mikken rumbled with satisfaction, holding up a piece of paper for Inumon to see. “Three to go.” 

You didn’t wait to see more. You just made for the study again as fast as you could, heart pounding. You knew what Mikken meant now, and it was really not good for you. 

“We’ve got a problem,” you told the other two immediately after slipping into the study.

“More?” Ezra asked, lips quirking wryly. 

“Inumon killed the two blondes,” you told them. “And it looks like Mikken found the map. They’re coming after us next. Pretty sure they don’t want anybody alive to point fingers or go after them.” 

Ezra blew out a breath. “That is indeed a slight problem,” he agreed. 

“Slight?” you shot back, incredulous. 

“But we have the keys,” Cee said, looking between the two of you. “We can go.” 

“We can, but there is no guarantee they will not come after us,” Ezra told her gently. 

You hushed them both when you heard movement in the hallway, and all three of you sneaked over to the door to listen.

“Why are we moving this one?” Inumon asked, sounding grumpy. 

“Might as well keep the entryway tidy,” Mikken grunted. There was some shuffling, another grunt, and then more shuffling. You and Ezra exchanged baffled looks. Cee cracked the door open enough to see, and you craned your neck to see over her head.

Inumon and Mikken were carrying the body of the woman Fero had killed. They were headed for the kitchen.

Well. Keep the entryway tidy, indeed. 

They weren’t going to take long at that, and you all needed an exit strategy, stat. Preferably before the murderous prospectors started doing a room-by-room search. 

“If we can lure them upstairs I think we can outrun them,” you whispered. 

“A mighty fine idea, except for two small points of contention,” Ezra whispered back. “The first being how to lure them upstairs in the first place, and the second being the small fact that they know our names and faces, dove.”

“So we’re back to your plan?” you hissed. “Kill them?”

“Before they kill us, preferably,” Ezra confirmed. He still sounded quite placid about all of this. Not that your hands were exactly clean, either, but you still had feelings about plotting murder. 

“You should separate them,” Cee offered.

You and Ezra both stilled. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. One on one would be easier to take them, probably. You knew Inumon was armed, and it was highly likely Mikken was as well. And while you were still not crazy about the idea of killing them, well… They were out to kill you. And Cee. There was no way you were letting them kill Cee. 

“I don’t know that they’ll separate now,” you spoke slowly, thinking out loud more than anything. “They’re close to their goal, it makes sense for them to search together.”

“Unless they are so consumed by the sight of their goal that they become sloppy,” Ezra murmured, eyes flicking rapidly between you and Cee. 

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, watching him. He was definitely plotting something, and you’d rather like some heads up before he pulled anything. 

Ezra hesitated a moment. “If we can get them to believe that we have split up, they will do the same,” he said. “They will believe us to be easier targets singly than together.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you murmured. “Okay. I can go throw something up the stairs, you can circle back around to the library?”

“And duck through the hidden corridor to make my timely escape,” Ezra agreed. “Cee, are there any other such hidden treasures in this house?”

“Yes, actually.” Cee walked over to the fireplace and pushed hard. Part of the wall folded inwards, showing another corridor.

“Where does this one go?” you asked, peering down it. Nope, too dark, can’t see.

“To the greenhouse.” 

“There’s a greenhouse?” You couldn’t help but be momentarily distracted. No, greenhouse later, distracting the murderers first. Wait. No. Greenhouse first. Your lips pulled in a grin. “I’ll go to the greenhouse. Cee, stick with Ezra. I’ll go make a nice big noisy distraction.” You grinned, bouncing a little on your toes. Was this nuts? Yeah, a bit. But your adrenaline was going, and this was a great idea. Absolutely fantastic. 

Except for the part where you could possibly get killed, but hey, that was the theme of the night. 

You stepped into the hidden passage, walking carefully along it. When you got to the other end, it took you a moment to find the level to pull, and then you very carefully peered around. There was no movement in the greenhouse. No lights either. That made all this slightly more difficult. 

It only took stubbing your toe to find a suitable object. A big empty vase was sitting on a pedestal (the one that attacked your foot), and you hefted it carefully. Yup. That would do, one way or another. Turning to the nearest wall, you eyed the glass. It looked like glass. If it was anything more sturdy, well, the vase shattering on the floor would do nicely as well. 

Giving the vase one more heft, you threw it as hard as you could at the glass, which shattered with a magnificently loud noise on impact. And then you ran for the passageway, shoving the door closed behind you again, you heart hammering in your ears.

#shake rattle and roll #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #clue!au

[ahkaraii]

tov drabble (1618 words)

“Good fight,” Don Whitehorse compliments. “Not good enough, though.”

Schwann knows when he’s lost. He resorts to a cool, helpless apathy in these moments: a trait characteristic to him since birth.

“Then kill me,” he says without inflection.

“You won’t beg for your life?” Don asks.

“I am already dead,” he says. “There is nothing to beg for.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Don then shrugs his massive shoulders, like saying, ‘what can you do?’. “Aw’right then. Hey! Boys! Give this kid a good Altoskian welcome, and escort him to a cell, will ya?”

Altoskian hospitality is not unlike the Empire’s, Schwann reflects. They knock him around, piss in his water bowl, and don’t give him any toilet paper to wipe his face or his ass during the whole damn stay. Then again, an assassination attempt against his Imperial Majesty would easily warrant a public beheading — here, it seems to equate with seven days of enforced meditation toe-deep in his own shit before being kicked to the curb like nothing ever happened.

“You’re letting me go?” Schwann asks, a faint tone of disbelief in his voice.

