#solving counting sheep talk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onestepbackwards · 1 year

Text

What’s All The Buzz About? Pt. 7

Hello! 👋 welcome to my next part of my Beemas fic!

Unfortunately I haven’t been feeling well lately, so I apologize if this chapter feels a little off. Regardless, I still hope you all enjoy 💚

Summary: You decide to confront the Kings over what you learned, and things go a lot better than you had expected.

CW: Mentions of egg stuff, very small mention of the king’s ‘equipment’, slight sexual tension, mentions of toxic family and workplace, mostly fluff

Word count: 3914 Words!

Wanna help support me and help me get pieces for a new computer? Consider checking me out here!

First: Here

Next: ?

Staying with Jackie turned out to be a fun affair, after both of you calmed down. He was eager to feed you, play with you, and talk with you about anything and everything.

Even to answer any questions you may have still had.

What you really enjoyed, however, was snuggling him close. You already enjoyed the few bits of physical contact you had here at the hive, sexually charged or otherwise. This though? It felt a bit different. Intimate in a way you could not describe.

Sure you had been close to some of the bees, and had been carried by many of them. But holding Jackie close to your side, and letting him cuddle with you in bed? It was so sweet.

Especially with how he happily laid his head on your chest, and his wings buzzed every so often. Or how he had one set if arms just happily wrapped around you in a way a partner would.

It made you realize just how touch starved you had been, both before and after arriving here in the hive.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before you had to confront the Kings. You weren’t even sure if you would call it that. They weren’t planning on forcing you to do anything, and from what you understood, planned on telling you everything anyway.

Still, you had to tell them you knew. Had to sort everything out.

You were at least thankful that you got some time to think about it as well. Having a few hours to dwell on the pros and cons, and mentally prepare yourself had been a blessing. Had the Kings sprung this on you, even with the intent to let you think about it, you would have been even more overwhelmed than you had been earlier today.

If you were being honest with yourself…

You couldn’t help but find the offer appealing.

What did your life in Nimbasa really have anyway that made you want to stay? Not a whole lot, if you were being honest with yourself. Sure, you had your possessions, but that was an easily solved problem. No doubt the twins would help you move everything to the hive as needed.

There was your family to consider as well, but if you were being honest? You would rather stay with the bees. Your family always cared more about your younger sibling, and you were considered the black sheep. When was the last time they had called to check up on you, and ask about your day?

Months. That’s how long it’s been.

The last time your mother had called, it had been two weeks ago, just to moan and whine about how they needed you to babysit your siblings. Siblings who were more or less grown adults mooching off your parents.

Yeah, safe to say, you could care less about what they thought. If you wanted to become a Queen of a hybrid hive, that was your business, and they could deal with it.

Plus… the idea of just up and moving without saying anything brought you some sick satisfaction. It made you wonder just how long it would take for them to even notice or care.

There was another thing to consider, and that was your job. No doubt the moment you made a return to Nimbasa, regardless if you accept the Kings’ proposal or not, will cause some sort of uproar.

With the stunt your boss and coworkers pulled, they will be lucky if they survive after you are through with them. No way were you letting them get away with leaving you for dead.

Especially after Ingo and Emmet confirmed no one had come near that entrance to the tunnels since your first night here. They had a few drones in place to make sure no one else got hurt if anyone came looking.

No one came.

It made your blood boil, but you weren’t entirely surprised, given how shitty your coworkers were to begin with. Sure, the job paid the bills, but leaving you for dead was insane. You were going to tear them apart the moment you went back home, so your job wouldn’t be an issue if you took the role of Queen.

Little did you know, it would have been very easy for your Kings to take matters into their own hands had anyone returned. They were just as furious the more they got to know you.

Not that you were aware of that fact.

All in all, things that would majorly effect your decision all seemed to point towards agreeing to join the hive.

Though you would admit, the idea of carrying their eggs both made you nervous, and excited you in ways you could only dream of.

Jackie had been kind in helping explain it. How the Kings had two(two!!!) cocks, one like the drones, and one for depositing eggs.

Oh, how that little tidbit of info made you really warm, the more you thought about it. Something that no doubt would make the average person squeamish was something that was turning you on as you gave it more thought.

You were very happy Jackie had fallen asleep. He had also admitted it was incredibly easy to smell your arousal. Something that you were still horribly embarrassed about.

The last thing you needed right now was making poor Jackie hot and bothered as well.

Still, you could not deny how… appealing this was all turning out.

Even the idea of carrying eggs wasn’t so bad, especially when Jackie had explained that there would be nurses ready at your beck and call in case anything happened. You would be receiving top care your entire stay.

And…

…You just really started to like the idea of Ingo and Emmet filling you to the brim with their eggs.

Stars, you were a bit of a pervert.

But you had a feeling you weren’t the only one, if what Jackie had confessed to you was anything to go by.

The whole hive seemed taken with you, not just the Kings, if what Jackie said was anything to go by. Now that you knew this, you were inclined to believe him, all based on how you remember both the drones and twins acting around you. Especially when the room had felt so sexually tense the past week or so.

It made you wonder of the idea of being with the whole hive, or taking the Kings eggs was as much of a turn on for them as it was becoming for you.

You couldn’t help but lick your lips. This offer of theirs was definitely becoming appealing.

There was also the idea of becoming the whole hive’s mate. Everyone had been so sweet to you, it made you wonder how sweet and caring they’d all be if the relationship was official. You’d potentially never have to have a moment without hugs or hand holding ever again.

Even if that was on the sweeter side, you liked the idea of never having to deal with becoming touch starved. Sure, this could easily turn into something more… lewd… but the idea of always being able to hug and cuddle someone who would want it? It had your heart thudding in your chest.

You didn’t even really care about being ‘royalty’ or not. You’ll take the role seriously, of course, but even if you weren’t going to possibly become a Queen, the whole deal was beginning to seem too good to pass up.

That’s why when the King’s eventually went down to see you, you had made up your mind.

If their offer was still on the table, you’d take it.

But first, you had to protect Jackie. You refused to let the bee take the heat for just telling you what you wanted to know. You didn’t think he would be punished harshly, but you weren’t going to take any chances.

So when there was a familiar knock at your door, you tensed, ready for whatever may happen next.

“Come in.” You called out. At your words, Jackie startled awake, though quickly relaxed when you gently rubbed his shoulder.

Not a moment later, Emmet pushed the door open with a smile. This time though, you noticed a slight pause in his step when he saw Jackie. It was brief, and if you hadn’t been looking at him closely, you probably would not have noticed it.

As Emmet entered the room, he clapped his hands together, and Ingo stepped into the room as he did so.

“Good evening, darling! Are doing alright?” He asked. You noticed his smile seemed a little strained when his eyes flickered to Jackie.

Even Ingo behind him seemed to be tense. You were surprised he hadn’t spoken up yet, being the more talkative of the two. He was probably just as surprised seeing Jackie in bed with you as Emmet was, if how tense his posture seemed was any indication.

Patting Jackie’s head, you gave them both a nod and a smile.

“I am doing okay, thank you. I hope you both are doing well yourselves.” You said, genuinely meaning it, and hoping for it.

You didn’t exactly want to have this conversation if they were in a tense mood, after all.

Emmet gave you a big smile, and Ingo let out a cough, looking away for a moment. You swore, he looked a little flustered just from you asking.

Cute.

“We are doing well, my dear.” Ingo said after a moment, trying to straighten out his posture a little more. His voice sounded firm, and was still a little quiet, but he seemed genuinely happy to see you.

He cleared his throat, and walked over next to Emmet.

“Jackie, have you been here this whole time? You’ve been missing-“

You cut Ingo off.

“I requested Jackie stay with me. I hope that is not an issue?” You asked. Ingo’s jaw snapped shut, and Emmet’s antennae twitched.

“That is fine! He was one of the drones assigned to help you, should you need it!” Ingo eventually spoke up, as if sensing Emmet’s irritation.

Jackie shrank a bit under their gaze, clutching onto you a little tighter.

You rubbed his back soothingly. Even if they didn’t plan on doing anything to him, you could only imagine the fear from the last Queen must still stick with a lot of the bees.

There was an odd tension in the air. You could almost taste it. You wondered if they could sense your nervousness and were worried or confused.

Emmet opened his mouth to speak after a few moments, but you beat him to it.

“So you two were planning on making an offer to me about becoming a possible Queen?” You suddenly spoke, just throwing it out there. You were unsure how to breach the subject. As blunt as it was to do this, you figured getting the conversation over with would be optimal compared to stressing about it until they decided to ask you themselves.

Almost immediately at your question, both twins froze. It was almost comical, how their bodies stiffened, and wings and antennae ceased all movement. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they both had gone pale.

Emmet’s wings twitched once. Then twice. His smile tightened, and you could see the underlaying panic on his face.

“Ah… Did Jackie tell you about that?” Ingo piped up, his voice sounding strained. Jackie flinched, more or less confirming that he indeed had told you.

“Yes, he did. He told me quite a bit.” You spoke, pulling Jackie closer. The poor drone was beginning to shake, and you could hear his breathing picking up.

If it was possible, the tense air got thicker, becoming a bit hard to breathe. It was quiet, and you could probably hear a pin drop.

It was obvious the twins were not expecting this when they came into your room like they did every evening.

They also weren’t prepared for what you said next.

“If the offer is real and on the table, I would be inclined to accept.” You spoke, nearly causing both twins, and even Jackie to jump.

You weren’t expecting Emmet to rush up to you, and grab your hand in his own, his smile bright and dazzling.

“Oh, you mean it? You’d give it a try?” He asked, his wings buzzing behind him in a frenzy of excitement. Ingo was at his side in a flash, his face flushed. His own wings twitched in excitement at your words.

“Are you sure? You would be attempting to take the mantle of a Queen. We will handle business for the most part, but it could be difficult. Especially with, well…” Ingo spoke, his face growing with color as he avoided looking into your eyes.

“You’d be attempting to carry our eggs. A verrry important task, yup!” Emmet finished for him, seeming to have no shame about the how excited he was about you trying to do so.

Ingo sheepishly tubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, what Emmet said.” He spoke, his voice a little more quiet, though the blush on his face seemed to grow a shade darker.

“Jackie informed me as such. I’ve gone over it all in my head, and, well…” you spoke, looking away. You really were agreeing to this, weren’t you?

You found you did not mind.

“I like it here. I’ve had more fun here the past two weeks or so, compared to the past few years in Nimbasa city,” you began, and fiddled with the sheets with your free hand before continuing, “You all are very kind, and I will admit, I find you all very… attractive.” You said, fighting back the blush crawling up your neck.

Emmet let out an excited giggle at your words, and seemed to shake in excitement. You swore you heard Ingo’s breathe catch. Jackie hugged you closer with one of his sets of arms, nuzzling into your chest.

“I’d like to at least try, and see if I can help. This will be a test of trial and error, I imagine. But… I’d still like to try.” You spoke, and squeezed one of Emmet’s hands that still held onto one of your own.

