#floating workbench

[gloomwitchwrites]

By the Belt (3 of 4)

Mechanic John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: married couple, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Soap needs a distraction, and you’re going to give it to him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // by the belt masterlist

It’s Sunday. John’s shop is closed on Sunday.

Even so, he’s always working on something, his hands unable to lean into idleness for a moment. They desire something to hold, to tinker and learn and explore.

It’s the late afternoon, and you stand in John’s personal garage located at the back of your shared property. His actual shop is nearby, just a mile or so down the road. This is sacred space. The place he goes to work on all sorts of personal projects. You are off to the right of him beside his knees. John is on his back, partially submerged beneath a lifted car.

That always makes you nervous, even though you know he’s careful about his safety. You always imagine the machine keeping the car aloft breaking, sending the vehicle down to crush him. The car itself is vintage, a special project that John has been working on for months. The paint is stripped and its mostly bare bones.

Beneath the car, you hear John sigh heavily. He rolls out from under the car, the wheels on the rolling bed squeaking as he does so. When he notices you standing there, he immediately grins.

“Hello, wife,” he croons, sitting up and draping his forearms over his bent knees.

“Hello, husband,” you reply, matching his tone. His smile widens and a warmth blooms in your cheeks. “Thought you could use a break.”

Grinning, he pushes up to standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What kind of break?”

With boldness in your blood, you reach out and slide your fingers in the belt loops of his dirty jeans. John stumbles forward, nearly knocking into you. That grin briefly transforms into surprise before settling into a sultry smirk.

“Oh, aye. I could use a break.” He leans in, your mouths meeting in a lovingly gentle kiss that warms you right down to your toes. When he breaks apart, that lovely grin is back. “But I’d hate to dirty your pretty skin with my hands.”

You tug on his belt again, smiling. “What if I want to get dirty?”

John laughs, his stained, oiled fingers hovering just shy of your skin. “You sure, love? Because I can do that.” Your answer is a brief yank on his belt. John shakes his head. “I warned you.”

You unthread your fingers and John makes a turn-around gesture. You comply, eagerness in your bones.

“Bend yourself over that table.” John points directly in front of you. It’s a workbench. There are a few tools but they’re off to the side, leaving the middle completely open.

Stepping up to it, you place your hands flat on the surface, bending forward, the angle forcing you up on your toes. John leaves you there. Lingering. Hanging. You have no idea if he’s watching you and enjoying the sight, or if he’s simply turned around and walked right out of the garage.

But you have your answer when John’s voice floats toward you.

“Lift up your dress,” he instructs, some rasp in his tone. He does not touch you, but you feel his presence. He’s close. You swear that you can feel his heat of the backs of your thighs as you reach back with both hands and lift your sundress up to your hips.

You are exposed to him. Utterly bare.

“Fuck. You dirty girl,” croons John, and you know exactly what he sees—or rather, what he doesn’t. “All bare under there. You knew what you were doing. Didn’t you?”

You did. You absolutely did.

Still, John does not touch. You hear the soft crinkle of his jeans as he goes down on his knees behind you, his warm breath brushing lightly against your pussy as he exhales.

“Spread for me a bit.” You shift your legs apart slightly. “Good,” he praises. “Like that.”

The moment you’re in position, John’s tongue parts your pussy with a slow stroke. He begins at your clit, moves upward, dipping the tip of his tongue into your sex before retreating. His hands rest on the table on either side of you, unmoving. Staying true to his word, John isn’t dirtying your pretty skin, but doesn’t mean he might not lose some control and touch you anyway.

Really, that’s what you want after all.

Using just his tongue, John traces circles, swirls up and down your sex, moves in languid motions that have you guessing. Every nerve is burning up like a sparkler. Your husband is teasing you, and fucking enjoying that he’s doing so.

He leaves nothing untouched, nothing untasted. Whimpering, John lightly kisses your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough.

“Stay still,” he chuckles, when your hips buck with wanton irritation. “Let me finish my meal.”

John’s mouth promptly returns, and you know you’re done. Utterly done. Brain dead. Air rapidly leaving a balloon. He sucks on your clit, then penetrates you with his tongue, only to do it all again. With each, he sucks just a bit harder, bordering on painful pleasure.

The next one has you nearly coming off the table.

“I’m gonna fuck you after this, love,” groans John. “Bloody hell, you’re sweet.”

He dives in and your nails dig into the tabletop, your voice cracking as you orgasm. You feel his smile against your flesh before his mouth disappears from it, only to be replaced by the familiar sound of unzipping jeans.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance but doesn’t penetrate. John lightly guides the head back and forth through your slickness, the sound of it echoing loudly in the garage.”

“Will you be a good girl and take it?”

You nod enthusiastically, strands of your hair shifting to stick against the back of your neck. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

With a low moan, John starts to press in, your body not resisting, only wanting him inside. You both groan loudly as he bottoms out. Adjusting, John places his hands firmly above your head, anchoring himself.

He breathes deep, and reaches for your wrists, one at a time, trapping them against the table. John rolls his hips, thrusts lightly against you. It’s the perfect angle. You feel everything.

John increases the pace. Those light, almost shallow thrusts become languid and long, hitting deep when your bodies come together. From there, his thrusts turn sharp, a smacking pace that stings your flesh. You hardly care. John’s cock inside you is heaven, the thing just to ease the lust in your bones.

Every stroke is lovely, sending shivers of pleasure through your limbs. Your little moans become breathy exhales, your words leaving your lips silently, delivered only to the quietness of the air.

John’s head dips, his lips brushes over your exposed shoulder as he continues to thrust. “Gonna come inside you, love.”

It is not a question, and you will always say yes even if he asks.

His last few thrusts shake the table, the legs scaping against the concrete just before John holds his hips flush to yours. The groan as he finishes comes from deep within his throat. It’s a primal sound.

Glancing up, you watch as his grip on your wrists shift. He’s left some of that grease behind from working on the car on your skin. He said he wouldn’t mar it, but he couldn’t resist, and that feels like a victory.

John presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you tilt your head in his direction, seeking his gaze, even as he keeps himself inside you.

“Good break?” you murmur.

John chuckles. “Oh, aye.” He shrugs, nods toward your wrists. “But we need to get clean.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06

#john mactavish fic #john mactavish imagine #john mactavish fanfiction #john mactavish smut #john mactavish fanfic #john mactavish fluff #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x female reader #john mactavish x f!reader #john mactavish x fem!reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish fic #john soap mactavish imagine #john soap mactavish fanfic #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish fanfiction #john soap mactavish smut #john soap mactavish x female reader #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish fanfic #soap mactavish imagine #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap smut #soap fanfiction #soap fanfic #soap fic #soap fluff #soap imagine

[bluesidedown]

you are 23  and your hands hold steady the block of wood you are shaping and the sweet aromatic smell of sawdust is curling around you  maybe your mother’s voice floats through an open door to tell you a meal is ready maybe you still have something to learn about carpentry as you work alongside Joseph 30 years is a long time to spend waiting quietly faithful, caring for your mother and your father, for your sisters and your brothers working with your hands ‘til the hands of God are calloused going to the synagogue to hear your words read week upon week you are 23 you are patient  building a whole life of not my will but yours, Father

maybe you pick up a nail from the workbench look at it and know 10 years from now rough hands will hold you down and drive a spike through your wrist  spilling blood onto rough wood  maybe you are already making that sacrifice now quietly faithful maybe you can teach me how to be 23 waiting, quietly faithful caring for my mother and my father, my sisters and my brothers working with the hands God gave me hearing your words week upon week

build in me a whole life of not my will but yours, Jesus

#advent reflections poem i guess #my poetry #also did y'all know you could edit tags on desktop now???? this is great. #I don't use desktop much lol

[yorshie]

Pick Up The Phone

Bayverse x FemReader PART TWO

tags/summary: violence, torture, cussing, hurt reader, angst, uhhhhh symptoms of shock? (I'm not to the point where I am writing an outright relationship but the undertones are there)

Reader has a date go sideways and the turtles come to the rescue, but there's a difference between seeing violence on tv and seeing someone you care for commit it.

Set in 2023 (Turtles aged up)

Leo would have called this an 'I told you so moment’. 

You wished he was here, would have listened to his lecture on being more careful and not letting your guard down, if only for the fact that suffering through a powerpoint on ‘fifty ways today could go wrong’ would be happening on the way to the med bay, where hopefully Donnie would inform you that your arm was, in fact, not broken, and you were just being a little bit dramatic.

You deserved a few moments of dramatics at this point.

Your phone buzzed again, loud and angry in your hand, but you ignored it, knowing it wasn’t the number you wanted, needed. The screen was cracked, half the touchpad dead, and you weren’t even going to try to answer unless it was one of your friends. 

Your face felt hot, sticky, but it was your arm that gave you worry. It had settled into a prickly pain that felt like a coiled snake, skin feverish and swelling quickly to the point your long-sleeved shirt felt constricting. Thank god it was dark outside, not many people around, easier to hide the side of your body that felt like it had shattered when you went down the stairs.

You paused under a street lamp, looked left and right, behind. The coast was clear, you felt far enough away. Your right hand pressed, shaky, on the screen, and you cursed, your fingers catching on the cracks as you fought with the half dead technology to hit a number, any number, on your short list.

Finally, failing, letting out a rough hiss, you jammed the phone on its side against your chest and held the button for assist.

It dinged, and you tucked your chin, whispering, “Siri, call Leo.”

“Sorry. Did you say ‘Call Leo’?” The answer, loud, carrying, had a shiver break across your shoulders, a cramp starting in your neck as your body tried to compensate the weight of keeping one side stationary.

“Yes.” It came out angry, even quieter, but the phone heard, and you watched as the screen changed, for once not trying to hit the speaker button.

The damaged screen was hot against your face, and you cradled it against the right side, unconsciously moving away from the light as you caught the distant shadow of a figure moving towards you.

The voicemail beeped, and you felt your face fall, not bothering to listen to the whole automated message. You set the phone back on your chest, pressed firm on the half lit ‘hang up’ button, fought a sniffle as it didn’t work. 

You hissed out a breath again, pressed your forehead against the screen, and gritted out, “c'mon Leo, please- please, get your phone, please.”

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

“Hey, we on for movie night tonight?” Raph’s voice echoed throughout the lair as he hopped the turnstiles into the main room, depositing a pack of soda onto the common area table as he went.

“Don’t know,” Mikey’s voice floated from far above, and Raph ducked as his brother swooped down, the propulsion on his skateboard whining as he banked hard and jumped over a pipe. “Babycakes said something about having plans, told me and Donnie to not wait up.”

“Plans?” Raph frowned, cast his brother a look over his shoulder as he paused.

“Yea, Dee thinks it’s that guy we’re suppose to pretend to not know about.”

“Well, you’re doing an excellent job of that,” Raph sassed, already moving, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. He stuck his head into the lab, careful not to move past the neon tape marking the entrance. “Hey, Don? You hear from girlie tonight?”

“No, not recently, but that’s not surprising.” Done answered, popping up from a workbench and moving towards his brother. “I sent a couple messages to her earlier, but I think she muted her phone, hasn’t answered.”

Before Raph could comment, he heard Mikey’s voice again. “Yea, she hasn’t even responded to the epic battle of cat gifs today, and we’ve had that thing rollin’ since Tuesday.” 

Raph snorted, loudly, just to let Mikey know he was ridiculous, but Donnie hummed, brows shifting in confusion. “Hm, well… maybe Leo knows something.”

“Knows something about what?” Came the reply, the eldest stepping out from the dojo, swords clasped in his hand instead of strapped across his shell. 

Raph jerked his chin towards him, “You talk to princess today?”

Leo paused, looked from Raph to Donnie. “No, but my phone’s been up in my room. Usually if she wants to talk, she does it in person.” 

“Just go check your phone, numskull.” Raph gestured, and Leo scoffed, walking up the ramp to his room. 

Donnie was already returning to the lab, grabbing his phone where it sat on the main desk. He frowned at the screen, calling back over his shoulder to Raph. “Got a missed call from her, just now.” The phone buzzed again, lighting up slightly brighter in his face. “Aaand now a voicemail.”

Raph moved to Donnie’s shoulder, crowding up into his space, as Donnie flicked the device open and navigated to the phone app.

“Donnie?”

They both froze, twin shivers working across their shells and down their legs like ice water at the hissed voice.

“Donnie, please, please- I need help-.” 

It sounded like - like crying. 

Raph was suddenly alone, a Donnie shaped hole next to him, as the taller brother all but teleported to his main station and started typing furiously on one keyboard. 

Muffled, a harsher voice in the distance, and then your breath heaved out across the speaker, loud and uneven, the slap of footsteps echoing in the background. Raph could hear the next words from clear across the room. 

“I’m not going back with you, leave me alone!”

“Donnie! We got a problem!” Leo was back. Raph spared him a glance, feet cemented to the floor, and saw the flash of an Otterbox in his hand.

“She called you, too?” 

He saw Leo mouth the word too, before Donnie’s voicemail started up again, and he went silent, still.

It was that harsher voice again, this time clearer, closer. “Hey, c’mon, at least let me take you to the hospital-”

Raph felt something knock into him, saw Mikey shrug his shoulder out of the way, uncharacteristically solemn as he asked: “Donnie, where we goin, bro?”

A loud ringtone blared throughout the lab before Donnie could answer, and Raph all but ripped the seams on his pocket trying to get his phone out. He cut off the cheery jingle about sunshine, Donnie’s hissed “speaker, speaker” reminding him to hit the extra button instead of just screaming into the receiver:

“Princess!?”

“Raph?” And oh, the pain in his chest at that one word.

“Where are you, talk to me.” He felt crowded, Mikey against one shoulder, Leo at his back, but he fought the urge to shake them off.

“Who the fuck is Ra-”

“Your worst goddamn nightmare, if you don’t quit following me, asshat!” He could have kissed you for that, but that ball of ice in his gut solidified at the angry answer fired back:

Oh, so this is why you were guarding your pho-” The voice cut off, and they all heard the painful gasp that followed, your hiss audible.

“Donnie, work faster!” Leo all but shouted, but Donnie was already flying, grabbing gear as fast as he could. They scrambled out of the lab, Raph and Mikey racing for the dojo, hot on the others’ heels as they leaped the turnstiles and raced to see who would get out to the tunnels first.

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

Your call with Raph got disconnected in the struggle, but at that point all the despair, all the pain, got balled up in the center of your chest and turned into rage. You had minutes, maybe fifteen at the most, before the calvary arrived, and the idiot currently trying to haul you back to the street by your good shoulder would be in for a world of hurt.

“Stop! I don’t want to go anywhere with you!”

He ignored you, still pulling you away from the alley, from the manhole cover you’d been trying to pry open.

“You aren’t thinking clearly, why the fuck are you trying to go down into the sewer?” 

“Let. Me. Go.” You stepped forward quickly, stomped his foot, jerked back just as fast. 

“Fuck, you little bitch-”

The manhole cover behind you rocketed off the ground, disappearing into the dark with a loud crash and you felt like laughing at the sheer relief, your arm suddenly free as the man grabbing you was unceremoniously jerked away.

He was emitting a high pitched whine, the sound disappearing the harder Raph squeezed.

That relief bubbled away at the sight of violence, big hands slowly squeezing. You looked up at his face, expecting murder, bracing for it.

Devastated by the look of hatred in its stead.

Someone's arms wrapped around you, Mikey, you distantly thought, but you pulled against the warm push of muscle. “Stop- stop him-”

“Back off, Raph,” Leo barked, and you shivered as Raph dropped the man with a thud.

