#yes i know this is the barest of minimums | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juuuulez · 2 months

Note

plsssssss do the oneshot with Carl and one of Negan’s wives i am on my hands and knees begging

info: Carl Grimes x Reader, minor Negan x Reader, you’re Negan’s wife, Carl is 18 and you are 19, canon episode: ‘Sing Me A Song’, NSFW, blowjob, cum eating, dom reader/sub Carl.

summary: Negan gives Carl a tour of the Sanctuary, where his youngest wife grows quite the interest for the boy.

WOOOWWWW you guys really wanted this so i delivered! beginning to think i have a real fascination with the idea of ownership/belonging to someone.. not even necessarily in a sexual way (however yes!) considering there are themes of this in a few of my fics now LOL

“You’re gonna want to look at their titties. It’s cool. I won’t mind. They won’t mind. Knock yourself out.”

You watch as the boy looks down, averting both the eyes of Negan and everyone else in the room. It can be intimidating, you suppose, considering the parlour appears to be a scene ripped straight out of Playboy magazine.

6 women, all clad in the barest-minimum of fabric that can be classed as a dress. Skimpy black numbers, designed to cling to every curve and divot. Negan saunters away, leaving the boy to his own devices, discussing something private with Sherry.

You’re posed over one of the long leather couches, resting your head over the arm. It’s not uncommon for Negan to bring others into the parlour, usually as some sort of twisted power-play, though this is different. It seems almost torturous, to place a boy in this situation, and you fear he’ll combust on the spot out of embarrassment.

Negan passes once more, manoeuvring the boy’s hand upwards to clutch his beer. This is it. As your husband turns his back, you can strike.

“Psst.”

After catching his attention, you wave the boy over, who appears to grow increasingly nervous at the proposal. His gaze flickers back over to Negan, then to the other girls in the room. You know that Sherry must be watching you with a look of disapproval.

Nonetheless, he obeys, filling your chest with a sick sense of excitement. You lean forward over the edge of the couch, and when he’s within arms-reach, you snatch the cold beer from his grip.

Taking a generous swig, you size him up in a less than subtle manner. He isn’t exactly very tall, and his clothes are all dusty. But there’s something enticing about that stoic look on his face, trying to seem confident, assured.

“What’s your name?” You ask, though it comes out more like a demand. You’ve always been rather blunt, not willing to beat around the bush, especially when you want something.

He looks back over to Negan, then to the floor, as if he’s reluctant to meet your gaze. “Carl.” The boy answers.

You nod, taking another deep sip from the beer before quirking your head. “Grimes?”

Carl doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing into something close to a glare. It provides all the answer you need, a wide grin on your face.

“We learn a lot during pillowtalk.” You justify, a statement that only serves to make Carl more uncomfortable. How proudly you boast we only implies you’re more than comfortable living amongst 6 other women, which makes his gut twist in confusion.

Like a cat with a mouse, you continue to toy with him. “Drink much?” You ask him, offering the bottle forward.

Carl can’t help but feel this is all some sort of trick. That he’ll slip up, do or say the wrong thing, and be scolded for it. After all, you’re only an extension of Negan, so he tries to be wary.

Despite shaking his head, he accepts the bottle anyway, holding it awkwardly in his palm. Your gaze is expectant, unwavering, almost to the point of being unsettling. Yet, Carl doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t dare drink the beer.

“Good boy.” You quip, shuffling to kneel up on the couch. Even in this position, he’s a good head taller than you.

You take the bottle back, to which Carl feels a minor bout of relief. Taking another sip, you continue to shamelessly inspect him. “You shoot that gun?”

Carl manages to nod, attempting to look anywhere but directly at your chest, which is temptingly presented to him. “Maybe.” He confirms.

“Sounded like a machine gun.” You point out instantly, not allowing a single lull in the conversation.

Biting down on his lip, Carl nods again. “You’d be correct.”

With his cooperation, you smile widely, wanting to see how much further you could string this along. “Do I make you nervous?” You ask in an innocent tone, though Carl knows it’s anything but.

When he answers, he isn’t looking at you. His gaze is up, a little to the right. “No.” Carl says rather quickly.

You take another swig from the bottle, before it’s lifted up and out of your hands. A noise of protest builds in the back of your throat, before Negan’s large hand cups over your neck, guiding your head to look at him.

“Stealing from me?” He accuses, a wicked grin on his lips as he keeps the beer just out of reach. You lick the remaining residue from your bottom lip, sinking back down to sit on the couch rather than kneel.

“No, sir,” You reply in that equally sweet tone. “Just getting acquainted with my new friend.”

Carl steels his gaze at Negan, refusing to look down at your obedient form. He catches another woman watching them, seemingly disapproving of your attitude.

“Of course you are, sweetheart.” Negan drawls, sweeping his thumb over your cheek.

There’s an anxious feeling settled into Carl’s nerves, unsure whether or not he’s even allowed to be speaking with this girl. But you’d called him over, after all. In a way, he was just following orders.

Whatever mental debate was stirring didn’t matter, for the door to the parlour opened once more, with Dwight leading a beat-up looking Daryl. It stole Carl’s attention away, focused on the growing tension in the room.

Knowing your little game was over, you retreat further into the room, fishing out a cold wine bottle to replace the confiscated beer. You don’t bother listening to their conversation, though as Negan leads Carl away, your gaze remains trained on his retreating figure.

The sparkling liquid sloshes into the glass, foaming up against the sides. You raise it, taking a swift sip, savouring the pungent taste. As you do, Carl takes one more glance into the room, a grin growing on your features as you lock eyes.

Now, you knew very well that cheating was forbidden. It’s what had Amber in such a tizzy, still crying softly over on one of the couches. This was going to be a hard play, but you were always one for a challenge.

You also always got what you wanted.

So, you begged Negan to take you to Alexandria. He immediately said no, of course, yet thankfully you’d been strategic about it. You wore a tiny black nightgown, and with the absence of heels, you leant on your tippy toes in order to press a kiss to his cheek with a long-winded pleeaassseee.

It worked.

What better way to consolidate power than with some arm-candy, Negan would later justify.

You were amazed to discover just how big Alexandria really was. The Sanctuary was sort of a massive factory, after all, but this place looked like a regular neighbourhood. Negan claimed he needed to settle business elsewhere, so he left you with a kiss, and you were permitted to explore.

Of course, you had a specific task to attend to. A need that required fulfilling. Maybe you just liked the challenge, wanting to push that boundary, see if you could really do it.

Though you greatly enjoyed being taken care of, not having to lift a finger at the Sanctuary, you missed that control you’d relented in favour of protection. Before meeting Negan, you’d been fairly well-off, and knew how to manipulate a situation in your favour.

Or, a person. Need be.

“We meet again, cowboy.”

Your pleasant chirp and upturned smile catches Carl off guard, who’d been carrying out a menial maintenance task towards the back of Alexandria. It was a secluded area, private, which immediately put him on edge.

“You’re here with Negan?” He asks, obviously sceptical. There’s a small box of nails in his hands, as it appears he’d been repairing a hole in the fence. Or, trying to, at least, given he’d made little to no progress so far.

You aren’t offended by his hesitance, knowing your presence can be intimidating. As usual, you wore a lacy black dress that left little to the imagination, dipping low in the front and ending around mid-thigh. “Of course.” You confirmed shamelessly.

Only to be met with silence, you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, I’m not his dog. He isn’t around.” You assured Carl, trying to get the boy to loosen up a little.

It seemed to have the intended effect, as he put down the supplies he was working with, offering his full attention. There was a critical look on his face, something near judgemental, which lit a fire in your belly.

“Why are you with him?” Carl asked, finally inquiring into what’s been playing on his mind.

You raise a brow, biting at the bait. “Why not?”

His expression twists once more, a molten well of determination in his veins. “Are you serious?” Carl urged, not understanding how you’d be so.. complacent. “I mean, you’re, what? 20?”

“19.” You corrected with a sly smile, the word uttered with an inkling of pride, as if it was something to brag about. Only 19, and you’d acquired a husband who’d give you anything.

But you, somehow, still wanted more.

Shaking his head, Carl echoed your sentiment. “19.” He sounded disapproving, critical of your position. Maybe it was a tone intended to make you back off, but it had the opposite effect, as you found that you wanted him more.

It looked like he was about to say something else, further comment on the situation. So you stepped forward, intruding on his personal space. His brows furrowed, confused, as he backed a little further into the fence.

“What-..” He begun talking, though was quickly quelled by your finger, tapping gently over his lips. Each nail was perfectly manicured, painted a soft pink colour, drawing his eyes downwards to the appendage.

You looked up slightly to meet his gaze, though thankfully the heels gave you some leverage. “Are you not into me, or something?” You asked, the words tainted with feigned sadness.

It elicited the intended reaction, for Carl shook his head almost immediately, words coming out hurried and confused. “What? No. You’re… beautiful, obviously.”

The smile returned within an instant, a sly grin that manifested much too quick for the previous emotion to be genuine. Carl was beginning to catch on, starting to understand that you had a better hold on his feelings than he did.

It was like playing with a Venus flytrap. You were a minx, a siren. Each word was sticky, coated in a honey-like sweetness that caused him to fold, bending to your every desire.

Instead of answering verbally, you slid to your knees, finding purchase in the gravelly earth. Soft skin became slightly dirtied, though you paid no mind to it, gaze still firmly locked on Carl.

He swallowed, hard, appearing in slight disbelief. Those manicured fingernails gently scraped the fabric of his flannel, trailing down, down, to the denim of his jeans.

“This is.. we shouldn’t do this,” Carl whispered, sounding both breathless and slightly panicked. “You shouldn’t do this.”

“But you want it.” You interjected, and as if to make a point, traced a pointed fingernail over the crotch of his jeans. They were slightly tented, causing Carl’s face to flush with embarrassment, looking towards the sky to avoid gazing directly down the exposed portion of your chest.

Fostering his attention back, you gave a chaste pinch to his side, causing Carl to yelp and look back down at you. His silence caused you to grow stern, that soft allure gone, replaced by an air of dominance. “Say it. Say you want it.” You commanded.

As if on command, Carl was nodding, forcing the words from his throat. “I do.”

“Really?” You inquired, stretching out the tension, which only ebbed on the throbbing feeling in Carl’s pants. It had been hard enough to remain composed in front of Negan, but without the looming threat, his mind found that it wanted you more than he’d like to admit.

“Yes. Please, I want you.” He finally uttered, those few words delivered in a tone of desperation, laced with a hint of shame. This was wrong. So wrong.

The smile returned once more, conforming back to that sweet, soft look. You appeared proud, content, happy to have gotten your way. “Good boy.” You cooed, and in that instance, Carl believed it was all worth it.

You finally worked at his jeans, unbuttoning the fly and slowly pulling the zipper down. Despite being near the back fence of Alexandria, anyone could walk past, which added to your excitement and Carl’s anxiety.

Fisting him in your hand, you licked your lips, savouring the way his breath would hitch. His cock was hard in your palm, the tip red and strained from all the teasing. It was slender, curved slightly, and you wondered how it would feel in your throat.

“Did you like the dress?” You asked him, hot breath hitting his exposed cock as you spoke, “I wore it for you.”

Carl’s gaze was drawn down, back to the exposed cleavage in the silky black dress. He found himself nodding, having to force the words out, still in somewhat of a state of disbelief.

“Yes, I did,” He replied, voice cracking as your palm tightened its hold. “I do.”

Finally, finally, you poked your tongue out, flattening it to lick a generous strip from base to tip. You swirled it around the top, collecting the salty precum, before suctioning your lips onto his heated member.

Trying not to make too much noise, Carl’s hands fumbled, holding onto the fence behind him. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, barely holding in a ragged moan as you slide down his clock, wet mouth enveloping him to the hilt. It was no surprise you were this good.

You looked up at him, lashes slightly wet with the stretch, as you held your place. One hand rested over his hip, whilst the other reached out to take Carl’s hand in your own, leading it to the back of your head.

He was nervous, clearly, trying not to hurt you. But then you swallowed around him, tight throat restricting, allowing him to feel every ridge, and Carl couldn’t help himself. His hips nudged forward, shallowly thrusting deeper into your channel, with a stuttered gasp.

Encouraging the movement, you dipped your head back for air, before swallowing him whole once again. Carl seemed to get the message, his hand gently fisting your hair, as he worked up a steady motion that allowed him to fuck into your throat.

The pressure of a tight, wet heat was unlike anything he’d had before, and Carl found himself unable to be silent. His moans were quiet and breathy, moving up a pitch whenever you swirled your tongue around the tip on the up-stroke.

You reached up, forcing your palm over his mouth, trying to keep him from making too much noise. It serves to muffle the sound, along with enhancing that arousing feeling of control, revelling in the fact that he’s at your mercy.

Feeling him twitch in your throat, you pull away. It elicits a whine from Carl, strung out and desperate to have you in any way possible. Keeping him at that edge, you build up firm strokes over his cock, now slick with your saliva, as you hurriedly pull down the bust of your dress.