You ended up making a noise of surprise when you felt a weight press against you. Emmet had forgone holding your hand, and jumped forward, hugging you tightly. Jackie let out a small squawk as he was bumped a bit to your side, but still held onto you.

Ingo took Emmet’s place as you were nearly smothered from the hugs. His cool hands met your own, and gently held them while entwining a set of fingers with your own.

The older King gave you a soft look, and you swear your heart skipped a beat.

“Alright then. If this is the track you wish to depart on, we will gladly accompany you forward on it.” He spoke, and just from that sentence alone, you could tell he was excited. Even he seemed to be vibrating in place.

It was really sweet, and you couldn’t fight the blush growing on your face.

When was the last time you had felt so wanted? It was a bit sad that you couldn’t even remember…

After a few moments, you cleared your throat.

“Sorry but… would it be alright to move my stuff from my old home down here to the hive? I have some stuff that is sentimental-“ you began, and Emmet broke the hug, his face still beaming.

“Of course! We will help you move as soon as possible.” He assured you. You relaxed a bit, and gave him a soft smile. That was your main concern, getting your stuff.

“Also, I’ll need to tie up loose ends with everything in Nimbasa before I move here. Such as my job, and settling some things. I should be able to do that living here, but I’ll need to go up to the surface a few times until then.” You then explained. You didn’t want people thinking you were missing, and you had to cut ties with your job. Maybe settle some lawyer work, because you weren’t letting what they did go.

Especially since you wouldn’t need as much money now, living in the hive. Given how self sustaining it was, you doubted you would have to venture out to the city unless you were craving something specific.

Thankfully, both twins didn’t seem to mind.

“Of course! We will help make accommodations immediately! Whatever you need, we shall do our best to assist you!” Ingo spoke, his voice growing with that familiar loudness you had griwn fond of.

Emmet finally flew a ways away to give you some space, and Jackie quickly was back at your side, holding onto you tightly.

“One more thing…” you spoke, your voice having a twinge of uncertainty in it. Emmet perked up.

“Name it! Anything!”

You looked down at Jackie, and back at the twins.

“Are you sure this is fine with the hive? I… I don’t wish to upset any of the drones by becoming a Queen…”

Sure, most the drones you has met have been sweet, and have been excited to talk to you. However, you had no idea if they all felt that way. You didn’t want to start a riot or create unease by taking this position.

Ingo and Emmet shared a look, though it was one that didn’t set off alarm bells. They both gave you a pleased look.

“We can promise you, most of the hive adores you. Anyone that doesn’t will not say a word unless they feel it is absolutely necessary for the hive’s health.” Ingo told you.

You weren’t sure that made you feel entirely better, but if most the hive liked you, that put you at ease. You could at least agree to a drone putting in a complaint if they felt it was necessary. Last thing you wanted was for the bees to feel like they couldn’t talk about any problems they were having.

With a sigh, you nodded.

“That works for me.”

Emmet raised his hands with a cheer, cutely flying in a circle. Even Ingo seemed pleased, his wings buzzing ever so slightly.

Patiently, you waited for Emmet to calm down a bit, before speaking.

“So, what do I have to do?” You asked. Emmet’s grin grew widen, and you swore Ingo’s eyes sparkled.

Ingo walked up, and took your hand in his own. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he gave them a brief kiss.

“Let us take care of you, My Queen.”

Emmet flew to your side, right next to Ingo. He lifted your chin up with a finger, having you look in his eyes.

“We will handle all the main work. While you…”

He leaned in close, and you felt like your heart was going to explode. His eyes were lidded, and his face morphed into a smirk.

“Relax and sit tight. We’ll feed you royal jelly. Make you our Queen. A perrrfect Queen to be our mate.”

His voice lowered as he spoke, and you swore it sounded like a purr. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, and Emmet’s smirk only grew as his antennae twitched.

That’s also right. You’d become the hive’s mate, along with being their Queen. If what Jackie said was true, that would include all the things flowing through your mind.

It made you a little warm under the collar, and Emmet was clearly enjoying it. Especially now that he didn’t have to hide any interest if you were willing to be a Queen.

“Okay…” you spoke, your voice a bit small with how flustered you were becoming. If it was possible, Emmet’s grin only seemed to grow. His face leaned close to your own, but before his lips could meet yours, he was yanked away by Ingo.

“Behave.” Ingo told him, holding his twin by his collar.

“But-!”

Ingo tsk’d.

“They just agreed to be our Queen. Give them space and time to adjust!” He scolded, and Emmet pouted at the treatment. All it took was Ingo’s glare deepening, for Emmet to let out a sigh, smiling begrudgingly.

“Fine.”

He crossed his arms, and looked away. The moment Ingo let him go though, he quickly flew up to you before Ingo could catch him.

Faster than the blink of an eye, Emmet leaned in, kissing your cheek with a laugh. He didn’t stay, quickly jumping out of the way of a fumbling Ingo, who was desperately trying to catch him.

“Emmet-!”

The younger twin flew out of your room with a playful laugh, and left Ingo in his dust. The King sighed, rubbing his temples. Glancing at you, he gave you a warm look.

“Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll take care of everything.” He says softly, and moves over to you.

“May I…” he begins, seeming unsure. His face grows flushed as you look at him curiously.

“May you…?” You ask, wondering what he wants. He looks rather cute like this, you note.

Ingo straightens up, a more determined look on his face.

“May I… kiss you?” He asked, and you felt your face warm up. After a moment, you smiled.

“You may.”

Ingo gently grabbed your chin, tilting your face up so he had better access. Leaning down, his lips gently met your own, and you both easily melted into the kiss. Despite how rough his ‘skin’ was, his lips were incredibly soft against your own.

He didn’t stay like that for long, but even as he pulled away, you were left breathless all the same. Ingo looked incredibly pleased with himself, and gave you a smug, yet loving look.

“Just wait until Emmet learns I kissed you first.”

His words made you giggle, imagining the offended look Emmet no doubt will have when he learns of this.

Ingo then adjusted his uniform, and gave you a brisk nod.

“I need to go find him and discuss how much royal jelly to make. Worry not, we will be back in a while after coming up with a plan for you.” He explained, and began heading towards your door, a noticeable spring in his step. Before he closed the door behind him, he turned and looked back at you.

“I mean it when I say we will take care of you, my dear. Anything you need, we will take care of it for you.” He spoke, his voice soft. With another nod, he closed the door behind him.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you brought a hand to your chest. Your heart was still beating wildly, even though everything had turned out fine.

Perhaps it was from excitement?

You were brought out of your thoughts when Jackie sat up, wings twitching as he looked over at you. He gave you a large smile, reminiscent of Emmet’s.

“Can I kiss you too?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, before leaning into to kiss him as well.

As your lips met Jackie’s, you were quite certain of a few things.

One, Jackie is a really good kisser.

And two, you were incredibly lucky.

Who knew that getting caved in the underground subway would be the best thing to happen to you?

It made you excited for the future going forward, and what you had to look forward to.

…You just hoped it would be a smooth transition, going forward.

193 notes · View notes

lyrabythelake · 5 months

Text

Have a very unfinished fic I began for fun starring Four and Warriors

Four started it.

Enemy defeated, worlds saved, the heroes were wandering Hyrule with weighted footsteps in unspoken suspense for that last portal that would send them their separate ways.

Except time drew thin, the portal never came. By the time they reached the inn, they counted an entire month treading a land unfamiliar to all of them but Legend without clear purpose or direction. It was driving them all a bit insane.

So when Four slipped the innkeeper a small, rectangle piece of parchment from the top of a stack tied carefully in twine, Warriors latched onto it as a single, tiny mystery to be solved in a whirlwind of boredom.

“Can I see that?” he asked, eyeing the papers Four was hastily shoving back into his bag. The innkeeper slid his own under the bar after studying it with vague interest.

Four’s face grew red but he handed them over without further persuasion.

A neat border of repeating patterned inked swords framed the words:

Heroes for Hire Evil warlord got you down? Monsters driving you mad? We’re here to help. (Additional services include smithing, cooking, sailing, pot clearance and more)

“I just thought we could all do with a project or two. I think everyone’s been feeling a bit… lost these days.” Four rushed to explain.

The night before, Wild had used his fusion ability to attach a block of butter to one of his shields then slid around the camp on it for two hours. ‘Lost’ was probably an understatement.

“You know what?” Warriors said cheerfully, handing the card back, “I think it’s a really good idea.”

Warriors had slipped over three times while getting ready that morning; Wild had turned their entire camp into an oily booby trap.

Fours face grew even redder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I think what we’re lacking is a sense of purpose, you know? We all miss our homes and this could give us a good distraction.”

They didn’t really talk about why they were still here all that much. None of them were the type to air the worries and concerns out in the open, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing. It was as if the Goddess had abandoned them here now they had fulfilled their usefulness. She couldn’t even be bothered to get them all back to where they belonged.

“How many people have you given these to?”

“Just that innkeeper,” Four said. “And one of the farmers we passed on the outskirts of the village.”

No sooner had he spoken those words than a young boy ran into the inn, eyes huge beneath windswept hair.

“Are you the heroes for hire?” he asked, his breath catching between words.

With an impressive swish of his scarf and a blinding smile, Warriors stood before him.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact, we are.”

“At your service,” Four added, if only to prevent Warriors from taking complete control over the idea that was Four’s in the first place.

“You gave my father your card earlier,” the boy said. “The Zora have flipped our sheep again. Dad said he’ll give you two blue Rupees if you give us a hand putting them right before it gets dark.”

“Did you say the sheep were flipped?” Four asked. Warriors elbowed him hard.

“We’re happy to help.”

“This isn’t really what I had in mind,” Four told Warriors as they strained to heave the third sheep onto its feet. “Why do Zora even do this, it seems very petty.”

“Legend said there’s been civil war between the Zora and Hylians for hundreds of years around here. It’s mostly died down now, but Hylians still fish in Zora territory so the Zora do things like turning sheep upside down to show their defiance.”

“Still, it’s not exactly the ‘evil warlords’ I was expecting”

“Patience, my small friend!” Warriors declared just as they managed to push the sheep onto its feet, “everyone must start somewhere and our business is only a few hours old after all. Small beginnings make for the best hero agencies, as they say.”

“You just made that up,” Four muttered dispassionately.

#lyra writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #lu warriors #this is very very silly #I hope you enjoy #I found it in my drafts and will probably never finish it #imagine the others join in and they do sidequests for the rest of their lives proffessionally

47 notes · View notes

weremoose · 2 months

Text

CHAPTER PREVIEW: Paranormal Deertective #1: The Laundry Room Haunting SUMMARY: Elmer's a deer down on his luck with a passion for the paranormal, Finnick's a single sheep dad trying to take care of his son, Finley, and Liam's a young rooster who's the new kid in town. When Elmer's elderly neighbour starts speaking of a ghost haunting the apartment's laundry room, the four of them work to solve this paranormal case, all with the help of an authorless book specialized in contacting the dead. WORD COUNT: 1,142 PREVIEW IMAGE:

Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated; just please be respectful!