A quick glance around made you realize that, while relief had been your first emotion, something much darker had a hold of the turtles.

Donnie took up your vision as Leo moved past, large hands cool as he took your face between them and together with Mikey tried to turn you away.

Craning your neck, you could just make out the hiss of steel being drawn as Leo stopped over the crumpled figure on the ground.

A fear wormed its way into your heart, beating louder and louder. “Wait, wait- stop. Leo! Stop!”

He pulled up short like a puppet on strings, and you curled your good arm across Mikey’s bicep, trying for just a little wiggle room. Donnie’s thumbs still tracking across the bad side of your face as you fought to keep your eyes open.

“I need-I need you guys to take me to the lair.” The words left in a rush, your tone almost panicked, desperate that they take the bait. “Please, Raph. Leo. Please, I need you all to take me to the lair.”

“She’s got a broken arm,” Donnie called, as if you hadn’t spoken. “The head wound seems superficial, but it’s a lot of blood.”

You swatted away his hands, kept your eyes over his shoulder, tip toeing, pulling against Mikey. “Leave him, its not worth -”

Wrong thing to say. Raph moved faster than you could think. The crunch of bone against pavement the only warning before a high pitch scream left the man still on the ground. 

The near growled whoops was darker than you had heard his voice before, but Leo only huffed a low chuckle that did nothing to ease your fears.

“Don, She’s nicked here,” Mikey’s murmur jerked you back, made you realize the calloused hands on you had moved. His grip had shifted, one arm across your chest, the other pulling at the hem of your shirt, thumb tucked into the crease of your hip.

Donnie’s finger moved to cover the broken skin, and you hissed, breath broken, babbling: “Stairs. Stairs- I fell down the stairs leaving-”

“Oh?” Leo’s voice reached you, and you cut yourself off, jaw snapping shut despite the fact that the tone wasn’t aimed at you. “I didn’t know you were called ‘stairs’. Nice to meet you.”

You couldn’t see what he did, but whatever it was pulled out a gargled whine. 

Your hand finally unlatched from Mikey’s wrist, grabbed a hold of Donnie’s arm, tightened until you knew your nails were digging in. “Donnie- Donatello! Listen!”

Hazel eyes snapped to your face, and you continued, desperate to establish contact. “You are better than this, you all are better than this. Call it, Dee. Get me to the Lair."

His eyes flickered, you felt hope. “I’m really tired, Dee. My arm hurts so bad, please.”

His mouth pulled up at one corner, as if he knew what you were doing, saw straight through to the panic. He straightened to his full height, and you let that relief blossom, felt the pain in your arm again as he turned.

He whispered something, low, to Leo, and you watched, helpless in Mikey’s grip, as they turned in unison to your failed date.

“If.” Leo lowered himself, and you saw the sway of the blade in his hand, saw the way the man seemed hypnotized by the threat. “You. Ever. So much as think ill of her, we will know. And we will find you.”

Mikey’s chest vibrated under you back as he chuckled, his lyrical tone causing you to shiver. “Look at the big man quiver. Fucked up the wrong tree, bro.”

You bit your tongue, hard, fighting the urge to try and hurry them, goad them into leaving faster, knowing it might snap whatever hold you had and they’d go back into torment mode.

You didn’t release your breath until you all were in the tunnel below, good arm coming up to wrap around Mikey’s neck as he shifted you, careful of your bad side, gait long and even as they ate up miles.

Finally, a good ten minutes in, and you finally raised your head from his neck to ask, “Is my arm really broken?”

Heard Donnie hum an affirmative, and lowered your nose back to tuck against the juncture of Mikey’s neck. “Just one break, in your forearm. I’m hypothesizing you stuck it out to break a fall?”

“I really did take a trip down the stairs,” it felt wrong to try to inject humor, but they were so silent except for the sound of their feet on the cement. You tried to fill the silence again. “He only pushed me against the wall, only tried to get my phone. If I’d been smarter-”

A heavy hand, finger curling under your chin, and you let him, met Raph’s gaze, “If you say ‘only’ one more time, I’m turnin’ round.”

You made a strangled nose, disappeared back into the safety of Mikey’s hold, felt his hand soothe the shiver that had started in your shoulders, down your spine.

Donnie kept the med bay sterile, bleach clean. The white tiled walls boxed you in as Mikey set you on the patient bed, gently removing the grip you had on his wrist so Donnie could take his place.

They filled the room til the space was fit to burst, and you felt the tension, drowned in it with every pass of the soft cloth Donnie rubbed across your face, every brush of your knee against his leg. You had no idea who was wound tighter, you or them.

Finally, when Donnie moved back and you blinked at the harsh light after minutes of keeping your eyes clenched tight, Leo sighed. A deep, chest rattling exhale of breath, and it was like those imaginary puppet strings were finally cut, and you slumped your good shoulder against the wall behind you.

You could almost see him open his mouth even though you were faced the opposite way, and belatedly remembered how you had looked forward to his powerpoint presentation earlier. A smile worked its way onto your face, a twisted thing, gone as soon as you felt the atmosphere shift again.

“The fuck you smilin’ about?” Raph. And you swallowed heavily, mind flickering back to big hands squeezing.

“Raph.” Leo’s reprimand was soft, different from the bark earlier. You suddenly wanted him to snap, wanted the anger. Wanted them to at least stay on one page so you had a hope of processing it.

You felt tears, now of all times, escape their ledge, start tracking down your face as Donnie moved to your arm. You stared at a point over his shell, where the wall met the ceiling, and held it.

“Ah, shit, princess. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” That big hand again, cupping your cheek, and without thinking you curled your face away, heartbeat painful, imagining the strain to squeeze the life out of a man with one grip.

His hand hung in the air, suspended, then dropped, and you tracked it all in slow motion. 

Donnie interrupted, “I’m gonna look at your ribs now, kay?”

You nodded woodenly, sucked in a breath at how cold his hands felt against broken skin.

“You’re gonna feel a little out of sorts for a bit,” he continued, and blessedly Raph moved away. For a heart stopping moment you thought he was leaving, but he only leaned back against the closed door. You tracked over him, then around the room, realized he had gone to the wall furthest from Leo.

Donnie pulled your attention again, “you’re likely already experiencing some shock symptoms-”

Donnie was almost always right, you realized, because at that moment you blurted out: “Thank you, for- coming to-” The words stuck, and the tears wouldn’t stop, and you could still see Raph’s hand hanging in the space next to you. Your arm burned, your ribs ached, but you needed to say it, needed them to know that-

“Hey, babycakes, it’s ok. It’s ok.” Mikey was on the bed behind you, legs sliding on either side of yours, holding you steady with a warm hand on your good hip, and you breathed in sharp, your shiver turning into full body quakes.

Donnie kept a hold of your bad arm, held it out, kept it steady as he continued to work on it, probing the break carefully.

Leo moved, silent, in between a long blink, grip on your calves soft as he dropped to his knees, caged you in between Mikey’s thighs and his plastron.

Raph sighed from where he stood, and you heard more than saw him push off the door, steps loud as he moved to your free side and once again raised his hands.

They curled along your jaw, too big, too strong. Grip careful as he wiped away the tears, cradled your head to keep your chattering teeth still. 

An echo of the earlier violence, but at this point you didn’t care.

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #bayverse tmnt #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #bayverse leonardo #bay leo #bayverse raphael #bay raph #bayverse leo #bayverse raph #bayverse donatello #bay donnie #bayverse donnie #bayverse michelangelo #bay mikey #bayverse mikey #x reader fanfic #tmnt turtles x reader

[wildemaven]

bloom : two | joel miller

-> pairing: joel miller x florist f!reader

-> wc: 4024

-> content warning: lots if fluff and mutual pining, ellie being ellie (terrifying at times), talks of divorce and failed relationships, mention of food, reader is a single mom (adoption) and has zero physical descriptions

-> a/n: excited to share this! everyone is meeting and things are happening. big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being a gem and listening to me stress over this and reading through this and correcting all my mistakes— she’s truly the best!

one / series masterlist / playlist

Sarah keeps asking questions. 

She always has, ever since the day she could form coherent sentences. Always wanting to know more, seeking out more information to feel informed and ready for her next move. 

So it comes as no surprise that she’s asked him the same question about five different times in the span of 24 hours.

“So, where are we going again?” Sarah’s question floats through the cab in between munching on the tart green grapes she brought along to snack on. 

“That flower shop. That one you always comment on when we drive by— Wilder Floral. I got your flowers from them.” Joel glances over to where Sarah is sitting in the passenger seat. 

“Hmm. Oh yes, the place you haven’t been able to stop raving about for the last week. Remind me why we are getting flowers?” Popping another grape into her mouth. 

“For Nana. Why you askin’ so many questions? I already told ya all of this.”

“Just tryin’ to get a better understanding as to why we’re goin’ to buy Nana flowers. Her birthday isn’t for another 6 months, and there’s no occasion that would require flowers that I know of.”

“Why you goin’ so hard in your ole man? Can’t I buy my mom flowers, just because.”

“Never said you couldn’t. Just askin’ that’s all.” Her exposed hands in front of her show no ill intent was intended. 

“Alright, ‘nough interrogating me. We’re here— hey, let’s keep all this talk about me not shuttin’ up about this place here in the truck, ‘kay?” Joel says as he pulls his truck up alongside the curb in front of the floral shop. 

“Sure, Dad.” She says before hopping out onto the sidewalk and closing the door behind her. 

The bell rings as he pushes the door open, allowing Sarah to walk in, following right behind her. The shop hasn’t changed much in a week's time. There’s new arrangements in the case, some similar to ones he looked over last week, some different. There’s buckets of flowers of all shapes and shades lining the ground near the workbench— trimmings scattered across the top must mean they’re being prepped for use in new arrangements. 

Joel continues to scan the space, in hopes to land on a familiar face who has overwhelmed his every thought for the better part of the last week. 

“Look what the cat dragged back in.” A voice pulls his attention to the side of the entrance, a spot he hadn’t looked over yet. 

“Ellie. It’s good to see you too.” Joel gruffs, shoving his hands in his pockets, wanting to feel less exposed to her cynicism. 

“Couldn’t stay away long, could ya?” Ellie snarks, leaning into the broom handle she has in her grip. 

“Um, guess not. This is Sarah, my daughter I was tellin’ ya bout last week.” Joel gestures to where Sarah is standing next to him. 

“Hey, aren’t you the girl that plays guitar at school?” Sarah asks, thinking she knew she had recognized Ellie from somewhere, then placed her as the girl who sits on the brick wall at lunch with her acoustic guitar, singing an array of classic ballads. 

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t think anyone ever really paid attention though.” Ellie seems to have shrunk down a little, a twinge of self consciousness washing over her. 

“I thought you looked familiar! Dad, this is the girl I was telling you about the other week, the girl who was singing The Sun Always Shines on T.V.” Sarah reminds Joel. “My dad has been singing that song to me since I was a baby.”

“No shit?” Ellie looks at Joel briefly, studying him, as if trying to imagine how he’d look and sound. 

“Yeah, you’re really good. I always stop and listen when you play.” 

Joel watches how Ellie absorbs the information, the slight grin that she tries to hide as she looks at the pile of dust and flower clippings she had been sweeping before they had walked in.

“Thanks.” Ellie huffs out, the compliment unexpected since no one at school ever seems to notice her playing, she doesn’t mind, but she’s grateful there’s at least one person enjoying when she does. 

“Small world. Anyway, we were in the neighborhood and wanted to get some flowers and thought we’d stop in to get some for her Nana.” Joel breaks the silence, pulling Sarah in front of him, his hands on her shoulders to keep a barrier between him and Ellie’s sharp words. Sarah gives her a meek smile and wave. 

“Makes sense, seeing as how we’re a flower shop.” A burst of air snaps from the gum Ellie is gnawing at, her sarcasm fully intact and back in action, her brows shooting up at the obvious reasoning for Joel and Sarah’s visit for flowers. 

“Is your mom around by chance?” He asks, peeking in the direction of the doorway that leads to the back room.

His hold on Sarah’s shoulders tightens slightly when she tries to wiggle herself away from his grip, hoping she could free herself from the awkwardness that’s started to simmer. 

“Well, seeing as how she owns the place, what do you think old man?” And she’s back, Ellie’s brutal response has Joel speechless. Sarah ducks her head to hide her snickering at her dad being called an ‘old man.’

“Ellie!” Your voice booms through the shop, catching the tailend of what Ellie had said to Joel. 

Joel turns to see you frozen in place. You look mortified by Ellie’s bluntness, your grip tight around the buckle of florals you have in your arms. 

“What?” Ellie rolls her eyes as she looks over to you. 

“Knock it off! Don’t be rude— especially to the customers.” You say as you make your way to your workbench, your calculated steps indicating the contents of the bucket are heavier than they look. 

“But it’s not just any customer, it’s Mister I’m sliding into third base Joel.” Ellie snarks, looking at Joel with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen. “Besides, I’m just kidding! Geez— no need to get your undies twisted.”

Sarah pretends to take in the store, avoiding the back and forth taking place around her, biting back the laughter that’s been building in her chest. 

Joel takes this as his cue to leave Sarah with Ellie, deciding she’s far less likely to be hit with a barrage of sarcastic remarks based on how well Ellie took her compliment about her singing and guitar playing. 

“Here let me help you with that.” Joel says as he jogs over towards you, his arms reaching out for the bucket ready to take on the load himself. 

“Oh! You don’t have to do that—“ You start to tell him, but he’s already grabbing the bucket from you, placing it alongside the other ones you already carried out prior to their arrival. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” The way you’re looking at him has his heart rate ticking up a few beats, feeling fidgety as he tightens his hands into a fist then releases, trying to release the nervous energy that is flowing through him. “How’s the finger doin’? No other  injuries I hope.”

“No other injuries and the finger healed up nicely. Thanks to a wonderful stranger coming to my rescue.” You hold up the finger in question. No bandage. No sign of where the rose thorn had embedded itself into your skin. “It was probably the kiss— you know, that made it better and all.”

Joel reaches out, his hand wrapping gently around your wrist, needing to inspect the injury site for himself. He places your hand in his, his thumb tracking up your exposed palm and the length of your finger, smoothing over the area he had the privilege to be up close and personal with a week ago. He likes the way your skin feels under his touch, silk like and warm, even with how much you work with them. He has to rein in his fiery thoughts, wanting to know how every inch of you would feel. 

“Always does the trick.” His voice teeters on a nice balance of gentle and rough. 

Joel looks up from where he’s still holding you. Your eyes already fixed on him, beaming and bright, giving your smile a run for its money. He’s not quite sure what convinces him to do it for a second time, but finds he doesn’t really care either when he places a kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. He  lets his lips linger for a moment, catching the brief gasp you let out and the way he can feel your pulse quicken as the milliseconds tick on.

“I-I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. A very welcomed surprise to my busy week.” Your voice soothes something within him, seeping into his heart and filling the cracks he struggled to keep from breaking entirely. 

“Sarah and I were in the area and thought we’d stop in again— as promised. Need to get some flowers for Nana— my mom, her grandma.” 

“Well, I appreciate you stopping in. What’s the occasion?” You ask as Joel gently releases your hand, you pull your clippers from your well worn canvas apron, placing them next to your other tools. 

“Uhh, no real reason. Just ‘cause.” But what he really wants to say is ‘Just ‘cause I needed to see you again, and this seemed like the best way to do it.’