It exposes your breasts to the cool air, giving a firm yank on your bra to free them. The sight causes Carl to gasp, squirming in your hold as you tighten your fist, finally milking sticky strings of cum that land right on your skin, spilling all over your tits.

With practised motions, you slow down, not wanting to overstimulate the boy. His head falls back, leaning against the fence, trying to catch his breath. You shake your hand out, relieving it of the slight cramp from how dedicated you’d jerked him off.

As planned, your breasts were coated in his release, though luckily it hadn’t soiled your dress nor bra.

You brush the dirt from your knees as you stand, finding them to be slightly scraped due to the gravel. Carl’s attention falls on you once more, after he’s readjusted his jeans, rendered speechless by your appearance.

The silence fills the space between you, though you have an expectant look on your face, once Carl doesn’t quite understand. A raised brow, you glance down to your chest, before back up at him.

“Gonna clean up your mess?” You ask him.

He blinks once, twice, before catching on. “You mean… with a towel?”

You purse your lips, a manicured finger swiping across the swell of your breast. It picks up a glob of cum, pearly white on the tip, which you deposited into your mouth.

Carl seems to get the hint, a nervous look on his face. He’s never… eaten his own cum before, the idea making his face scrunch up in mild disgust, though you seem to do it effortlessly. His hands settle on your hips, hesitantly, still standing there in consideration.

“Unless you want Negan to see?” You prompt once more, the vague threat working to kick him into gear, understanding the severity of the situation.

It was his mess, after all.

His head dips down, licking a tentative stripe over your exposed breast. The taste is unique, salty and distinct, though not exactly unpleasant. Carl tightens his grip on your waist, as you gently thread a hand through his hair, guiding his face as he cleans you up.

The action has your nipples hardening, a tingly sensation growing between your thighs, though you’d wait until later to satisfy yourself. When he pulls up, there’s a smug look on your face, gleaming with pride.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You whisper, leaning close to deposit a grateful kiss over Carl’s lips, tasting him on his tongue once more.

His face is red, flustered and slightly embarrassed over what you’d made him do. You tug your bra back into place, along with adjusting the hem of your dress, smoothing it down to reestablish that perfect appearance.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You announce, giving the boy a small wink before prancing back into Alexandria’s centre. There’s a breathless stammer behind you, though you pay it no mind, willing to let Carl simmer in his feelings before your eventual return.

Of course, you managed to clean up a little more before reuniting with Negan, who was speaking to a Saviour at the front gate. He greeted you with a chaste kiss to the cheek, arm wrapping around your waist.

“What happened to your knees, baby?” He rumbled, concern furrowing in over his brow.

You looked down, noticing how they were slightly scraped. “Heels on gravel.” You shrug, offering it as a minute explanation, though of course, it’s far from the truth.

For now, Carl would remain your little secret.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x you #carl grimes #carl grimes x you #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #negan smith

172 notes · View notes

00-hawkboi-00 · 2 months

Text

Forget-Me-Not

Part One

Pairing; Gaz x male!reader

WC; ~6.3k

Warnings; none? I don't think?? Lemme know if there are any I should tag

Summary; gaz is definitely an attraction-at-first-sight kinda man/ it's time to wake up from that coma bby <33

A/n; when I said 'fluffy' I meant no one was gettin tortured this time around . Also, yes, this is definitely a set up for a ton of angst content <3 (note the unfinished ch title) There's going to be a "missing scenes" feel to this one, that's intentional.

Edit- I forgot to mention, this takes place before the other two fics, during the mw2 campaign (tho I definitely spread out the events bc no way could this all take place in the span of a week)

---"this is how we began,"---

Kyle had just gotten back from almost a week of being tossed around like a damn ping-pong ball when he met them. Or, rather, met you.

Fresh out of the shower—yet he swore he could still smell that filthy water on himself—and bored out of his mind with nothing else to do.

It would take a bit of time before Laswell fed them some more actionable intel, and to Kyle's knowledge, the two other members of their team were already on the hunt in Mexico. So all there was to do was wait.

Well, Kyle figured he could probably use this time to catch up on some much needed rest—but where was the fun in that?

He couldn't sleep, not right now, not when Price had informed him of a new squad touching down at their base this afternoon. According to the captain, they—around five or so soldiers—were just here to provide support if needed.

Kyle didn't think it was necessary, but it's not like he had any say in the matter. Especially since, apparently, the squad would only be using their base as a rest stop between their own missions. So, again, he didn't see the point.

But, like any curious soldier would do—and any who were a bit skeptical about their newest comrades—, Kyle was already beelining his way to where he knew the newcomers would touch down.

Kyle had paid attention to the bare minimum information needed to avoid butting heads with the group, but never dug much further than that. Some American mercenaries under General Shepard's direct command and, as he'd mentioned before, here to provide support or something. Again, he hadn't paid much mind to the info thrown at him; honestly didn't think he'd end up meeting them anyhow.

Only when he finally gets out on the tarmac Kyle doesn't immediately rush to greet the new soldiers as he usually would. He comes to a full stop, previously resting heartbeat now running a marathon in his chest, gaze zeroed in on you.

Seeing you—your form lax and almost casual in comparison to your stiff-postured comrades, a certain air of confidence surrounding you—made Kyle wish he'd done a bit more research, asked a few more questions.

Dressed no differently from the rest, there was nothing particularly interesting about you. Nothing that should draw him in so wholly upon merely seeing you. He couldn't even see your face, for fuck's sake—nor could he see any of the rest of the squad's, but that's besides the point.

You hadn't even glanced his way and Kyle was acting like a schoolboy seeing his crush in the hall between classes.

“You're staring, Kyle.”

“Mh- Wha-?” He drags his attention away from you, wholly prepared to start spluttering out his defense when he recognizes the man who'd come to stand beside him. Noticing the barest hint of a smile pulling at his captain's mouth.

With a soft scoff Kyle looks away again, shaking his head a little. “Not at all, Cap’, just scoping out the newcomers. That's all.”

As anyone else would do, of course.

But they both know it's a lie.

Right before Price has the chance to open his mouth again—likely to playfully call Kyle out on his bullshit in that gruff way of his—the aforementioned group of newbies comes to a stop in front of them.

Two in front, three fanned out behind them. Five after all, it seemed. You and some guy in the front, the rest Kyle wasn't sure of, their identities far too obscure to tell.

“Cap-” The guy standing beside you starts to speak, only to be roughly—albeit probably playfully—nudged aside by your elbow, effectively cutting him off.

“Greetin’s Captain,” you say, amusement obvious in your tone, a slight wrinkling at the corners of your eyes betraying a hidden smile.

And Kyle would be lying if he said he wasn't completely enraptured as you spoke. Barely even registering the hand you held out to shake Price’s hand.

“Shadow 0-9, at your service,” though there's still a hint of humor in your voice, there's a certain air of professionalism to it too. Even as you retract your hand and raise it, fingers curled into a fist and thumb jutted out, to gesture to the soldiers around you.

Starting with the one beside you, then on to the three behind you, right to left. “Joined by Shadows 0-3, 1-4, 1-5, and 2-3.”

Then it's on to the actually serious stuff. “Commander Graves has sent us under the General's orders to stay here and provide assistance to your cause if need be. Though mostly we will be carrying out our own missions and using your base as a landing zone between operations.”

And again, amused—your flip-flopping emotions were going to give him whiplash at this rate.

This time clapping a heavy, gloved hand on 0-3’s shoulder, the slight crinkle around your eyes returning. “If y'all got any questions, feel free to ask me,” lightly jostling 0-3 now. “these imbeciles hardly got a clue what's goin' on half the time anyway.”

It's obvious the other four Shadows are used to your antics, as none of them even bat an eye at your, likely empty, insult to their intelligence.

Kyle zones out as Price goes over his own spiel, mind somehow blissfully blank as he stands beside his captain. Thumbs subconsciously slung through his belt loops in place of gripping his vest like he usually would, gaze focused on the group in front of him, giving all the impressions of some serious, gold-star sergeant attentively paying attention to his CO.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

The spell Kyle is under only breaks when Price directs his attention his way, drawing his focus when the man says, “-gent Garrick ‘ere will show you lot around. All the standard things; barracks, mess, rec and the works-”

He then proceeds to space out again when your gaze slips from Price and to Kyle instead, not a single thing out of place as you analyze him.

It feels like you've got a scalpel to his skin, peeling away layer after layer. Through the muscle and fatty tissue, and deeper still, until you've reached the bone, and you keep going.

It's not uncomfortable, the way you tear into him like a rabid hound gobbles up a raw steak. Or maybe not rabid, no, you're not feral. You’re cool and calculating and yet playful all the same. A working dog, a trained hound, then.

It's more.. Kyle doesn't think he harbors the vocabulary to put it into words how he feels about it; flayed alive under your watchful gaze. It's strange. But it's not.. bad.

It's been all of five seconds when your eyes flicks away from him. A quick scan, a once over, just as he had done to your squad, and then you're fixated on Price again.

Price who's still talking, saying things Kyle doesn't have the wherewithal to bring himself to care about. Not when he felt so viscerally raw and unbelievably vulnerable in his own damn base at the moment.

He has a few more seconds to compose himself before Price finishes up and all five of the collectives’ attention is on him, expectant.

And so Kyle plasters on a carefree expression, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile, and casually nudges Price with a loose fist. A mused, “thanks, Cap'” and such, then he's taking charge.

Voice level and strong, like any typical self-respecting Sergeant, as he turns and urges the group to follow.

The last thing Kyle expects is for you to fall into step beside him—with the impression of your personality he'd gathered, it shouldn't be a surprise—, only lagging a half-step behind, a grin obvious under your mask.

His brain short-circuits, but Kyle quickly recovers, keeping his focus locked straight ahead and decidedly not looking at you. Not for any reason in particular.

“Sergeant,” You drawl—and, fuck, it was just a rank, a title, several others held the same one. So why the hell did it feel so different when you said it?

“Got somethin’ on your mind-” Kyle begins casually, as if his heart wasn't doing literal jumping jacks in his ribcage right now. And it takes him a brief moment to remember what he was supposed to call you, wracking his brain for answers, before he finishes with a bland, “0-9?”

God, he hoped that was the right number. There were five of you, all these numbers were going to be a struggle to keep up with.

“Oh, none ‘a that.” You say with a soft chuckle, waving him off. “I know those digits can get a bit confusing. Call me Viper, that's what everyone else calls me anyway.”

Viper? Like a fucking snake? Not that Kyle had any room to judge; not when two of his teammates were a cleaning product and a Hot Topic employee.

Shite, that probably also meant you wanted him to extend the same damn olive branch. Kyle considered himself a pretty social man, he could hold his own in a group, could approach strangers with almost the same confidence he did with friends.

But there was something about you.

And Kyle wasn't sure if it was good or not.

“A’right, Viper,” Kyle doesn't remember swiping his keycard, but he does jump right back into his body when his hand curls around the handle, pulling the door open and letting you in first before letting your comrades struggle with the heavy door after him. Taking his place just that half a step in front of you once more. “They call me Gaz.”

“There a story behind that one?” You ask, not a single ounce of hesitation or delay.

“That depends, there one behind yours?” Kyle quips right back, not missing a beat.

Kyle's ears pick up the tiniest huff you let out, but nothing else. “That depends,” you mimic. “how much you wanna know?”

“Whatever you'll give me.” It was easy to lay the charm on thick, but it seemed almost like a competition between you two, as you quickly fired back.

“Desperate, are we, Sergeant?” Kyle could've swore you just, honest to God, purred when you said that. But he must've just been hearing things.

“Just curious.” You had asked first. How had this turned on him?

“Mm, think I'll just leave ya guessing.” You muse, closing that half-step distance to just barely brush your arm up against his, and then back to your place again. “It'll be more fun that way.”

Kyle nearly forgets there's four other people witnessing this conversation right then.

Finally alone again, and having gotten the new squad settled in properly, Kyle takes a moment for himself.

As of right now apparently his fellow sergeant and good ‘ol lieutenant were currently taking a tour around Mexico, and Price was out doing very important Captain-things, so Kyle was entirely on his own.

On his own to deal with whatever the fuck that dumpsterfire of a base tour that had been.

He'd been entirely sidetracked by you the whole time! It didn't make any sense, what did you have that the other soldiers didn't?

You all wore the same uniform, all bore the same random-ass numbers, all were just a bunch of trained killers- there was literally nothing to set you apart!

A lot of people were touchy by nature, especially in professions like this that were built on comradery, Soap certainly was, so there was no reason in the deepest parts of hell for why-

Kyle groans softly to himself, running a hand over his hair before pushing himself up and off his desk chair.

There was no rhyme or reason to it, to why he, in the most cheesy fucking way, honestly felt a goddamn spark when you touched him.

And it wasn't even in the realm of- of intimate. It was a simple brush against him here and there, made perfect sense too! You'd been standing so close the entire time- it was only expected that once and a while you two would graze each other now and again.