“You’re not the first to try to off the Boss, y’know,” the guard explains, “and you won’t be the last. It’s almost a right of passage at this point.”

Schwann must reevaluate the guild’s hierarchy. His intel was clearly missing some rather important information. “Did you also try to kill Don Whitehorse?” he asks, not even meaning it sarcastically.

“Sure,” the guard admits, like it’s nothing. “Though I tried to poison him, myself. Gave the Don a case of the runs and he put a bucket of it in my cell and that was enough to make me not try again.”

Schwann’s just spent a week stewing in his own filth and understands what a powerful motivator the stench of unceasing fecal matter and lack of hygiene can be to a man who once thought himself as dignified. “Huh,” is all he offers. Is that how Don Whitehorse inspires loyalty? By sparing his foes in such a contrived way?

“Now, I’d close my eyes if I were you. Ready? Splash!”

After Schwann’s been waterboarded into smelling a little less like a sewer, the guard escorts him out the door and onto the cobbled street some ways from the headquarter’s main entrance.

“That’s it?” Schwann repeats, still not quite believing it.

“That’s it,” the guard says. “Though if I were you, I’d get a proper wash and new duds. You fucking reek.”

A bed and shower at the inn requires gald he no longer has. And even the filthiest tavern won’t let him in wearing the shit-smelling rags he’s got tattered on by a thread. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he’s really five seconds away from giving up and taking a nap right there in the street. Where even is he, anyway? Dahngrest is a fucking labyrinth with far too many dead ends.

“You need quick cash, son? I’ll pay you to suck my dick,” a strange man with a caved in nose offers in one such dead-end alley, idly smoking a pipe.

Schwann considers it for all of three seconds before he smoothly says, “I must decline,” and walks off in the opposite direction as fast as his tired calves will take him. It’s barely been a week and he will not fall to prostitution just to get a fucking bath. That guy probably had syphilis, anyway.

“Hey! New guy!”

Schwann would’ve started walking even faster if the pitch of the voice hadn’t distracted him — it belongs to a kid, prepubescently high, gender difficult to tell with the patchwork quilt of nonsense they’ve got on.

“Take this package to Saggitarus,” the kid says, and hurls something at him that Schwann catches out of reflex.

“What?” he asks, but the kid’s already disappeared. Fast little bugger—either that, or great at climbing walls. “What...?” he repeats, staring at the innocuous brown-paper-wrapped box in his hands. It’s about the weight of his pauldron, some two kilograms dense, and rattles like there’s something round inside it. A blastia, perhaps?

“Saggitarus,” he echoes. The tavern?

Is this a test?

Is the Don testing him?

For a moment, Schwann expands his senses, wondering if he’s being followed. He can immediately feel eyes on him, and detect the sounds of muffled laughter in the distance. Then again, that might just be paranoia. He has just spent seven days with no privacy and bored guards idly betting on when he’ll get thirsty enough to drink the piss-bucket. (Shamefully, he only got to two before he succumbed.)

If there’s a blastia in here, maybe he can sell it, or, hell, use it. If Schwann’s already presumed dead and his dignity gone with it, then maybe--

The thought crosses his mind and leaves it without much fanfare. There is a task he has been given, and he shall complete it. “Saggitarus,” he repeats, and twists his ankles in the direction of the last tavern he’d been to. Maybe he can ask for directions there.

“Saggitarus tavern? Heh...y'mean the Sagittarius Tavern? It’s that way, new guy,” says the bouncer stationed outside.

Hm. Does everyone know his task, then?

“Sagittarius, huh? It’s southeast,” another man offers, “follow the music.”

It’s starting to feel like a wild goose chase, and everyone’s in on it. There is no music but distant laughter.

“Naw, new guy, it’s north! Y’know, by the fountain? Surely you passed it already.”

On and on and on, each new direction being interrupted by some new person with eyes on his package and cruelty in their smiles. It’s clear they’re all in on it, and he’s the butt of the joke.

“You’re all fucking with me,” Schwann says monotonously. He’s really quite tired. Honestly, he doesn’t really need a weapon to kill things. If he goes outside the barrier, maybe he could just rip a couple of stray Filifolia monsters into lettuce for a salad and then sell the rest of it for gald enough to pay for hay to rest with the horses…

The thought tantalises him for three seconds before he focuses back to reality. Don Whitehorse has probably already forgotten him. His underlings are the cats playing with the new toy the Don has given them. He’s nothing but fresh meat quickly spoiling.

“You finally give up, new guy?”

It’s the kid who gave him the package. Schwann eyes them more carefully this time. Blond, grey-eyed, and oddly confident in their stance. For being such a pipsqueak, this kid has balls to poke an enemy of the Don while he’s down. Schwann’s dead tired and still quite capable of snapping the kid’s neck like he would a chicken.

“What happens if I say yes?” Schwann asks, lightly.

“I take the package back,” the kid says, and stretches out a small hand riddled with weapon-born calluses. “Hand it over, then.”

“Hm,” Schwann makes as if he’s thinking, and a part of him feels silly but delighted when the brat begins to look visibly impatient. Is this kid the one in charge of his punishment…? “I think not, then.”

“Ugh,” the kid says. “Then hurry up and make it!”

Schwann bows his head like he would to Princess Estellise. “Of course, young Master,” he says, and is rewarded by the kid looking proper startled. Bingo. “I’m afraid I am quite lost, though. Why don’t we both help each other and you get me there, for real this time? That way we can both finally take a break.”

The kid squints at him and then gives an explosive sigh and turns around and starts walking. Schwann follows them leisurely. They walk down faintly familiar streets and end up at the tavern right where Schwann started. The bouncer outside looks just as amused as he did the first time.