He’s not sure what it is, but he felt it the last time he was here too. This blooming effervescent attraction to you. Infatuated by your mere presence in such a short time. He usually runs in the opposite direction when feelings and commitment start to unveil themselves, but something about you has him running straight for the things that scare him the most— wanting to know if you feel it too.

When Joel thinks back on his dating history, post divorce, he can’t remember a time where he actively went out of his way to see someone. It could have been because there hasn’t really been anyone serious since he and Sarah’s mom divorced. There've been a lot of blind dates set up by friends and his brother Tommy, none of them making it to a second date or really establishing themselves as relationships. He’s met a few women that he thought had potential for a future with, one he had even considered proposing to after a year of dating, but it ended when she decided marriage and a kid wasn’t something she saw in her life at that moment. Joel put dating on the back burner, focused on getting his construction company off the ground and Sarah being his main priority as far as he was concerned. 

Then Joel walked into your shop last week, and everything he thought he would never have or deserve was gone. And now he finds himself searching for any reason to walk through that front door of your little flower shop, just so he can see the way your face lights up. 

“That’s so sweet of you! I’m sure she’ll love Just Cause flowers— everyone always does. I have these new arrangements I just put together if you want to give her one of these??” Pointing to the several arrangements in glass vases that you had been working on all morning. “These protea are my favorite to work with. Their petals are kind of velvety and they’re perfect long after the rest of the arrangement has expired, she can dry them and have them forever. They are kind of cool flowers too, they’re adapted to survive wildfires because their stem contains buds that will produce new growth after fires. And they’re one of the oldest living flowers on the planet, so that makes them double cool.” 

Joel studies you as you continue to share random floral facts with him, adjusting and readjusting the arrangement in front of you. Each flower placed with intention, pausing from time to time to take a slight step back, your head tilting to the side as you look over everything as a whole, then back to arranging and rearranging. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble like that.” You say as you look to where Joel is leaning one hip into your workbench, as he hangs on every word you're saying. 

“No, don't be sorry. I like it.”

There’s an ease that flows nicely between you. Joel wants to pick your brain, find out what makes you happy, the things that make you sad— all the things in between. He wants to talk to you for hours on end, or not talk at all and just listen— to anything and everything you have to say. 

“Like what?” 

“Listenin’ to you talk. I like it— a lot actually. And the little facts too. Shows how much you love what you do to learn special details like that. You could be tellin’ me about how mushrooms could start a zombie apocalypse, and I’d find it interesting— terrifying, but interesting.” Joel hopes you can hear that he genuinely means it.  

“Well, I won’t tell you how that possibility is more likely to happen than you think based on the research that’s been done over the years.” You both laugh at how ridiculous sounding a mushroom zombie apocalypse would be. 

“They seem to be getting along nicely.” Your chin pointing over to where Ellie and Sarah are giggling to themselves at the front part of the shop. 

“Sarah’s a pretty easy goin’ kid. Gets along with pretty much everyone she meets, even Ellie it seems.” Joel looks over his shoulder at the girls. 

You both share bits about each of them. Their differences, similarities and all the fun little quirks they’ve both had since they were babies. 

Joel asks about Ellie’s singing, and you tell him how she taught herself by checking out books at the library to help her master the chords and beginner songs. Joel tells you how he used to play growing up and that he doesn’t play as much as he would like to now, but sometimes Sarah can twist his arm enough to dust off his guitar and strum out a few songs at the end of barbecues or random summer evenings. 

He tells you about Sarah’s latest soccer game, how she’s an all-star player and usually helps carry the team to victory throughout the season. You tell him how Ellie had been on the track team briefly, she was a sprinter, but was kicked off the team for punching a runner from another school because she had elbowed Ellie during the 400m race, causing her to trip and lose. 

An hour passed before you both don’t realize you’ve been caught up talking about your kids. 

*

“She’s like head over heels in love with your dad. She literally jumps when the front door dings, hoping it’s him again. It’s gross.” Ellie tells Sarah, looking over to where you and Joel are, completely wrapped up in a moment together. 

“Hmm. We stopped in to get my Nana flowers.“ Sarah repeats what Joel had told Ellie earlier. 

“Your dad mentioned that when you came in.” 

“Yeah, well she’s been on vacation for a month and won’t be back for another month. So I don’t think we are here just getting my Nana flowers.” Sarah takes a glance over now to see you and Joel laughing. “I think it’s safe to say my dad is just as head over heels for your mom, too.” 

*

“Well, we’ll get outta your hair. Promised Sarah we’d stop on our way home at The Picnic, get some lunch and ice cream.” Hating that he can’t stay, knowing that he can’t hog all your time— but maybe one day.

“Oh I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve heard so many great things about all their food trucks. Ellie and I will have to check it out sometime. She’s on a Chef Boyardee kick right now, as one would be when they’re a preteen. Would be nice to mix it up for her though.”

If it wasn’t too forward with it only being his second time meeting you, Joel would ask if you and Ellie wanted to join them. He would even chance the gutsiness and ask you out, spend the evening getting to know you better until both your stomachs and hearts were full. Ellie’s words hit him, “she needs to be wined and dined before you even think about kissing her.”

“Nothin’ wrong with some canned ravioli— lived on that shit in college. But yeah, you both would enjoy it. Definitely take her.” He decides gutsiness isn’t winning today, or it’s his fear of being on the receiving end of Ellie’s wrath that has him wanting to do it the right way, just not today. 

“I hope Nana loves these. And feels special getting just ‘cause flowers.” You hand Joel the ceramic container filled with different shades of pinks and greens in varying heights, shapes and textures. 

“I’m sure she’ll love ‘em no doubt. How much do I owe you?” He gives the flowers a look over, not in an analyzing manner, but admiring the way you manage to take these flowers and effortlessly pair them all together and create something special. 

“You’re in luck! I’m running a special today!.” 

“A special?” Joel is frozen in confusion. 

“Yes! Free to customers that go by the name of Joel.” You say sweetly, he catches the way you bite at your bottom lip after you say his name. 

“‘N what are you gonna do when another Joel walks in wantin’ some of your pretty flowers?” 

“Well, there’s limits of course. And it’s only valid for one Joel.” You wink at him, prompting his stomach to flip and knot up. He needs to ask you out!

“No, I can’t let you do that again. Let me pay this time, please.” He insists, setting the arrangement down on the counter he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flipping through the large bills stashed inside. “How much?” 

“Joel— my shop, my rules. There’s no arguing— just take the flowers.” 

“Hi! I’m Sarah. Thank you so much for the flowers, my dad and I haven’t been able to stop talking about them. I have been bugging my dad to bring me here, it’s so pretty.” Sarah tells you as she stands next to Joel, arms crossed over the counter. 

“You are so welcome. So glad you’re enjoying them.” Even with this brief interaction, you decided Sarah is one of the sweetest teenagers you’ve ever met— Ellie wouldn’t even take offense if you told her such, she would most likely shrug and agree. 

“Hey, Dad. Are you almost ready to go? I’m starting to get hungry.” Sarah asks, turning to look up at him. 

“Right— sorry, babygirl. We got caught up talkin’ and now I’m tryin’ to convince her to let me pay, but she’s insistin’ we just take the flowers.” 

“Sounds like you shouldn’t argue with her. Just say thank you and take the flowers.” Sarah grabs the arrangement and snags Joel’s keys that are dangling from the front pocket of his jeans then starts to head for the door. “I’ll meet you in the truck dad. It was nice meeting you!”

You wave goodbye to her and watch as she stops on her way out to tell Ellie bye, telling her she’ll see her around at school, the bell dings and the door slowly closes as she walks out. She settles herself into Joel’s truck, its engine roaring to life soon after, signaling Joel to say his farewells and head finally head out. 

“I guess I’ll see you around then.” Joel slowly walks backwards, prolonging his departure from you. 

“I’ll see you around Joel. Hopefully sooner than later.” You wave to him then you’re straight back into work mode, moving buckets of flowers to be cleaned and prepped for your next round of arrangements. 

Joel’s hand settles on the door, but releases it and turns back to where Ellie is finishing up her sweeping through the shop, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he interrupts her. 

“If you take a picture it’ll last longer. Although, might be a little weird with you bein’ an old man and all.” Ellie is quick on her feet. Joel hopes that’s the last of her intimidation tactics. 

“Hey, umm— don’t say anything to your mom ‘bout this, but sometime this week why don’t you take her out to eat somewhere. Give her a break from cookin’ and what not.” He holds a double folded $100 bill between his middle and pointer finger, encouraging Ellie to take it from him. 

“This feels like some sort of thing my mom should've warned me about. We’re not a charity case, we don’t need your money.” She continues sweeping, grabbing leaves and a few days worth of dust bunnies that have collected under display tables. 

“It’s not— I don’t think you’re a charity case. I just— I wanted to— umm.” Joel releases a deep sigh. He’s flustered, stumbling over his words trying to figure out what he is wanting to say. 

“You wanted to ask my mom out, but you’re too much of a chickenshit. So you’re conning me into taking her out instead. Thinking that maybe I’ll soften up to you a bit.” 

“Yeah, pretty much all of that.” Joel huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at how easily she was able to read him. 

“I’ll tell ya what— I’ll take her somewhere, but I keep half.” Ellie bargains with him, making sure she still has the upper hand.

“Half?” 

“Kids gotta make a livin’ somehow.”

Joel thinks it over, actually contemplates the pros and cons of being worked over by Ellie. Each positive gained him an in with Ellie, not really a guarantee, but he’s hopeful that maybe she would consider downgrading her verbal assaults a notch or two. The only negative Joel  can come up with is… Ellie keeps the money and he has to come at this from a different angle, one he’s not really sure about yet. 

“Okay, okay. You keep half, but take her somewhere nice-nice.” He holds the bill again out to her, she snatches it quickly and shoves it in her back pocket. 

“Yeah, yeah old man. Under one condition. Next time you come in here acting like you’re buying flowers just so you can see her— you ask her out yourself. None of this middle man BS.” 

“You gotta deal, kid.” He holds his hand out to her, and they shake on it. A truce cementing the fact that he agrees to not being a chickenshit— something he’s not sure he’s ever been called before. “Maybe go easy on the old man part a bit.”

“See ya around ol— Joel.”

“See ya later, Ellie.” 

*

The driver door slams shut as Joel settles into the seat. The cold air already flowing through the cab, Sarah singing along to The Clash with the flowers secure in her lap. Joel fastens his seatbelt and shifts the truck into drive, his thumb drumming along to the beat as he drives away. 

“So, you got a crush on the cute flower lady?” Sarah asks, her infectious smile extending from ear to ear. 

“What? I— what makes you think that?” He looks over to her, his brows slightly raised at her suggesting he likes you— he does, he just didn’t realize it would be two teenagers picking up on it. . 

“For starters, Nana’s been on vacation for a month, and she won’t be back for a while. But also the way you look at her, it’s so obvious.” She plays with the petals of the flowers, waiting for Joel’s response. 

“Anyone ever told ya you’re a smart kid?” He shakes his head and laughs. 

“Yeah, you do all the time Dad. So, are you gonna ask her out?” 

“I’m afraid if I don’t, Ellie’s gonna have a hit-man out for me.” He’s joking, but also not. “Yeah, I’m gonna ask her out.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #no outbreak!joel miller #TLOU au #bloom series #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #tlou #pedrostories

[dancingtotuyo]

Build You the World

Joel Miller X Reader

Rating: PG-13 (Language)

Warnings: fluffiness, just fluff

Summary: Joel was stupid. Saying sorry the only way he knows how, Joel built you something.

Pre- Outbreak/ No outbreak because I want them to live a happy undisturbed life together.

Notes: We take a break from our regularly scheduled Narcos/Javier Peña content to give you this teeth rotting fluff piece about Joel Miller. Cross posted on AO3

Words: 1286

Series Master List | Author Master list

Joel sucked in a breath. Supplies scattered on the floor around him. The industrial fan blew the hot Texas air into his hotter garage. Sarah rode her bike around the driveway, purple fairy wings strapped to her back. She chatted on and on, no doubt caught up in a make believe land. He needed to take the training wheels off her bike. Maybe tomorrow he would have time.

Joel’s gaze drifted back over the supplies he’d bought at the hardware store this morning. Sarah had asked what he was making as her little legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. She’d noticed the unusual components he gathered. These weren’t for a job or the back porch he’d been working on all summer.

“Secret project” he’d winked at her and thankfully, she’d accepted it.

He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d handled the whole situation badly. It was 2 am before Joel gave up the tireless pursuit of sleep and drawn up the plans. He currently wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was a contractor. He did big projects like framing houses and decks. His fine carpentry skills left a lot to be desired.

Joel pushed those thoughts from his head. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

One lunch break, two first aid breaks, (a splinter in his thumb and a skinned knee for Sarah) and a nap (Sarah’s) later, Joel had all the pieces shaped and sanded. He couldn’t help but admire his handy work. Sure it was a simple design and yeah, it wasn’t assembled yet, but he’d made this. He just prayed it all fit.

Sarah colored at his workbench. She’d woken up not long ago and was still quiet from her nap. “Daddy, what are you making?”

“Top secret, baby girl.” He winked at her, pulling the wood glue and clamps from the cabinet.

She sighed in exasperation turning back to her coloring book. Joel hummed along to the classic rock station. His tshirt clung to his body wet with sweat. At 5:30, the temperature was just beginning its slow descent. He started to assemble to the first side, praying he’d made all the slots the correct size. That had been the most tedious part, ensuring it would all lock together properly.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Are we going to have dinner soon?”

“Soon, I want to get this first side put together first.”

Sarah sighed, her hair floating up and then falling back over her eyes. Joel chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Why don’t you go grab a cheese stick to tide you over?”

“Okay.” She slid off the stool, running inside.

It slid together with relative ease. Only a few profanities dropped from his mouth when he dropped something or spilled the glue everywhere.

He was jerryrigging the clamps when Sarah squealed, darting out of the garage. He glanced up, just able to make out the blue sedan that pulled in behind his pickup. Your blue sedan.

Nerves coursed through him. He reached for his beer. It was warm and flat now, barely touched. Sharp power tools and alcohol don’t mix well. He ignored the taste, taking another gulp. After last night, fear and shame filled him.

Sarah held your hand, talking a mile a minute as if you didn’t kiss her Goodnight last night. You laughed at something she said, but he heard the way it doesn’t quite reach. The first thing he noticed were the dark bags under your eyes and the red rings around them. Guilt flooded him. You need sleep more than ever right now. He felt the exhaustion radiating off of you.

You attempted to make yourself more presentable before gathering the courage to come over. The shower helped, your hair still damp and curling. The mascara kept running so you left it.

 You round the corner with Sarah. Joel can hardly look at you. To be fair, you don’t really want to look at him either. You don’t want a repeat of last night but you can’t ignore the situation at hand either.

You finally call up the courage to look at him. You’d grown proud of yourself for learning the ins and outs of Joel Miller in the two years you’d known him. You could read him like the bedtime stories you read to Sarah, silly voices and all, but right now the pages of him blurred. Maybe that was just the tears you fought back.

“Sarah, do you want to grab your fairy wings to show-“

“Yes!” Sarah didn’t allow her father to finish. She was gone through the door in a flash of dark curls.

“She’s been excited to show you. Can’t believe she wasn’t wearin’ ‘em.” His Texas drawl popped out sending shivers down your spine. He forced a smile.

You wanted to return it, but other things pressed your mind. You weren’t good at diversion.

“Joel.” Your lip quivered and you hated yourself for it. You felt out of control right now.