He's pacing now, wishing nothing more than to be able to pick up his phone and call the only man who'd be able to help him make sense of all these weird feelings. And also the only man who'd call him daft and his brother in the same sentence.

But he can't do that, so Kyle resigned to simply doing what he should've done in the first place after his furious scrub down in the shower; take a damn nap.

Kyle's first impression of your personality had been wildly off-mark.

If he was going off of how he'd first perceived you last week on the tarmac, he would say that you were easygoing, gave off a more.. laid back energy, maybe even a bit quick-witted.

But his current observations said everything but that.

Kyle had been trying to skirt past all the tired, bleary-eyed soldiers that passed him in the hall without being noticed by the more lively of the bunch; he didn't have the energy for that right now. The last few had nearly flown by him though, wide-eyed and clearly spooked.

Confused, Kyle had brushed it off and continued walking. Sometimes these men were like wild horses, alerted by the smallest mishaps.

Kyle becomes keenly aware of exactly why those last stragglers had appeared so frightened when he turns down the next corner, on his way to the rec room, when he spots you.

Or, more accurately, spots you tearing one of your own soldiers a new one in the empty corridor. The very self-explanatory as to why, isolated corridor.

He gets the gist of it fairly quickly, even as the words flying out of your mouth go in one ear and out the other without a hint of recognition.

The shorter man had obviously fucked something up, and was now hearing it in all the jumbled mix of curses and slang Kyle couldn't even begin to comprehend.

“An' if I eva’ ‘ear ya sayin' shit like that again I'll ‘ave ya scrapin’ shit out the muck from the break ‘a dawn ‘n ‘til the damn cows come home, ya hear?” You spit, masked face mere centimeters away from the other's. A gloved hand fisted in 1-5’s, if he remembered correctly, shirt collar, making him have to nearly raise to the toe of his boots in order to not be choked by the fabric.

There's a venomous flare in your eyes when you snap to look at him, a misstep on his part alerting you, and Kyle has never felt more conflicted in his life.

“Everything good here, Viper?” Obviously not, but what else was he supposed to say?

“Just peachy.” You grit out, fingers slowly unfurling from 1-5’s shirt. In turn the poor man is able to lower himself back onto the ground fully, letting out an obvious breath of relief when your hand pulls back completely, falling clenched at your side.

The brave soul who had somehow triggered the brunt of your aggression manages to stand there a little longer until you huff out a gruff, “dismissed.” And send 1-5 on his way.

Though not before barking out a, “And be sure ‘ta relay the message ‘ta Pierce!” As the man scurries away, a quick “yes, sir!” choked out over his shoulder.

“And if I asked what that was about?” Kyle asks when 1-5 is out of sight, raising a curious eyebrow.

“I'd say it ain't yer business, Garrick.” You snap, still obviously not having gotten the frustration out of your system. Kyle's first instinct is to throw another quip right back at you, extra sarcasm on top like it's sprinkles and he's making a damn sundae, and he almost does, but Kyle quickly slams his mouth back shut before the words escape.

Instead he sighs and relaxes his posture.

“Y’look like shit.”

That seems to put a halt to whatever was rampaging through your head, the rage clearing for a moment to make room for shock first, then confusion.

“..what?” Your clearly puzzled gaze—so expressive, even with the mask—would be humorous, if not for the truth to Kyle's words.

You did look like shit. Like someone had run a train on you—literally. A real one; honk honk, rattle rattle and all. Your hair ruffled, matted with some unknown substance and sticking up in every which direction. The black paint around your eyes was smudged away and exposed your true skin tone, well.. kinda. Now with the additional flavor of mud and debris.

Even with the limited access he had to your face, Kyle would say you looked.. tired. Run ragged—maybe that train wasn't all that metaphorical. Beneath the anger it was clear as day you were just exhausted; you looked nothing like that first day he'd met you, when he had shown you around base.

Hidden grin and playful banter replaced with a stiff posture and veiled limp—yeah, he definitely noticed that part. You weren't the only observant one here.

“I said you look like shit, mate.” Kyle says. His clarification doesn't, well, clear anything up for you, if anything just frustrating you further. Making your eyebrows furrow in a way that's almost cute.

You huff, posture straightening even though Kyle can see the way the new position puts a strain on your worn body- he doesn't mention it. It's not his place.

“Thanks.” You reply, voice flat.

“It was a compliment.” It wasn't.

Deadpan, “really?”

“Mhm.” But Kyle stays firm in his resolve.

“I aim to please.”

“Clearly.” And there it is. Kyle can't see it, obviously, but the small twitch of your features, the slightest crinkle at the corner of your eye, tells him he has succeeded. Even if it's not your usual smile—not that he would know what that looked like.

Another puff of air from you, closer to a sigh this time. “Did you need somethin', Gaz?”

The heat is gone, but Kyle can see the way the embers linger; ready to reignite at the first spark.

“How ‘bout we take a walk, mh?” He wasn't planning on a walk, really, but Kyle wasn't actively planning against one either. “Clear your head a bit?”

You look like you want to brush him off, hesitating like you want to say no and rush off just like your subordinate had. But you don't. “..sure.”

And that's all Kyle needs to tilt his head in the direction he came from before turning around.

Kyle doesn't have to look back to know you've taken your place the position on his left, half a step behind him. Just as you had that first day.

It becomes a sort of.. routine.. after that. And while Kyle hadn't seen much of you that first week, you make an appearance by his side—always on the left, always half a step behind—more often than not.

A little spark of some unidentifiable emotion lighting up in your eyes when you see him. Kyle isn't quite certain what it means, but if it meant he got to see you more often, he was fine with not knowing.

You were.. friends. Or as much as you could be in this situation, one Kyle knew was temporary. Which had the man trying to heed Ghost's advice for once and not get attached; there was no telling when either of you would be shipped out again, never to return.

“Gaz!” The sound of your voice is unmistakable when shouted over the noisy chatter of the cafeteria, and Kyle's heart definitely does not do a weird flip when he hears it. Definitely not.

Yeah, so he may or may not be struggling with the whole following Ghost's advice thing. Hey! He said he was trying, not that it was actively working.

“Viper.” Kyle greets when you take a seat in front of him. Usually he would have lunch with his dear captain, but Price was even more busy as of late—and reasonably so—and the lack of that familiar presence was really starting to wear on him. Made the lack of another pair of comrades much more prominent.

“Did you know your bellybutton is actually attached to your bladder-”

You filled in that empty space a little.

“What? I thought it was just cut off from everything else?”

Kyle never did find out what had you so down in the dumps, but it wasn't his place to know anyway. Everyone had their secrets.

“No! There's a lil' line that travels from your bellybutton down to your bladder. That's why it feels so damn weird when touched-”

You were a little spitfire. Reminded him of Soap, kinda. Except Soap didn't flip flop from fiery rage one moment to calm and collected the next, buttery smooth words dripping with innuendo.

And then there was right now, where you shared the strangest little factoids with Kyle.

“And don't even get me started on the dormant blood vessel in your liver-”

And that is where Kyle drew the line.

“Nope, nope, nope-” Kyle says, waving a fork in your general direction. Amused when you gasp in surprise, as if he's threatening you with something more substantial than this flimsy plastic. “I am eating. I don't wanna hear gross facts about my anatomy.”

“Would you prefer a physical demonstration on anatomy instead?”

And that was the weird innuendos he mentioned before. Sure, Soap and him shared a few playful taunts now and again, occasionally the rest of the team would chime in—and there was whatever the hell Soap and Ghost had going on, but Kyle didn't think those were all jokes. But this felt.. different.

“You are a menace, you know that?” Kyle huffs, twirling some bland mush around the fear-inspiring fork from before; now that he wasn't actively threatening you with it.

A dramatic gasp, and Kyle doesn't even have to look up to know you look just as dramatized as you sound.

“I am a damn saint, Gaz!”

“Rigghhhht, is that what we're calling this?” He does look up this time, and the slight widening of your eyes, the little glimmer of something hiding in those captivating hues, makes him glad he did. Pocketing that adorable priceless look on your face for safekeeping.

“I've got the body, the attitude,” you count with both hands, a finger for each listed item. Gaze on something vaguely to your right as you think. “And the charm! That's like- the fuckin' holy trinity. I'm a damn holy temple, I tell ya!”

“Sure you are, mate.” Kyle says, a small grin on his face that he couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to. It does make eating a little difficult though.

He tries not to linger on the fact that you never eat in front of him. But you always come to hang out with him anyway.

Things are good between you two, and Kyle feels warm and giddy every time you grace him with your, as you'd once put it, saintly presence. He doesn't ponder much as to the why he feels this way; not that it really matters, this was temporary and you'd be shipped off somewhere else eventually.

That space to his left feels cold when you're not there, empty, and even though he's never worked with you in the field, Kyle finds himself looking back, expecting you to be there when he crawls through tall grass and mud in that suffocating ghillie suit.

It's dumb and Kyle doesn't know why he does it, but he half expects you to chip in a word or two over his shoulder in the midst of his playful banter with Price and Laswell. When he is, once again, pushing through tall grass. Only this time he gets to snipe a few dozen unsuspecting soldiers from hundreds of meters away.

Things are going well, so damn well, almost too good to be true. And it is.

Kyle would have never expected to hear such raw panic in his captain's voice, accustomed to the man's usual gruff and composed behavior. It strikes fear right into Kyle's core, cutting through his chest and piercing directly into the sergeant's heart.

In the beginning, Kyle had been eager to get this over with and fly back to base with the expectation of seeing you again; now that idea was nothing but a passive thought as his mind was clouded with a worry mirroring Price's.

Kyle's entire torso feels like it's been ripped to shreds when they touch down on base again, every step shooting sparks of pain through his nerves and reminding him why he hates heights so damn much. But at least they managed to get Laswell back before anything could go terribly wrong. They had Farah and her soldiers to thank for that.

Wanting nothing more than to soak himself in a tub of scalding hot water, and knowing he'll have to settle for a lukewarm shower instead, then sleep the pain away, Kyle's path is interrupted by the sight of you marching down the corridor.

“Gaz! Shit- there you are!” You call when a few paces away from him, a sort of relief obvious in your breathy tone. You come to an abrupt halt right in front of him, blocking Kyle's way and causing him to come to a sudden stop lest he accidentally crash into you.

Your eyes are analytical and Kyle is far too exhausted to decipher the several layers of emotion that flash through your gaze.

In the end you seem to come to some sort of conclusion, stating a flat, “Y’look like shit.”

“Yeah,” Kyle huffs out a surprised laugh; the phrase reminiscent of when he'd caught you chewing out one of your soldiers. “Falling out of a helicopter doesn't usually make for a pretty sight.”

“Fuckin'- pardon!?” Your eyes go wide, and Kyle would bet your mouth was hanging open right now too. “How the hell did that even happen?”

Kyle couldn't reveal too much of their little rendezvous in Urzikstan, but he could tell you the gist of it. Namely how the fuck he got tossed out of Nikolai's helicopter like a damn ragdoll.

“Was helping out a friend,” car hopping and trying not to get shot at in the process. “Got a bit tossed around, you know how it is- RPG, couldn't deploy countermeasures in time..”

“Luckily I got the rope latched in time, shit hurt the most when the rope ran out.” Kyle's hip bones ache at the memory, and he knows for certain his body will be one giant bruise in the morning.

“Are- are you okay-?” You stammer, gaze no longer on him and now flicking over his dirtied uniform. Never lingering on one spot.

“I'll bounce back soon eno-” Your hands reach out then, as if wanting to touch him and make sure for yourself. Kyle cuts off mid sentence, eyes widening by a fraction and body going stiff.

As if just realizing what you were doing, your hands pause where they are, hovering awkwardly between the two of you. Your gloves and his own gear serve as a thick barrier between your bodies, but Kyle swears there is an energy buzzing there; an electric static thriving in the air between you both, the tension near suffocating.

“I'm just gonna..” it takes Kyle a second to realize you've fully retracted your hands by now, a stale awkwardness lingering between you two.

Kyle isn't sure whether to feel disappointed or be appalled by how much he wished you had touched him. Between the fluctuating altitudes he'd endured and the full body ache he was currently experiencing, Kyle comes to the conclusion that it must just be the exhaustion finally kicking in. Yes, of course. That is why he was mourning the loss of something that hadn't even happened. There was no other possible reason.

Clearing his throat with a stilted cough, Kyle nods. “Y-yeah, definitely. And I should take that shower..”

“Of course, yeah-” Your gaze is downcast now, arms tucked behind your back and Kyle notes the nervous shift of your weight from one foot to the other. “You- you do that.”

“Yeah.” And then Kyle hightails his ass out of there, it's a little awkward—who is he kidding, it's beyond awkward. And how many times was he going to say awkward, would any other synonyms suffice? You had been standing in front of him, so Kyle has to do a weird little hop to the side to get around you- which then triggers you into motion. And you step to the side to get out of his way.