CHAPTER ONE: PARENT-TEACHER

Out of all the parents that Mr. Blackwood dealt with in his several years of teaching, Finnick Winter was…an interesting case. From what Mr. Blackwood could gather, Mr. Winter sounded like quite the agreeable man, but truthfully, Mr. Blackwood didn’t know him very well.

Oddly enough, Mr. Winter also worked at Edgehaven Elementary— well, sometimes, anyway. Sometimes, he was a gym teacher there; other times, he owned and ran the Winter Sleep Institute elsewhere in Edgehaven — and, no, Mr. Blackwood didn’t know how he found the time. Frankly, nobody did, because not many really knew him; Mr. Winter was a bit of an elusive figure to anyone who wasn’t a close acquaintance.

Yet at the same time, his presence was well known among the staff at the school, despite a majority of them having never spoken to him at length. He never failed to send a shiver down anyone’s spine by the mere sight of him, and nobody could quite pin down the cause of his intimidating aura. Some said that it was those piercing yellow eyes of his, while others said it was those unnaturally sharp teeth — features that made him appear incredibly uncanny for a sheep.

Now that Mr. Winter actually sat before him, Mr. Blackwood found it was both, especially when he had those same yellow eyes staring at him, sharp teeth protruding from the sheep’s mouth as he grinned. His ghastly appearance, however, contrasted with the way he nonchalantly and patiently sat across from Mr. Blackwood, one leg crossed over the other, and an arm draped over the back of the chair.

The border collie sat there, paws trembling, his gaze flicking anxiously between the paper — which read ‘WINTER, FINLEY’ at the top, accompanied with a photo of a straight-faced lamb — and said lamb’s frightful father.

Suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was, Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat, and finally placed the paper down, smoothing it out on the desk before folding his paws atop the wooden surface.

“Well, Mr. Winter, your, uh— son, Finley, is, um…he’s— uh,” he stammered, having to force himself to look the sheep in the eye. He forced a nervous smile and nodded. “He’s doing very well! He’s very quiet, never late with his homework…”

Mr. Winter’s sharp-toothed grin widened. “Oh, good!” he replied, sounding genuinely happy, yet not terribly surprised. “Glad t’ hear it.”

“Yes, well—" Mr. Blackwood coughed into his hand twice. “He’s a very good student. But, um, Mr. Winter—"

“Please, call me Finnick. All my friends do.”

“Uh…Finnick. Sure. Right, well, um…I just had one, uh…concern about your son that I wanted to address, if you don’t mind.”

His statement prompted Finnick to sit straight up in his seat with a furrowed brow. “If this has anything t’ do with that kid that he pretended t’ put curses on—"

“What? Oh no, heavens, no. I’m not talking about that, as much as that, uh…”

Mr. Blackwood nearly commented on the strangeness of that incident with the lamb and his peer, but shook his head, opting not to veer off-track.

“No, Mr.— uh, Finnick; what I wanted to say was that, well…I’m a little worried about Finley’s lack of friends, if I’m entirely honest. A-Actually, relevant to the episode that you mentioned, it doesn’t seem like your son, uh, gets along with any of his classmates. I asked his previous teachers about it, and apparently this is a bit of a…pattern with your child.”

The sheep chuckled, and Mr. Blackwood feigned uncertainty as to what there was to chuckle about, though, internally, he was bracing himself for Finnick to pull the classic ‘my child is an angel’ card that parents loved to pull.

“Finley doesn’t pick fights,” Finnick said matter-of-factly, “But he does finish them. I’ll bet any money that any kid he doesn’t get along with, they didn’t get along with him first.” He glanced at the border collie up and down. “You’re clearly an observant man. Am I right, or am I right?”

At first Mr. Blackwood opened his mouth, then shut it with an awkward smile. “We’re getting off track, Mr.— um, Finnick. My point is that— well, he’s partway through the fifth grade, and I worry that he may be a bit…isolated.”

After a thoughtful pause, Finnick leaned his arms on the desk. “Mr. Blackwood, we can both agree that Finley’s a pretty honest kid, yeah?”

Having never known the lamb to be a liar, the teacher was inclined to agree at once. “Oh, of course!”

“Then it’d be safe t’ say that if he had an issue, he’d tell me.”

“Yes, well—" Mr. Blackwood started at first, but quickly understood the hint and simply said, “Yes, I suppose he would. Obviously, he is your son, you know him better than I do. I’m merely expressing my concerns as a teacher.”

“‘Course, I get it. I’m a teacher here too, remember.”

For some reason, Mr. Blackwood took this as Finnick mildly chastising him for his wariness, although there was nothing in his tone that necessarily indicated as such. “Oh— yes, of course.”

Leaning back in his seat once more, Finnick looked at him quizzically. “Anything else?”

The teacher hummed, looking at the paper again, rubbing his thumb along his brow. “No,” he eventually said. “No, that’s everything. Other than that…minor concern, overall, he seems to be doing quite well.”

“Perfect!”

The sheep stood to his feet, which prompted Mr. Blackwood, surprised, to briskly mirror the action. Without hesitation, Finnick took his paw and shook it firmly, which also surprised him.

He pleasantly said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Blackwood. Nice t’ finally meet ya’, by the way — I know I’ve passed ya’ in the hall a few times now.”

Having never thought that he took any notice of anyone, let alone Mr. Blackwood, he exclaimed, “Oh! Well, uh— thank you? Or— you’re welcome, rather.” He sounded incredibly uncertain.

Finnick merely laughed, evidently finding his uncertainty amusing. “See ya’ later, Mr. Blackwood.”

Letting go of Mr. Blackwood’s paw (who continued to hold it up for a second too long after he’d let go, staring at it as if unsure of what to do with it), Finnick casually shoved a hand in his pants pocket, and left the classroom.

Upon leaving, Finnick noticed a pair of large ears perking up out of his peripheral. This, of course, prompted him to look at the lamb — his son — sitting in a plastic chair, where he’d waited throughout the duration of the meeting.

“‘Sup, kiddo?” he greeted casually.

“Nothin’ much,” the boy responded, monotone and blank-faced.

“Wanna grab some Kale King?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright, c’mon then.”

Hopping off of the chair, the slight bounce of his movement and the small wag of his tail made Finley’s excitement clear. He instinctively took his father’s hand, and they proceeded through the school hall.

6 notes · View notes

siriannatan · 1 year

Text

Bite Me - fWhimmy

AO3

~warning vampire stuff like biting ahead~

Jimmy knew the priests would not be happy with him when he decided to not cut off fWhip's head. He was allied with Salmon. And probably deep in their heretical anti-Cod beliefs. Jimmy should hate him, he was the incarnation of the Cod-god and all that but... Jimmy not only didn't kill him, he decided to marry the count. To keep his siblings from declaring war, he explained. Neither he nor his priests had anything against the Blood Sheep - she was technically the main deity in Grimlands. Mythland was simply more zealous and into proving how devoted they are to their goddess. Jimmy could not care less about the weird, possibly demonic, sheep and its shadowy emissaries as long as it and its beloved champion - Sausage and his damned angel wings stayed away from him.

And so, he married fWhip in both the Codlands tradition and the Blood Sheep tradition. fWhip himself chose the sheep goddess over the damned salmon gods, Jimmy had no idea what to think about that so he just let it go. Maybe fWhip was actually a worshipper of the Sheep. The whole ceremony was more than slightly awkward, short and followed by a small party that luckily did not end with another war. Jimmy was a bit tired of those for the time being.

The problems started a couple of weeks after the wedding and had mostly to do with fWhip. He was not eating and refused to leave his room. And the priests did not see fit to inform Jimmy about it until he got curious why his husband never even tried looking for him. Even to throw insults into his face. And so, after scolding them he emptied his schedule and marched to fWhip's private rooms. He was not going to drag fWhip wherever he went so he gave him some space for himself.

"fWhip? My staff saying you're not eating," he said as he knocked on fWhip's door. "And not leaving your room," he added when fWhip remained silent. Met with more silence he tried the door knob. Not closed or barricaded so he walked in. Only because he was worried. In any other situation, he would not intrude like that. "I'm sorry if the priests are rude, I can get them in line," he offered, slowly walking in. "And sorry about just walking in like this... I was worried."

"Needlessly, I'm fine staying here as I have been," fWhip huffed from where he was hiding on the bed, behind thick curtains of blankets. "Don't uncover the windows... please..." he protested when Jimmy tried opening the heavy curtains. "It's... ugh... I'm going to have to explain because you're an idiot and dragged me here..." he sighed and one curtain fell. "Just stay there..."

"Okay... I'll just sit here," Jimmy nodded. He was glad that fWhip was willing to talk. He did kind of destroy his home after all...

"So..." fWhip started, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "For the record, I was born human. No blessings from gods or early signs of magic. Around the time I inherited Grimlands... an emissary of the Blood Sheep visited me and... I got a great blessing. I was turned into a vampire. Sun hurts me and my body only tolerates alcohol and blood... There, that's why I'm not eating or leaving, good night," he ended and vanished back into his blanket tent.

Jimmy was a bit shocked by the news. He would admit little was known about other beliefs in his nation and least of all about the Sheep... How was he supposed to get blood for fWhip to eat? Sun would be easy, a big thick umbrella together with fWhip's tendency to cover every inch of his skin would solve that. Blood... Blood... He could... "How often do you need to feed?" he asked, very slow and careful.

fWhip was silent for a moment. "About once a week if I do move about but if I nap a lot it can be..." he explained with a lot of hesitation. "Why?"

"Well... if you don't need to kill anyone you could drink my blood.. You are my husband if my priests like it or not and I am responsible for your well-being. And I should be able to get you a good umbrella for the sun and... yeah... I apologise if I'm rude here... I was just worried about you..." Jimmy offered and quickly went to apologise for himself.

"You'd be willing to let a vampire, me of all people, bite you?" fWhip's pale face peeked from between blankets forming his nest.

"Yes. Well... I am confident I can defend myself in case you go too far, and I have a lot of blood," Jimmy shrugged, bracing himself for any kind of response. "Or we can look for a diff..." he started but froze as Whip closed the distance between them at a shocking speed.

"You... I never know what will come out of your mouth whenever it opens," he hummed while pushing Jimmy's copper cod headpiece off. Making him wonder how he never noticed how... not alive fWhip actually was. No breath. No heartbeat. No pulse. Next to no body heat... He'd blame it on fWhip's damn eyes... and his freckles and just how damn pretty he was. "And now you're saying I can bite you wherever and whenever..." he grinned with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Well... we could use some sort of schedule so my priests don't bother us too much..." Jimmy tried to be nonchalant with a lap full of an excited vampire.

fWhip chuckled a little and Jimmy was pretty sure he was blushing by now. "Of course... It's just not every day a god offers you their blood. So... Can I bite you?"