He sighed. “Come here.” He cocked his head back stepping further into the garage.

The fan pushed air through your hair and skirt granting mellow relief to the heat.

 “I’ve been working on this.” He swallowed presenting his scattered workspace. He read all nerves but there was the briefest sense of pride too.

Pieces of carefully shaped and sanded wood laid about in piles. You caught sight of what he’d put together. “Porch railing?”

You failed to see the connection. Not to mention it looked too tall and narrow to be for the back deck. And what was with the arch? Was he trying to build a trellis? He’d been talking about putting in some raised beds for you and Sarah.

Was this some kind of joke? An “I’m sorry?” It hardly accounted for one.

“No, it’s a-“ he sighed, running a hand through his curls. He needed a haircut. You had planned to take the clippers to it last night until things went awry.

He picked his notebook up off the work bench. The leather bound one you got him for Christmas. You were convinced he didn’t use it. It sat on his nightstand and you were sure if you’d picked it up, you would see a dust outline. He handed it to you.

You could tell he hadn’t used it much but that didn’t really matter. Your breath caught, all else forgotten the moment your eyes landed on the page. It was rough, dotted with measurements and notes, but it was clear as day all the same.

Tears built up for a whole new reason.

“I stayed up all night working through the design. It's nothing extravagant, but it’ll be sturdy… and safe.” He stuttered.

You traced the design with your finger. All the doubts from the past 24 hours, gone just like that. “You designed a crib?”

“It’s cherry wood. I know that’s your favorite.”

“You designed a crib for our baby?” You stepped into his bubble. You couldn’t believe it. Of everything you anticipated tonight, this was not on the list.

“Baby, I’m so sorry for last night. I was a jackass-“

“Joel Miller, Shut up! You’re building this?”

You looked at him like he hung the fucking galaxy, and his heart settled. He knew the two of you would be okay.

 “Yes.”

 You kissed him, arms thrown over his shoulders, tears streaming down your face as the nightmare turned  into a dream.

You would hear his apology out in full later, lord knows you deserved it after last night, but right now, you just wanted to celebrate. Celebrate him, your love, and the little bundle of joy to join the three of you in 7 short months.

#joel miller #the last of us #fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #fluff

[upsidedownwithsteve]

SIMMER | THE KITCHEN MIX 🍜

The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

🍳

#Eddie munson #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson drabble

[that-bloody-witch]

L'amour et la Mort

Chapter 1

The years of King Arthur’s reign had been, so far, a largely peaceful time. Granted, the first half-decade or so after Uther’s death had been wrought with strife, remnants of his cruel regime which stained his son’s hands red. The battle of Camlann, and the defeat of Morgana, had marked a distinct shift in the balance of the world. Light began to pour where darkness had festered for a lifetime, seas too treacherous to sail once again gentled, poisoned fields were found to have nutrient-rich soil; nature itself had begun to heal. Some of the more faithful scholars, ones who still followed the Old ways, believe that this change had been paid for in blood, could have only ever been paid in blood. 

Followers of the Old Religion have held many beliefs throughout the ages, some less sensible than others. They preach that royal blood, truly royal, holds a certain weight against the natural order of things. One ruler’s death will plunge kingdoms into centuries of depravity, while another might pave the way for an age of enlightenment. After all, the weight of royal words, of royal actions, hold much more power in them than any other person’s. Where else should that strength come from, if not their blood? Camlann had soaked its fill of Pendragon strength, between Arthur and Morgana, and the world had flourished because of it. Even in the long, terrifying months of the king’s recovery, no attacks had been waged on Camelot’s borders, the other nations of Albion instead vying for favor with the young ruler. 

The first few days after Camlann were not easy for anyone in the realm. Merlin and Arthur had arrived weeks before the army returned, on a damned dragon. Only the sight of their wounded King being carried in thinly-muscled arms had kept the castle guards from striking against the creature. Several hands had tried to pry Arthur from his manservant’s grasp, none successfully, as Merlin carried his friend to Gaius’s chambers. 

“What happened,” the old man had gasped at the sight of his bloodied apprentice, seeing through the dirt and grime to the naked fear on his downturned face. He immediately motioned for the guard who had followed them to clear the workbench, knowing that the next hours would be long and uncomfortable for every party. 

“He was stabbed.” The words fell from Merlin’s chapped lips like a death sentence, eyes never leaving his King’s face. A single tear dropped onto Arthur’s cheek, trailing down his cheek as if produced from his own sorrow. Gaius raked his eyes over Arthur’s body, finding that the blood was covering too fully to see where the wound lay. He pointed a bony finger to the table, now cleared, a gesture which Merlin had never needed before. Usually, after so many years of working side-by-side, his apprentice moved almost before he even knew which direction to tell him. 

“Merlin, you must let go.” The words seemed to float by Merlin unnoticed, his focus on the King unwavering. “Merlin, I cannot help Arthur if you do not put him down.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking over the syllables like waves on a rocky shore. “I’m not sure I can keep him alive if I let go.” Gaius felt a sharp intake of breath as wide, golden eyes met his. This was much worse than he had feared. 

“You must,” he pleaded, “set him down, hold onto him if contact is needed, but I cannot work if I cannot see the damage.” The words, at last, seemed to convince Merlin into action. He took short, unsteady steps to the table, and laid his King down without letting go entirely. Arthur’s gloves had been removed, at some point, and Merlin’s first clenched around limp fingers like a prayer. At once, Gaius began ordering the guard to help remove his King’s armor, cutting his shirt off entirely so as to not disturb whatever fragile stasis Merlin had upheld this long. “What happened, my dear boy?”

“Camlann was worse than I imagined.” His voice was still shaky, but seemed to steady itself as he regaled the battle. Gaius took his tale in stride, nodding along in encouragement as he cleaned Arthur’s skin enough to see the wound’s extent. He listened as graciously as he was able, barely pausing as Merlin recounted laying waste to Morgana’s army, and the lady herself, with lightning. His apprentice spoke of a sea of bodies, of barely arriving in time to be of any use at all, of being too late to help Arthur when he was most needed. “They’re dead,” the words shattered over thin air as Merlin spoke them, seeming to finally run out of whatever strength he had pulled out of himself. 

“This wound should have killed Arthur,” Gaius whispered, feeling every year of his life in contrast to his young King. He had birthed this boy, now a man, had held his squalling, naked body as Uther mourned his wife. The only thought which seemed to rise above the cacophony in his head was a prayer, to anyone who should listen, that his old hands would not carry Arthur into death as they had life. “Merlin, what exactly have you done to keep him breathing?”

Merlin let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, scrubbing his free hand down his face roughly. “I’m not sure, really. I called for Kilgharrah after Morgana found us in the forest. He brought us to Avalon, and Freya told me to place Arthur in the lake’s waters. It took all three of us,” he swallowed against the words, trying to push past the lump which had lodged itself in his throat at the sight of Mordred’s sword embedding itself into Arthur’s stomach. “He was just barely alive when I got there. If anything had held us for even a moment longer.” Merlin’s words trailed off, a haunted look marring his face. The gold still had not bled from his eyes, and it seemed, to the old physician, that the impossible magic his boy was performing had become second nature, much like anything else regarding Arthur’s safety. “We did what we could, but he was still unstable. Freya told me that I already had the power to keep him from passing, and then I just started keeping him.” Gaius’ eyes flicked up from where he had been examining the wound, now as clean as possible with the slow trickle of blood leaking onto the table. Merlin’s eyes were locked onto the gash across Arthurs gut, glowing impossibly brighter against the fading light filtering into the room. Gaius motioned for the guard to light the room’s plethora of candles, so that he may continue to work as dusk fell. Instead, every single sconce in the room burst into flame simultaneously, Merlin’s concentration on the King remaining unbroken. The guard flinched towards the door, nodding curtly at Gaius’s instruction to wait outside in case anything was needed of him.  His eyes once again fell to the injury, widening as the candlelight threw the wound into more clarity. The skin was slowly stitching itself together, vessels and musculature repairing itself in a shocking feat of magic. 

“Merlin, my boy, how are you doing this without an enchantment?”

“I don’t know. I can’t stop.” Another gulp, another shaky exhale. “Every time I think it’s better he starts fading away.” The picture in front of Gaius suddenly sharpened into a horrific reality. The wound, as Merlin had described it, was given days ago. Even the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Gaius had seriously begun to doubt that even those words were enough to encompass all of Merlin’s abilities, could not uphold this magic for long. His mind raced, coming up with contingencies and platitudes that might convince his boy to release his hold on Arthur’s life. 

“Son,” he began, “you-”

“I can’t do this for much longer, can I?” His words, more sobs than syllables, cut off Gaius’s explanation. “I can feel it, magic was never supposed to best fate.”

“No, my boy, I would imagine not.” The words lingered in the still air, riding the chill to sink into their very bones with the grim truth. 

“He’s not gonna make it, not just with medicine.” It wasn’t a question, yet Gaius felt the need to answer anyway.

“There is a chance, Merlin. Arthur is strong, and much has already been done.”

“Not enough.”

“It could work.”

“No,” he shivered, a brutish exhale ruffling rust-stained blonde strands. “I’ve seen better odds rob men just as strong as Arthur of their lives, I cannot risk that with him.”

“You cannot go on as you are, it is too slow, you could kill yourself in the process.” Gaius’s statement seemed to shake something loose in his apprentice, a prayer angering the gods. 

“It doesn’t matter, Gaius. I am nothing without him.” He did not shout, though Gaius had expected it. His words instead came like a wave, slowly building onto themselves until they grew strong enough to sink fleets. “Camelot cannot survive if he is gone. The Once and Future King, that’s what Kilgharrah had said. Gods dammit, Gaius, that future will come to pass in my lifetime if I have to kill Death himself. He doesn’t get to die like this, not here and not now. Arthur will die at the age of eighty, warm in this castle, surrounded by heirs, and he will not leave me.” Merlin finally seemed to break at the end, raking in a harsh gasp to keep himself from devolving into senseless wails of anguish. 

A moment passed, maybe an hour, in which the only sound was Merlin’s sharp inhales and shaky exhales. Gaius knew, as much as he knew his own name, that this was something he could not sway the boy on. Merlin had always been reckless in his care for the King - Gaius had often wondered if either of them would ever pull their heads out of their arses long enough to see why - and in this, Merlin was surely unmovable. His mind raced, finally landing on a solution which seemed most likely to grant both of his boys to keep their lives. 

“Okay,” he began, golden eyes once again snapping to attention. “You’re right, this wound is still too risky to try and heal with science. Magic is the only solution.” He raised a hand as Merlin opened his mouth, to protest or add his own opinion. “Listen to me. Whatever it is you’ve been doing these last few days is too slow, and it’s not sustainable. You need to fix as much as you can, as fast as you can, and let me do the rest. It will be a slow process, depending on how much magic heals, but I cannot see another way.” 

Merlin looked back down to his King, his friend, his Arthur, and visibly tensed when he realized the plan’s validity. He nodded, not breaking his gaze, and readjusted his grip on Arthur’s hand. His voice tore out of his chest, ancient words that he had never consciously learned filling the air like a dragon’s roar. A wind stirred in the room, sending pages of notes and vials flying into the tornado that had formed around the workbench. The light from Merlin’s eyes grew too intense for Gaius to look at, and he shielded his vision as his apprentice pleaded with Magic itself to save the man in front of them. 

As instantaneously as it had been stirred into chaos, the room fell silent once again. The candles, shockingly untouched by the vicious wind, lit the mess left in magic’s wake with vivid detail. Merlin had slumped forward, unconscious, his head falling just beside Arthurs, hand still clutching the King’s. Gaius immediately moved forward to assess the damage to Arthur’s abdomen, calling for the guard to move Merlin to his cot. It was nowhere near the first time either boy had been under his care, but having them both unconscious, splayed in front of him and injured, made his chest ache in a breath-stealing way. 

He could not afford to lose his focus, working with experienced hands to fix as much of the crevice in Arthur’s flesh as humanly possible. Merlin’s magic had done a lot of good, most of the dire internal problems repaired in an instant, but the blood started to trickle in steadier streams as arteries began flowing once again. Gaius flashed a look to Merlin, not liking the deathly pallor to his ward’s skin, or the apparent stillness of his chest. 

“Guard! Wash your hands! I need your help.” The young knight squared his shoulders, peeling off his gloves and following orders deftly. Gaius instructed him to press and cauterize where it was needed most, all the while thinking how Merlin wouldn’t have needed instruction to aid the physician. Gaius stitched muscle and skin back together, pouring tonic after tonic down Arthur’s throat in an effort to replenish as much blood as possible. He whispered a quick prayer to the Old gods as he worked, begging with the skies for the survival of both his sons. After several dozen minutes, seeing that the King’s wounds would hold for the moment, he moved to check on Merlin’s ashen form.

“Merlin! My boy,” Gaius wept, finding that against every science he knew, his body had grown cold in mere minutes. No breath filled his lungs, no pulse beat in his chest. Gaius allowed one solitary, earth-shattering moment to mourn the boy in front of him, pressing his wrinkled lips to a glacial brow, before moving back to the King.  

As Gaius worked, and weeped, the kingdom held bated breath for news on their sovereign. Kilgharrah had flown back into the forest, knowing that his master would call when he was needed, and every soul which lived under the castle’s shadow had flooded the city. Time had seemed to trickle through the citadel as molasses, peasant and noble alike holding constant vigil outside the palace walls. Hours passed, dawn enrapturing the skies in a beautiful background to one of Camelot’s darkest days, before an announcement was made.

Gaius stood on the dais where Uther had condemned thousands, looking over the tear-stained faces that matched his own, and made his proclamation.

“The King was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camlann. It is thanks, only, to his manservant, and my apprentice, Merlin, that he shall survive. He remains unconscious, but the blow dealt to his stomach would have killed any lesser man before the battle’s end. Merlin protected his King until his last breath, using the magic which the gods had given him to heal as much as he could.” Gaius paused, raking his eyes over the crowd to find familiar faces, who would all hold fond memories of his boy in their hearts. “Merlin has faithfully served the throne of Camelot since his arrival in the citadel nearly ten years ago, and has given his life to ensure the survival of the Pendragon line. King Arthur will have a long recovery in front of him, but he shall live.” Cries rang out, both in joy at the news of their King’s health and misery at the loss of Merlin, and Gaius felt his own eyes moisten at the thought of his body growing colder in the physician’s cot. He could see many faces of shock at the admittance of Merlin’s magic, though Gaius supposed that riding in on the dragon had already clued most in on the worst-kept secret in Camelot. 

The long walk back to his chambers gave Gaius time to adjust to the gaping void in his chest. He knew exactly how many years he had lived, how much loss he had endured, yet never before had the old man felt old. Now, in a world without Merlin, he could feel every second of his life weighing against his back, turning his movements sharp and painful. The council would need to meet, soon, to discuss how to proceed with the nation’s rule while their King remained unconscious, but Gaius did not dwell on these thoughts for long. He exhaled as he entered his chambers, still wrecked from the aftereffects of impossible magic, and abruptly halted where he stood.

“Will he live?” The corpse had pulled a chair over to Arthur’s side, once again grasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip. Gaius felt his heart stop and start in the space of a breath, and nearly fainted at the sight. Merlin, his Merlin, was sitting up, with enough life flowing through his veins to look worried over his King’s prone form. The physician held no reservations as he raced to envelop his boy in a bone-crushing embrace. 

“Merling, oh Merlin, you’ve come back,” he cried as Merlin’s arm came to wrap around him, hesitating for a brief moment of curiosity. 