Only the direction your subconscious chooses is once again right in his path and Kyle stumbles over his own feet, barely avoiding colliding with you but pulling on his sore muscles in a way that has him digging his teeth into his lip to avoid letting out a sharp yelp.

When Kyle regains his balance, the hallway is empty and you're nowhere to be found. With a deep sigh, and a heavier weight on his shoulders than before, Kyle straightens back up and continues on his way to his initial destination.

There better be some warm water left when he gets there.

As it turned out, falling out of a helicopter and just barely surviving by sheer luck did actually have its drawbacks and one couldn't just walk away with a few scrapes and expect to be a-okay in the ol’ nob up top.

For Kyle that meant various scenes playing out in his dreams of what could have happened, not what did. Ranging from him not having clipped the hook onto his gear right, to the rope just snapping in half the minute Kyle reached the end of the line. Even some where he just straight up splat into the back of one of the many trucks that had been flying by. The worst had to be when the helo was hit dead on and Kyle wasn't even given the chance to make things right, bleeding out and dying right then and there in the cabin of Nikolai's helicopter.

Waking up drenched in a cold sweat wasn't anything new to the sergeant, but waking up alone, as of late, was. Usually he was bunked up with Soap, and when not on base, or stationed on another, he was grouped up with other soldiers.

Being forced into the waking world with his heart lodged in his throat and beating so fast it was practically trying to escape, with the aches and bruises that made the nightmares all that more real, and being stuck inside a dark, empty room? Now that just wasn't pleasant at all.

Pushing through the stabbing aches radiating throughout his body, Kyle forces himself to stand, haphazardly throws on an old hoodie and decides right then and there he needs a cup of tea. Extra steamy.

The walk to the common room, and subsequently the kitchenette beyond that, is short and Kyle doesn't have to think about it when he places one foot in front of the other. His legs easily carried him to his destination without the need for any extra brainpower.

Kyle doesn't notice the looming figure in the dark, obscured by shadow in the corner of the rec room, until he's already got a burning hot mug between his hands. Passing back through now that he's got his tea, he's graciously welcomed back by a lamp in the corner flicking on.

He blames the high-pitched squeal that rips from his throat on his exhaustion and not that he'd been spooked by a fucking light of all things.

“Viper- shit,” He breathes, the hand not currently cradling the mug flying up to clutch at his heart.

“Sorry.” You murmur, sounding a bit sheepish. Your voice is a little deeper than usual and Kyle assumes you must've also woken up recently. He opts to ignore the small flutters that erupt in his stomach at the sound. “Couldn't sleep. Didn't think anyone else would be out ‘ere, wasn't tryna startle ya.”

Kyle moves to wave off your concern, only to wince at the strain it puts on his sore muscles, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth.

You, ever the observant bastard, immediately zero in on his discomfort, one of your eyebrows quirking upward as you study him.

“Alright?”

Not trusting his voice, Kyle hums a noncommittal sound, and, trying to appear at least a little put together, straightens his posture and steps forward.

But the pain is worse now and he nearly spills his tea, instinctively tightening his grip around the steamy mug.

Fuck, Kyle had known it would hurt—Christ’s sake, he had literally fallen out of a damn helicopter—but he had obviously severely underestimated how bad it would be. Now, he was used to pain, you didn't get very far in this line of work without at the very least some tolerance for the aches and burns.

But this? This was a pain that went from an average sort of soreness in the muscles of his thighs, to sharp stabbing pains in his hips and a near debilitating throbbing ache that spanned over practically his entire torso.

Everything hurts. Laying down hurts. Standing hurts. Sitting hurts. Everything. Unless he stayed completely still, Kyle's entire body felt like one giant bruise. Any little twitch of a muscle sent a stabbing shock straight to his nervous system.

You're on your feet and standing in front of him before Kyle even has a chance to right himself again. When had his breathing become so labored?

There's no hesitation this time around, no awkwardness when your hands shoot out. Grasping his shoulders, your hold gentle yet firm, and stabilizing Kyle where he stood.

Kyle isn't quite sure when it had happened, but the warmth of his mug was gone. Replaced by the heat of your own body from where his hands rested—really, more or less hanging on for dear life; he'd be ashamed if he had the wherewithal to do so—on your waist. Fingers curled tight, twisted and snagged into the fabric of your shirt.

If Kyle hadn't been so out of it from the sheer amount of pain he was in, he would've noticed your lack of uniform. More dressed down than he'd ever seen you—though a mask still firmly in place, he would've noticed if it were otherwise.

“Did anyone check you out when you came back?” Kyle has to actively work to zone back in on the rough timber of your voice, his mind sluggish as it works through each word and syllable.

“Y- kinda? I wasn't bleeding out or nothing.”

“Oh, fuck's sake-” you let out a heavy exhale, and Kyle, though as disorientated as he currently is, can here the unsaid you’re a goddamn idiot clear as day in that singular breath.

“Alright. You're comin' with me.”

“Wh- huh?”

“With me. No questions, Garrick.” You hold no authority over him, if anything, this being his base, and not yours, Kyle had a bit more of a say in matters than you did. And yet, when you release your hold and untangle yourself from his, Kyle follows.

There is nothing stopping you from touching him now. Not since last night.

Kyle can still feel your hands, strong and yet so, so unbelievably delicate, running across his skin. Scouring his abdomen for anything that would clue you in on whether he had internal bleeding or not, pressing down on his bruised rib cage, checking for breaks in the fragile bone.

Thankfully, you find nothing but the bruising painted clearly on his skin, and Kyle can't get the picture, the feel, of your hands brushing over his stomach. Up his sides and down to his hips, further still to his aching thighs. The latter had been over his clothes, but the heat of your palms had been more than enough.

The following day, and practically every waking second now, Kyle's mind and eyes were on you. If he couldn't see you, he was thinking about you. And if he could see you, you were usually at his side. A hand on his shoulder, an elbow nudging his arm.

Kyle now found himself in an odd state of yearning. His body craved your touch in a way it never had for any other's. His heart skipped a couple beats every time he even caught sight of you.

And when you touched him? Shit, Kyle had to hope and pray the blush he could feel warming his cheeks wasn't as visible as it felt.

Kyle wasn't quite sure why he reacted to you the way he did. And, honestly, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to. He was perfectly content not knowing—was he? Or was he just burying what he didn't want to acknowledge?

He didn't ruminate on the fact that Soap had a tendency to touch him similarly—but, shit, it was different, wasn't it?—, and never had Kyle once responded to it the way he did with you.

If Price had noticed—which he likely hadn't with what was going on halfway around the globe. Soap and Ghost stuck somewhere in Mexico, and of course the constant planning on what their next move would be. The captain didn't mention it.

If Soap was here, he'd probably call Kyle out on his bullshit. But he wasn't, and Kyle was perfectly alright with continuing to ignore the, definitely one-hundred percent platonic, convoluted emotions he felt towards you.

Things were good; the last thing Kyle wanted was to accidentally rock this delicate sailboat when he currently had unlimited access to your bubbling laugher, sarcastic quips, and crinkling eyes.

A Viper, that's what you were nicknamed after, and, with that fiery attitude of yours, Kyle was starting to understand why.

Masterlist | Next

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @gabbvr-dog @suhmie @lazyrel @spiritzofthedead @yeonpm @its-ares @k1ssesofdeath @ravagerdogz

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

(also if you change ur user and still wanna be a part of the list, let me know pls)

#i had a lot of trouble when tranfering this one from my google docs #hopfully nothin is off abt jt..#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #gaz x male reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod

90 notes · View notes

featherwingfae · 2 months

Text

Gonna try to make this a "Quick post".

(warning some light swearing)

Maybe, just maybe one of the reasons we're seeing so many new Therians nowadays is because humans have fucked up the earth so bad that the universe just went fuck it and threw in a bunch of nature brains to balance things out. People who wouldn't just be able to look at the devastation of wildlife and their homes and just move on like nothing happened. Because they can see themselves in those creatures, and it hurts them to know that they are suffering. And maybe if there's enough nature brains, seeing themselves in the withering world around them, then more and more people might stand up and say this isn't right. We need to fix this. And maybe in a human world where one of the most lovely traits of humanity is being able to work together a bunch of nature brains with human faces can make a difference. They say animals can't speak human. Well they can, and are. Maybe Therians are the voices of nature coming out from the wilds, to places and bodies where they're not comfortable, where the air is heavy with pollution and trash litters the ground. And they have to learn weird shit like math, and work exhausting jobs that are often just to pay the bills that allow them to keep surviving. All so that they can see the damage from the other side and better understand the problem and together find solutions to stop it.

I'm not saying humans (and others) can't and/or dont do anything. I'm saying it's harder to do nothing when you look at creatures suffering and see yourself. Empathy is a beautiful thing. It helps connect us. But in a world where almost no one can afford the barest minimum just to survive. Where finding happiness feels like a struggle because you're constantly grinding and pushing yourself beyond your mental, emotional and/or physical boundaries, how easy is it to just shut yourself off. To put on the blinders because you're stuck yourself and you don't feel like there's anything you can do, so why upset yourself further by caring. It's sad. Terribly sad. Soul crushingly, heart wrenchingly sad.

Most people nowadays suffer from anxiety, depression or some other mental illness. And yes those illnesses are more known and understood now, and are more easily diagnosed. But I think the reason we see them everywhere now, is as simple as everyone is suffering. The human world in its current state, is not a healthy place. Fun times are often merely distraction from the crushing reality around us. It hurts to accept how much hurt there is right now.

I'm not saying it's all on the shoulders of Therians. I'm not saying you have to quit your job or your school and run off into the wild picking up every piece of litter and chaining yourself to trees. That's not what this post is about.

This post is about the increase of Therians and my personal hypothesis as to why there's so many now. And it's as simple as this. One Therian does not shoulder all the burden of the earth. Just as one human does not. But if there are Therians in schools, going "hey look at this little/big guy isn't he cute/cool" showing their friends and classmates"it's so sad he's going extinct because his home is being destroyed" , Therians on trails, streets, beaches seeing litter and using just a little bit of their time to remove at least some of it. Therians in stores refusing to buy certain products because of animal cruelty/testing, Therians manifesting/praying to help even if it's just a little bit, Therians on the Internet/TV spreading awareness, Therians in government actually trying to do what's best for the environment and the people, instead of just what's best for their bank account etc etc.

In reference to that horrible math stuff, a million ones together doesn't equal nothing. No matter how small an act it still adds up to something. Therians everywhere means more people who can't forget, who can't move on, who can't just shutdown and hope for the best. People who feel like they have to do something. So they don't eventually see themselves disappear (go extinct).

The universe and the earth can sometimes have a funny way of balancing things out. Maybe Therians are one way to at least try regaining that balance.

I'm overjoyed to see more Therians. Because I feel like more Therians means more voices for nature, and more chances to save this beautiful planet ☺️✨🌍🌎🌏💚

Anyway that's my two cents. Sorry this post ended up being longer than I intended 😅

And now my fascinating and fantastic creatures, great and small, furry, feathered, scaled or whatever-ed, and all others of open mind who took time to read my ramblings, I wish upon you a most glorious day/night. May we all follow our hearts/souls to do what we feel we can for this magnificent planet. ✨

👁️🪽✨🌟🌱❄️🪻🍀🌎🍄🌹💚🌍🌵🌈⛈️🌠🦊🐁💙

Till next time

#nonhuman #nature #otherkin #therian #therianthropy #stop therian hate #alterhuman #alterhuman community #kintypes #Therians For Nature #otherkin thoughts #alterhuman things #faerie kin #fae kin #Fae kin thoughts #Therian love

59 notes · View notes

alovesongtheywrote · 3 months

Note

nightmare academia puts me through the ringer EVERY TIME and i love it

♥ Summary: in a few chapters, it's gonna get worse!! for now tho... In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, case stuff ensues and you prepare for heartbreak. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: cops. cops being terrible, cops exploiting the system, and cops shaming a woman for being a sex worker. also, violence, implied violence, and past violence.

♥ A/N: holy shit, this chapter is Very Long

♥ Word Count: 4885

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

In the weeks that followed, Spencer brought the BAU to you. Of course, not everyone could make it. Kate Callahan was off raising her children. Penelope Garcia was the target of several hitmen (whereas Frank was probably the target of a single hitman. Massive difference. Trust me.) And Derek Morgan remained at Quantico with Garcia- so you really weren’t sure what to expect. The agents you had the strongest feelings about were out of commission. The last time you’d met his team it did not uh, how would you put it? End well? So you were- justifiably- a touch guarded.

That changed. Eventually.

It started with Adam.

At that point in the investigation, local law enforcement had only shown your friend cruelty, distrust, and skepticism. Honestly? You were about to start biting people about it. (Yeah, maybe it would have gotten you arrested, but at that point, you did not care. At the very least, biting would make you feel productive.) You were well and truly prepared for Spencer’s law enforcement team to behave in a similar manner to the local cops- and to be honest, you probably should have been. Most Feds would carry that same suspicion and distrust, and if they didn’t they were probably faking it to try and get a confession.