“Ah, I see now. Saggitarus is your name, isn’t it?” Schwann says, managing a sardonic smile.

“At your service,” the guy says, and stretches out his hand. “Did you ever find the Sagittarius tavern, then?”

“Your directions were one of a kind, but my sense of direction is quite another.” Schwann plops the brown box unceremoniously into the guy’s outstretched palm. “Here’s your package, Mister Saggitarus.”

“Here’s your payment, Mister New Guy,” Saggitarius says, and flicks him a single gald coin.

“Thanks,” Schwann says without a trace of sarcasm, and turns to the kid. “Y’know where a tired old man could get a bucket of clean water for a single gald?”

“Uh, try the fountain,” the kid says. “Duh.”

“Duh,” Schwann echoes, and can’t help but laugh a little. Duh, indeed. Children above, he’s so tired.

“Hey. New Guy. I’ll throw you enough for a meal if you give Pecan this package,” Saggitarus offers, clearly taking pity on him. “Pecan’s the third waiter on the right at the Sagittarius tavern. You know your way there now, right?”

Schwann’s everything aches, but he’s starting to get the hang of this place now, he thinks. “Sure,” he says. “Throw in an old tunic and I’ll deliver it as fast as these old legs can take me.”

“Do it without causing a ruckus and I’ll give you some new shoes, too,” Saggitarius says.

“You got yourself a deal,” Schwann says, and points his feet towards his goal. He can’t wait to feel a little cleaner and rest enough to regroup and decide his next course of action; if he doesn’t send an encoded message to Zaphias soon, Commandant Alexei’ll probably assume him dead or, worse, a traitor. Till then, it’s nice to have a mission with clear cut instructions.

“Third waiter from the right,” Schwann murmurs to himself, and sets off.

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #spoilers #just trying to get a hand on writing ol' raven #i'm really fascinated by his first few months at altosk and how he gradually got everyone's trust despite like #yknow #trying to kill the don

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (3)

August 12th, 2277

Izuku lay on his bed staring at the screen of his phone. He'd already typed in the emergency number, but he hadn't started the call yet. He honestly wasn't sure if this qualified as an emergency or not. Probably not. But it was kind of a big deal. Kind of massive. For him, anyway. He wasn't even sure if his father could respond in the first place. A couple of months ago, he'd said he'd be likely to resume his normal phone calls soon, but maybe his throat hadn't fully healed yet. And what if that polite colleague picked up instead? Izuku certainly couldn't tell him about… all that.

He hadn't told his mother either, or the doctor. He didn't want to cause trouble, neither for himself nor for Kacchan. But he really, really felt the urge to tell someone. He'd been waiting for this moment for so long, and it had gone so inexplicably wrong.

His thumb tapped the green button.

It took less than five seconds for the call to connect.

"Izuku. What is it?"

"Hi... Dad..." Izuku started, but he found himself trailing off. He hadn't heard his father's voice in so long and, while still recognizable, it was very different. Rougher and somewhat distorted, as if he was speaking through… something metallic?

"What's going on?" His father pressed when the silence stretched. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that the man could be misinterpreting his hesitation as the kind of situation that may warrant an emergency call.

"Ah… N-nothing much, actually. I'm not dying or anything. Mom's not dying- no one's dying." He blurted out, hurried explanations rushing out of his mouth bypassing any form of brain check. "This isn't really an emergency. More like… an emergence. Of my quirk."

The silence from the other side of the receiver was deafening. Wow. Inconveniencing his still convalescent father for no serious reason, and topping it off with a pun. Izuku wouldn't be surprised if he decided to hang up on his face.

"...Sorry. I shouldn't have called." He apologized. "D-Does it still hurt to speak? Ah, never mind, we can talk about that next-"

His father's sigh came through as a brief burst of static. "Where are you now?"

"At home. In my room."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"...Why don't you tell me what happened then?" The softer timbre of his father's voice lifted a weight from Izuku's chest. And the tale of the afternoon's events spun almost by itself.

Lately, it didn't happen often that Izuku and Kacchan hung out without the rest of the gang. His friend was a natural-born and enthusiastic leader, and he enjoyed having people around to let him play that role. But that day someone had homework to catch up with, someone else had the flu, a third one was grounded… So it had been just the two of them. They had headed to the usual spot by the small river, to stave off the heat. Which didn't seem to especially bother Kacchan, who had been trying to blast an anthill to smithereens with his quirk. He had casually remarked, as he often did, what a pity it was that Izuku would never develop one.

Izuku didn't know why he hadn't let that comment slide, like every other time. Arguing on that point never helped, it always made things worse. But this time he had answered back. That his quirk would manifest one day, sure as hell. And then he'd joked that they'd have a match to see who could exterminate the most ants in one minute.

Kacchan hadn't liked that. At all. He never did take well to amicable competition.

Do you see this? Huh? Look, take a closer look. Kacchan had said, holding his palm mere centimetres away from Izuku's face, so close that he could feel the heat from the small explosions popping off from his skin. This is what a quirk looks like. Looks like you still can't tell the difference between a quirk and nothing, nerd. 'Cause you have nothing. Nothing's all you'll ever have.

"This friend of yours- sorry, what's his name again?"

Izuku was startled by his father's interruption. "Kaccha- I mean, Katsuki."

"Why was he so aggressive? Did you two have a quarrel before this?"

"Oh, no. He's just… he's just like that."

"...He's just like that?" His father repeated. It was a bit difficult for Izuku to read his tone now that his voice was so muffled and unfamiliar. "This is a common occurrence? Him using his quirk to hurt you?"