“What do you mean, Gaius? I was on the cot the entire time.” Slowly, the old man released his apprentice, searching his face with a haunted look. “What? Is Arthur going to be okay?”

“My boy, the King will make a full recovery, in time, but you.” Gaius paused, not sure how Merlin would take the news that he had been dead for ten hours. “Merlin, you died. That spell, whatever you did, you were dead for an entire night and morning.”

Blue eyes widened, so large they might have popped out, and Merlin let out a noise of shock. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You must be mistaken.”

“Your body was cold almost immediately, Merlin. It was as if you had given your life to Arthur. You haven’t had a pulse, nor a breath, in ten hours. You were dead.” Gaius could see the cogs turning behind Merlin’s brow, processing what this meant for him. The old man’s mind suddenly threw a memory to the forefront, of treating Merlin for the deadly serket sting which should have killed him. Their eyes widened simultaneously as the truth of the gods’ will revealed itself to them. “Surely, you don’t think-”

“Oh, I do think.” A thunderous expression crossed Merlin’s face, his fist clenching even tighter around Arthur’s as he glanced at the unconscious King. “When has anything about my life ever been normal? Why should my death be any different?” Gaius winced in sympathy, reaching to offer comfort with a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. They both fell into a contemplative silence, pondering the extent to which the gods would see their prophecies fulfilled, and watched as their King slept.

Suddenly, a chuckle burst forth from the physician’s lips, causing Merlin to shoot a wounded expression his way.

 “Are you laughing? I cannot die and you’re laughing in my face?”

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Gaius began, stifling the unbidden humor as much as possible and forcing a calm expression onto his face. “It does appear,” a smile cracked across his face, and he cleared his throat in a bid for sobriety. “I mean to say, that is, I might have just announced to the entire citadel that you nobly gave your life to save Arthur.”

A dumbfounded expression fell over Merlin’s face, before a sudden bout of laughter erupted, surprising both master and student. 

“I did!” They fell into hysterics, both men clutching each other until their sides ached. Merlin supposed, at some point, the court would need to be informed of his apparent immortality, but at the moment he could not care less. Arthur was safe, Gaius was strong despite his growing years, and Camelot faced no immediate danger. Surely, the coming weeks would reveal heartaches and wounds not yet scarred, but for now, as the laughter slowly died and the only father he’d ever known moved to brew tea, he was choosing to be optimistic. 

#l'amour et la mort #super nervous to post this actually #please comment your thoughts i love feedback #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #wip #current wip #work in progress #unfinished #merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #merlin emrys #uther pendragon #kilgharrah #arthur pendragon #morgana pendragon #ahhhhhhhh

[raccoonfallsharder]

so @thirteens-lucky-tardis had a lovely headcanon about Rocket just absolutely entranced by lava lamps. And I love it and it made me think like, take a moment to just breathe, or relax for a second or something? Just sit here and look at this frickin’ lamp thing. Idk it was such a nice visual I thought I’d bring it up to you ☺️

i went hunting for this but couldn't find it! i need to read it o(╥﹏╥)o

it makes complete sense. i'm just imagining you notice how much he likes yours - maybe you come home one day and you can't find him. he's normally clanking around with some invention or another - dismantling your toaster or building a new gun. muttering to himself, or humming one of those old songs. but today your apartment is silent, and if it weren't for the runabout still parked on the roof like a goddamn sleigh, you'd think he'd gone right back up into the stars.

you find him in your room, staring at the lava lamp that he must've turned on at some point. he's transfixed. it's the first time you've seen him still and quiet in your entire time of knowing him.

"are you okay?" you ask him cautiously.

he doesn't look away - just reaches out with one clawed hand and beckons you. "here-" he says, gesturing for you to come over. "-get over here. look at this weird frickin' thing."

a little chuckle huffs its way up out of your lungs, a breath like the beat of a small bird's wing. you come and perch next to him on the bed. i like to think you both lose time like this: breath slowing, hearts slowing, eyes growing heavy. At some point, he shifts and curls into a ball next to you, a compact bundle of fur pressing warmth into your thigh and flank. He rests his chin on your knee, eyes following the soft floats of wax, reflecting the slow-moving light.

i imagine you both end up dozing off, actually. much-needed naps for the two of you.

of course rocket remains entranced in the coming days and eventually - maybe for winter holidays, or as a parting gift - you give him a package to take with him back to knowhere. two lava lamps: one to keep, you tell him, and one to take apart.

i imagine he comes back to visit you often. you're basically best frickin friends - how could he stay away? no matter how much he hates this rotten mudball, you're here, and that makes it a little bit of a home. on one visit - months later; maybe a year - he finally convinces you to join him. he's still trying to get you to move permanently out to knowhere so you can hang out whenever he's not, like, saving the galaxy - but for now, he just wants you to see how it is. a little vacation, he tells you.

he's sure you'll fall in love.

and you do. the streets, the people, the life. cosmo and kraglin and nebula. drax and the kids. yaro root is surprisingly delicious, and they put it in everything. the streets are built on music. string-lights spangle the streets when the artificial sun sets, and the milky fizzes are way more delicious than they'd sounded when rocket had described them.

and those aren't even the best parts.

the best part is when you head in to rocket's place later that night, after meeting everyone and sharing food and playing card games and listening to music and talking for the majority of the night. though rocket has a few other places he think you might like to actually live if he's successful in persuading you to stay, he'd planned on you crashing at his place for the duration of your visit. you both stumble in the shadowy doors - a little buzzy out of pure exhaustion and happiness.

and then he turns on the lights.

rocket doesn't think about it - doesn't even realize he hadn't already told you about it. but the dark room slowly blooms into a soft, moon-pale glow, all the light emanating from dozens on dozens of smooth, luminous columns.

rocket's whole apartment is jeweled with lava lamps.

they're set into shelves lining the space above his workbench. there's a massive pillar of soft light shining next to his bed - his real bed, mattress and everything, because he knew you were comin' and though he'd never say it, your comfort is important to him. there are lamps set into the walls, into the corners. a hundred strange, alien light-forms, plucked from planet earth like flowers and improved: made safer, made softer, made more hypnotic and soothing.

inadvertently, from millions of lightyears away, you've touched this place. you've helped turn his shell of a living space into a home for him - into a haven.

a soft bed.

blankets and pillows.

the beautiful living light of countless shimmering columns, welcoming him into something close to peacefulness, something close to rest.

the two of you stay up late that night: sprawled on the soft, cozy mattress, bundled up in blankets. talking, warming the air with your words and your breaths and your quiet laughs. you both watch the shifting shadows on the walls and the swimming shapes of the wax, as slow-moving as moon-jellies, and just as lovely. your eyelashes and his both grow heavier and heavier, softer and softer, until they rest, finally, feather-light on your cheeks.

and eventually, wrapped in these plush shadows and quilts and the quiet glow, you both fall asleep.

#rfh fluff #rfh asks #chippybritt #my love #rfh headcanons #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon fanfiction

[pearls-and-vignettes]

Spaceway 70 - Anna

The makeshift cell has a steel table and chair—like in old detective films. He reconfigured the room lock with a passkey only he knows, though he doesn't know how to turn off its failsafe.

With a shudder in the station, the lights turn off for a moment, and a different set of colder lights take their place, dimly. I walk through the now-unlocked door and into the hallway outside. A wall panel confirms my fears.

[Alert: Hull breach in multiple sectors | Primary power offline | Check workteam communications for further instructions]

He's scared. Worse than that, he's scared and paranoid. Pablo has the fear from another life of destruction and bloodshed in him. Maybe it's warranted—I couldn't say. Only he knows his past.

Out in the next sector I finally see someone. Two new guys, lazing on some hallway chairs.

"Anna!" One of them says brightly.

"Good evenin'," I float back.

"Quite hot in here?"

"Aye," I say tersely "A waste reactor's nearby. Makes heat. Ventilation won't be turned on 'till someone turns it on."

"Then who will?" The other man says, daftly.

"We don't waste power on climate control when there's a big hole in the ship."

Another pause, the two men look at each other. It's possible they have thoughts going through their heads, though that's difficult to confirm.

"Aren't you two supposed to be working this emergency?"

"Haven't got an assignment yet," One of them replies whilst the other is still taken aback by my question, almost falling off his chair. A moment, then he too regains his composure.

"Keep your pagers out, lads," I bark, wanting to laugh. I puff my chest and walk with intent, into the next room.

I enter my quarters to the right; a modest room, yet a little more spacious than most. To my left, a workbench with some parts scattered around a broken network module, and my PDA.

[Hello, Anna]

[32.061]

[[%% DIRECT COM %%]]

[Notice - There seems to be a system outage; operating in P2P mode | Ten unopened messages - Priority: Low - Three unopened messages - Priority: Medium - Five unopened messages - Priority: High]

I punch in my code.

[=-= Carol F. =-=]

[CUR.32.050 > L | You got your PDA on you?]

[CUR.32.053 > M | Of course he took it. Meet me at central processing when you can -- they hit deep and I need welding done. All the fabricators are out patching the hull.]

[CUR.32.057 > H | A big chunk of power routing is out. I paged John for a fabricator or two but he says he's tied up. Please be here ASAP!]

[=-= Pablo C. =-=]

[CUR.32.049 > H | ==TO GROUPS: W.G. LEADERS, SPECIALISTS, ADMIN== | Attention -- we have been attacked -- this is a matter I will handle personally -- communicate emergency plans with your workgroups.]

[=-= Jonathan L. =-=]

[CUR.32.055 > H | I know you're busy. We need to patch an LS manifold. I have a fabricator to spare. Just ping me when you're free.]

[CUR.32.057 > M | On top of that, all the cable to kitchens is out. I have a few workers patching it up but we need you for some tight wiring.]

No rest for me. I grab my toolbag from the foot of my bed and run to a utility closet in the hallway. The reserve welding cart creaks from disuse as I roll it toward me, yet it still seems to work just the same. I dust off some goggles and shove them in a pocket as I make for Carol.

Eventually, I arrive at central processing, winded from running with so much stuff. Carol is buried deep in her assistant, probably typing out one communication after another.

"God, this thing is so slow!"

"I'm here..?"

"Yes. Hi, Anna," she finishes another message before she finally looks up, "Let's fix this thing so I'm not stuck on peer to peer."

She moves to the wall, which holds an impressive array of cooling pipes and circuits. Indicator lights flash off and on erratically whilst a monitor spits out warning after warning. At the far end, away from the corner where she started, there is a series of busted conduits supposed to hold thick cable against a hastily repaired wall.

"Here, where the cables go into this contactor array."

She pries the panel off the array's enclosure and exposes a beautiful mess of small, printed traces and goliath cables interfacing with one another. The leftmost portion of this box has severed wire and shattered boards.

"I isolated this module from the rest of the processor. And there's no voltage through the cables." She hands me a drawing and walks to an electrical cart. "Just replace the broken components. It doesn't have to be pretty." The cart, being twice the size of mine, is filled with wires of all gauges, components of all kinds, a work surface with a solderer, and has board printing capabilities. "All the files you might need are on that printer."

"Got it," I reply.

She looks back to her PDA and her eyes betray her exasperation, briefly. "I'll be back in a few to turn it on and debug," she shouts whilst having one foot already out the door. I grab a screwdriver and begin to pull away at the broken components. When they don't budge, I pull out the angle grinder. Rinse and repeat.

At least I have a simple life...

#`twtocwbart

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 4: Rimming

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4357

Warnings: Afab!reader, rimming, handjob, the deeply flawed relationship between Albedo and his assistant

A/N: I'd actually wanted to keep these about the same length, but somehow they're just getting longer xcnvdjkjnv

⭐

“How is this?” 

“Good, I think.” 

Albedo sends you a slow, vaguely amused look over his bare shoulder. “You think? Are you not supposed to be the expert here?” 

You feel your cheeks start to become warm, that borderline playful smile shattering your closely guarded clinical facade more so than the words themselves. He was teasing you, yes, and you could deal with that. Probably. But the faint gleam of mischief in his sparkling spring eyes was another matter entirely. How were you possibly supposed to maintain professional impartiality when he looked at you like that? 

“Forgive me. I just, ah … I’ve never quite done this before.” 

“That’s alright. Then it will be the first time for both of us. We can figure it out together.”

His optimism on the matter should have been reassuring. In any other situation it likely would have been, but this … 

Slowly, you drag your gaze over his body, admiring both his perfect, creamy complexion with nary a single flaw or blemish in sight, and his attractive physique. His proud, perfectly composed posture doesn’t so much as waver even when he’s stark naked and presenting his backside to someone who was effectively a stranger. You’d known him for some time now but never in any meaningful way. The two of you would have been hard pressed to even consider yourselves friends, let alone whatever level of acquaintanceship was needed for this. Either way, you were coworkers at best. 

Somehow, it felt like you’d missed more than just a few steps in this process. 

But saying Albedo had taken a keen interest in the subject of human sexuality would have been something of an understatement. You really hadn’t expected as much when you’d first floated the idea by him, subtly making the suggestion one evening when you were tinkering around together in the small alchemy lab sequestered deep in the knights headquarters. You’d tried to tell yourself it was just meant as a joke — and had then tried to convince him of that as well when he’d sent you a long, unreadable look over the workbench. A number of frantic thoughts had run through your mind all at once, each more alarming than the last, but then, to your slack jawed surprise, he’d actually expressed a certain amount of curiosity on the subject. 

That was the very last thing you could have ever anticipated, and the following discussion leading into an impromptu hands on demonstration had come as an even greater shock. Really, you aren’t sure what you’d thought would happen considering how unhesitatingly he always seemed to throw himself into any new pursuit that came along until it soon lost its luster and shine, but you’d effectively backed yourself into a corner with this. 

Not only was he eager (in his own strange, offbeat kind of way) to learn more about the methods which people copulated with one another and why, but he also assumed you would be the one to carry out these experiments with him. Although you had been the one to bring it up, perhaps foolishly so, that didn’t necessarily mean you’d been volunteering your services. Not that you were complaining, exactly, but you still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being in way over your head with this. 

Frankly, you still couldn’t quite seem to grasp that it was really even happening at all but, as they say; in for a mora, in for a pound. You’d already gone this far so there wasn’t any justifiable reason for you to stop now. 

Gathering your inner strength and steeling yourself, you shuffle across the floor of his captain's office to approach him from behind. He’d initially expressed some doubt about this particular activity after happening upon mention of it in some book — which book, you did not want to know — but he now seemed perfectly willing to humor it long enough to find out if it would net any results or not. You, on the other hand, were far too embarrassed about it to offer yourself up for the initial trial and had instead been delegated to the active role of principal investigator for the time being while he played test subject. 

You’d tried to tell yourself that this was fine. Surely being on the giving end wouldn’t be half as bad as on the receiving, but looking at him now … oh, you were so flustered you didn’t even even know where to start. 

“Is something the matter?” He prods after a long stretch of terse silence, well after it had become awkward and uncomfortable. 

“No, no,” You rush to say. “I’m just trying to figure out how to begin. I mean, usually there’s a buildup leading into something like this, right?” 

Noising a thoughtful sound, Albedo idly touches fingers to his chin in consideration. “I see what you mean. The literature I’ve read on this topic always had some kind of precursor beforehand to build tension and set the tone of the encounter. However, I think introducing anything else to the parameters of the experiment might skew the results. For example, if I were to kiss you right now that could spark a pleasure response that would carry over and interfere with our findings so it’s probably best if we stick to the task at hand.” 