The BAU, however, are not most Feds. For several reasons. Either way, you were well and truly prepared to maul the next person who treated your friend like garbage, fed or otherwise. There was never a need.

The BAU showed Adam basic decency. They didn’t talk down to him or dismiss him as a demeaning stereotype- and yes, that was the barest of bare minimum, but it was still something. While they regarded him with mild suspicion for the first like, two minutes, it only took the team that same two minutes to come to the conclusion that Adam was innocent. After that, the BAU was just as dedicated to clearing Adam’s name as you were.

“Adam had an incredibly emotional response when we mentioned Frank,” Hotchner explained to the local detectives, “He’s genuinely devastated by what happened. He couldn’t have done this. Even if he did attack Frank, it wouldn’t have been a clinical hit.”

“Emotions tend to make things messy- we would have seen something much more personal, with more violence and more remorse,” Rossi added.

The detectives did not listen. The detectives did not care.

“I’d say a gunshot wound is pretty messy,” one laughed.

“Yeah,” another jumped in, “Try telling the vic’ that things aren’t messy.”

You bit your tongue to keep from screaming, but you didn’t stay entirely silent. If the detectives weren’t going to give a shit on their own, then you were going to make them.

“Have you actually?” you asked, crossing your arms, “Have you spoken to the victim?”

“Eh, someone else got around to it,” the first detective asked, looking at his partner with the special kind of uncertainty that came with getting called out.

“Did you read the report, then?”

“Well, I’m on the case, aren’t I?”

“Answer the question, detective.”

In the telling silence that followed, Rossi had to turn away to hide his (failed) attempt to suppress a grin. Hotchner looked proud, despite not knowing you very well. Spencer looked like he might grab you by the waist and kiss you until you were out of breath. He didn’t, though, for lots of reasons- his boss was there, he hadn’t asked you if you’d like to be kissed, there was more serious stuff to focus on, and like… you already looked fucking pissed.

The detectives just looked embarrassed.

“I- uh. I’ve skimmed it,” the first detective stuttered out.

“Yeah, cool, not good enough,” you nabbed the case file from a nearby desk and pressed it into the officer’s hands, “Consider reading the report. You’ll find that the victim disagrees with you.”

Both detectives stared at the file as if they were seeing it for the first time- as if they were seeing a file for the first time. You sighed.

“Detective, if I may ask, how much overtime have you put in on this case?” the man in front of you blanched at your question. You would’ve laughed if you weren’t so fucking angry, “Cool. I thought so.”

“Ough,” Rossi winced with faux sympathy, “Overtime? And you haven’t even read the case file?”

“Hey, we’ve been very busy these last few weeks!”

The second officer nodded, “Just last week, we had five break-ins in the downtown area.”

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” you turned to leave before doubling back, “But before I go, I need to ask- do you care about the wellbeing of the break-in vics the way you care about this case? Do you care about all victims so dearly? Or do you treasure their testimony the way you “treasure” the testimony in this case?”

“What? What are you saying, what do you-”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume it’s the latter.”

“What? Okay, what the hell do you know about police work-!”

“They’re an expert criminologist,” Spencer said, seething slightly.

“Dr. Reid is right. I know a thing or two about crime- and if I’m just gonna put it this way. I’ve seen the data. I’ve heard testimony from victims and offenders. I know the local and nationwide statistics for unreported crimes. You’re concerned about the victim hearing that his case isn’t messy? Look me in the eye and tell me that you’ve never told a victim that their situation- their serious situation- was a waste of police time.”

The officers couldn’t look at your face, much less your eyes. You had done what you needed to do.

“You wanna solve crimes? You wanna be the hero? Then take a goddamned ethics class, read your fucking case files, care for your community, and do your fucking job.”

The detectives tried in vain to defend themselves. They were unsuccessful- especially in the face of the three FBI agents that immediately backed you up.

“Dr. (L/N) is right. The number of unreported crimes will astound you,” Rossi said, smirking like the little shit that we all know he is.

“This is especially prevalent with sexual assault cases, theft and scams, and other crimes where the victim may feel a sense of embarrassment- or crimes where the victim feels like their case won’t be taken seriously,” Spencer added in a very Spencer-like way.

“And everything you need to know about this crime is in the file. If you’d read it, you’d know that the victim is very insistent that your guy didn’t do it, and one could say that, oh, I don’t know, he’s a strong eyewitness. He is the victim and all,” Rossi continued, getting their asses.

They struggled to respond, “Well- I- We-”

“And even if you discount the eyewitness testimony, there’s still the matter of alibis and ballistics. Security cameras have placed Adam away from the community center at the time of the shooting. The ballistics aren’t a match to any weapon that Adam has ever come into contact with. Even if they were a match, he hasn’t handled a weapon since his release from prison as a condition of his parole. But if you had checked the file, you’d know that,” Hotch added, also smirking like a little shit, but with a slight edge to it- that edge, kids, is called “pissed off authority figure.”

“Hey, it-”

“It just sounds like poor police work to me,” Spencer had the biggest smirk of all- the smirk of a little shit who’s proud of his team and of his hot co-professor, “Had you actually done any of your research, you would realize that the suspect you have in custody is being held on police bias and circumstantial evidence. Any good lawyer can get this case thrown out, and then where will you be?”

His smirk turned to a full grin when you shot him a small smile of your own.

The detectives continued to sputter out responses. For once, the second one spoke, “Now, we may not be fancy FBI agents, but this precinct has a solid track record of convictions-”

“Were those convictions based on circumstance and bias?” Neither detective answered Spencer’s question. He continued, “Even if this precinct had a perfect track record, that wouldn’t make it invulnerable to mistakes- and even if it did, you would still have the responsibility of approaching each case like professionals to ensure the wellbeing of victims, suspects, and families.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” you slid forward, putting a hand on Spencer’s arm, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go speak with the victim. His name is Frank, by the way.”

And just like that, you pulled Dr. Spencer Reid away- and he did not resist in the slightest. In fact, he held the door open for you as you exited the precinct. Rossi was pretty sure he saw the kid get behind the wheel.

As the detectives scurried away with their tails between their legs, the older agent let out a long whistle.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that our young Dr. Reid is officially smitten.”

“He was smitten the last time we were here,” Hotch said, pulling another copy of the case file from seemingly nowhere- one of his many unit chief powers.

“Yeah, yeah, but this time it’s bad. Garcia’s gonna be mad that she didn’t get to see it.”

Hotch nodded, solemnly.

“Y’know, I think the three of them combined could probably take down the whole FBI.”

“You’re right,” Hotch snapped the file closed with a tiny little proud-dad-type smile, “We’re awfully lucky that they’re focused on something else at the moment.”

Missy got your guard to drop further.

Initially, she was hesitant to have the Feds drop in on Frank’s case- you both were. You were used to local law enforcement treating her like shit. You didn’t stand for it- every time a cop or lawyer so much as dared to look at her wrong, you bared your teeth like a damn dog and threatened to bite where it would hurt. Y’know. Lawsuits. Missy wasn’t exactly a pushover, either. She was one of the strongest people you knew, and you were well aware that she could hold her own. If Missy wanted to be scary, she could be fucking terrifying.

Still, it was a little exhausting to fight all these battles against people in positions of authority who were so convinced that their series of events was correct, and anyone who went against it was nothing more than a lying ex-con. Having the BAU in your pockets certainly helped with that.

“I already told you what happened. I’ll tell you a thousand more times if I have to, but the story isn’t going to change,” Missy groaned, voice muffled as she buried her face in her hands.

“Okay, then. We’ll go over your testimony again. A few more times, if you don’t mind,” One of the local detectives smirked, ignoring the death glare you sent her way.

“Fine. Frank was walking me to the community center. I was taking a class on resume writing. It was cloudy, not raining, but cold. We came around the side of the building when a man in a leather jacket walked around the corner.”

“And what did this man do?”

“He- he shot Frank. He tried to kill my-” she took a shaky breath. You put a hand on her arm, aiming for gentle comfort and reassurance. Missy nodded, letting you know you’d hit your target.

“Did you see his face?” The officer continued.

“No. He was wearing one of those bike helmets that block off the person’s eyes- but I swear, it wasn’t Adam. This guy was too bulky. Adam’s made of wires, he needs to eat more.”

“You seem to have a lot of affection for Adam,” the detective leaned forward, “Now, we know you’ve claimed to be in a relationship with Frank- but could you describe your relationship with Adam for us?”

“I already said it! I took a couple classes with him! He’s a friend, that’s all.”

“Mhmm. That’s all. And in your previous line of work- the one that earned you a prison sentence of twelve months and a little over minimum wage- you had a lot of ‘friends,’ yes?”

“Excuse me?” your fingers bit into the table that separated you from the cop. You had half a mind to jump over the thing and throttle the smug detective sitting before you.

“What?” Missy growled, “You think just because I used to hook I fuck all my friends now? I’ve taken a few classes with Doc (L/N), I haven’t fucked them!”

You nodded in solemn agreement. The detective shrugged this off, ignoring everything that came out of Missy’s mouth. When she spoke again, her voice rang with the faux pity of someone who held themselves leagues above Missy.

“You know, I can see why you were looking at writing up a resume- your old line of work is so degrading. You know you’re never the same, afterwards. You can never wash off the shame. You’ll always be a little broken. A little-”

“Okay, that’s enough-” you stood up, slamming your hands down on the table.

“Hey, fuck you, man-” Missy leaned forward, “Don’t tell me what hooking did to me. You don’t know me. You don’t fucking know.”

“And now you’re lashing out. Poor thing-”

“Detective Foy. A word,” Tara Lewis, a newer BAU agent who you hadn’t really had the pleasure of meeting materialized in the doorway like a perfectly timed ghost, ready to right some wrongs and keep you from committing a murder. Her request for a word was perfectly intimidating, disclosing the not-so-secret secret that the request itself was not actually a request.

“I’m sorry, Agent, I’m in the middle of an interrogation-”

“It’s not an interrogation. You’re questioning a witness. Agent Jareau will handle things from here. Now, a word?”

You and Missy watched as the detective slunk out of the room with her tail between her legs. Moments later, JJ joined you, but she didn’t bother to start a line of questioning. Instead, the three of you watched in giddy silence as Tara Lewis destroyed Detective Foy where she stood. You couldn’t hear her through the glass, but you could vaguely read the words, “You are a police officer meant to serve and protect the people in your community, and uphold the law. You should educate yourself on the law, and on what it means to serve and protect.” On her lips.

You could’ve been off on that translation, but either way, it was sick as fuck. By the time Tara was finished, you and Missy were barely holding back your laughter. You probably would’ve held it in if JJ hadn’t turned around with a pleased grin on her face.

“Ok, well, I’ve known Agent Lewis for about three minutes, and already I adore her,” you cackled.

“Oh, she’s excellent,” Missy said, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Well, we certainly like her,” Jennifer grinned, clearly proud of her teammate and happy to see that someone outside the BAU had taken notice.

A few moments later, Tara re-entered the room with a tired sigh on her lips. It didn’t take her long to realize that you were all staring right at her.

“What? What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, we just think, as a group,” you looked around like you were the leader of the world’s weirdest (and maybe coolest?) group project, “That you are, objectively, excellent.”

“Yep. Not bad for a Fed.”

Again, you nodded in agreement, “I concur.”

Tara raised an eyebrow, slightly confused, “Thank you?”

Missy gave Tara a thumbs up. You followed her lead. Not really knowing what else to do in this situation, and figuring there was no harm in joining the madness, Tara returned the thumbs up.

“Well, like we said, we’ll take over the questioning from here,” JJ took a seat as she spoke. Tara joined her at the table.

“So, after Frank was shot, did you see where the attacker went?”

“No. I was kind of focused on my partner bleeding on the ground.”

“That’s fair- but try to think back. Did you see anything in your peripheral vision? Did you hear anything?”

Missy paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, she still sounded lost in thought, “I heard a bike. It makes sense with the helmet- I think it might’ve been a Yamaha?”

“Wait, you can tell which brand a bike is by the sound?” you asked, not disbelieving Missy, but distracted by the new knowledge that a person could do such a thing.

“If you let me think about it, I could probably give you the make and model.”

“Holy shit, really?” your eyes were wide. Your expression betrayed just how bewildered and impressed you were by vehicle knowledge. It might’ve been basic knowledge, but fuck it, the author can’t drive.

“Oh, absolutely- different bikes make different sounds. Cars are similar,” Tara nodded her agreement.

“You can tell cars apart by their sounds!?”

“Yeah? Can’t you?” Missy turned to face you, slightly bemused.

“I can tell that they’re old? Or like, electric, I guess?”

“Okay, when this is all over, I’m giving you a lesson.”

“I’d like to get in on that,” Tara added.

“Excellent!” Missy smiled, “Now everyone shut up and let me think.”