"Oh no, no no! He didn't do that! He never does that, he knows it's bad!" Izuku hurried to elaborate. "He just uses it to… show off a little. Sometimes he blows up stuff. Things can get a bit rough when we play, but he never burns people with his quirk. He's very good at controlling it!"

"...And this is your best friend we're talking about." His father didn't sound terribly convinced. Izuku felt the necessity to make things absolutely clear.

"He's a cool guy, dad. Really. He's great. He's smart, and talented, and strong, and brave… He just has a bit of a short temper. His mom's like that too."

There was a long pause. "...I see. Go on."

Well, even if Izuku knew that Kacchan wasn't going to hurt him (not much, not with his quirk, at least), at that moment he was still pretty upset. And Kacchan kept waving his explosive hands uncomfortably close to him, and he kept going on about how Izuku would never get a quirk, and it was… it was just so unfair, that's what it was. It was unfair that Izuku would have to wait for God knows how long for what his father had assured him (multiple times) would eventually happen, while Kacchan always let his anger run away with him. Izuku had felt a heady burst of resentment, and he had grabbed Kacchan's wrists with both hands, trying to shove him away, and that's when it had happened.

He had managed to send Kacchan staggering into a nearby bush. But at the same time, a sharp pain had spread in both Izuku's hands. It wasn't the searing of an explosion, it was more as if his palms had been stabbed by a big needle. He had checked, and found two small, circular marks on them. They were like scars, but very old ones, already closed and healed, definitely not bleeding.

He hadn't had time to process the fact. Kacchan was already back on his feet, shouting and marching towards him, reaching for him with his arms thrown out before him, fingers clawed in the familiar position they assumed when he summoned his quirk…

But nothing had happened. No explosions. Not even a spark or a flicker of flame. Kacchan had stopped in his tracks, flabbergasted. He had tried again, to no avail. And Izuku, on his part, had felt it. That awareness. That visceral perception that something had changed inside him, that there was something new in him. Something he could summon himself. He had flexed his fingers, and done it.

A small explosion. Right there, in his own hand. It hadn't burned at all.

Give it back! Kacchan had screamed at him when they had both emerged from their quiet stupor. Izuku had stepped backwards in fear, tripping down on something. He had raised his hand to defend himself from the impending assault, and shot off another blast, a bigger one. Too big. The recoil had hurled his arm backwards, bent his wrist painfully, sent it crashing against a rock. It had hurt a lot.

Give it back! Kacchan had yelled after he'd stopped laughing, laughing at how hopeless Izuku was even with a stolen quirk, laughing at how the useless nerd had managed to injure himself even before Kacchan could touch him, and probably more severely too than Kacchan would have dared.

GIVE IT BACK! Kacchan had howled while dragging him into the shallow river. He'd pushed him down, pressed his hands into the stream, cunningly exploiting his own weakness. The water washed away the sweat from Izuku's palms before he could even try to ignite it. He was harmless, pathetic, impotent, even with Kacchan's impressive quirk.

He had given it back after he'd promised Kacchan that he would, as soon as he let go of-

"What?"

"Uh? What?" Izuku echoed obtusely.

"You gave it back?"

"...Yes. Of course." Izuku blinked. "What… what else could I do? I promised him-"

"You could have just kept it." His father sounded surprised. Very surprised. "He was using his quirk to threaten you and hurt you. Why would you give it back to him?"

"I…" The notion that he could have just lied and ran away with Kacchan's quirk hadn't even entered Izuku's mind. "I didn't even know how to use it. All I could do with it was hurt myself. I-"

"You could have learned how to use it, over time. You could have obtained the quirk you so deeply desired. You could have deprived a bully of a dangerous weapon. You could have made him understand what it feels like to be on the weaker side of a confrontation."

Izuku heard those words, but they didn't fully register. "...I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"...It's Kacchan's quirk. It's his. I couldn't keep it." Izuku said simply.

Another long pause. "...What happened then?"

"Kacchan just left. He was very angry, he said he'd- that I'd better never use that 'trick' again on him. I came home too, but my wrist was swollen and achy, so mom brought me to the doctor. It's fine though, I don't think it's broken." Izuku recounted, wiggling his bandaged arm subconsciously.

"Did you tell your mother what happened?"

"...No, I… No." Izuku hesitated. "I just told her I slipped on some wet rocks."

Izuku himself couldn't quite put his finger on why he'd wanted to hide the accident from everyone except from his father. Something about how easy it had always been to talk to him, how he was always ready to listen to everything Izuku wanted to say, even things he clearly didn't care about. He may have been present in Izuku's life for only one or two hours a month, but Izuku truly felt that, for those one or two hours, his father's attention was solely focussed on him. Something about the distance too, maybe, which made him more akin to an imaginary friend than to a real parent that could dish out tangible punishment, worry and contempt. Something about this aura of wisdom and confidence and calm that his polished words and deep tone always radiated.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Uh… No one, I think. Just Kacchan and I."

"And when did this all happen, exactly?"

"Earlier this afternoon. At around 2 or 3, I think?"

"I see." His father's voice sounded distant. "Sorry, Izuku. Do you mind if I put you on hold? Don't hang up, it'll only take a minute."

"Oh, of course."

There was a soft click, and the speaker went silent. Izuku remembered with a flash of guilt that his father was probably working at the moment. He hoped he hadn't caught him at a bad time. Maybe that had to do with the fact that his voice was so weird. Maybe he was wearing some sort of disguise or protective gear?

Click. "I'm here."

"Sorry if I bothered you for something like this. You're busy now, aren't you?"