"Go ahead," Jimmy nodded. "I have the rest of the day off, by the way, so we can hang out or something..." his rambling was cut short by fWhip's finger on his lips.

There were no more words, just a delicate press of fangs against his neck. It was just a second before they pierced through. Jimmy was honestly impressed they managed his scales... fWhip's hand resting on his other shoulder had him relaxing on the couch. Maybe he was mistaken... maybe he could not fight against fWhip and the numb feeling spreading out from the bite. He was barely aware that he rested his hands on fWhip's hips. Squeezing just slightly at a slight jolt of pain as the vampire's fangs left his neck. And maybe to hide the embarrassment at the noise he made at that moment... Or the sigh as fWhip licked up a bit of blood as it spilt from the little holes his fangs left.

"Tasty, a bit sweet but tasty," fWhip hummed, staring at the slowly healing wounds with half-lidded eyes. "Don't worry, it shouldn't leave a mark," he smiled a bit wider, flashing a bit of his fangs.

"Good... my priests would get upset if there was a permanent mark there," Jimmy somehow was capable of talking even if his brain was still scrambling to process reality. And not just stare at fWhip's mouth like an idiot...

"How are you feeling? No head spinning?" fWhip asked finally noticing how not quite there Jimmy was.

"No... I was just never bitten by a vampire..." Jimmy barely breathed out before the urge to just kiss the damn vampire took over. Shocking them both.

#my stories #my stuff #fanfiction #empires smp #empiresshipping #fwhimmy #empires fwhip #empires jimmy

34 notes · View notes

griseldabanks · 5 months

Text

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Requested by GracielleGrace

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Characters: Hank and Connor Prompt: "I'm still mad at you. A broken elevator won't change that. Get away from me. That's YOUR side."

>>ACCESSING MEMORY LOG

>11/26/2038

>16:32:58

“Oh, what now?”

“It would appear the elevator is stuck.”

“Yeah, no sh—“

>>PROFANITY LIMIT REACHED. INITIATING HANK ANDERSON PROFANITY FILTER v1.02

“Yeah, no sheep, Sherlock. Fudge.”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant. I'll call for assistance now.”

“Oh, you'll call for assistance. Great. All my problems are solved.”

>>CONTACTING NEAREST MAINTENANCE ANDROID

>>SENDING LOCATION

>>CONFIRMATION RECEIVED

“It's most likely a simple electrical failure. The maintenance android should have us out in ten minutes.”

“Oh, Santa Claus, another android, just what we need. Well, as long as this one doesn't leave us both for dead.”

“I feel I should apologize again for chasing the deviant instead of coming to your assistance, Lieutenant. It wasn't that I was unconcerned for your safety. My calculations indicated the chance of your survival was approximately 89%, and so it seemed to me—”

“To heck with you and your flipping calculations! You're full of sheep and you know it. All you care about is your stupid flipping mission, you—oh, why am I even talking to you? It's like arguing with my flipping refrigerator.”

“I understand your anger, and I sincerely apologize for my actions. I will prioritize your safety in future.”

“Bull. Sheep. I ain't buying any of that sugar-coated crap. You're just saying that to get on my good side. Where the heck is that android?”

>>CONSULTING...

“ETA 7 minutes.”

“Santa, this is the longest ten minutes of my life.”

“Studies have shown that time appears to pass more slowly when you are agitated. Perhaps it would be best if we shook hands and started on a fresh—“

“No. I'm still mad at you. A broken elevator won't change that. Get away from me. That's your side.”

“My apologies.”

“...”

“Okay, how much time now?”

“Six minutes.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.”

“Lieutenant, I....”

“What now?”

“Never mind. I have no desire to aggravate you further.”

“Oh, just spit it out already. Not like I've got anything better to do.”

“I...merely wish to say that I am trying.”

“Right. Whatever.”

“You're right to say that I'm a machine. I'm not a human like you. I'm sure that, were you in my position, your feelings, your emotions, would lead you to make the right decision. However...I don't have emotions. I can only simulate them. There are certain scripts and protocols I am programmed with that allow me to approximate human behavior. But you're right. At the end of the day, I am nothing but 1's and 0's.”

“Hmph. Yeah. That's the difference between me and you.”

“No. The difference between us is that I am trying to bridge the gap, and you are not.”

“Screw you.”

“...”

“Look. It's just...aw, heck.”

“I believe now it's my turn to say 'spit it out.'”

“Yeah, yeah. Look...we're supposed to be partners. For better or for flipping worse. And when your partner is hanging onto a roof by one flipping hand, you forget about whatever perp you're chasing and go make sure your partner doesn't flipping fall to his death, okay?”

“I understand.”

“No you don't. You just told me you don't have emotions, so how could you? But maybe you could at least simulate a minimum amount of concern for your flipping partner, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now tell that android to hurry up so we can get out of here and I can stop looking at your stupid face.”

#let me count the ways #ask games #graciellegrace #detroit: become human #hank anderson #connor #wanted to play around with style a bit more in this one and just have some fun XD #this is NOT my optimal choice for the nest chapter but it's what came to mind for this scenario #it was a bit tricky to go from 'grarr i hate you so much' to something about how they DO actually end up with a positive relationship

2 notes · View notes

leeahqueen · 7 months

Text

The Remaining Dust Trio (CER-29)

Vera: Okay, it's your turn.

Noctis: Huh? How come it's so fast! Don't we switch it every half an hour?

Vera: Yes, once every half hour.

Noctis: Hey, okay, for the sake of this money...

No.21: Noctis will definitely spend money recklessly.

Noctis: How is it possible? I am the best at managing money!

Vera: Okay, I'll leave this money to you. You'll double it in three months.

Noctis: Ah, then if I lend it out at 70% interest...

No.21: Don't worry, I'll throw out the pile of junk that Noctis left in the preparation room and give him a good jail sentence.

Noctis: Will this be court-martialed?

No.21: Will it? It seems that it will.

Vera: Financial crimes don't seem to apply to constructs... I don't remember either, but you'll know if you try it yourself.

Vera: All in all, you don't need to worry about this reward money, just keep it to wipe your ass mess you may cause in the future.

No.21: Well... Noctis became much lighter after getting out of the car.

Noctis: Do you understand muscles? They are all muscles!

Noctis: Unlike you, just two paws are heavier than your brain.

No.21: But the claws can tear apart muscles!

Noctis: Huh? You want to pick a fight?

Vera: Oh? If you kill one and lose a pair, that's fine.

No.21: ...Well, forget it then.

Noctis: Ah, say, Captain, how far is it from the return point?

Noctis: I really don't want to push it anymore.

Vera: Let me see, there are still thirty kilometers left, and we will be there after passing this no-man's land.

Noctis: We have obviously completed our mission, why are we still so tired...

The weather was very sunny, even too sunny, and the sun shone unbridled on hundreds of kilometers of deserted gravel, meadows, and asphalt roads.

Human physiological conditions dictate that such an environment is not suitable for them to survive here, but correspondingly, this is also a paradise for certain lives.

Such as lizard, blue sheep, hares, wolves and vultures in the sky.

--And Cerberus pushing a car on an endless road.

Noctis: Is this the end?

No.21: Completed.

Noctis: This old film still looks a bit mushy.

Noctis: But I'm still pretty handsome!

No.21: Mm.

Vera: So this film... was shot along the way?

Noctis: Probably.

Noctis: Damn it, does this count as an infringement of my image rights?

Vera: I had seen him occasionally holding up a filming machine before, and it turned out that he had filmed this whole scene.

Noctis: Of, speaking of it...

Noctis: What happened to that money? That bounty?

Vera: Although the villain who repaired the car was solved by accident, the money was still gray income compared to the Sky Garden.

No.21: ...Unexpectedly, the mission objective was solved at the beginning of this mission.

Noctis: The commandant who is always sick and generous is bored enough, so he sent us to deal with a ruffian on the earth?

Noctis: We did all the dirty work.

Vera suddenly stretched out her leg and kicked Noctis.

Vera: It would be nice if I didn't confine you.

Noctis: Okay, but at least there's a bounty.

Vera: The person who pays is a scavenger who is not under the jurisdiction of the Sky Garden. Of course, you can also spend it directly. Just like what No.21 said, I wish you a good prison sentence.

No.21: I want a new audio-visual terminal.

Vera: Okay, that's okay, but before that, you have to think of some way to make the money more reasonable.

Noctis: How about investing in hand grenades for the Art Associations?

Vera: Wouldn't anyone really want to do this kind of loss-making business?

Noctis: Or maybe make some movies? Didn't 21 say there was a movie about driving a red motorcycle last time?

Noctis: I quite want to see it.

No.21: "Light"? Huzi told me that the movie was walled that.

No.21: But it is a really old movie, I don't know if I can still find it.

No.21: So I want a new audio-visual terminal, and maybe with this movie.

While talking, No.21 took out the film from the movie machine and looked at the pattern on the reel.

Noctis: Be careful, this is a movie camera borrowed from the Art Association.

Noctis: People from the Art Association said that this kind of old film was discontinued decades ago, and this kind of machine is very expensive.

I don't know where you are now, but I guess you will eventually return to the Sky Garden. So it would be better to send this movie to the Sky Garden. Although I still have to stay in this community clinic for a while, the doctor said I will be able to get out of bed soon. After all, I have business to do. I also took advantage of this time to finish editing these films. After meeting you, I started taking these pictures intermittently with my portable camera. My editing skills are terrible and my technique is terrible.

Not to mention commenting on other people's movies, the stuff I made myself is terrible. But I think the most important thing is "seeing". Just recording what happened is already a great thing. I think this is the best thank you I can give you. By the way, one more thing. The ending of the movie I talked about last time is still unfinished. The knight climbed to the top of the tower, but did not find any secret treasure. But God gave him the fire of hope and told him that one day these disasters would pass.

Golden wheat ears will once again cover the earth, and bright sunshine will light un the sky again. This is a cliched ending, but also a good ending. Maybe it's because of Zach, because of this movie, that I want to live. All in all, thank you. As for the movie in your hands, I privately named it as a souvenir. That's it for now, I'm going to keep walking and help the old guy find his daughter. Maybe one day, we can meet again in the conservation area. If you have enough wine, you can also have enough movies.

Wait, the doctor told me, why did you use the reward money to pay for my medical expenses!? Damn it, isn't this favor not over yet!?

--- Dedicated to the Cerberus Squad

<<The Remaining Dust Trio>>

"Huzi"

[THE END]

READ: CER-28 | CER-29 | AFTERWORD

#punishing gray raven #pgr noctis #pgr vera #pgr no.21

4 notes · View notes

sleepyowlwrites · 1 year

Note

Do owls, at dawn, to help them sleep,

count in field mice instead of sheep?

Sleepy, that's not the real question. What are a few of your favourite things to write? What kind of scenes, or types of characters?

I imagine that if they were counting field mice they'd get all excited and want to catch one. they probably count their feathers.

HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THIS-

I say with not truly genuine outrage (lordy I keep misspelling everything, wonder what that could be a sign of). I feel like people ask me this a lot but maybe I'm bonkers.

probably I'm bonkers anyway but uh to answer your question.

I like to write about friends. I like to write about shenanigans. I like to write about people becoming friends while getting up to shenanigans. and I like hurt/comfort. I like to sidle the hurt/comfort up to the shenanigans and sneak little layers of it in there. I like sandwiches - shenanigans | EMOTIONS | shenanigans | hurt | comfort | shenanigans - and so on, that kind of stuff.

a lot of times it's fantasy. at the very least it's only vaguely reality. but like. if I sum up my wips real quick.

youth story - ten teenagers having emotions and sometimes talking about them

city story - young angry man attempts to avoid emotions by punching things but makes friends anyway how did that happen

summon story - young people become friends while accidentally solving the plot through shenanigans

mercenary story - mercenaries follow a princess into shenanigans and deal with their trauma by becoming a family

guild story - young folks just living life but it's full of shenanigans and often involving each other oops guess we're friends now

apocalypse story - two guys have emotions in an empty city

I have more but they're all about friend-family groups getting up to shenanigans and having emotions, often very viscerally. I thrive off of emotional descriptions and metaphors, punchy or quippy dialogue and the occasional scene setter that is quite atmospheric. apparently I can also write a decent hand-to-hand fight scene, so that's cool.

oh, and physical affection. it's in every wip, because I love it, so a lot of my characters do too. and there's no romance, because I don't care about that. but there's lots of hugging and cuddling and kisses and headpats and love.

an example below the cut just for fun, before my eyes give out:

City Story:

“Whatever it is you’re doing, please stop.”

Rune pauses with one hand fishing a stray empty can from behind the tool rack and cranes her neck around to peer up at Yarrow.

“Stop looking for the can you threw over here?” She goes right back to squeezing her arm underneath the bottom shelf.

Yarrow taps his foot impatiently while Rune finds the can. “I meant whatever is making your hands look like that,” he clarifies, tone much more serious than he ever is, about anything.

Jet can just tell that this conversation is either going to be ignored or it’s going to happen, loudly, and somebody is going to end up bleeding. That doesn’t sound like a terrible outcome, but four in the afternoon on a Sunday and he’s too lazy to get involved in a fight just now. So he wanders closer with zero pretext, his arms crossing out of habit.

“Are your hands usually clean?” Rune replies, mildly. “What’s wrong with mine?”

“Look at them!” Yarrow’s voice doesn’t rise in volume, just pitch. “They’re all beat up! Aren’t you a teacher? What have you been doing- it doesn’t matter what- no, it matters, actually. Are you just another Jet, now? You go around picking fights because you’re mad at the world?”

Wait, hang on. What? That’s not- Jet doesn’t pick fights because he’s mad at something else. If he throws a punch at someone it’s because he wants to throw a punch at that person. Even in a random fight. He chooses his opponent, and then they’re his enemy. He’ll take them down. His anger at the world is another thing entirely.

“Rune doesn’t pick fights.” There. A response that leaves him out of the argument.

Yarrow rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t mean she avoids getting into them. There are plenty of ways you can position yourself to be able to take part in fights. Or do you just have the worst luck when you’re wandering the city at night?”

Jet feels his defense come rushing up, but he’s a little stuck on the fact that Yarrow is very aware of his activities, much more than he would’ve given him credit for. “I don’t go browsing for a fight. I just don’t turn it down if it finds me.”

“You go browsing.” Yarrow states it firmly, and it sits like a stone at Jet’s feet, unmovable and very, very true.

Rune half-heartedly clears her throat. “I can participate in my own arguments.” The words are considerably more pointed this time.

“So what are you doing that’s making your hands look like this?” Yarrow repeats, straight back to the original topic.

“A project. I don’t have many people helping me, so it’s slow going. I don’t really want a lot of people helping me. I like going slow. There’s lifting and carrying and throwing things away. My hands get roughed up. Whatever.”

Jet knows that’s exactly all Rune is prepared to say about it, hears the finality in her phrasing. If Yarrow pesters her for more information, there might really be a fight. There is so much unknown about Rune, but Jet has at least determined that if she’s said her piece on a subject, she can’t be forced into explaining further. If pushed, she will push back.

“Okay.” Jet goes for a decided tone as well. “She’s not getting into fights. You don’t have to worry,” he addresses it to Yarrow, hoping he’s listening.

Yarrow wrinkles his nose slightly, showing he’s not ready to give up the discussion, but then he doesn’t say anything else, just nods unhappily.

Jet ends up walking her out to her car. Then, foolishly, he says exactly what’s on his mind. “You okay?”

Rune fiddles with her keys and Jet has no idea what she’s thinking. Even her eyes are vacant, staring across the street at nothing. “Sure.”

“Do you wanna sleep at my place tonight?” Do you not want to be alone? Jet doesn’t know why he bothers assuming that he might be some sort of comfort. He’ll never see that in himself, but Rune tends to see him quite differently.

“No.” There’s some kind of space after that rejection, though, an empty beat where Rune might’ve said something else but is stubbornly just thinking it instead.

Jet must really be feeling the lazy weekend because again, he just spits out, “Then do you want me to sleep at yours?”

And the silence seems to speak volumes, clinging to Jet’s skin in a way he can’t even pretend he likes. Hesitation is not Rune’s style. Vulnerability is not her style. It’s not his, either. But they certainly provoke these unwanted things from each other.

“Sure,” is what she says eventually.

Jet allows himself to think that he knows what she’s not saying.

Please.

thanks for asking, Valance!

#sleepy answers #blorbo blursday

4 notes · View notes

gumussercvi · 1 month

Text

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒.

Dianna Schroeder (Kristine Froseth): 23 years old, born 21st of November. Upper middle class, apatheist, feminist, not very patriotic, believes violence never solves anything. Does not have notable health issues. Her quirks are sleep-walking, humming while doing something, biting her nails. Likes bright colors such as white, rock music, racoons, and dislikes cold food; she is afraid of ferns.

Mina Davis (Josephine Langford): 19 years old, born 13th of August. Lower middle class. Developing an unsociable personality, atheist, lactose intolerant. She cries a lot and sleep-talks. Likes listening to Latin music, learning magic tricks, Aquamarine color, organic food, science fiction books, black crazy ants. Dislikes touching sticky / oily things, being hungry, feeling tired.

Sophie Livingston (Madison Bailey): 24 years old, born 30th of September. Working class, she is a B university student. Difficult to know, dependent, traditional and perceptive. She is asexual but in a relationship, though. Atheist, pessimist, welcoming to all ethnicities, hates gender stereotypes, pacifist. Takes very seriously the rule of "Respect your elders". Short sighted, suffers from an addiction. Likes attending concerts / festivals / competitions, Indigo / Turquoise color, College Rock / Latin music, home-made food, science fiction books. Good at acting and motivated by her thirst for adventure.

Padma Khatri (Maitreyi Ramakrishnan): 30 years old, born 3rd of October. Upper class, she has a mean personality. Despite being color-blind, likes the texture of bronze; prefers Rock'n'Roll, and her favorite animal is the peacock.

Cathryn Harper (Jane Fonda): 65 years old, born 10th of June. She has a disoriented feeling about her. Working class, was a D student in her youth. Recently retired from a weapon specialist job, she has taken up the skill of creating art and is quite good at archery. Welcoming, placid, loyal, conflict-intolerant and competitive. Despite being asexual she is infatuated with her husband. Atheist, realist, racist, hates gender stereotypes, nationalist. Left-handed, she drinks a lot of coffee and always wakes up very early. Likes meditating, creative writing, the purple color, R&B, organic food, legends, sheeps; dislikes people who keep sucking on empty juice cartons, attention seekers, badly fitted clothes. Her motivator is anti-social behaviour.

Loretta Mullins (Emilia Jones): 26 years old, born 3rd of April. Belongs to the Elite class and wealthy, was a C university student until she dropped out. Open, independent, formal, unconventional, agnostic, pessimist. Welcoming to all ethnicities, advocates often for men and their freedom to express sensitivity. Does not enjoy particularly being around children, dislikes patriotism, and a pacifist through and through. Deaf, alcoholic, hums whenever she does something. Likes going for long walks, building wood forts, Magenta / Pink colors, ambient music, other people's cooking, non-fiction books, grizzly bears. Dislikes attention seekers despite her being one, cycling uphill with her bike, a dead phone battery. Good at basic first aid and skilled at baseball. Is afraid of beautiful women [venustraphobia].

Kabir Sharma (Rahul Kohli): 37 years old, born 7th of October. Belonging to the elite class. Practical, dependent and fast-talking, atheist, pessimist, unaware of his racist views. He values the actions of people and not their age, nationalist, trigger-happy. Suffers from sleep-apnea, often bites his nails. He likes building forts, exploring, bright colors like blue, dislikes forgetting things. A thirst for adventure is his motivator, counting on being good at basic first aid. Secretly skilled at football. His positive preferences are pop, home-made food. He is afraid of hospitals [nosocomephobia].

Mortimer Witt: 16 years old, born 4th of July. Lower middle class, he goes to public school and is doing well. Orderly and carefree, half-Atheist, optimist, holds prejudice against other ethnicities, mysoginist. His health is often compromised due to sniffles, and laughs at inappropriate moments. Likes playing videogames, ska and electronic music, vegetarian food, western book genre, Komodo dragon; dislikes being touched by cold hands and the smoke of cigarette. His desire to be successful acts as a motivation, and is secretly skilled at seduction. Is afraid of houses [domatophobia].

Remington Peterson (Richard Harmon): 20 years old, born 21st of October. Aristocrat. Developing a timid and active personality, he is short sighted. Often spitting at the ground, likes throwing / dropping things mischievously, indigo color, grasshoppers; dislikes strangers, being tickled, the cold.

1 note · View note

ajgccc · 5 months

Text

Counting Sheep and Other Lies

Written by: Aundrea Jillian Cordova

It's 3 in the morning, I have been tossing and turning for what seems like decades, in hopes of being able to get a wink of sleep. So many thoughts race through my mind. 5 minutes pass, then 10, then 30. The next thing I know, I’m still in the same situation, only, the sun’s already up. It’s been like this for a couple of months now, constantly confused, not knowing the difference between night and day, feeling like the life in me has been sucked out.

This was something I never wanted. I guess you could say it's routine, but to me, it felt like punishment, a curse I would go lengths through just to break. I do not know why, or how, or when it started, it just did. It feels as if I’m navigating a labyrinth, with insomnia as my only companion. What once was a safe haven to me, now felt like a battle ground— one against thoughts, worries, and myself. Sleep slips through my grasp as the enemy starts to attack, bombarding me with so many thoughts to ponder on, so many worries to try and solve. Those hours feel like I was watching my own life in a movie, a movie where I was the main character, the antagonist, and the director all in one. The silence around me only amplifies the whispers of my introspections, leaving me with nothing but dread and frustration as I’m greeted by the pale yellow hues of the morning sun. And the cycle continues. My body yearns for sleep, it craves for rest, but my mind rebels.