The way the BAU treated Frank dragged your guard down further. They were gentle, but not dehumanizing or infantilizing. They just treated him like a human person, and you found that neat, and more importantly, Frank found that neat.

Also, the BAU laughed at Frank’s anecdotes and jokes. I will be fully honest. That was more of a relief to you, especially because a decent chunk of those anecdotes and jokes were about you murdering the shit out of Spencer Reid using nothing but your words.

It really started on that very first day, when you and Spencer had gone to visit Frank. He could see it from his hospital bed- Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, the way Spencer was very clearly trying to comfort you from some unknown upset, and that was it.

Frank said, “Wow. Those two have sure come a long way from Doc telling him to go die in a ditch.”

And JJ, who had been questioning him, choked on her coffee and wheezed out a, “What?”

And that was pretty much it. Frank explained that Spencer had pissed you off, you’d hit him with the “die in a ditch” thing, and he looked so sad that you literally forgave him the next day. (He left out the bit about the stabbing, because stabbing doesn’t just kill people, it kills moods.)

From then on, Frank was the premium source of gossip on you and Spencer. Of course, Missy got in on it, too.

When they told Rossi about the time you’d called Reid a “shit-licking asshole fed,” the agent laughed so hard that he literally couldn’t speak for a solid minute. Was he a big fan of the anti-fed talk? Not particularly. But you had gone at it with such gusto, and with such anger, that he couldn’t help but cackle.

You knew none of this, but you knew that everyone involved seemed happier after the BAU took the case. That was good enough for you.

Your guard fell because of Spencer.

Wasn’t that always the way this was going to go?

While the BAU took care of your friends, Spencer took care of you. He made sure you got home safe. He kept you in the loop about everything case-relevant. He made sure you remembered to eat, which was kind of hypocritical of him, but oh well. He offered to drive you to and from the hospital, which was a fun kind of hell, because the man obeyed every traffic law ever made, but you got to bully him for it, so it all evened out in the end. He distracted you from the nightmare you were living through by offering fun facts. He made the nightmare better just by being him.

And he was the one to get Adam out.

He didn’t announce this victory to you. He just showed up one day, at the hospital, following behind Adam as the newly freed man burst into Frank’s room.

“Frank! Hey, are you good man? I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, I would’ve been, but you know how it is with cops.”

“Shit, dude,” Frank beamed, “All things considered, I’m not too bad.”

“Holy shit, Adam?” you let out a hospital-appropriate screech.

“Oh my god,” Missy stood from her place at Frank’s bedside to give him a hug. For a moment, she held him so tightly that it looked like Adam legitimately couldn’t breathe.

The moment she saw Spencer lingering in the background, she switched from one wire-shaped man to the next. Spencer hugged her back politely, and then, in an instant, she was onto you.

“You sons of bitches did it! You actually did it!”

“Did we?” you asked Spencer, lowering your voice as Missy, Frank, and Adam enjoyed their reunion.

“We did,” Spencer confirmed, stepping closer to you until you were side to side, whispering to each other to avoid disturbing your friends, “We found bank statements proving that this was a targeted hit, unrelated to Adam. We’ve only been able to find the unsub’s side so far, but it won’t take us long to find whoever contracted him.”

“Shit- that’s both really good and mildly fucking terrifying.”

“I know,” Spencer answered almost too quickly, but he covered it up just as fast, “But it means that Adam is a free man. It’s almost over, (Y/N).”

You let out a small exhale, trying to maintain some semblance of calm, “Almost. Thank you, Spence. For all of this, for everything-”

“You don’t need to thank me. It wasn’t just the new evidence.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there was this local criminology professor, maybe you’ve heard of them. They were incredibly insistent that law enforcement look deeper into the case, and because of them, the conviction vanished.”

A smile slipped onto your face as you turned to face him, “Was that a joke, Spence? You’re doing ha-ha funny jokes now?”

“I’m saying you did a good thing, here, (Y/N). Look,” he nodded towards the hospital bed, where your friends were talking, beaming, clinging to each other’s hands like they’d been shot, traumatized, and separated for months- which was an accurate summary, actually.

At your side, you let your hand slip into Spencer’s, weaving your fingers between his slender ones. You felt his grip tighten, his palm pressed tightly to yours. His hands were warm.

“We did a good thing,” you whispered.

You pulled him closer by the hand. You weren’t harsh or forceful, but Spencer still stumbled into you with what can only be described as a somewhat lovestruck grin on his face.

And then his phone rang.

You watched his face fall as he answered it. His fingers drifted away from yours. You could almost hear Hotchner’s voice on the other end. The call only lasted a few moments, but it changed everything. The air in the room grew heavy. The room fell silent.

“We found the unsub. My team is confronting him now, I-” he paused.

“They want you to go with them.”

“I have to.”

A shaky breath escaped your lungs, and you were kinda pissed at it- how dare that shaky breath reveal how you actually felt? How dare it break free from your body, alerting Spencer that your world had just spun out sideways for the millionth time that week.

You were gonna square up with that fucking breath.

But first, without saying another word, you nodded towards the door. Spencer nodded back. Like that, he was gone. You watched him go. You stared at the empty doorway after he’d left. The room remained silent.

I mean, it did until it didn’t- your friends couldn’t watch that and say nothing. I don’t think anybody could.

“Holy shit, you’re just gonna let him leave without saying goodbye?” Adam asked, looking between you and the door so quickly that you were almost surprised that his head didn’t fly off.

“He’s down bad,” Frank whispered, nodding in agreement, “Go get him.”

“I- he’s gonna be back in five minutes,” you tried to reason. It didn’t work.

“He could be back never! He might die!” Missy ran forward, gripping your shoulders.

“He’s got a bulletproof vest-”

“THERE IS SO MUCH THOSE THINGS DON’T COVER!!” Missy progressed to shaking you, slightly, “Go get him! Hurry, before it’s too late!”

“I really don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“Tell him you’re also down bad!” Frank exclaimed, no longer whispering.

“Down bad-? What the fuck does that even mean,” you said, your voice growing quieter and quieter as you left the room and headed down the hallway.

“... Y’know, they taught me what ‘down bad’ means.”

“Same.”

As your friends continued to discuss, you were already halfway down the hallway, walking as fast as you could given the hospital setting. Spencer was nowhere to be seen and you really didn’t have time to look. You really had one choice. The elevators.

You reached them just in time to watch that lanky noodle motherfucker step inside.

Giving up on decorum, you raced through the hospital corridor, yelling out apologies at every human person you passed- fortunately there weren’t too many, so it wasn’t like you caused a massive disturbance. Most people just thought you were having your rom-com finale moment. Maybe some part of you was trying to, but honestly, you weren’t really thinking about it. You were mostly just thinking, “Shit, shit, shit, I have to get in that elevator.”

And you did! You made it! You stumbled through the doors and came to a stop in the middle of that tiny box. Spencer reached out to steady you, his expression letting you in on his amused confusion. You smiled up at him, trying not to pant- and then you came to a realization.

You had no fucking clue what the hell you were going to say.

To be fair, what the fuck is a person supposed to say in that situation? “Heyyyy, my friends think I’m in love with you, so now I’m here, wanna talk about that before you head into a dangerous situation involving a hitman and many guns?”

Or perhaps, “Hey! You’re a good person even though I keep insisting you aren’t one, so I want you to know that you’re a good person before I send you off to get murdered!”

Or maybe, “You’re hot, I’m hot, wanna spend the next thirty seconds doing terrible things to this elevator that will get us forcibly removed from this hospital?”

Or even, “Hi, you just did a really nice thing for my friends, and I really appreciate it, and even though I don’t express it, I do care about you a lot, so maybe don’t die in the next few hours. For me. Please.”

In the end, you just settled for, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Spencer replied, not taking his hands from your shoulders even though you were more than steady, “Is everything okay?”

“Okay? Yeah, yeah, everything is, um. Everything’s fine. I just-” you froze again, because seriously, what the fuck could you say right then and there? What could you say that would let him know everything you wanted him to know?

“Are you sure?” he looked at you, held you with such delicate concern. You kind of wanted to partake in elevator ruining activities with Spencer until the two of you got kicked out of the hospital together.

“Yeah- yeah! Everything’s- I’m okay, it’s just,” you raised your hand, letting it hover between the two of you for a moment before you placed it over one of his, “Come out of this alive. Make sure everyone else does, too, but… come out of this okay, okay?”

Spencer hesitated. And then he wrapped his hand around yours and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles ever so briefly.

“I will. I promise.”

The elevator bell dinged. You’d reached the parking lot. Spencer let go of your hand with a different kind of hesitation.

“I’ll see you soon,” he offered, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Spencer disappeared into the parking lot, dashing out of sight and into danger. You stood there, watching until the elevator doors slid shut and that infernal box pulled you back up again. The humming metal lights above and the clanking metal around you harmonized into the perfect soundscape for your empty mind.

Spencer was heading into danger, as he always did. You were returning to serve your community, as you always did. Spencer might not come back, and you would always remain, and you realized that when the case was over, he would go back to Quantico with the BAU, and you probably wouldn’t see him ever again.

And it broke your heart a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. A little bit, perhaps.

You were a long way from, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, go die,” indeed.

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @logicalhorror if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know!!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

62 notes · View notes

lieu-rey · 1 month

Text

yeah I'm aware of it, and the way I found out was kinda wild bc I literally opened my twitter the other day and the very first thing I see is my own art. I was dumbfounded to say the least lmao. im still not gonna put this person on full blast bc i dont want them getting a bunch of hate for this. regardless, thank you so much for letting me know, i really do appreciate it!

and I actually was gonna make a post about this since I've always allowed reposts with permission, it was in my bio for literal years, but it seems like people could never respect my bare minimum request of at least telling me that they're gonna repost my art. I've said yes to every person whos asked for my permission, honestly bc I'm just so thankful to them for honoring that.

I think the worst part is that for too long now, i thought so little of my own work that I didn't care that much where it went. and now I realize that I make this art with my own hands with years of practice and years of improvement and hours of work, I enjoy making it and i get to put boundaries and put in an effort to protect it. while I share it here so that I can share my silly drawings with others that can enjoy it too, there's something disheartening about a repost getting way more traction than my original post, especially on a completely different site. I understand that if I wanted alot more people to see my art then I'd post it myself on twitter (and not everyone has a tumblr either), but that doesn't give other people a right to post it for me. not to mention the fact that they're exposing my art to AI scraping on other websites, even when I go through the effort of glazing/nightshading it.

basically, I'm not allowing reposts anymore. not that that'll do much in the grand scheme of things but I'm just not about it anymore bc im sick of not being given the barest modicum of consideration.

moral of the story: for the love of fucking god have some goddamn respect for artists. no matter their skill, no matter how they feel about reposts.

#and again thank you for letting me know!#am i overreacting? maybe. but im exhausted man.#asks

30 notes · View notes

nofomogirl · 9 months

Text

Ineffable Beaurocracy vs. Ineffable Husbands

Major S2 spoilers ahead

Season 2 ended with two things very few had expected:

Gabriel and Beelzebub are now a happy couple.

Aziraphale and Crowley aren't (neither happy nor a couple).

As we're all processing, it's inevitable that comparisons sprout left and right, and more and more often I hear voices pointing out how ridiculously quick and easy the romance between Gabriel and Beelzebub was, as well as questions why exactly Aziraphale and Crowley couldn't be the same. Especially Aziraphale, since the fandom likes to blame him in particular for not being in a happy established relationship with Crowley.

I understand the bitterness and frustration but do people honestly think that Gabriel had the same obstacles to overcome, the same sacrifices to make, the same risks to take?

I like Gabriel as a character and I'm happy he found love but please, let's not forget what kind of a person he is - selfish, self-important, entitled, privileged and inconsiderate. Falling in love doesn't remove these traits. It doesn't magically reform him. It might have been a start, a first step on a road to becoming a decent person but that growth will probably never happen if he just ran and locked himself in a happy bubble with Beelzebub.

Yes, he's happy now. Yes, he's out of the picture and not a threat anymore. Doesn't mean he's a nice guy all of a sudden.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he never questions his actions. He believes that whatever he does is inherently right. It doesn't even matter if not long ago he condemned someone for doing the same thing.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he never cared about the consequences of his actions. He never stopped to think about what kind of pain and misery he will cause others. We were shown it plenty of times.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub not because he was ready to sacrifice so much for them but exactly because he's incapable of making sacrifices. Whatever makes him happy is his priority because he cannot see how anything could be possibly more important. He's an angel, therefore he is inherently good, therefore good things make him happy, therefore whatever makes him happy is inherently good, and the happier he is, the better it must be.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub because he doesn't care about Earth, about Creation, about God's Plan, and about Heaven. You might try to argue that he did, especially the latter ones. But I think there's a reason why his persona was modeled after an obnoxious CEO rather than a fundamentalist of any kind. Because he is not a believer, he is a guy who was put in charge and has only the shallowest possible knowledge of what his company actually does, the barest of the bare minimums, and never actually tried its products himself. Gabriel had been always just going through the motions, putting in minimal effort, and covering it with a smile and pep. In a way, it's actually sad because he never knew anything else. He was put in a job and told to do it, so he kept doing it until he found something he actually cared about.