"I have nothing urgent on my plate. Actually, I'm glad you rang. This could have turned into quite the problem if you had waited another two weeks to inform me."

"Uh? Why?"

"Do you understand what happened today, Izuku?" The gentleness of the question somehow alarmed Izuku more than if his father had been scolding him.

"I…" He gulped. "I think I stole Kacchan's Explosion. With my quirk. That was a quirk, right?"

"Yes. That was our quirk."

Izuku's brain screeched to a halt.

Our.

"Your… Isn't your quirk Fire Breathing?"

"That is one of my quirks, yes."

There was silence as the pieces fell into place in the kid's head. There may very well have been an earthquake, and he would have barely noticed it. "You can… take quirks too?"

"Yes."

Izuku had so many questions that it took him several seconds to even decide where to start. "W-Why have you never said so?"

"Because that too is classified. The very existence of our quirk is classified." His father paused, then resumed almost tiredly. "I see I should have warned you about this regardless. Truth to be told, I was expecting your quirk's first appearance to unfold… differently. I guess it doesn't matter now."

Izuku sat up as he kept listening, hanging on his father's every word.

"Our ability allows us to take other people's quirks permanently, and use them as our own. As you have already discovered, we can give them back as well. Another very important perk is the capacity to store many quirks inside us at the same time. A great many." His father stopped again. "Do you know what this means?"

Izuku shook his head negatively, forgetting that his father couldn't see him. His silence conveyed the message anyway.

"This means that our quirk is powerful. Astoundingly powerful. More powerful than Fire Breathing or Hellflame or Explosion or Fiber Master or Foresight. Because it can be all those quirks at once."

Izuku's mind was reeling. It was... unimaginable. He thought of all his favorite heroes, all the top heroes, all the most incredible powers and skills… all concentrated into a single individual. He thought of Endeavor, Jeanist, Yoroi Musha, Gang Orca, Nighteye…

All Might...

"The downside of our quirk is the cost it has on the owners of the quirks we appropriate. They are rendered quirkless, unless we decide to grant their abilities back." His father went on. "You can imagine the implications of this."

He could. He could imagine having the power of taking All Might's quirk - not only becoming a hero like All Might, but practically becoming All Might himself… at the cost of mutilating the original.

The mere notion made him dizzy.

"That's… that's not right…" Izuku stuttered, drawing his knees to his chest. "It can't be used in that way…"

"Most people would agree with that sentiment, yes." There was a sort of… disappointment, of weariness in his father's voice that Izuku had never heard before. It unsettled him deeply. "Most people would claim that it's a quirk that handicaps and feeds on others, that can only be fuelled by theft, prevarication and selfishness. An inherently villainous quirk, if you will."

"That can't be true." Izuku objected, curling up on himself even more. "It… depends on how you use it. All quirks do. I'm not going to use it like that, ever-"

"That wouldn't be enough to discourage those cynical voices, I'm afraid. Power terrifies people who don't have it, Izuku. A type of power as overwhelming as ours, all the more so. They wouldn't need to see you abuse your quirk to condemn you, the mere fact that you could do it, if you ever decided to, would be enough to draw suspicion and distrust on you."

"W-What does it mean?" Izuku's breaths left his mouth in a rush as his eyes started to burn, the telltale signs of an impending burst of tears agitating him even more. "What do I have to do?"

The man took his sweet time to reply, and for a terrible moment Izuku thought that even his father might be at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. "As things stand, I would encourage you to act as if your quirk never manifested, in order to avoid negative attention."

"But Kacchan already knows. He'll tell someone, his parents at least…"

"I doubt it. If he's as clever and proud as you describe him, I think he'll understand the dangers of doing so. He'll realize that you could take his quirk for good at any given moment, and he'll choose not to anger you. Or he may simply refuse to acknowledge your superiority over him, and behave as if nothing happened in the first place. I can imagine many reasons that would lead him to keep your secret without you even asking him to - in fact, I would strongly advise you not to, and shove the whole thing under the rug. It would be for the best of everyone involved."

Silence fell again. Izuku's head buzzed with fear, confusion, doubts. It didn't make any sense, none of it. "I… can't use my quirk? Never? I will never be able to use it?"

"There are certain powers, certain weapons, that instil so much fear in humans that one can only either bury them deeply and pretend they don't exist, or bear them unhesitatingly lest the fearful tear their wielders apart. It is an unavoidable reality of life."

Tears rolled down Izuku's cheeks freely. "Y-You… you said you have more than one quirk. You used yours. Are you… doing it secretly? Is that what the whole 'classified' thing is about?"

"...My circumstances are unique." His father answered, after a slight hesitation. "I certainly do not flaunt my original quirk carelessly, nor do I have it printed in bold letters on my personal documents. The government is aware of my ability, but gaining my immunity from their wrath was no small feat. I honestly cannot imagine someone like you going to such lengths to achieve the same result. Not as you are now, probably not as you will be in the near future."

A few things were starting to make sense now, things that Izuku had always brushed aside as amusing or perplexing eccentricities of his father's. His unrelenting reticence about his job, a job likely tied to or issued by the government, a job that kept him separate from his family and that robbed him of time and leisure, a dangerous job he probably wasn't all that proud of. The kind of dirty, ambiguous job Izuku saw in movies and read about online, the kind of job where law and ethics sometimes parted ways. The kind of shady, hushed-up, unrewarding job that might make anyone envy a shining, pristine, beloved symbol like All Might.

"...I'm sorry." He sobbed, because he was, even if he wasn't sure what for. For being unable to walk the same path as his father, maybe, or for the grief the man's work surely caused him.