They say, “If you can't beat them, join them.” And join them I did. As the sleepless nights went on, I eventually succumbed, I did not try to fight. I learned to embrace the nocturnal hours, using it to my advantage. In those hours, I found solitude, replacing negative thoughts with self-reflective ones, coupling it with internally validating affirmations and a pep talk here and there. In those hours, I found time to accept myself, open my mind up to positive change, and set myself up for growth. I have finally found solace in the silence I onced dread.

As I pen this reflection, I recognize that insomnia is not just the absence of sleep, it is many things, with each person having a different perspective on what it is. To me, it has been a roughhouse, one that eventually transitioned into what it is now—a blank canvas for me to paint all my life’s musings on. In those wakeful moments emerged a self that I was not aware had existed—an artist painting her life in whatever colors she wishes.

1 note · View note

theminecraftbee · 1 month

Note

can i request three somehow forced into a fake dating situation

Three stares directly into Martyn’s eyes. They are blue and of an average size. It feels as though maybe this should be against the rules, but according to the book it had read, this was… normal. A normal thing to do on a date. Look deeply into someone’s eyes. It would not be suspicious at all, even though Three isn’t really sure how to look more or less deeply into anyone’s eyes at all. Eyes are not flat, but even when Three Looks, it isn’t as though there is anything interesting in there.

Martyn is sweating somewhat. He looks away first.

Three’s pretty sure this counts as a victory, especially given Martyn can’t see Three’s face behind the mask anyway. It is good Three has now won the game of ‘staring lovingly into its date’s eyes’, because that had been a strange, threatening mortal ritual. It would rather not do that again.

“Haha, thanks again for agreeing to this date,” Martyn says, very suspiciously looking around the small cafe in a bustling semi-private Origins server. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to hang out like this. Gods, do I sound stupid.”

“You do,” Three says.

“You don’t have to answer those,” Martyn says.

“Will comply,” Three says.

“Oh, for the love of—we’re on a date. A date!” Here, Martyn winks obnoxiously. “It’s not a mission.” He winks obnoxiously again. “Besides, you should lighten up!”

“Will comply,” Three says.

“You know, I had forgotten how obnoxious that was,” Martyn says cheerfully. “Anyway, I should order us some drinks! Have some conversation! Keep an eye out around us, yeah, for our waiter?”

“You are not very subtle,” Three says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martyn says. “Besides, honestly? I am really glad to just hang out with you. Because we’re dating! On this server for fancy couples. Yep.”

The problem is, of course, that a fancy origins server is a great place for the strangest of people to hide.

When Martyn had asked a favor, Three had been… uncertain. This was not because Three doesn’t care for Martyn—it does, greatly—or because Three didn’t want to see Martyn—they’d met up a few times before now, tentative and quiet and frustrated and all the things that were hard to explain, and then in all the ways they were okay again—but because Martyn, for all Three cares for him, is still an idiot.

Three is its own handler, now. It does not have to follow handlers that are morons. It had told Martyn this. When Martyn had stopped wheezing, he’d explained that it’d be fun. Not Listener business, he promised; he still hadn’t quite gotten out, but he wouldn’t drag Three in, Scout’s honor.

(Three believes him. It’s never been that Three doesn’t trust him.)

It was a friend of Martyn’s that had gone missing. Apparently, on some fancy modded server? And now, Martyn wanted Three to come help him do some recon because, quote, “Jimmy laughed at me until he cried and that hurt me a little bit, not going to lie, and I’ve used up the favors Ren owes me, and Oli was busy. Have you met Oli? You’d like Oli.”

(Three did not like Oli.)

Three agreed, despite its better judgement. The reason it thought this may be a poor plan was because—

“Ah, the lovely Valentines,” the waiter says. He gives them a plate of lovely heart-shaped calamari. Three wonders if they had belonged to heart-shaped squid. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful here with my beloved!” Martyn says.

The waiter and Martyn both look at Three. Three doesn’t say anything and sits perfectly still.

“Um,” the waiter says.

“It’s for a health condition,” Martyn says, which technically isn’t a lie.

“Very well, sirs, although it may get in the way of the kissing competition!”

Martyn, who had just started sipping some wine, chokes on it.

“I will win the kissing competition,” Three says.

Martyn chokes harder.

“I will see you to it!” the waiter says. “And of course, our patented species comparability exam is the highlight of the evening.”

“Oh. I am not sure I can produce viable offspring,” Three says.

The waiter stares at Three. Three stares back, although not into the waiter’s eyes, as to not cause any confusion. The mask somewhat prevents that from working, though.

“Very well then,” the waiter says. “I suppose just—do you need help?”

“It knows what it’s doing,” Martyn hisses.

“I did do research before coming here,” Three says.

“I’ll just head on,” the waiter says, in a tone that suggests to Three that maybe it did not do enough research before agreeing to help Martyn.

Oh well.

At least the mask means it doesn’t have to keep a straight face as it picks Martyn off the ground and, completely flat in tone, says: “Do not die. I would be sad if you died of something as stupid as choking on wine.”

“I asked for this,” Martyn says.

“Yes,” Three says. “You did. That is why I am here.”

(Beneath the table, it grabs Martyn’s hand. Martyn squeezes Three’s hand back. It had missed him, though. For all they do not see each other often—)

(Well. It had missed him, though.)

#answered #ask game #strifetxt #solving counting sheep talk #a bee fic #not going to fandom tag this one because frankly scs always confuses me on whether it’d be rude to ;-;#anyway lei your brain is so huge. this is such an inherently funny concept.#hermitshipping #trafficshipping #I MEAN. NO THIS ONE IS PLATONIC ACTUALLY BUT I FEEL LIKE PEOPLE WHO HAVE THOSE TAGS BLOCKED WOULDNT WANNA SEE THIS #so I am BEING POLITE.#anyway I love solving counting sheep I should write side stories for it #I still periodically rotate three in my head like a rotisserie chicken.#THIS IS VERY STUPID BTW.#set nebulously A. Few? years after canon #up to you to decide EXACTLY win but it’s implied here some rats and some third life equivalent happened #so do with that as you will idk if that’s canon in my head but since its post fic canon who cares

131 notes · View notes

vaingloury · 1 year

Text

A Review of D&D 4e of all things

I have a ttrpg bucket-list of sorts, an itinerary of games I want to play eventually. Among those is every edition of D&D. Or, at least, D&D up to 5e. I don’t think I’m interested in One D&D. I’m pretty close to crossing this item off the list; all I have left to play are the various permutations of original D&D, BECMI (if it counts as substantially different enough from B/X) and 3.0.

I just recently got around to playing 4e. Fourth edition always had a sort of mystique around it for me, it being the black sheep of the editions. There’s also a strain of 4e-alikes/heavily 4e-inspired games being cultured in the indie tabletop sphere at the moment (Lancer, Fabula Ultima) that got me curious. I like tactical combat (which is this edition’s thing) so I figured what the hey.

For reference, I am the GM (as always).

The Good

Easy to prep. One of the things that made me stop playing 5e was the amount of prep, whether it was trying to balance the unwieldy CR system, working around player characters' busted abilities, or trying to ignore the ways in which the implicit worldbuilding of the system clashed with my homebrew setting. That is not the case with 4e. Prep is looking up stat blocks and making up guys for the party to talk to. That’s it.

Easy to reskin races. A weirdly specific one for sure but I personally don’t like what others call the “travelling freakshow” party. When I run D&D-like games, you get your pick of human, elf-/dwarf-/halfling-analogue, and wildcard. Races in 4e don’t have many quirks that need to be overwritten when reskinning so the players could easily pick whatever appeals to them as long as it’s an “elf” in the fiction.

Combat is tactical. I was surprised to learn that 4e’s combat would give my experience with B/X combat a run for its money. Getting hit actually feels threatening. Stage hazards add complexity because they can interrupt the effective range of characters’ magic shields and bursts. Certain moves set off interesting little chain reactions if properly set up beforehand. Sometimes, things still do damage when they miss. Huge improvement over 5e’s nick-miss-crit-miss-miss RNG slog.

Neutral

Skill challenges. Not bad, not good. Just ...there. It feels like the designers were trying to emulate other tabletop rpgs that have dice pools/mixed success mechanics but worse. I have trouble coming up with scenarios where a skill challenge would be different enough from or better than just rolling checks as usual.

Not ADHD friendly. This one’s a me problem. I’m finding it difficult to keep up with all the buff and penalty changes every round. We’re using a VTT and status effect icons, but it’s not like a video game where I can select a character to see what they’re afflicted with and how many turns that lasts at a glance.

Samey classes. Maybe it gets better at higher levels (we’re level 3 at the time of writing) but as for now, it feels like the only difference between the martials and casters is that casters need to stay at long range to protect their smaller pool of HP. The magic-users aren’t very magical outside of combat either. 4e invented the ritual casting mechanic that carried into 5e except here, everyone can do it, it just costs magic-users less. M-U spells also have no utility outside of combat unless your players get creative (so far, the group I'm playing with is very much ‘stay in the box, follow the laser pointer’). This avoids casters being inherently better than martials like in 5e but at the cost of uniqueness and non-combat problem solving utility.

Combat is slow. Myself and one of the players are new to 4e so part of the slowness is inexperience. But in general, characters are able to essentially set up video game-like “combos” of 2-3 actions that may have effects that persist in later rounds. Mercifully, this group is good about knowing what they want to do on their turn but that doesn’t seem to do anything to mitigate each encounter taking up more than half of each session. This campaign was supposed to be 4-5 sessions and I fear it may turn into 8-10. If I weren’t trying to stick close enough to the books as a first timer, I might experiment with enemies having 25% less HP and doing 25% more damage to speed things up.

The Bad

No exploration procedures. I haven’t played 3.5e from the GM’s side (or much at all as a player) to get a sense of how exploration is supposed to be ruled. Based on my experiences here and with 5e, it seems WoTC-era D&D has something against compelling dungeon- and wilderness- crawls. Resource management is mostly non-existent excepting item weight and action/surge points. Random encounters are phased out. DMG 1 has a section on random dungeon creation but no mention of how to make dungeons not just feel like a series of rooms. 4e’s default setting, Nentir Vale, is supposed to be a vast frontier where civilization is sparse but dangers are numerous and yet there are no rules supporting that kind of campaign. I could houserule things in, sure, but why buy a rulebook if I have to do the game designers’ job for them?