Gabriel could choose Beelzebub for the very same reasons he was ready to start Armageddon, and Aziraphale didn't choose Crowley for the very same reasons he stood against Heaven to save the Earth and humanity.

Aziraphale couldn't choose Crowley the same way Gabriel chose Beelzebub, because Azirapahle is the exact opposite of Gabriel.

So before you write that Crowley deserves someone who would love him like Gabriel, ask yourself seriously if you think Crowley could love a person like Gabriel. Because we know he doesn't. He hates Gabriel and loves Aziraphale and there's a good reason why.

#good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #can we be kinder to aziraphale please #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy

104 notes · View notes

abbynx · 10 months

Text

Call me

Gavril from the Bubo Series Fanfic

Riddled with thoughts you've kept suppressed come spilling out in the middle of the night.

Gender neutral.

The Bubo Series is by partuulla, go support them! 💝✨ Also. I fear that Gav might be OOC and for that, I am so sorry.

That night, you maybe would have died if you slept like a log throughout a break-in even after a tiring day. Painless death, with no trace of your body, perhaps not even a sign of struggle. Police investigation may come to conclusions that you might have ran away but then again, that would be a questionable disappearance as you really showed no signs of of such. Your belongings intact (except for maybe the foods in your fridge), through texts you never really showed any hints. Neighbors and co-workers wouldn't even know where you went, nor would your loved ones.

You'd be plastered in thumbnails of exploitative True Crime shows. If you hadn't crept down the stairs and swung your bat at the first thing you saw, then yes, you would have died too. There was just about plenty ways for you to die that night and thankfully you had taken the right steps to keep your life. Gavril could kill you but for some reason, he didn't.

Reason in which you can only assume to attaching himself to the first person who shows the barely barest minimum of human kindness. You have no recollection by which you had expressed hints of being interested with him, you were just trying to survive and live another day.

"You really are lonely"

Back then, you mentally scoffed at the statement. 'Projection much?' you thought. You don't even know where he pulled that from, aside from the man himself... Only to have that confirmation upon conversing with him further.

Suddenly, you were in a relationship that would put your middle school relationship to shame. Neck-break pace of getting in a relationship, that's a new record, Disney Princesses could never. It felt like being a hostage for fuck's sake, what would have happened if you rejected him? Knowing nothing about him but his first name (not even his full name), favourite food, some of his hobbies that isn't larceny, has a friend rat, and he travels a lot. Well, you came to know more about him when you reached out to him via texts, which he was quick and particularly eager to reply.

There was this lingering thought of calling the police on him after he had given his number to you. Give his contact detail to the authorities and let them have him. But you didn't. You had the choice not to talk to him, but you did and in fact, they were highlights of your days. The Pavlovian effect it had instilled within you was just pathetically laughable in your eyes, how you'd perk up at the notification coming from your phone. Not to be a stupid romantic cliché nut, but he brings a warm tug on your cheeks when you can't help but smile with every texts. Cringe, but true. You were starting to wonder whether he saw through you when he said you were lonely or it was sheer projection and you were just being a crazy defensive bitch.

But in all this, there's this nagging voice at the back of your head. What the fuck is this relationship?What does 'not roomates' even mean? He calls you darling, but what if that is just him being friendly and referring to friends with terms of endearment? Like you've thought before, you have barely expressed something remotely close to romantic that night but at the same time, he seems to be the type to get attached so fast with the show of the minute show of the bare minimum of being a decent fucking person. What if it is just friendship he wants? You want nothing more but the clarity of the boundaries of your relationship in fear of overstepping or making him uncomfortable. It is why you have been holding back no matter how playful he is with flirtations.

You've had previous relationship experiences that had made you this... Wary. Out of defense, you always kept that annoying nagging paranoia on your mental bedside table to protect yourself or the other person from the inevitable heartbreak. This is unabashedly so middle school relationship-coded, you have no idea why you continue to indulge this at this age, were you really trying to achieve a new low? You have nothing against Gavril... Okay, maybe you do, the man did try to eat you, it is justified, but water under the bridge (sort of), but other than that, he is just a bit of a recluse and withdrawn from certain topics.

Whenever you'd ask for clarifications of what your relationship is, he would often swerve the topic away. It was painfully obvious how he doesn't want to address it. In one month you knew him, maybe he does not know either or maybe there is nothing at all in this relationship but he is afraid to answer. You learned not to further upset him by allowing him to change the subject and it has always been that way. You are well-aware that it's a red flag, his refusal to communicate but did that sway you away from him? Barely.

We need to talk.

I need you to be serious.

You are well-aware how much these words can be anxiety-inducing and would immediately hold his attention with no cutesy emojis indicated. At first you didn't exactly know why you wanted to know until you texted him. It wasn't to confirm any of your paranoia and hurt yourself in the process, you genuinely want to fix it... Keep him longer. At least there's some growth, the old Y/N would have done this with the intent being the former. Old Y/N would set up the trap, and if they didn't like what they heard, they're pushing the person away before they could feel hurt.

Yes?

Eager as ever, he was always quick to reply.

What are we exactly?

To him, it was unprompted for the day, to be fair, it had always been a question which lingered every time you talked with him. You just wanted an answer, why can't he answer it? It's not like you were asking for too much, you just wanted to know. How serious does he want this to be?

Not roommates 😅

It took him longer to reply, considering his icon had been bouncing for a few moment that you'd assume he already has at least a paragraph ready. This would have made you smile, but today was different.

I'm serious Gavril.

For a moment you were struck with guilt. Were you selfish to put him in such an uncomfortable position right now? Maybe there is a reason he does not want to answer— no... Communication is key, and you need to know at least an inkling of how he feels to know how to proceed.

Here's another one, why do you always avoid this question? I just want to know so we know how to talk about this.

I honestly don't know

Can I call?

Go ahead

Almost immediately his contact appeared on your notification tab, ringing incessantly. Upon answering, you can hear all sorts of background noises on his end, most of them being the motors of vehicles.

"I hope it's not an inconvenience that I called, but I don't think I can text what's on my mind." His voice was clear despite the city noises you can hear from his end.

"All good."

For a moment he stumbles, pausing momentarily in search for words and gather his thoughts. "I don't know what are we honestly. I always thought that we're... Ya know... A thing," again with the vagueness, but you let him continue. "But then you started asking 'what are we', I also started to question that and I can't really return the question around since you're also confused... I... I just don't know how to, y'know, start a conversation about it. I always thought that if we don't talk about it, it would be fine." Uncertainty was in his voice as he rambled, sighing by the end of it. "Why are you asking?"

"I didn't want to assume what our relationship is. I want to avoid overstepping some boundaries. Been there, done that." A bitter laugh originates from your throat, memories of past relationships flooding in your mind. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable... I... I'm sorry, I overthink a lot of things that sometimes I just make problems in my head and--"

"No, you didn't make it up. I think this has been keeping you up a lot and you just wanted to talk about it properly. I'm sorry for not clarifying sooner," His tone was light and pleasant, there he was again being the warm tug on your cheeks. The anxiety in your chest subsides with his words and honestly, you have no idea how much you can hold on to it before abandoning him all together. "Well then, what do you want us to be?"

There was that question again, this time it came from him. He already thought you guys are a thing, whatever that means, but perhaps now it bears a certain connotation that have just been confirmed and you can't help but to smile.

"I like what we have..." Except now you're now aware of it. Perhaps in time you'd be more comfortable expressing yourself as well. "I guess we are a thing"

"A bit vague but I guess we don't really have a word for it yet," He chuckled on the other side of the line. To be frank, he isn't quite comfortable labelling it as a 'couple' yet. Emphasis on yet. "I'm glad you brought this up."

"You are?" You sheepishly ask, fumbling with your sleeve. "I was always told that I'm just paranoid. Er, everyone says that I am. That everything that I overthink only becomes a problem when I bring them up... So sometimes I just try to shut up because I don't want any trouble and then every problem I 'created' in my mind just plays out and comes apart at the seams and ruins everything."

"Sounds like they're the problem. You're just pointing it out and they're not listening. Let me guess, they blamed you to some degree?"

"Bullseye. No wonder I thought being alone was better," You bitterly chuckled, before sighing. "This is... Stupidly depressing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. And it's depressingly relatable. But at least we have each other."

That's reassuring, you'll take it. A yawn creeps from your mouth as you responded, "Right."

"Go to bed. It's late already."

"Only if you do the same." Knowing him, he'd skip sleep yet again.

"Fine." He relents with a defeated sigh. "Next time, just address the problems okay? I promise you're not paranoid."

The old you would be in deep doubt. The current you is just relieved at the reassurances sent your way. Heart strings were strummed and you smiled through the haze of sleepiness.

"Promise."

"Alright. Good night, darling."

Half-lidded eyes flew for a moment when you hear the term of endearment, the word rolling off his tongue, pass his lips suddenly envelopes you with warmth in the late, cold night.

"Goodnight, Gavril."

#the bubo series fanfic #gavril game #x reader #partuulla #gavril x reader #this has been sitting in my drafts for some time after i watched manlybadasshero played gavril #then i found the quaint fandom here in tumblr and i #i just had to write something for the rat man #bubo series

84 notes · View notes

enden-k · 5 months

Note

have you considered drawing all your babygirls together? the overwatch boys (I'm so sorry I don't know their names. I like them bc you drew them but I'm not into overwatch and names take a lot of time for me) and haikavetham? idk I'd just like to seem them together again. maybe haitham and the cool robot guy outfit swap as well? or concept swap?

if you feel like it of course.

(also I think youve done it before but I've been really into outfit swaps lately and haitham in kavehs shirt lives in my mind rent free)

rama and haitham outfit swap would be so hilarious bc rama lit walks w his ramathussy out. the haithussy would destroy all of sumeru if he walked out like that for sure, cyno would arrest his ass immediately

but yeas idk maybe ill draw more niran w kaveh bc last time i did, i enjoyed it too much AHHAHA (crack ship?) but yea if i draw them both i think i might draw symweaver kavetham together for fun, no promises, just like. if i would draw them, it would be those bc symweaver is literally the kavetham of overwatch (prettiest babygirl in the world busy with projects til morning and his autistic (ex)roommate/(ex)best friend whos the opposite of him and still, they make it work etc blabla)

yes i did it before (drawing kavetham outfit swap) haitham rlly looks nice in kavehs shirt............rlly nice......rlly nice nicecneini

btw sorry for lack of genshin art or smth idk if some miss it but unfortunately im really bored of genshin lately. dunno if its the game itself and the fact that im just way too attached to sumeru that i really lose interest the more we dont see/are there again as we move on (i rlly tried moving on but its so hard, rn im just very casual and do the barest minimum hhhhhhg bring me back to sumeru pls thanku)

anw obv i still love my babies too much and im always open and free to scream about them or share my thoughts and hcs or whatever. is just bc of the genshin boredom and me moving back to old fandoms (ow2) and other fandoms (hsr), im drawing other stuff from there i enjoy. i def wont leave the game/fandom tho and ill cook up some kvthm some time dw, im just waiting for the next time i have more days off work so i have enough time to brainstorm and rlly get into it again

#sorry if my words dont make much sense or im rambling. im sleepy and tipsy #but yes I LOVE MY KVTHM BABIES WAY TOO MUCH STILL SOOOOOOO no one worry or smth okkkkk byee #reply

28 notes · View notes

atthebell-moved · 1 year

Text

I think what's most frustrating about misogyny in this fandom (and any fandom, but this one has particular issues I'll get into) is that people who've never read a single word of feminist theory can recognize when they're pulling sexist bullshit. Like, my dad has never in his life consumed anything beyond milquetoast feminist takes on NBC family dramas, but he's capable of taking a step back and going "hey, that sucked and i know why."

But here, no matter how much i want to give people the benefit of the doubt for being young and not having the same opportunities as me to engage with feminism, people just go beyond the level of patience and grace I'm willing to extend to them. Yes, it is obvious that you don't care about women. No, I don't care that you rb pretty pictures of them, because at the end of the day you'll turn on them in an instant for any perceived wrong that for your favorite male streamer you would do endless apologia.

Every single woman on the DSMP is treated as an extension of male characters. Every streamer is treated like she doesn't matter unless she's streaming with some guy you actually care about. I've gone through their fanart tags, extensively, and I PROMISE you that the ratio of fanart of them on their own compared to art of them with your favorite white boy is fucking sad. Not to mention how many of these women get doxxed to hell and drug through the mud any time they flirt with a man or do lore that you don't approve of because it slights Tommy or Wilbur in any way.