"There is no reason to panic." In a moment, his father's tone had recovered his trademark, comforting composure. Its effect on Izuku's nerves was immediate. "Luckily, today's incident was trivial and self-contained. As long as you don't reveal your quirk to anyone else, your life will go on unchanged."

Unchanged. As if Izuku hadn't been waiting his whole life for it to change. As if the quirk he thought he'd welcome as a blessing hadn't turned out to be some sort of nightmarish curse. It was a cruel joke, but it was no one's fault. He'd just have to adapt to it.

His father seemed to read into his wordless discouragement very easily. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm afraid I have to go now, but we'll talk more about it soon. Don't lose your sleep over this, there's no need for concern right now. Can you promise me you'll stay put at least until next month?"

"...Yes, of course."

"Wonderful. Have a good night, Izuku."

Izuku stared at the wall blankly, the call ending with a low beep. For the first time in his life, talking with his father had made everything feel remarkably worse.

October 1st, 2277

"How are things between you and Katsuki lately?"

"Same as usual. We… don't really hang out much any more. Or at all. He just keeps ignoring me all the time." Izuku mumbled, his spirit instantly dampened by the subject.

"That may be for the best. At least you won't have to put up with his inopportune mood swings, no?" His father offered encouragingly.

Admittedly, there was some truth to that. Izuku did feel a little less stressed, a little less constantly on edge every time the two of them happened to cross the same street or bump shoulders in class. It was reassuring to know that Kacchan wouldn't do anything worse than staring daggers at him, and his varying cohort of backers never took the initiative when it came to openly hostile behavior. It was… fine, in a way. And yet, Izuku missed their strange, complicated sort of closeness anyway. Kacchan really had been the first person Izuku had ever considered a friend, and he was sad to see this friendship, as unpleasant and troublesome as it could be at times, degrade into a quietly rancorous acquaintance.

"...I guess." Izuku glossed over. "I would like to talk things through with him though. I know you think I shouldn't, but-"

"If Katsuki hasn't brought up the matter yet, he probably has no intention of ever doing so. There's no point in being pushy with him. No doubt he's had a lot on his mind these past months, after all."

"Yeah, I know." Guilt squeezed Izuku's stomach in a tight grip. It was very self-centered of him to keep obsessing over his quirk, he should just be happy that Kacchan was safe and sound, all things considered. "I'm not even sure I could manage to talk to him alone. His parents always walk him everywhere he goes, and I think the police are still keeping an eye on him."

"It's understandable, and all the more reason for you to stop fretting about all this. Your secret is safe, and so is he. A fortunate conclusion all round."

"Mh." Izuku couldn't fully share his father's optimism, but he supposed the whole situation was at an impasse anyway. His eyes fell on his notebook, closed atop of a pile of school textbooks, and he decided it was time to tackle another tricky discussion. "...I've been having a little trouble with my quirk research lately."

"Oh? Have you stumbled upon an especially puzzling one?" His father took the bait, his interest immediately piqued.

"Yes. Ours."

"...Ah."

"I've been looking for any kind of information related to quirk-stealing abilities. I've found mentions of similar ones, from copycats to erasers to temporary absorption… Nothing quite like ours, though." Izuku hesitated. "I have found some rumours though. Here and there, in forums and old uh… clickbait-y articles."

His father's progressive de-escalation from proper replies to monosyllables to complete silence was a familiar pattern, and not a concerning one per se. At the very least it meant he was willing to give Izuku a chance to make his point, so he continued.

"It's all very vague. There are no details about the ability to give quirks back, or about palm marks. But all the hearsay is centered around this… this mysterious figure who lived around the era of the advent of quirks and who is said to have been able to steal them."

"I know all about those rumors."

"Do you?" Izuku had never pegged his father for the kind of man who'd spend his time digging for gossip around the internet… but then again, the last months had proved he knew less than he thought about the man. "They say… they say he was a criminal. The most dangerous villain who ever lived, even. It's all a bit exaggerated and unrealistic, I know, since there's no mention of anyone like that in history books-"

"It just goes to show how fantastically threatening our quirk would seem to the average person." He replied casually. "It is literally the stuff of legends of our modern age."

"Do you know if there's any truth to it? Or if they're just stories?"

A pause. "...It is true. It's part of the reason why I've been so insistent on you keeping quiet about your quirk. You'd better avoid being connected to those rumors if you plan on having a peaceful life."

Izuku balked. That was uncharacteristically forward on his father's part. And it was a disconcerting piece of information to boot. And it raised a further, even more disquieting possibility. "Did that villain have the exact same quirk as us? Was he… related to us? A grandparent, a great-grandparent…?"

"The real issue here, Izuku, is that it doesn't matter." His father said sternly. "The issue is that anyone who is aware of those voices - or worse, anyone who knows them to be true - will react in the same way you did. They will suspect or presume you to be a descendant of that criminal, and you'd have no way to prove them wrong."

Izuku wanted to ask if his father was speaking from experience, if his subtle bitterness and extreme caution were the result of the blatant prejudice he had had to deal with personally. He couldn't quite gather the courage to do so, though. "Very few people know about this though, right? It wouldn't be that much of a problem day-to-day…"

"It depends on the kind of people you'd have to deal with in your daily life. It would be enough of an obstacle to prevent you from pursuing your dream career, for example."

"What? You mean becoming a hero?" Izuku frowned. "Why?"

His father sighed deeply. "Picture this, Izuku. The government of a country was once almost overthrown by a dangerous villain with a certain quirk, and it has been trying to suppress any information about that evildoer ever since. The same government also handles the designation and retribution of all heroes in the industry. One day, a young man with the same devastating quirk as the aforementioned criminal appears, and he applies to a hero academy - an institution which, among other things, trains its students to fight, strategize, be reasonably charismatic, refine and master their quirks to their fullest capacity. What do you think the government would do when faced with the possibility, however remote, of accidentally grooming this young man into another nation-wide calamity?"