Somehow listening to him talk about this from such a detached, purely scientific standpoint does absolutely nothing to put you at ease. In fact, it actually seems to make it worse, and your stomach fiercely cramps with the sinking feeling of dread that settles over you. “Understood. Then I’ll get started right away.” 

Glancing up at the dejected tone in your voice, he offers you another of those vaguely sly smiles that would seem to imply he found humor in this. “That’s not to say I have no interest in kissing you at all, though. Perhaps we can revisit that matter when we’re through here?” 

You duck your head, embarrassed all over again as you shuffle the last few steps to close the distance between you and him. “If that’s what you want, Captain Albedo.” 

Tentatively reaching out, you place your hands on his narrow waist with careful intention. He doesn’t react to the touch alone but he seldom does anyway. Usually it takes a bit of effort on your part to get any kind of physiological response out of him, or at least a more direct sort of stimulation than this, but he doesn’t show any signs of discomfort either. You also don’t see any of the anticipatory tension thrumming through his body that you otherwise would have expected in just about anybody else and, more for your benefit than his, you slide your palms down to cup his firm ass in your fingers. Taking your time with it, you gently massage the skin and knead into the muscle underneath, giving yourself one last chance to calm down before taking the plunge.

With a quiet sigh, Albedo relaxes against you almost imperceptibly so and you take that as your cue to proceed, slowly lowering yourself to kneel on the floor. On your knees, you grab two handfuls of his backside and squeeze, marveling at the way his fair skin reddens slightly where the pressure was applied. He was so beautiful it seemed to defy all logic and reason, and his attractiveness certainly made carrying out these experiments together a much easier task than it could have been with someone less to your liking. Momentarily forgetting how to breathe, you gently spread his cheeks apart to expose him to your voracious eyes, greedily drinking in the sight of his vulnerable and defenseless little hole. 

He’s all pink and smooth, the faintest hint of peach fuzz interrupting the otherwise unnatural perfection of his body. If you didn’t know any better you would almost think it was manufactured, how picture perfect and flawless he was. You even have the half delirious thought that perhaps he’d been made in a lab, painstakingly designed to be a gloriously sublime specimen in every way imaginable from his beautiful face right down to his evenly spaced and distributed toes. If you hadn’t been looking right at him, you never would have thought it was possible for someone like this to even exist in the first place.

“Ready?” You softly venture, figuring it couldn’t hurt to make absolutely certain he wanted to go through with this.  

“Yes, you may begin.”  

Well. That took care of that. 

Slowly inhaling, you settle your weight to ensure you wouldn’t lose balance and tip over, then lean in to dip your face between the pert cleft of his cheeks. Your tongue slips out and you drag the flat of it over that tight pucker, some amount of surprise washing over you when it twitches faintly at the contact. Albedo doesn’t react beyond that though, neither issuing any sounds that might indicate his thoughts nor any shifts in his posture to denote pleasure or dislike. It was the same as every other time you’d found yourself in these predicaments though, and your cunt gives a muted throb at the memory of that first threadbare moan he’d finally let out when you sank down on his cock in the alchemy lab. That felt like eons ago, whole lifetimes in the past, but in reality it had only been a few weeks. 

But that distant reminder is enough to spurn you on, evidently, and you feel an odd spark of determination light up within you as you lean into the task. You wanted to hear him sigh and huff in pleasure again. No matter how fleeting or quiet they were, the sounds he did make were unlike anything you’d ever heard before. Intoxicating the way fine aged wine is. 

So you lap at his hole, swirling your tongue around the outer rim until you feel it soften and puff up under the ministrations of your mouth. You attack the center then, just barely dipping into the tight heat of his body and then pulling back out to encourage it to open up for you more. Unexpectedly, Albedo pulls in a quiet breath at that, so you do it again, worming your tongue a little deeper this time. 

“That’s … a somewhat odd feeling.” He murmurs, not quite surprised but — curious. Like he’s actually struck on something that was of interest to him and he was fascinated by it. Archons help you, what have you gotten yourself into? 

Pulling back for a much needed pause, you take a moment to study him again. The faintly raised rim of his hole gives another brief twitch, no doubt at the rush of cool air coming in to replace the warmth of your mouth, and you quickly swallow down your last remaining nerves. Hands sliding down to grip the backs of his thighs, you lean in and flick your tongue over the puffy muscle, teasing over the center of it with alternating fast and slow kitten licks. You try to get a feel for what he might respond to, try to work through the problem at hand, but he doesn’t give much away at all even when you seal your lips around the pucker and suck at him. It was like you were effectively doing this blind, and the difficulty of breathing with your face smothered in his ass wasn’t exactly helping you think straight either. 

That is, until, his hips give the briefest little jerk at something you’ve done, and you moan into his skin when he subtly rears back against you. 

“I see,” He seems to marvel, apparently still more focused on evaluating the results than actually enjoying the feeling itself. “It’s not necessarily pleasurable as a stand-alone but the nerve stimulation in the target area does encourage responses elsewhere. I also have reason to surmise that a large factor of the appeal has to do with the mental state of the recipient more than anything else.” 

Leaning back with a wet, faltering gasp, you have to take a moment to catch your breath. “What do you mean?” You finally manage to croak.

“Hm? Oh, I just mean that this is a rather demeaning act, isn’t it? Someone doing such of their own volition — outside of experimental parameters, mind you — would probably denote a great deal of self deprecation and perhaps even fatalistic submission to the recipient's power over them. Is it possibly just a simple method of asserting dominance?” 

He issues a faint hum into the room, clearly getting lost in his own thoughts, and you ponder over his hypothesis for a moment before carefully choosing your next words. “I think that could be part of it. Maybe even a big part of it for most people who engage in … this. But I don’t believe it’s out of the question that some might actually enjoy it.”

A stretch of quiet and then, “Do you like it?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” You stammer, glad he can’t see the fluster on your face. “But it’s not terrible either. Depending on the dynamic between participating parties, it’s very possible to simply get off on making your partner feel good.” You hesitate before adding, much more quietly, “I’d say that’s about where I fall in this.” 

Shifting his weight, Albedo twists around to look back at you and the bright glint of fascination in his eyes quickly makes you regret having said anything at all. You were just further humiliating yourself every time you opened your mouth it seemed. 

“It’s not just physical response that drives one’s sexual impulses, then. The preoccupation with your partner's enjoyment plays a role as well.” He seems to mull that over for a long beat, and you can practically see the gears grinding away in his head, trying to work out the full implication of what the logical conclusion to this new information would be. You aren’t sure what he’s going to come back at you with when he eventually draws a deliberate breath, but it’s certainly not, “And if I were to tell you I was feeling good?”

You blink up at him owlishly. “I’d be happy, of course. But …” 

“But? Please, you can speak freely here.”

That was certainly easy for him to say. 

“Well — being told something like that isn’t exactly bad or anything, but I’d be even happier if it was apparent. Rather than being told you feel good, it’s nice to see it. Remember when I climbed on top of you down in the lab … w - well, you made this noise. This breathy little groan that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since, if you want the truth. Knowing I made you feel good based on the sounds you made is what made me feel good too. Or part of it, at least.” 

Slowly, his brows lift with understanding. “Ah, so that is what you were referring to. Subconscious reactions instead of deliberate acknowledgments or praise. I see.” 

Your heart gives a lurch at that, and you rush to amend yourself. “Oh, that’s not quite - -“ 

“Let’s resume the experiment. I won’t intentionally withhold my reactions from you this time, and I hope you continue to do the same. I'm quite curious to see if it changes the results when I’m freely expressing them or if they stay the same.” 

Well, you couldn’t exactly argue with that, now could you? 

Especially not when he decisively turns back around, indicating that the decision has already been made. 

You take a moment to draw a deep, steadying breath to ground yourself and then lean forward, bracing your palms on the backs of his thighs again. But this time you don’t immediately put your mouth to work, and instead give him a brief nudge. “Bend forward and brace your hands on the arms of the chair. That should make this a little easier for both of us.” Since he was so damn determined to see this through to the end. 

Evidently recognizing the wisdom in that call, Albedo does as you’d requested with a quiet hum of acknowledgment, and you suddenly have to fight very hard to keep the intense flush that tries to claim your cheeks at bay. Not only does this position present his ass on perfect display, but you’re also now afforded a shamefully tantalizing glimpse of his smooth taint and the fleshy hang of his testes, and you can also see his cock where it dangles between his legs. To your staggering surprise, he’s stiff and hard, the glans flushed a pretty shade of pink where it’s peeking through the slit of his foreskin. That must have been what he’d meant about ‘reactions in other areas’ earlier. 

“Is this agreeable?” 

You swallow. Hard. “Spread your legs further apart.” 

He complies once more, and you feel undeniably dizzy at the sight of him spread open like this. His perfection had never been more apparent than in that moment when you could see all of him without interruption, no clothes or furniture in the way to obstruct your view. It was like looking at a painting come to life, every inch of him so picture perfect it was uncanny. Disconcerting, in a way. 

Shrugging off that feeling, you go up on your knees again and shuffle close, leaning into him to kiss at the swell of one cheek. You were starting to get an idea, formulating a plan in the back of your mind that you were sure would net the desired results you suspected he was secretly hoping for. While it was true he wasn’t half as expressive or easy to rile up as most men, that didn’t mean he was totally immune to having his body stimulated. The cock subtly bobbing between his thighs was proof enough of that. You could see how this was going to end now, and you had a feeling he would be quite pleased with the results this time. 

Gradually pecking your way over the swell of his pert ass, you finally reach Albedo’s cute, puckered little hole again and you seal your mouth against him, applying a faint amount of suction. You feel him twitch under you, hesitate to do it, and then let out the softest, barely there groan you’d ever heard. So he did feel something from that. Good. 

It had been a bit uncertain as far as moans go, yes, but you knew he wasn’t used to freely expressing himself in such a way and it was just nice to know you were doing something right. Tongue snaking out, you flick it over the raised up muscle for a long moment until he eventually twitches, gasping quietly at the sensation. You can’t help but feel undeniably pleased as you work the tip of your tongue into the center of his hole next and press in, slowly breaching the defenses of his body. He lets out a breathy, almost whiny sound when your face presses flush against the upturned curve of his ass, as far as you can reach, and that’s when you bring your hand up. 

Taking hold of his cock, you give it a tight, savory squeeze and start to tug at it. Albedo offers up a tiny little start and looses the most surprised sound you’ve ever heard him make, higher in pitch than usual and faltering. Evidently he hadn’t expected you to attack him from both sides like this … and, evidently, you hadn’t been prepared for your plan to work so well, because that noise catches you off guard and your pussy clamps down hard in response. Groaning into him, you have to pause a moment and find your bearings again before it bowls you right over, and it still somehow nearly succeeds. It was even more tantalizing than that huffy moan you’d heard him make down in the lab. It was like something divine, straight from the mouths of the gods themselves. 

Surely you weren’t currently eating out one of the sevens’ creations … were you? 

“I thought we agreed on — nghh! Staying on task today.” He murmurs, but makes no move at all to stop you. Alright, so he hadn’t accounted for the variable of a handjob in his calculations or hypotheses for this experiment, and how could he have? Clearly these were all unknown factors to him and he was relying on you more than anything else to set his expectations for what sort of results would come of it. But that wasn’t your fault. He’d never asked you directly or outright. 

That thought sparks an almost mean, petty light within you, and you pull on his cock a little harder in response. Wriggle your tongue a little faster. You could feel the muscles of his entrance gradually slackening around the intrusion, becoming increasingly soft and pliant, and you find that you can move around a bit more freely as it does. Now that he’s not squeezing you so tight, you start bobbing your head back and forth to tongue fuck his hole, slowly pulling all the way out and then pushing right back in. 

Albedo’s hips give a sensitive jerk at seemingly random intervals, his breathing a bit labored now, but you soon pick up on the pattern. If you time it just right and shove your tongue into him at the same moment your palm passes over his glans, rubbing the foreskin over that sensitive tip, it makes him react. You feel devious with this knowledge, quickly adjusting your rhythm to match this newfound information, and the results are glorious. 

You think he might actually collapse into a boneless heap right then and there when his knees seem to buckle, threatening to give out under him, but he manages to steady himself with the help of the chair. Leaning heavily into it, he lets out a flustered string of hot, breathy whimpers and groans that seem to steadily build into something a bit more dire, a bit more urgent, and you have to force yourself to maintain the pace you’ve set when your jaw starts to ache. 

He hadn’t exactly been wrong to call this demeaning. If it had been anyone else other than the Chief Alchemist himself you certainly never would have entertained the thought. But because it’s Albedo you put your all into it, determined to show him the results he wanted, and maybe even earn something more meaningful than the title of research assistant in the process. Perhaps something a bit more personal. Intimate. 

“Oh, dear - -!” Softly wheezing, he gives his narrow hips a stuttering thrust that fucks his cock down into your hand. He twitches harshly at the sensation, a distant, uncharacteristically vulnerable whine rising in the back of his throat as he repeats the motion at a staggeringly slow speed. It’s like he can’t seem to decide which way he wants to thrust, forward or back, and you make the decision for him by simply adjusting your rhythm to match his. 

The way you move together becomes seamless, perfectly timed to compliment one another and feed off the kinetic energy between you two. When he rears back on your tongue you’re already there, shoving it as far up his ass as it will reach while tugging down on his cock at the same time. When he stutteringly thrusts out, you drag your hand straight down to the base to peel back the foreskin and expose the glans in the same motion. Like this, it doesn’t take long for his sounds of stuttering pleasure to climb higher and higher, until he finally lets out a strangled, heaving grunt. 

Albedo cums, just like that; rocking between your mouth and your hand. You can’t quite tell where you’ve got his cock pointed like this, unsure if he was ejaculating all over the seat of the chair or the floor, but you don’t stop milking him until he finally issues a vaguely frazzled sound into the room. Only then do you disengage from him, pulling off his ass with a much needed gasp of fresh air. 

You’re a little dizzy after that. A bit overwhelmed by what had happened, how lost in the pleasure he’d allowed himself to become. But most of all you were insanely wet between the legs and you whimper softly as you settle back to sit on your butt, trying desperately to collect yourself. You’d thought that first time in the lab had been like a horny dream come true but this … it felt like you were losing your mind. 

“My theory was correct.” You croak once you’ve finally managed to catch your breath. “It’s not only possible for the active participant to get off on it without any power dynamics being involved … but it’s also not out of the question for the roles to be reversed either.” 

Albedo seems like he still hasn’t quite recovered yet, quietly panting where he’s still leaning over the chair, but that does manage to catch his attention and bring his head up. “What do you mean?” 

You laugh, breathless and thin. “I turned the tables. Even though you were on the receiving end and arguably in control, I took that power away from you. There at the end you were completely at my mercy, weren’t you?” Giving your head a quick shake, you reach up to wipe some of the half dried spit off your chin. Archons, you couldn’t wait to freshen up. “Something like that can be used to assert dominance, but it’s not a guarantee. I’d say the end result depends entirely on the individuals involved.”

And you feel pretty damn proud of that up until he slowly straightens and turns, pinning you with an enigmatic but no less sly look, and your heart promptly skips a bit. If you didn’t know any better you’d almost think he was smirking at you. 

He wasn’t actually smirking at you, was he? 

“Why don’t we test that theory then, my invaluable assistant? I wonder how much you’ll be at my mercy if I do the same to you.”

⭐

Crossposted here

#genshin impact #albedo kreideprinz #albedo x reader

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʙᴀᴅ ɴᴇᴡꜱ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ||

a/n: You guys asked, and so it shall be. Bad News is now a confirmed series!