Do you know the shit that gets slung at female streamers? There's an attitude in certain corners of this fandom that male streamers are over sexualized. Let me tell you about what female ccs go through. There is deepfake porn of every single one of them. There are constant messages about their bodies, about how they don't deserve their fame if they don't wear revealing clothing, and about how they need to cover up more. There are stalkers and rape threats and constant judgment of their actions as inherently sexual and deserving of not just criticism but genuine hatred. Please go watch an unban requests stream and you will see the BAREST minimum of what I'm talking about. The things I have heard people call Niki and Puffy are fucking disgusting, and I can't even imagine what their mods have to see.

If you think Twitchcon SD shoving the only panel for female streamers into a tiny room is bad, I want you to look twice at this community and how it treats women and then tell me you think that's surprising. There were people in line for that panel and for Niki and Hannah's meet n greets who were only there bc they're on the DSMP and stream with the guys you people actually care about. I know because I literally talked to them. They don't know a thing about these CC's content.

Don't pretend like this community is better than how all of twitch treats women. Don't pretend like you care about feminism and then throw completely disproportionate levels of criticism and hate at any woman who fucks up. Don't pretend you care about women within their own narratives and then sideline them at every opportunity in favor of the guys you actually care about. Suck it up and say the quiet part out loud (you don't care about women) and start actually trying to care.

#discourse #fandom critical #feminism tag #its all feminism for aesthetics sake #you all know you ought to be progressive and that feminism comes with that #but you dont actually understand how to stop relying on the patriarchy and examine your own behavior for flaws #also all of this goes doubly for how you all treat women of color #misogyny doesnt just stop when youre trans/gq #its also just so funny to me bc so much of the hate dsmp fans get is bc of misogyny #rape mention #i could make a far longer post with more specific citations but im too irritated right now #i drafted this literally over a month ago #misogyny in fandom

131 notes · View notes

edisacornball · 2 months

Text

Ugh. I really, really don't want to make this post, but. I just don't know what else to do at this point.

So I've actually been to my first day of work. Things are really, honestly looking up, it's just a matter of holding on for a bit longer, somehow. The fact that I managed to get a full-time job in this economy, even if it's minimum wage, is just... I can't even believe how lucky I feel to have that, honestly.

But... My first paycheck won't be coming in until March 8th. OOF. Which means we're going to be going through a rough few weeks of trying to have my husband figure out how to have us keep having shelter for the night while I keep working. Which is rough, because we don't even have a car to escape to if things get bad. We've literally had several nights over the past year where we've had to resort to just sleeping on the streets with no shelter whatsoever.

On top of that, right now we're facing a problem with our storage unit, which is all our belongings in the world right now, and the only way we're able to function and move around while still having things like clothes and tools for art and anything other than the barest of essentials, basically. And it's currently 2 months overdue, which means we're at risk of losing it very soon if we don't do something immediately.

I'm not asking for some magical solution that makes it so that we can save our storage unit and be safe until my first paycheck. Like I said, we've figured it out before, we'll keep figuring it out. But I'm so terrified of losing everything other than the couple suitcases and backpacks of belongings we currently have. My cat's ashes are stored there. I just. I'm so freaking desperate to not lose it, and I was so desperately hoping my paycheck would come quickly enough to solve it, but realizing I'm going to have to go three weeks before my first paycheck was kind of terrible.

Anyway, we would need to somehow pull together $389.20 in order to save the storage unit. I'm attaching a screenshot to show I'm not faking, even though I know, yes, it would be very easy to fake. I'm happy to provide more information if people need, I'm just... so desperate.

I've got a pinned post with links, but I kind of hesitate to put them directly on this post because it tends to make the post lose visibility. I think I might try reblogging with links, so check the notes.

#real life

11 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 19 days

Text

Minimum Distance, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2024, Championship: Undercover as Lovers

Feathers might settle on silk, but Obi’s heart is still taking flight, pounding in triple time as Doc takes her eyes off him, tipping back her chin to show off the spray of freckles beneath her jaw, right where the most delicate part of her skin stretches to cover her pulse. There’s a part of him that knows he should be worried about the man at the door, that he should already be composing a plan to get not only her but Ryuu out of this house, global lockdown or not, but—

But there’s another, louder part that sees an invitation. That got the fucking Save-the-Date from Doc anteing up that whole dance across the carpet and has some real opinions about just how well her skin would hold a mark. Who is really stumping for him to test some hypotheses about how freckles taste.

Telling it to shut up isn’t hard. Just another Tuesday here in paradise.

“Well…” Her neck stretches just a fit further, straining the limits of her voice, but she finally gets the door in her sight. Takes a minute one she’s got it to worry at her lip, leaving the barest, babiest dints behind, the kind he’d love to feel against his— “I guess I should go get that.”

Obi sits back on his knees, staring. She’s real confident for a girl who wanted to switch rooms one shower ago. “Doc, shouldn’t you— hngh?”

She wriggles, hips not just worming but also squirming right beneath him, and it’s doing something both wonderful and terrible to the wiring up and his brain. Real light show right where his lizard ancestors party down.

Doesn’t mean he was born her bodyguard yesterday though. Grandpa Gator might be personally projecting the world’s sexiest powerpoint presentation, but Obi’s already shifting, one of his thighs catching under hers, trapping it up between his knee and elbow. Gets her wrists for good measure too, both of them bound up in one hand, ignoring her surprised little whine when he pins them to the mattress.

That’s Bodyguarding 101 when it comes to Doc: can’t trust any of those little interested noises when he’s got his hands on her. Her interest in manhandling is purely academic; with only two geriatrics to keep an eye on her as a kid, anything more physical than a side hug registers as a novel experience. A real Only Child Problem.

Imagine that, being the only kid in the house. Absolutely buckwild.

“Wasn’t the whole point of swapping rooms so that you wouldn’t be getting any midnight rendezvous from that creep?” he growls, frustration itching just beneath his skin, deep enough he can’t scratch.

“Well, yes,” she allows, back flat against the mattress. She couldn’t be more thoroughly bed-bound if he tied her to it— which, god, he should really not be thinking about right now. Not when he’s got his knee between her legs and all that’s between him and skin is some skimpy teddy. It’s got the same sort of effect on him as a whole bottle of tequila: absolutely devastating for the parts of his brain involving high function, excellent for his circulatory health. “But there’s no problem now, if you’re here.”

There’s actually a bunch of problems— most of which start and end with his body’s sudden interest in showing off what sort of improvements this new three mile jog habit has made on his dick game— but there’s still the overhanging stuck in this dude’s smart house for the foreseeable future and we don’t know what his long game is. Short game, though, seems pretty fucking clear.

“Doc,” he hisses, leaning close enough everything but her eyes blurs, like that guy who painted haystacks for a living. “That doesn’t mean he won’t try to—”

“Um, hello?” There’s another knock, more insistent this time, and god, this guy might be some…pharmaceutical savant or whatever, but it doesn’t seem like anyone ever bothered to teach him how to read a damn room. “Are you there, or…?”

Doc’s mouth thins, her jaw getting that stubborn set it does when she’s about to haul off and jump out a window, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even squirm under him, just lays there, staring up at the ceiling, brow all furrowed and—

And that’s why he doesn’t even see the pillow coming. He barely has time to register she’s slipped a wrist free— right through the gap between his thumb and fingers, the minx— before a pound of down feathers takes him right out. He keeps his grip, fingers locked around the only wrist he’s got left, but all his air being replaced with eiderdown doesn’t do much for his stability— a fact Doc’s all too ready to exploit, using their momentum to put him right on his back.

Damn. Probably should have seen it coming. Taught her that one himself right after that whole clusterfuck with Umihebi, along with a few of the less brutal takedowns in his repertoire.

Instead he’s left breathless, trying to win a wrestling match with the pillow over his windpipe— a fight he could win, if she wasn’t clambering down him the whole time, rubbing bits of her over parts of him primed to pay attention. A solid toss knocks the thing back— right in time to catch a flash of strawberry-print cotton as she dismounts, scurrying toward the door.

It shouldn’t do anything. Not when he could write his own dissertation on the classification of every shade and shape of bush. But apparently his dick hasn’t gotten the memo on that one, stretching both his credulity and his waistband before he slams the pillow over his crotch, adding a new shade of blue to his vocabulary.

By the time he’s got any mind to stop her, Doc’s already peeking her head through the door, telling number twelve of the Forbes Fifty Under Fifty, “Excuse me…it’s really late?”

“O-oh, Shirayuki. Yes, of course. It is late. Very late. It’s just, you see…” From this angle he can’t see the guy’s face, just the nervous fluttering of his hands, like two drunk birds trying to fuck their way out of chimney. “I think there may be some…misunderstanding? Are you, er…?”

Alone, that’s what this asshole is trying to say. Because that’s how he wants her: vulnerable. How all these rich jackasses seem to think she should be. And here he is, trapped on this bed as thoroughly as if Doc were holding him down, debating whether she’s in enough trouble to saunter up and risk showing off just what sort of heat he’s packing.

He stifles a groan. This is how it’s always gonna be, isn’t it? Finding some new way to live his life on the edge, no matter how cushy the gig is; as strung out on her as anything that came in a little plastic baggy.

“Am I…?” Doc leans out the door, her weight shifted over her feet-- the perfect way to be snatched off them-- and that’s enough to get him off the bed.

Big Pharma’s prodigal son had seen fit to provide every room with one of those cushy bathrobes, even nicer than the ones he steals from every hotel where the Big Boss sets them up, each one monogrammed with their initials in the nicest, curliest cursive. Obi doesn’t know just how this guy decided which of his aliases to use, but he’s glad to have something on hand that might do a better job of obscuring what gray cotton won’t.

There’s not enough time for him to be strategic about it— he just strings it across his shoulders and knots the belt over his waist, hoping velvet is heavy enough for even his circulatory system to struggle against. By the glance Rugilia gives him when he leans behind Doc in the doorway, all casual menace, before his eyes drop straight to his crotch—

It isn’t. But that guy still looks away first, flushed right past the collar of his stupid robe, so at least his dick’s overactive imagination has gone and paid off for once. Oh boy, just wait until Kiki hears about this one. Princess would put that shit right in the company newsletter.

“Want to explain what you’re doing here?” Obi hardly needs to fake the gravel in his voice. Doc might not have ridden him hard or put him away wet or anything, but it’s the closest he’s come in almost three years. “Standing around Doc’s door at the witching hour?”

“B-but…” Obi’s got a healthy dose of skepticism when it comes to these people with more zeroes in their bank account than brain cells in their head, but when Rugilia’s eyes widen, jaw going so slack he can see all the way back to his tonsils— well, he’s gotta say, it’s convincing. “But it’s supposed to be your room.”

Now it’s Doc’s turn to stare at him, and, well, that throws are few things about this night into perspective. Damn, too bad Master’s not still hanging around in the closet— he could use a reminder that Obi’s still a hot commodity. “So, you’re here for me?”

It’s flattering, even if this stick figure isn’t his type. Certainly the most aggressive come-on he’s had in a while. He might even think about it, if he wasn’t on the job. Sometimes a boy likes to be chased, after all.

“N-no, wait, that’s— that’s not what I meant.” Rugilia might be huffing and puffing now, glaring at the both of them like it’s their fault they found him caterwauling outside their door like a hard-up tom, but Obi doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep drifting south of his equator. “Oh, honestly, if you two want to— to! You could have just said you wanted a room together.”

Doc clears her throat, guilty. “We were, um…trying to, ah…be discreet?”

“Discreet? Whatever for?” He crosses his arms, flushed. “At least then I would have known to check the cameras before I came down to—”

“Cameras?” Obi asks, but it’s too late, Doc’s already barreling ahead with, “We haven’t told the company we’re dating!”

Rugilia blinks, eyebrows bumping blindly over his nose. “Do your departments really work closely enough that you have to?”

Doc’s looking at him, like he’s got his finger on the pulse of these fraternization regs for some reason, but he’s still stuck on— this guy really thinks he’s a lawyer. This guy looks at the scar cutting across his naked chest and the other riding high by his hairline and sees four year college. Sees another three years post-grad at least, internships, sees passing the goddamn bar—

“Anyway, I wasn’t coming here to be a…er…pest,” Rugilia continues, suddenly as confident in his bathrobe as he would be in a three-piece suit. “I had a favor to ask.”

Right, this guy came here for a reason. Even if it wasn’t to take advantage of the California King situation past this door, this guy is up to something. Something that involves Doc. “Listen, Doctor Lyon doesn’t—”

“Oh, ha! I didn’t mean Shirayuki!” Rugilia waves his hand, utterly disarming— until he fixes his stare on Obi. “I’m here for you, Mr Won.”

Well, he didn’t have that on his eccentric billionaire bingo card tonight. “Uh.” He steps back, making space. “Then come in, I guess.”

#obiyukimadness24 #undercover as lovers #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #minimum distance #modern au #ans #listen once i realized there was no way to tell this fic from the beginning i really though i would never come back #but here i am #adding to obi's suffering #maybe one day i will get to write the kiss he can't forget about #OR MAYBE NOT #but i love his voice in this fic and i'm glad i got the chance to write it again 🤣

8 notes · View notes