Izuku felt as if the whole world was crumbling beneath his feet. There was… there was only one rational conclusion, wasn't there? "...They wouldn't take that chance. They wouldn't let him become a hero. They wouldn't want him to use or train his quirk at all, to be on the safe side."

"Exactly-"

"But- but…!" No, it couldn't be the only way this would unfold. Surely they wouldn't be this gravely biased, surely there had to be some way to prove his good faith, surely… "What if I used my quirk differently? In a way that would never harm anyone? I could… I could just borrow quirks instead of stealing them! Borrow them during an emergency and give them back as soon as it's over-"

"I'm afraid our quirk isn't well-suited to that kind of application." His father countered plainly. "While we do acquire an immediate, basic and instinctive understanding of any quirk we take, it is rarely sufficient to deploy it efficiently and safely right off the bat, unless the quirk is particularly simple in its mechanics. You experienced this first-hand when you sprained your wrist with your first sizable explosion. It takes practice to become proficient in each ability we receive, and without enough time to learn beforehands, you'd be more of a liability than an asset on the field."

The cold, ironclad logic of that long speech gutted Izuku more neatly than a knife. The boy squeezed his eyes, focussing on the problem, thinking, thinking, thinking… "There has to be some way though. There has to be…"

Silence stretched as he struggled against frustration, fear, discomfort, disappointment. He only needed to think, to come up with an idea, a single good idea to demonstrate that this amazing quirk of his wasn't necessarily a menace-

"...There could be." His father said, oddly tentative.

Izuku perked up, hope and gratefulness springing in his chest. "How?"

"You could simply pretend to have a different quirk. Take someone else's, just the one, and pretend it was your original quirk. Become a hero using that, and only that."

That wasn't what Izuku wished to hear. Not at all. "That means I'd still need to steal from someone, dad. I-I can't-"

"There are ways to acquire quirks that don't involve outright robbery, you know." The man sounded mildly peeved now. "Just think about it. A friend blessed with a quirk they don't like or get much use out of, donating it to you out of sheer good will. An old relative on their deathbed, willing to pass on their ability before it gets lost along with their life. An acquaintance debilitated by some illness or chronic condition that renders them unable to draw on their power, entrusting it to you rather than letting it stagnate within themselves."

Izuku pondered on those words. Even though they were all quite specific and uncommon situations, they sounded sensible… on paper. As purely theoretical possibilities. On the practical side, however… "I don't think I'd ever want to take a friend's quirk, no matter what. Being quirkless is… I wouldn't wish it on anyone, honestly." He didn't bother adding that he had no such close friends that would ever consider sacrificing their quirks for his little pipe dream. "And I really wouldn't want to pester old and sick people for something like that. I'd feel like I'd be taking advantage of their suffering…"

"Not even that, uh…?" His father sounded thoughtful. It was odd hearing him so unsure of his words, for once not the impeccable source of complete answers and well-spoken certainties. "Duplicity does not come naturally to you, nor does greed. It is unfortunate that you were endowed with a quirk whose maximum potential hinges on both."

"...What do I do then?" Izuku asked, feeling his hope and energy melt like snow under the sun.

"With strict morals such as yours, I'm afraid your hands are tied." The man paused. "Do you trust my judgement, Izuku?"

It was a rhetorical question, obviously. His father had been right about Izuku eventually getting a quirk. He had been right about Kacchan keeping his secret. He had always been right about anything they had ever talked about. There was no doubt that, if there was anyone in the world who could analyze the current predicament, predict its developments, advise for the best course of action, it was his father.

"Of course."

"Then keep holding your cards close to the vest. Maybe things will change one day, and you'll find more options available to you. But for now, you would gain no advantage from exposing yourself to public scrutiny. You would only attract suspicion and enmity. Keep your quirk hidden and play it safe. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion."

March 2nd, 2280

"It… rewrites DNA?"

"Exactly. Every time it is used, both on yourself and on others. Despite their seemingly complex functions, quirk factors tend to be encoded and clustered within a relatively small number of genes. Our quirk allows us to detach them from all chromosomes in the body at once, transfer them and reallocate them - think of bacterial plasmids, albeit with a higher degree of complexity."

Izuku hummed, tapping the head of his pencil against his chin as his father's information seeped into his brain. "If DNA is the means through which quirks are transferred… I guess one does not need a… a whole, living human being as a source." Izuku let his thoughts trickle through his mouth unbidden, aware that his father never minded his rambling observations. "...What about a corpse? A very… fresh one, I guess? One which hasn't started decaying yet, not even a little bit. Could you take its quirk from it?"

"Alas, no. For the same reason why we can't collect quirks from detached limbs or single cells, for example. The donor must be a living organism. It is a stringent requirement. The moment the person dies, their quirk becomes unreachable for us."

"The moment the person dies…" Izuku toyed with the concept in his head. Vague memories of wandering internet searches and dramatic soap operas resurfaced. "Isn't that… difficult to establish though? Like, there's cardiac death, brain death… Total death? What applies here?"

"'Total death', I suppose." Izuku's father answered with a trace of humour. "There is a markedly... spiritual side to our quirk - to many quirks, in fact. The death I'm talking about is the loss of what makes a human being truly alive. Call it however you want - soul, mind, life force, spirit, personality, will. The essence of their being."