Wealth treadmill. This is one of the weirdest fucking things in any edition of D&D. Apparently, the design team fell asleep at the wheel at some point and forgot that the party characters’ attack bonuses need to gradually scale in order to be able to actually hit ever-increasing enemy AC. So they patched the issue by having there be a mandatory number of to-hit enhancing magic items the party must have at each level, as well as an amount of money necessary to buy said items. If you’re allergic to the idea of magic-item Wal-Mart as I am, that means you need to either a) place these items in dungeons and hope that your party both goes to that specific dungeon and finds those specific items or b) they anti-diagetically just appear in their inventory upon level up. Partway into the edition, they kind of fixed this with a new system called “inherent bonuses” (it is what it sounds like), however, there’s still an expectation of 2-3 magic items per level, which you need to shower your party in money in order for them to create or buy the items. Commonality of magic items really makes them feel so much less special, in my eyes. Not to mention, like the lack of utility casting I mentioned earlier, magic items are purely for combat enhancement, not fun or flavour.

Combat is everything. Unless your group really likes unprompted roleplay, there’s not much to this system outside of combat. I’ve read through a few official modules, and in them, talking to NPCs is just a means to finding your way into another combat encounter so you can punch the kobolds in the way of your level-mandated magic items. You could talk your way out of things but, besides the GM calling for the occasional Bluff or Stealth check, you aren’t interfacing with the mechanics. I’ve seen D&D as a whole accused of this but I really feel burdened by it in 4e. I’m not even sure what kinds of stories you could tell with 4e that wouldn’t be enhanced by switching rpgs beyond wartime scenario, gladiator tournament, dungeon siege...

Verdict

Like 5e, it’s serviceable and easy enough to learn but uncomplicated where I would like to see more and overcomplicated where I would like to see less. I’m not sure I can stand it for more than a few sessions a year. I'd be more interested had 4e been a FF Tactics style video game or a minifigs tabletop wargame like Age of Sigmar.

#b #ttrpg

1 note · View note

miekasa · 3 years

Text

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex.

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team.

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.”

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #armin smut #armin fluff #eren x reader

2K notes · View notes

littlewinter1917 · 3 years

Text

Midnight Language

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Words: 3.9k

Pairing: Stucky x Fem!Reader (Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Summary: When sleeplessness gets the better of you, your two boyfriends know just what to do; After all, there‘s almost nothing that a few freshly baked cookies and a lot of laughter can‘t solve.

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, swearing and petnames. Some corny jokes and suggestive themes, but no actual smut. Reader has troubles sleeping, so there's some minor hurt/comfort. Overall just some midnight kitchen shenanigans.

A/N: The title is inspired by this song from Slideshow, because I'm incapable of coming up with decent ones myself.

This is getting ridiculous, you think, whilst turning around once more in the spacious bed.

You’ve been tossing and turning between your silky sheets and beloved boyfriends for the last two hours or so, trying to get your mind to rest and sleep, but that bitch seems to have entirely different plans.

You can’t help but let out a small huff in annoyance, growing more frustrated with each passing minute that you have to witness while being awake.

At this point, you’ve been trying everything – from counting sheep and Captain America shields to different breathing exercises – nothing is doing the trick.

God damn it.

Your two soldiers have drifted off into a happy slumberland as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

There’s a soft snoring coming from both sides of you. Steve to your left and Bucky to your right, and while their gentle sleeping sounds normally provide you with some sense of comfort, this time it only seems to mock you.

Taunting your inability to do the same.

You’re about to turn around once more, when two hands come up to your sides –one warm, one cold– halting your movements.

“Doll, what are you doing?” Bucky rasps out, and you immediately turn apologetic.

Great, now you’ve even woken up one of your Super Soldiers.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to move that much and wake you up.”

You try to turn away once more, but Bucky’s grip on you tightens, pulling you closer, before his human hand gently comes up to cup your cheek, tilting your head and making you look up at him.

“What’s going on?” he murmurs, lips almost brushing against your temple.

“I can’t sleep,” you admit quietly, averting your gaze.

“Oh, Angel.” he whispers, eyes soft and voice sympathetic. “I’m sorry about that. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Instead of answering, you curl up more into his strong embrace, nuzzling your head against his bare chest.

“Don’t know,” you mutter against his warm skin. “Guess, I didn’t want to wake either of you up. Both of you always look so peaceful when you’re sleeping, and you deserve some rest.”

“Doll, we talked about this. You can always wake us up. Sure, I might need my beauty sleep, like every other pretty Disney princess, but I’ll always make an exception for you. And I know our snoring garden gnome over there, with his silly little shield feels the same way.”

“I heard that!” comes a gravely reply.

“Shit, Steve! You’re awake too?” you question, surprise and guilt clear in your voice.

“Hm, don’t worry about it, our pretty Disney princess woke me up. What’s going on?”

“Well, it seems like our favorite heroine here is currently trying to enact the antipode of sleeping beauty.” Bucky summarizes, while looking pointedly down at you, and you playfully slap his side, small giggles escaping your lips.

“Hey! What’s that even supposed to mean?” you ask.

“Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. All he does is stand in front of shiny surfaces, saying mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the strongest metal arm of them all.” Steve interjects dryly, before scooting closer behind you, and wrapping his arms around you as well.

“You wanna talk about why you’re currently up, instead of sleeping like the rest of us?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No, I wish I knew. It’s just that my brain won’t turn off. Maybe one of you really has to knock me out. Steve, you can still wield Thor’s hammer, right?”

“Uhm, absolutely not. I’m not knocking you out with a hammer, or any other forceful tool, for that matter.”

“Fine,” you grumble, trying to sound annoyed instead of amused. “I’ll just try to hit the hay again then, without any external help.”

“I mean, you could hit something else entirely, and maybe that will tire you out.” Bucky offers playfully, making Steve groan.

“Sure, let’s treat our girlfriend’s insomnia with a fun little threesome.”

“Hey, it’s worth giving a shot, right?”

“You’re supposed to wind her down, not up.” Steve states, exasperated.

“I’d say, the higher the rise, the greater the fall, or something.” Bucky offers in return.

“Oh my God, James Buchanan Barnes! Just shut your pretty mouth for the rest of the night, or I’ll actually grab Thor’s hammer and knock you out in a not-so-fun way!” Steve exclaims.

“I’m just brainstorming things that normally do the trick for me.” Bucky defends himself, trying to bite back his smile. “So please Captain, get that shield out of your perky butt and come back to the 21st century. I was just offering up an innocent idea.”

“Innocent idea my ass.” Steve huffs, and you try to stifle your laughter by burrowing your face more into Bucky’s chest.

Those dorks.

Your muted laughter makes the attention of your two bickering boyfriends turn back to you, and the problem at hand.

“How long have you been awake anyway?” Steve questions in between small kisses planted on your shoulder, and the short pause that follows tells them everything they need to know.

You’ve been awake this whole time, but you’re quietly contemplating whether you should voice that or not.

“Fuck.” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper once more, but Bucky is quick to interject.

“No, no, Angel. It’s alright. You have nothing to apologize for. I just wish you’d told us earlier, so you wouldn’t have to go through all of that alone.”

“Well, now we’re all awake, isn’t that even worse?” you question.

“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t need my beauty sleep unlike a certain someone.” Steve teases with a playful look directed towards his boyfriend, before continuing,“So, what do you need right now? Do you want to give sleep another try?”

“I’ve been giving sleep another try for the last two hours.” You mumble, frustration peeking through your voice.

Why won’t your brain just shut up for a minute, or two – or the next eight hours.

“Okay, well, in that case, let’s get up and out of bed.” Steve proclaims, while slowly detangling himself from you and Bucky.

“Wait, to do what now?” Bucky asks, confused.

“We’re going to the kitchen to get some midnight snacks.”

“Right, but when I say let’s have some fun in the sheets, you shoot me down.”

“I’m not suggesting sex in the kitchen, Buck. I mean some actual snacks. Maybe some oat milk with honey, a cup of sweet lavender tea and some cookies.”

“To be fair, the last time you talked about midnight snacks you meant something entirely different.” You chime in, taking Bucky’s side, and Steve groans once more at the unpleasant memory.

“That was one time, okay? One time! Stop bringing this up. I only called it that because I feared Tony was near and he could hear us talking about…”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Captain Modest. Come on Doll, let’s follow our leader’s orders, or he might actually come back with a hammer.”

“Well, he’s not gonna nail us, as he has already established.” You add, and Steve just shakes his head before replying,

“If I have to bear witness to one more of those jokes, I’ll be knocking myself out with Thor’s hammer, plain and simple.”

Your walk to said destination is quick.

You’re slowly trailing down behind Steve and Bucky is following you in return.

The kitchen is empty and dark, with nothing but the glow of the city outside faintly illuminating the space.

Once Steve flips on the lights, the vague shapes and shadows of the room take up form and definition, yet the sudden brightness makes your eyes squint.

“Alright Stevie, what’s your plan exactly?” Bucky asks in between two yawns, and the bitter taste of guilt rises up inside of you once more. It also doesn’t help that Bucky looks like the very definition of disheveled and tired, with his hair sticking out in every direction.

He looks like he just freshly rolled out of bed and is ready to roll right back into it at any moment.

The sound of the opening fridge door pulls you out of your thoughts. Steve is currently inspecting its content. He hums a simple tune while grabbing the oat milk before moving on to the kitchen cabinets, getting some honey and vanilla beans.

Bucky has decided to sit down at the kitchen island, and you join him.

“Okay, I’ll be making some warm milk with vanilla and honey, just how you like it.” Steve explains, grabbing a knife and a cutting board to take care of the vanilla beans.

“That sounds really nice. Thank you Stevie,” you say, before Bucky suddenly slaps the island counter.

“Bartender! One of your strongest potions for sleepless beauty right here, and I’ll take whatever the gentleman in the skimpy boxershorts has.” He proclaims whilst looking Steve pointedly up and down.

The laughter that follows and fills the room is warm and earnest.

“Security!” Steve calls out, “This patron is threatening me! Please take him outside.”

“Guys, stop it or we’ll be waking up the others.” You remind them once you’ve calmed down.

A small look of horror crosses Steve’s face and he nods.

“Right! I almost forgot.”

He’s quick to work on his recipe again while you and Bucky sit at the counter, dangling your feet in anticipation.

When Steve turns his back to you, focusing on the kitchen stove, you scoot closer to Bucky.

“Enjoying the view?” you tease, once you see where Bucky’s eyes are lingering.

“Uh-huh.” Bucky mumbles in agreement.

“Can’t blame me.” he says.

“Nope, I certainly cannot.”

When Steve turns around again clueless, he’s taking the simmering pot from the stove, pouring its content into the three mugs he has arranged.

“There you go, your Highness.” he jokes, once he hands you your drink with a small bow and you smile.

“Thanks, Stevie!” You chirp, and Steve’s eyes soften when he sees how excited you are about the beverage.

You let out a satisfied hum as you take small sips from the cup. It tastes sweet and warm, just how you like it, and your praises make Steve blush.

“Okay, so what’s next?” Bucky asks once Steve has joined you at the kitchen island.