Yeesh.

It's hard for Y/n not to wince when Gogo's words sting Hiro like barbed wire. He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. Gogo walks away, focusing on checking her bike's condition.

"I've never seen electro-mag suspension on a bike before." In an attempt to rescue the conversation, Hiro chooses to ask his question. His curiosity is piqued, and he looks at the bike with thinly veiled interest.

Gogo spins the pedal, and the wheel turns along with it. She grabs it with both hands, looking at the younger boy with a quirked brow. "Zero resistance, faster bike. But," She grunts, gripping the wheel and pulling it off the bike, "not fast enough." She flicks her wrist, sending yet another wheel into the large basket of identical discarded ones.

"Yet." Y/n pipes up, and Gogo nods in agreement before walking away.

"I'm Tadashi. Tadashi Hamada. This is my little brother, Hiro." Tadashi waits patiently for her response.

"Y/n. Y/n L/n.” She holds out her hand for a fist bump, and he reciprocates it. She waits for Hiro to return it, but he gets distracted by the sound of Wasabi's invention powering on. He's drawn to it, walking over. Tadashi sends her an apologetic smile, and she shrugs it off with a lighthearted grin.

"Oh! Woah, Woah, Woah, Woah. Do not move. Behind the line, please." Wasabi cries out in alarm when Hiro gets too close to his invention. He holds out a hand to stop Hiro from moving further, and the young boy takes a step back in confusion.

Y/n shoves her hands into her jacket pockets, the warm material brushing against the bare skin of her waist as she stretches slightly. She yawns quietly. The exhaustion from a full day of work quickly caught up to her. She walks over beside Tadashi, Wasabi acknowledging her with a slight nod.

"Hey, Wasabi. This is my brother, Hiro."

"Hello, Hiro. Prepare to be amazed." Wasabi walks to the control panel, turns a switch, and powers on the two devices opposite each other. Y/n stares at the apple he pulls out of thin air, eyes wide.

How many apples does this guy have?

"Catch."

Hiro's amazed by the thinly cut apple slices, and Y/n grabs another as it floats towards her. She eyes it, noticing how it's now thinner than the one from earlier. She nibbles on it.

"Wow. Laser-induced plasma?" Hiro walks over to the laser grid that Wasabi turns visible, eyeing it with fascination and awe.

Y/n looks at Hiro, impressed that he figured it out quickly.

What is he, a genius?

"Oh yeah," Wasabi chuckles. "With a little magnetic confinement for, uh, ultra-precision." He adjusts the tools on his workbench, and Y/n tilts one sticking out of its designated outline.

"Wow." Hiro picks up a magnifying glass, "How do you find anything in this mess?"

"I have a system." Wasabi quickly grabs it back with mild panic in his gaze. He places it back down, straightening it and calming down. "There's a place for everything, and everything in its place."

"Need this!" Y/n's startled when Gogo appears, grabbing a wrench and bolting off.

"Y-you can't do that!" Wasabi shrieks, chasing after Gogo. "This is anarchy! Society has rules!"

"Excuse me!" Y/n takes a startled step back as Honey Lemon rolls over a large black ball between her and Hiro. She bumps into Tadashi's chest and looks up at him apologetically. He shrugs, giving her an amused smile.

The trio follows Honey Lemon, Tadashi taking the lead. They stop at Honey Lemon's work area, Y/n staring at the enormous black mass in pure curiosity. The music blaring from Honey Lemon's earbuds draws her attention back to the gorgeous girl.

"Tadashi!" Honey Lemon gasps as she leans back on the large, black ball. "Oh my gosh, you must be Hiro! And you must be Y/n! I've heard so much about you!" Honey Lemon grabs Y/n's shoulders in excitement and plants kisses on both cheeks, doing the same to Hiro. He's left stunned, cheeks coloring a soft pink while Honey Lemon tugs out her earbuds.

"You have?"

"Who do you think Fred brags about when he talks about his latte art?"

"That was you?" It's Tadashi's turn to be impressed, and Y/n feels the heat of embarrassment threatening to take over again. "Yeah, I mean, I'm a barista."

At least, I used to be.

"Perfect timing! Perfect timing." Honey Lemon interrupts, and Tadashi saves his questions for later. Y/n's hand is grabbed by Honey Lemon, and she's tugged alongside Hiro, muttering a quick apology when their shoulders bump against each other in the slightly overcrowded workspace.

Honey Lemon presses a button, and the black sphere she had rolled over earlier gets lifted onto a stand. "That's a whole lot of tungsten carbide," Hiro states, eyeing it with mild interest.

"Four hundred pounds of it." Honey Lemon's glasses almost fall off from her enthusiasm. "Come here, come here, come here." Y/n is yanked over to a table covered in test tubes and flasks filled with various chemicals.

She feels Hiro's entire body stiffening from surprise and chuckles. "You're going to love this." Honey Lemon giggles. "A dash of perchloric acid. A smidge of cobalt, a hint of hydrogen peroxide," She grabs a gas torch and fires it up, Y/n stumbling back and bumping into Hiro, who catches her. His hands hold her shoulders, and she steadies herself. "Thanks," She whispers, mildly terrified of interrupting Honey Lemon's very enthusiastic demonstration.

"No problem." He lets go, and they both follow Honey Lemon back over to the ball of tungsten carbide. She sprays the entire sphere with a pink solution, grabbing a nearby switch and flipping it. Sparks of electricity are generated, and the solution sticks to the black sphere.

"Ta-da! It's pretty great, huh?"

Y/n applauds with complete sincerity, but Hiro just looks at Honey Lemon with doubt. "It's so…pink." Is the only response he's able to come up with.

"Here's the best part." She giggles, tip-toeing over to the now pink sphere and placing her finger on it.

A cloud of pink covers the chemist. Luckily, both Y/n and Hiro stand a reasonable distance away and remain clean while Honey Lemon looks back at them, her glasses and the front of her body covered in pink dust.

"Whoa." Hiro and Y/n both gasp, the former with a goofy grin on his lips. Y/n grabs a box of tissues on the desk, passing it to Honey Lemon, who uses one to wipe her glasses.

"I know, right?" She places her glasses back on her face. "Chemical metal embrittlement."

"Not bad, Honey Lemon." Tadashi approaches them with a grin, hands in his pockets.

"'Honey Lemon'? 'Gogo'? 'Wasabi'?-"

"Crash!" Fred stumbles over to her, draping an arm across her shoulder. "I was looking everywhere for you!"

"Fred's the one who comes up with the nicknames," Tadashi says nonchalantly.

"AHH!" Hiro lets out a short yet high-pitched, panicked yell when he comes face to face with Fred's ugly mascot costume. 

"Ah-ah, don't be alarmed. It's just a suit." Fred wriggles slightly and opens the mascot costume, sticking his lean frame to face them. "This is not my real face and body." Y/n gives him a blank stare, unfazed by his antics.

"The name's Fred," He shakes Hiro's limp arm, the boy recoiling slightly in uncertainty. "School mascot by day but by night," He proceeds to expertly flip the sign he's holding, the costume falling off his head to reveal a smug grin. "I am also a school mascot."

"So, what's your major?" Hiro asks.

"No, no, no, I'm not a student." Fred laughs, walking to where he had just sat minutes before, hopping back onto the old, dingy chair, and grabbing a comic book from the tall stack beside him. "I've been trying to get Honey to develop this formula that can turn me into a fire-breathing lizard at will." He states seriously, and Y/n cracks a slight grin at this.

"What about you?" Hiro suddenly asks her, and she's momentarily surprised. "Oh, I brought Crash over here because she just got fired from her old job at the cafe I always go to. She's the one that makes all those crazy-good latte art. I was hoping your cafe was looking for any part-timers." Fred answers for her, and she shrugs, confirming everything he says.

"Well, I could always ask Aunt Cass. But that's you? You're the one who does the latte art?" Tadashi asks with wide eyes, an impressed smile on his lips.

"What? Latte art?" Hiro's confused, and Fred pulls out his phone. He passes it to Hiro, and the boy scrolls through all the various pictures he'd taken of the latte art on his coffee. Some photos had you in them, where sometimes you were unaware of the unintentional inclusion, and sometimes when you happily posed for it.

"Okay, that's enough." Y/n grabs the phone from Hiro's hands, handing it back to Fred with a heavy red dusting her cheeks. Hiro chuckles. "That's pretty cool." He admits. She scrunches her nose in embarrassment, shrugging nonchalantly.

Honey Lemon, Gogo, and Wasabi had gathered around the small group, beginning to discuss(more of rejecting) Fred's crazy ideas. "Hiro. Y/n." She turns at the mention of her name, looking to see Tadashi, who gestures for them to come over to a large set of doors.

Hiro exchanges an intrigued glance with her, walking over to the tall man. Tadashi enters the lab, and Hiro holds the door open for her. She quickly enters, a small gasp leaving her lips when she sees the lab inside. "Is that a 3D printer?" She asks excitedly.

Hiro nods with a small smile, and she inspects the gadget with interest. Sometimes the boy prodigy forgot that not everyone had high-tech devices at home. In his case, his garage housed everything from 3D Printers to various monitors for his coding and robotics setup.

"So, what have you been working on?" Y/n finally looks up, her question making Tadashi smile from his workbench. "Here. I'll show you. Hiro?" He walks over to his younger brother with a roll of duct tape, the latter sighing sarcastically. "Duct tape? I hate to break it to you, bro, already been invented."

Y/n can't hide the amused giggle that slips past her lips, Hiro smiling smugly as Tadashi pushes his sleeve up. He places a strip of duct tape on Hiro's arm, ripping it away quickly. Hiro yelps, yanking his arm away from Tadashi's grip with a glare. "Ow! Dude!"

A beep attracts her attention, and she peers over Hiro's shoulder to see a balloon-like robot beginning to inflate from a red suitcase. "This is what I've been working on."

"That's… that's cool," Y/n replies, looking at the robot with a hint of doubt in her eyes. She didn't doubt the caliber and ability of those in SFIT, but it was hard to take people seriously when they built what seemed to be a giant, walking marshmallow.

The room falls silent as the two younger teens watch in awe as the marshmallow-Esque robot waddles towards them, bumping and moving a chair out of its path to them.

"Hello. I am Baymax. Your personal healthcare companion." Behind the tall robot, Tadashi stands and silently copies Baymax's movements and words humorously, mouthing along to the pre-programmed introduction. "I was alerted to the need for medical attention when you said, 'Ow.'" The eldest mimics with a proud smile, waiting for Hiro and Y/n's reactions.

"A robotic nurse." Hiro questions, raising a brow at Tadashi as he nods. A screen on Baymax's chest shows a children's pain scale. Y/n stifles a giggle, already predicting its next question.

"On a scale from 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain?" She guesses correctly.

"Physical or emotional?" Hiro states sarcastically with an annoyed frown at his brother, who teases him with an over-exaggerated sad expression causing Y/n to quietly laugh.

"I will scan you now." She quickly steps back, not wanting to be scanned by the humanoid talking pillow. The robot nurse quickly scans Hiro, still cradling his arm, and blinks.

"Scan complete. You have a slight epidermal abrasion on your forearm." Baymax holds his arm up, moving to grab Hiro's arm. "I suggest an antibacterial spray."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's in the spray, specifically?" Hiro removes his arm from Baymax's gentle grip, a smug smile on his lips. "The primary ingredient is Bacitracin." A chemical diagram of the mentioned ingredient is displayed on Baymax's chest…screen? Y/n watches in awe and intrigue, getting increasingly lost in robot terminology.

"Oh, that's too bad. He's allergic to that." She speaks up with a nonchalant shrug, Hiro catching on and nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I've, like, never been more allergic." He confirms, Tadashi rolling his eyes in amusement.

"You are not allergic to Bacitracin." Baymax tilts his head, "You do, however, have a mild allergy to peanuts."

"Hm, not bad," Hiro remarks, raising a brow in an impressed manner. He lifts up his arm, allowing Baymax to spray his arm with the antibacterial spray. "Can I try?" Y/n asks, taking a step forward in curiosity. She looks at Baymax, finding the robot's blank stare cute.

"Yeah, sure. Baymax, scan her, please." Tadashi requests from the robot. Its eyes quickly scan the young girl, a beep signaling that the scan is done. "You do not have any allergies, but you are currently on your menstrual cycle. Your second day, to be exact." Baymax informs.

Hiro's cheeks color crimson, covering his ears and looking away from her. Y/n gapes. Baymax had gotten every detail right, down to the exact day of her period. Tadashi chuckles upon seeing Hiro's reaction, clearing his throat and looking at his invention proudly.

"You've done some serious coding on this thing, huh?" She asks, looking at the inventor. "Mmhm. Programmed him with over ten thousand medical procedures." Hiro's hands had fallen back to his sides, his curiosity overpowering his embarrassment. He still couldn't look at the girl beside him, though.

Tadashi presses down on Baymax's upper chest, a small port with a green chip inside sliding out of its camouflaged spot. "This chip is what makes Baymax, Baymax."

Oh, so, like, it's his heart. Literally.

Y/n smiles at the irony, glancing at Hiro, who reaches up and taps the port. It slides back into Baymax's body firmly. Hiro takes a step forward, walking around the robot and poking it with a curious finger. "Vinyl?" Hiro guesses, looking at his brother for confirmation.

"Yeah, going for a non-threatening, huggable kind of thing." Tadashi nods, crossing his arms and moving back so his brother can continue analyzing his invention. The girl's eyes start to glaze over when the two brothers use more technical jargon she knows nothing about.

One thing was for sure, though, she's found her next piece for her school newspaper.

The corners of her lips quirk up when she sees Hiro press his face against Baymax's marshmallow-like body, mumbling about skeletons and actuators. "You have been a good boy, have a lollipop." Baymax hands one to Hiro, who starts to unwrap it, popping it into his mouth before pausing, realizing that Y/n hadn't gotten one. Fortunately, it didn't seem like she minded.

Her arms are crossed, absentmindedly watching Baymax waddle back into his red case. "He's going to help a lot of people," Tadashi says with a fond smile.

"He will, and I think people should know more about Baymax. I think this could really be revolutionary. Can I interview you about it another day? It's for a piece in my school newspaper, but we usually distribute it to the other neighborhoods too." Y/n asks, bracing herself for rejection.

"Really? That'd be great." Tadashi sends a toothy smile her way before he fully processes her request. "Wait, you write in your school newspaper?" He pauses, looking at Hiro with an expression that says, 'Look at her. She's been working and is in a journalism club. What have YOU been doing?'

Hiro scowls at his brother, but the animosity quickly dissipates, Tadashi ruffling his younger brother's hair.

"Burning the midnight oil, Mr. Hamada?" The trio's attention is turned toward a man entering the lab. Y/n immediately recognizes him as Robert Callaghan, a renowned inventor and lecturer at SFIT. She had read various articles about him online and in the newspapers, impressed by his genius and revolutionary inventions that had pushed the boundaries of science.

He looked younger than his actual age, a few strands of white hair the only giveaway of his real age. Now, the man himself stood less than five feet away from her, and she was itching to question him endlessly in an interview for what she was sure would be a great piece to show on her resume.

"Oh, hey, Professor," Tadashi hits Hiro's shoulder gently, gesturing for both of the younger kids to come forward. Hiro looks down at the lollipop stick between his lips, quickly taking it out of his mouth. Y/n brushes the back of her hands against her jeans, sweeping away invisible dust and attempting to look presentable.