A pause, then the man spoke again. "I'm afraid that's as precise an explanation as I can give you. I wish I knew more about it myself. It is a tremendously fascinating subject." Izuku nodded in agreement, absently scribbling a small Quirks tied to souls??? on a corner of the receipt for the ice-cream he had bought on the way back from school.

"Izuku? Are you taking notes?" Izuku flinched as his father's tone suddenly turned severe. Had he heard the pencil scratch on paper? Curse his unreasonably sharp ears- "I told you a hundred times never to write down any information about our-"

"I know, I know! Sorry! It's just a habit!" Izuku rummaged through the drawer to find an eraser and immediately remove the offending line. "I wasn't writing on my notebook, it's just a scrap of paper I had lying around. I'm getting rid of it… right now..."

A long-suffering sigh crackled through the speaker. "...Still. I'm quite surprised that you're already considering ransacking graveyards and morgues in order to obtain quirks. It didn't occur to me to try my hand at desecration until I was much older than you."

"I'm- I'm not considering it!" Izuku sputtered, failing to find the eraser and electing instead to just rip the corner off the receipt and swallow it. "That would be incredibly disrespectful! Also a crime!"

"Right."

"I'm just… brainstorming. Keeping an open mind for unseen possibilities." Izuku sighed, not bothering to hide the familiar sting of annoyance. "You know, it wouldn't hurt if you were a little more forthcoming about how you obtained your yet-unspecified number of quirks. Surely you don't expect me to believe they all come from nursing homes and emergency rooms…"

"Izuku." There it was again, that cautionary edge that tinged his father's voice increasingly often as of late. On the bright side, Izuku was growing sort of accustomed to it, finding it easier to simply power through it.

"...I've been reading up on Tartarus lately." He threw out there, twirling his pencil in his fingers. "Not that there's much to read about it. They keep a close lid on any information regarding their security procedures and systems, which is fair. I do wonder though, what kind of measures they may have in place to restrict such a large number of dangerous quirk users."

His father didn't seem to have any comment on the topic, so Izuku decided to lay it on a bit thicker.

"They used to cut hands to punish thieves in certain countries a long time ago. It doesn't really happen any more, it violates all sorts of human rights. Coincidentally, there are rumors of multiple lawsuits for human rights violations being brought up against Tartarus." Izuku paused emphatically. "I'm sure that if the government knew of a way of 'amputating' quirks from incarcerated villains, it would be a strictly classified matter."

His father let out a quiet laugh. "So your current working hypothesis is that I'm obtaining my quirks from those who make poor use of them or are deemed unworthy. Your mind works in truly admirable ways. I'm starting to worry that one of these days you'll show up right on my doorstep."

"So it's true then?"

"Even if it was, do you think I would be at liberty to say?"

Izuku dropped his head on the desk and exhaled in frustration. Deflections, deflections. Even a frank denial was too much to hope for. There was no winning against his sphinx of a father.

"Have you given some more thought about what to do after middle school?" The infuriating man asked with the most casual of tones, as if they'd just been chatting about the weather. He wasn't even trying to be subtle with his diversions any more.

"Yes, and I haven't changed my mind." Izuku muttered, recognizing a losing battle when he saw one. "I want to try the admission test for the hero course at U.A."

A sigh. "I don't even know how I can be any clearer. Heroes aren't going to accept in their ranks someone with your-"

"I'm not going to use my quirk." Izuku interrupted him, with more pluck than he actually felt. "I… I've been wanting to apply since way before my quirk appeared. I'll apply as I would have applied if it hadn't. As quirkless."

Izuku heard some odd tinkering noises coming from the speaker. "I wish I could put this more kindly, but that is a fool's errand."

"It isn't against any of their regulations. There are no precedents, but-"

"Spare me the innocent talk, you're too smart for that." His father's voice cut through him with unusual vehemence. "They don't need regulations to politely dismiss people they presume worthless. A quirkless applicant would be the very embodiment of that worthlessness. You know it as well as I do."

"So you aren't even going to let me try?" Izuku hated the way his voice almost cracked on those words. He hated that he couldn't truly find it in himself to resent his father for being always, unfailingly right.

"...Whatever gave you that impression?" His father sounded genuinely taken aback.

"The fact that you're shooting me down like a trained sniper?!"

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm merely supporting my argument. I have no intention of stopping you. I don't think I even have the right to, really. I'm not exactly a prime example of involved parenthood."

Izuku's jaw hit the proverbial floor. That was… unexpected. "So… you aren't going to stop me. Even if you think it's stupid."

"One has to fall before he can learn how to walk." The man replied with mock solemnity, then he continued more seriously. "If I forbade you to attempt the test, all you'd gain from it would be a long-standing aversion to me and the lifelong regret of not knowing what you could have become, had you been given the chance. Neither of us would benefit from that. If I let you pursue your silly dreams to their inevitable failure, however, you may actually learn some valuable lessons about the importance of realistic objectives and the pointlessness of moot idealism."

That was... less unexpected. Izuku's shoulders dropped. Well. Questionable pep talk aside, at least he'd obtained an outspoken permission. He'd take what he could get. "Thanks, dad. You always know what to say to brighten my day."

"I try my best." His father chuckled. "If you could indulge my obsession for common sense for another moment… what are your spare plans in case of rejection? What other careers are you considering?"

"I… haven't quite worked out a plan B yet." Izuku bit his lip, blatantly caught out. "I-I still have a whole year to decide though. I'll pick some other possibilities before the end of school."

"There will always be plenty of paths open for you, Izuku. Way more than you know." His father sighed, a hint of sourness tinging his voice. "I only wish you would consider them.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #all for one #deku #izuku midoriya