“Well, since sleep doesn’t seem to be in sight right now, I was thinking we could maybe make some cookies. There aren’t any left and I know how relaxing baking can be for all three of us.” Steve suggests, and you and Bucky hum in agreement.

Cookies certainly sound nice, still your eyes wander to the digital kitchen clock, with its bright green numbers. It tells you that it’s sometime shortly after midnight – not the most conventional time to bake, but you’d never turn down the possibility of some freshly made cookie dough and its final product.

“Alright, what are you two waiting for, then?” Bucky says, standing up. “Let’s get this bake-off party started.”

“It’s not a competition Buck, it’s a joined-efforts operation.” Steve states, amused.

“What kind of cookies are we even making?”

“Well, what kind of cookies do you feel like having, Doll?” Bucky questions, and you contemplate it for a moment.

“Chocolate chip cookies, but the triple ones!” you exclaim after the brief pause, and Steve’s eyes light up at that.

“Good choice!” he praises, and his words have your tummy doing flips.

“So, what do we need.” Steve mutters to himself while opening some cabinets.

“Music! We need some good music!” Bucky chimes in, making his way towards Tony’s fancy stereo.

It doesn’t take long for a tune to start, and you smile as the opening notes of Real Love Baby by Father John Misty fill the kitchen space.

“Doll, would you do me the honor and dance with me.” Bucky asks with a wink, and you laugh.

“It would be my pleasure, Sarge.” you say, as you take his hand, and he mirrors your smile.

“Steve, do you mind?” Bucky checks in with your shared boyfriend, who’s still bustling around, trying to gather all of the needed ingredients.

“Not at all!” comes his cheerful reply, and Bucky swiftly pulls you out of your chair and into the open space between kitchen and living room.

As the song progresses, Bucky keeps twirling you around, pulling you closer and swaying with you to the music. You’re both laughing and singing along while Steve watches you two with adoration in his eyes.

Once the song comes to an end, and the next one starts, you’re quick to make your way over to your fair-haired Super Soldier, grabbing his hand as well and dragging him along as the dancing continues.

After the fourth song, Steve draws your attention back to the actual mission at hand – the baking.

“Guys, we can continue our dancing shenanigans once the cookies are in the oven.” he offers, and both you and Bucky pout.

“Or we can just migrate our dancing into the kitchen…” Bucky doesn’t wait for a reply, as he shuffles into said space, still popping dance moves every now and then. Steve and you share an amused look, trying to stifle your laughter.

“Be honest, did you put something in his drink?” you inquire in a hushed voice, and Steve shakes his head, laughing.

“No, but I think I might need something in mine.”

“I heard that!” Bucky calls over from the kitchen counter, his body still in movement, and oh, he can move. He might actually be the best dancer out of you three.

Who knew the deadly assassin turned avenger would end up being such a dancing machine. It’s entertaining to say the least, and honestly kind of contagious.

As Steve and you join Bucky in the kitchen, you’re still dancing around.

Steve only sighs, when yours and Bucky’s antics almost knock over the box of eggs. Bucky’s quick to catch the descending object, yet afterwards you both try to curb your energy levels just a bit.

“Thank you for arranging and getting everything we need, Steve.” You chirp, while coming up next to him.

“My pleasure, Sweetheart. Do you want to weigh the ingredients with me and start mixing?”

The excited nod that comes with your approval has Steve smiling, and together you start preparing the dough.

Bucky, on the other hand, is cutting up different flavored chocolates into bite-sized pieces, still humming to the music that’s playing softly in the background.

While you’re mixing butter and sugar in a large glass bowl, Steve hugs you from behind, his lips dangerously close to the nape of your neck.

“Sweetheart, promise me, please, that next time you find yourself sleepless again, you won’t wait two hours to accidentally wake one of us up. We could have done this a lot sooner, and I hate the idea of you having to face those troubles all on your own.”

His voice is a low whisper, and it makes pleasant shivers run down your spine. You can only manage to hum in agreement, yet Steve is unconvinced. His hand comes up to stop yours, before he carefully turns you around, making you face him.

“Look up at me, Angel.” he gently orders, and your eyes hesitantly find his. His gaze is filled with love and adoration, but there’s also some small sorrow peeking through.

“Promise me, that you’ll tell us when you need help. Even if it’s to fall asleep, or because your mind is having a party of its own, that you can’t seem to quiet down. Please tell us, so we can at least try to help you, or find someone who can. We’re a strong trio – a family – and there’s not a single thing that you have to face and fight all by yourself.”

His voice and words are earnest, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. Your grip on him tightens, as you pull him closer, burrowing your face into the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, voice thick with emotions.

“I don’t know why my mind is running laps as soon as I try to sleep, but it just won’t stop. I promise, I’ll try to tell you next time, I just didn’t want to bother you two with it, cause you already have so many other things to worry about.”

Your voice breaks, and you curl up deeper into Steve’s embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright, Sweetheart, it’s alright.” Steve softly whispers.

“You’re not a bother, you’re never a bother, and your needs are just as important as ours, so please tell us when something like this is going on.”

His hand carefully cradles your face, making you look up at him once more. He gently wipes away some stray tears that grace your cheeks.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, you’re okay. If those sleeping troubles continue, we can always ask Bruce and Dr. Cho for help, or remember that sleep specialist we went to, when Bucky still had those intense nightmares?”

“I was about to bring that up.” Bucky gently chimes in, the look in his eyes just as warm and soft as Steve’s when he addresses you.

“Doll, do you remember all the nights you stayed up with me, after I had those flashbacks?” he inquires, and you slowly nod. “Please let us do the same for you. You deserve the same support and so much more!”

“Thank you.” you croak out, your emotions still running high.

“Well, you’re our best girl, after all.” Steve mumbles, pulling you closer, and Bucky’s quick to join the hug as well.

Sandwiched between your two Super Soldiers and showered with soft kisses and encouraging whispers, you feel your mind and emotions calm down again.

You’re not sure how long the three of you stay like this, but after some time and talking, the comfort sandwich, as Bucky likes to call it, gets dissolved.

The boys continue being even more affectionate towards you. Their physical touch and praises always provide you with a strong sense of relief and safety, and you feel yourself relax even more, as the baking continues.

The atmosphere slowly shifts back into a more energetic one, when Bucky insists on licking of the spatula, much to Steve’s dismay.

“Bucky, there are 3 raw eggs in the batter; you’re going to catch salmonella.”

“I’m not going to catch anything, Steve. I’m still a Super Soldier; those bacteria can try as they might, but they won’t be successful.”

“I want some of that dough too,” you interject, when Bucky swiftly moves on to the hand mixer add-ons.

“No can-do, Angel. You don’t have any super-soldier-anti-salmonella-serum running through your veins. So, no raw cookie dough for you.”

He playfully boops your nose, and you huff.

Bucky easily holds the two kitchen whiskers up high, when you try to reach for them regardless. The pout on your lips that follows makes him coo, and he decides to give in, handing you one.

“Oh, Steve, don’t look so unamused.” Bucky calls out when he sees the pointed look the other soldier is giving the both of you.

“Here, try some yourself!” he offers, and Steve sighs before finally deciding to join you.

“Don’t overdo it, though, I won’t-“ Before Steve can finish his sentence, Bucky brings the spatula up to Steve’s talking mouth.

“Shh, Stevie-boy. I don’t want to hear the word salmonella from your lips ever again.”

The man in question just looks at Bucky dumbfounded, and you have to bite down on your lip hard, keeping yourself from giggling.

What follows is Steve chasing your laughing boyfriend around with a towel and a lot of curses.

You decide to make the most out of their distracted states and steal some more cookie dough before putting small scoops of it on the baking tray, getting the first batch ready.

When Steve’s and Bucky’s chase comes to an end, they’re still laughing, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Both immediately rejoin your efforts, and it doesn’t take long for the first tray of raw cookies to find their way into the oven.

Bucky decides to turn the volume of the music up once more, while grabbing his abandoned spatula, using it as a makeshift mic.

Steve and you’re quick to assemble and join Bucky’s cover band.

You three sing and dance around the kitchen to some Four Tops songs, all whilst cleaning up.

The kitchen is almost tidy again when Steve pulls you and Bucky closer.

“Oh, Buck, you still have some dough on your face.” he observes, and Bucky quickly wipes his hand over his mouth.

When he doesn’t seem to catch anything, he looks at Steve, confused.

“Where?” he asks, and the mischievous look Steve shares with you, before answering, tells you everything you need to know.

Poor Bucky.

“Well, there of course!” Steve states, and in the blink of an eye, he scoops up some of the leftover dough from the bowl, before brushing his fingers over Bucky’s cheek.

“Steve! You little piece of…”

“Pie?” Steve interjects innocently, batting his eyelashes.

The shenanigans are only interrupted by the ping of the kitchen timer, letting you know that the first batch of cookies is done.

Steve doesn’t even tell you and Bucky to wait for them to cool down; he knows better than this by now.

You all decide to curl up on the couch with your cookies and some leftover oat milk that Steve reheated.

The cookies are absolute perfection, crisp on the outside, chewy on the inside, and the chocolate chips melt like butter on your tongue.

You let out a satisfied sigh that quickly turns into a sleepy yawn. Bucky and Steve share a look, but you’re too immersed in your cookie experience to notice.

When Steve offers to get the next batch out of the oven, Bucky decides to carry the empty plates back to the kitchen.

You’re about to get up too, but both Super Soldiers are quick to turn you down. “Why don’t you eat the last piece of your cookie, and we’ll be back in no time.” they both promise.

You reluctantly curl up back into the couch and its soft cushions, while Steve and Bucky share a smile as they make their way into the kitchen, tiding up some more.

When Bucky’s attention turns back to the living room, an adoring smile grazes his face.

“Looks like your potion worked, witchdoctor.” he says, nodding towards your sleeping form that’s curled up on the couch, and Steve’s gaze turns soft as well once he spots you.

“Well, Snow White with a metal arm, how about we take her back to our bed. I don’t want her to end up like the princess and the pea.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt that the current sleeping position is a comfortable one.” Bucky agrees.

“So, do you want to take her or should I?”

“Why don’t you get her, and I take care of the kitchen.” Steve offers, and Bucky nods and salutes, before carefully making his way over to you.

Once by the couch, Bucky gently kneels down next to you.

“Hey, Angel,” he whispers, while brushing a single stray strand of hair out of your face.

“I hope I don’t wake you up by doing this.” His voice is soft, as he gently scoops you up into his arms, holding you tight.

You stir for a moment, and his breath hitches, but you only mumble something incomprehensible before snuggling closer to him.

God, you’re adorable, he thinks, as he looks at your peaceful form in his arms.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. “Me and Steve love you so much. And if some nightly baking sessions are what you need to give your brain some peace, then we’ll do just that. Maybe that will be our midnight language for now, signaling you and your troubled mind that things will be alright.”

---------------------------------------------

And that's it! Thank you so much for reading!

#stucky x reader #stucky x y/n #stucky x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes fluff

456 notes · View notes