"You must be Hiro. Bot Fighter, right? When my daughter was younger, that was all she wanted to do. May I?" The famous inventor holds his hand out, and Hiro hands over the bot he had been holding onto since he stepped into the lab. Y/n had noticed it, but it seemed so cute and non-threatening that she didn't bother questioning him about it.

Robert Callaghan holds up the bot, eyeing it with interest. "Hm. Magnetic bearing servos." He observes.

"Pretty sick, huh? Put 'em together myself." Hiro replies smugly, stepping out of the lab. Y/n raises a brow. How did this genius not realize that the very man holding his bot was the one who invented those?

Tadashi knocks twice on the wall of his lab, the material turning transparent. "Hey, genius," He calls out, interrupting Hiro's boasting. She copies his actions, looking at the boy with a teasing smile. "He invented them." She adds, pointing at the professor with a chuckle.

Hiro stares back up at the man, who looks at Y/n approvingly. The boy's lips part and the words die at the base of his throat when he attempts to speak, too starstruck by the discovery of the professor's identity.

"You're Robert Callaghan?"

#bh6 #hiro x reader #hiro hamada x reader #series #baymax #wasabi #gogo #honey lemon #tadashi hamada #fred #hiro hamada #big hero 6

[anonymouspuzzler]

I TOLD YA THERE'D BE ANOTHER MEMORY VAULT

this was a "part two" of my last memory vault based on the "Uncle Cally" AU, this time depicting how ol' Uncle Cally started moonlighting as Doctor Loboto! I got a lot more ambitious with this one, and I think it made me drift from aping the Scott C style as closely, but I'm still darn proud of it...!! I'd like to do more in this style someday. I've got ideas...

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A title slide mimicking those of the Psychonauts memory vaults, reading "The Amoral Doctor Loboto!"]

[Image 2 ID: Cal leaning back against a portable ticket booth, looking concerned. Inside, Donatella is comforting a distraught Augustus sitting on the floor with the cash register, a speech bubble coming from him showing a stack of money with a big X over it. Outside the booth, Raz is working on sending PSI-punches at a bag of flour marked with a generic bad guy, which Cal is holding up with telekinesis.]

[Image 3 ID: Cal in a small, rickety flatbed truck with miscellaneous scrap in the bed, driving away from the circus camp under cover of moonlight. He is looking back at a billboard advertising the Aquatos, looking conflicted. The edges of the image are crowded with dark foliage.]

[Image 4 ID: Cal in his "Doctor Loboto" guise in some kind of lair, lit only by a barred window above him. There is a cartoony death ray pointed at the window next to him, with an open panel he appears to be working on, holding a drill in one hand and a "Brain Surgery for Dummies" book in the other. In the foreground is a fish in a bowl, hooked up to machinery with wires and diodes.]

[Image 5 ID: Cal, back in his circus outfit, holding a stack of cash in one hand and proudly handing Raz a True Psychic Tales comic with the other. Raz looks utterly delighted. In the background, Augustus, stretching and practicing with Mirtala and Dion, looks over his shoulder at this with suspicion.]

[Image 6 ID: Cal in the dead of night using his telekinesis to chase off two shadowy figures, who are fleeing in terror. He is standing on some crates with his cloak billowing and a hacksaw in one hand. Behind him on a wall is a poster of the Aquatos.]

[Image 7 ID: Cal, in his "Doctor Loboto" guise, checking a PO box. He is opening an envelope containing a letter addressed to "Dr. Loboto", a blueprint, some cash, and a pamphlet for Whispering Rock on which Oleander's portrait can be seen.]

[Image 8 ID: "Loboto" and Oleander at a wooden workbench. Oleander, grinning manically with his hands spread across a blueprint of the brain tank, is explaining his diabolical plan, as represented by word balloons depicting a child having their brain removed, the brain-tank shooting lighting, and Oleander holding the world in his palm. "Loboto" is leaning against the table with a finger on his chin in consideration, though a thought bubble reveals he is actually imagining Oleander as a strongman lifting a giant dumbbell, with little hearts floating around him.]

[Image 9 ID: Oleander and Cal in the Thorney Towers lab, working on the brain tank. Oleander is sitting on top of the tank's frame, holding a welding torch in one hand; he lifts his welders mask to chat with Cal with a big grin. Cal, lying on the ground next to the tank holding a screwdriver, actually pulls down his face mask to grin back. Mr. Pokeylope is visible in his cage in the background, and further back Sheegor walks in looking nervous and holding a jarred brain.]

#anonymous puzzler art #psychonauts #caligosto loboto #morceau oleander #again only tagging the most relevant characters for ease of access LOL #tw for a couple exposed brains in there but that's p par for the course with psychonauts

[eashn]

You’re an Idiot, Darling - Ch. 5

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Mando x Reader

series masterlist | AO3 Link

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: The Mandalorian needed you to fix the Crest, but then, he went and got stabbed. Now, he needs you to fix him up, too.

WARNINGS for this chapter: FAIRLY GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF WOUNDS/WOUND CARE, blood, lots of it, angst and whatnot, no use of Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, sexual tension, love confessions, Din’s helmet stays on, swearing, crack at some points lmao

“You bastard—you fucking bastard. Don’t you dare do this to me!”

Blood. There was so much blood. 

“Mando,” you gasped, heaving him onto his back, leaning him against the wall. He groaned, and the sound was barely a fizzle through the vocabulator. One of his hands clutched tight against a dark, gaping stain on his torso. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed. “Shit.”

“It’s just…a graze.” Mando’s voice was slurring dangerously. “Don’t worry.”

But you see, that was impossible. It was impossible not to worry when your friend was bleeding out on the floor of your home. 

Stop, you told yourself, shoving that thought away. Because right now, you needed to stop panicking and start thinking. Working frantically, you tugged the kid’s pod toward the Crest’s open ramp, pushing it up and letting it float inside. Then you darted to your workbench, grabbing a clean cloth. 

The stain below his armor hadn’t stopped spreading. Blood seeped through the fabric, lining his glove. You crouched beside him, trying to see the injury. 

“I—I’m gonna need to take this thing off,” you realized, spreading your hand flat upon his cuirass.

Beneath your palm, his chest rose and fell in slow, shuddering breaths. The dark slash of his visor stared blankly up at you. “Mando,” you said, voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I know you have your Creed and everything, but there’s no other way for me to—”

“Do it,” he said tightly.

The way his visor tilted to you in that moment—reflecting the feeble light of the hangar around you—it conveyed a heart-wrenching sense of vulnerability. “Do…whatever you need,” he ground out. “But the helmet—”

“Stays on,” you finished for him. 

It shook you to your core, seeing him like this. Mando—the stoic, intimidating Mandalorian—was anything but helpless. In fact, he reacted pretty poorly to being helped, you thought, remembering your conversation from earlier. 

So, to witness this? This weary, broken way he lay before you, trembling imperceptibly as he told you to remove his armor? Never before had he placed this much trust in your hands. Recognizing that, your throat closed up with some unidentifiable emotion. 

You knew how difficult it was for him. Internally, he was warring with the choice he’d just made: to compromise a tiny chunk of his rules and principles so you could save his life. And because you knew it, you reached for the gloved hand covering his wound. Carefully peeling his fingers away, you gripped them tightly in your own. 

“The helmet stays on,” you repeated, his warm blood smearing across your knuckles. “I promise.”

Releasing his fingers, you began feeling around the edges of his chestplate, searching for the mechanism to remove it. Eventually, your hands closed around what felt like a set of clasps. You undid them, and Mando grunted as you pulled the cuirass away. 

His flight suit was torn where the knife had pierced it, but a dark flap of fabric still covered the wound. “Kriff,” you muttered. “Mando, this needs to go, too.” You fingered the thick material of the suit. 

“Do…it,” he said again. His voice was decidedly less steady now. You tried not to let that fact petrify you. 

Frantically, you grasped the zipper—it whined as you tugged it down. Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric and came to settle on hot, quivering flesh. You shoved the edges of the suit over his shoulders. 

Oh, kriff. 

Skin. Golden-brown skin. 

He was warm and lovely and so, kriffing broad. The expanse of his powerful chest shuddered with each breath he took. Scars of all sizes littered the entirety of him—carved across his torso, his sculpted abdomen, and lower…sparse hair trailed all the way down, disappearing beneath his trousers.

Your eyes flicked back up. Back to the blank stare his helmet was giving you. And then, you mentally slapped yourself across the face. 

The man is BLEEDING OUT, you screamed at yourself.

You ripped his suit away from the site of injury, taking out all your anger on the poor fabric—because holy shit, you hated your stupid thoughts right now. Of all moments, now was when Cavewoman You chose to make a reappearance, getting you all hot and bothered at the sight of skin, so much skin—skin you’d never, ever seen before—

“S-slow down,” Mando said raggedly, and you stopped clawing at his suit. 

He was watching you with a soft little tilt of his head, his breaths rasping unevenly through the helmet. “Stop…stressing,” he murmured. 

“Oh, sure,” you whispered. “Yeah, I’ll just stop stressing about the fact that you were stabbed, Mando. Great idea. Your best yet, in fact.”  

Despite the pain, despite the blood slicking his abdomen, he barked a hoarse, quiet laugh.

You scoffed, disbelieving. Of course. Of course, the fucker wants to laugh as he’s actively spilling his guts all over my floor, you thought, and you considered just leaving him to die of exsanguination right there. But then again, it would also be really hard to lug his massive corpse out of here. So, you turned your focus to the wound in his side. 

The laceration was deep, but the knife looked to have missed any major organs. That at least, made you sigh with relief. The only issue was: blood oozed from the wound in steady pulses, and a worrying amount was already pooling around it. You cursed. 

“I need to apply pressure to the wound,” you said. “And that’s…that’s gonna hurt like hell. Okay?”

His helmet swayed a bit as he looked up at you. But it dipped, giving you the tiniest of nods. 

“Take those gloves off,” you directed. “You’re going to help me stop the bleeding, and the last thing we need is dirty hands infecting the wound.” Your tone was sharp and clinical—on purpose. You buried every ounce of emotion in your body: all the fear, doubt, and panic threatening to drown your mind. If you let yourself feel anything right now, it’d pull you under. 

So you clamped it all down. Folding the cloth into a tight wad, you carefully, you placed it over the open wound. Mando hissed. 

“I know,” you whispered, realizing just how difficult detachment was going to be as he squirmed in agony beneath you. “Shhh…I know, I know.”

His bare palms came to settle over your hand. “On three?” you asked, raising your brows with the question. Again, the helmet dipped in a nod. You placed your other hand over his, fingers curling around his palms in a gesture of comfort.

“One…two…three!”

Together, you shoved down on the wound. 

Mando cried out in pain. 

“I know, Mando—just—c’mon, keep pressing.” 

You rose to your knees, using the leverage to bear down on your palms, leaning all your body weight against him. You felt the cloth grow slick with blood. He groaned, and the sound was coarse and fractured. 

“Almost there, almost there,” you murmured, feeling the tenuous grasp you had on your resolve start to slip. 

Minutes passed. Mando squirmed and grunted, and with every moment, the pressure of his hands possessed a little less strength. You tried not to think about that—tried to focus on the fact that you could still hear his shaky breaths rasp through the helmet’s modulator. It’s not finished yet, you told yourself, over and over. He’s still alive.

What if I never get to tell him that I finally know how I feel? About him. About us. 

You growled, pushing down on your hands—enraged with yourself for even letting that thought surface. You wouldn’t let yourself think that. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. 

“Hey,” you said, hating the cracked way the word came out. “Okay. Let—let me see if the bleeding’s stopped.” 

Mando seemed so, so relieved to let his hands fall away from the wound. His head tipped backward, helmet clanking against the wall. You trembled, wracked with guilt to see him like this—defeated like this. Then, you looked down at the gash.

It wasn’t working. 

You felt a whimper bubble up in your throat. Pure hysteria threatened to take hold of you. 

Blood still gushed from the wound in sluggish globs. And Mando—Mando was barely lucid. 

He stared up at the open space of your hangar: a roofless structure, designed to let spaceships dock. The stars twinkled across the reflective surface of his helmet. His bare chest shuddered with each of his breaths. They were softer now. Shakier. You couldn’t even tell if he was still awake. 

“Mando,” you said tightly. “Mando, look at me.”

He jerked a little, but that was it. He didn’t move.  

“Look at me!” you screamed, grabbing the sides of his helmet, forcefully turning the visor to face you. 

“Don’t you dare die on me, Mando!” Now, tears were filling your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Do you hear me, old man?” Your voice warbled as you stared at his blank visor. “Don’t—please don’t—”

Suddenly, bare palms came to grip your wrists. 

Their hold was loose, and they were slick with blood, but they squeezed lightly. You gasped a little, blinking the tears away. Mando mumbled something inaudible. 

“What?” you breathed. “What is it?”

Something that sounded like your name tumbled out of the vocabulator. “You’re…” he wheezed. 

“I’m what?” Your fingers gripped his helmet tight. “C’mon, Mando, talk—“

“You’re beautiful.” 

Oh.

Everything seemed to stop for a second. You gaped at him. This was, you realized, quite like the feeling you had right before a fight: the silent stillness of your surroundings a perfect contrast to the breakneck speed of your thoughts. 

Denial wrapped its claws around you. No, you told yourself. No, he’s lost a lot of blood—he’s probably losing his mind right now. There’s no way. There’s no way. 

“I needed you to hear that…from me,” he ground out. “Just once.” 

No. 

“Just once, before…”

“Mando.” The tears were back, tenfold. Welling in your eyes because you couldn’t—you couldn’t—let him finish what he was about to say. 

“Not…Mando,” he rasped. He huffed another raw, ragged laugh. “That’s not…my name.” 

His hands squeezed your wrists again. He was utterly motionless as he looked up at you. 

“My name is—”

“NO!”

You clapped both your hands over where his mouth would be. Beskar sang.

“No,” you repeated. 

And then, you scrambled to your feet. 

“You keep a cauterizer on the Crest, yes? Where?”

“What—”

“Shut up!” you barked. “Where?” 

“In the…c-cargo bay,” he replied, completely lost. 

You whirled. “If you die before I get back,” you snarled over your shoulder, “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Then, you bolted towards the open ramp of his ship. 

Finding the medkit was easy—it was listening to your thoughts on the way that proved difficult. Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker in heaven—the Mandalorian was a dumb, fucking bastard, and you hated him so, so hard right now. 

This was delirium. Shock. He was losing his ever-loving mind. 

You weren't going to let him go out like this. You were going to go out there and save his life if it took everything you had, because this could not be the end. 

Cauterizer in hand, you rushed back to his limp frame against the wall. You kneeled, flicking the machine on with one hand, and splaying the other across his chest. 

“What…is wrong with you,” he wheezed. 

“Me?!” you screeched. And just to spite him, you jabbed the sparking cauterizer against the edge of his wound without warning. He cried out.

“Hold still,” you growled, slowly sliding the machine down his skin. His bloody hand came up to grip your free arm again. He squeezed with each spark of the device against him. 

“I should be asking you that question,” you said, “because the Mando I know wouldn’t throw his Creed away like this.”

The helmet tilted slowly to you.

You looked at him. His flight suit was still stretched over his shoulders, and by now, his torso was drenched with sweat. He heaved—big, panting breaths. After his weak gasps from a moment ago, it was a comforting sight to see.

“Mando,” you began, pulling the buzzing cauterizer away. You turned the device off. “I—I can’t let you do that. I know what the Creed means to you. And I know what it would do to you to break such a big part of it.” 

You set the machine on the ground beside him. Resting your other hand on his chest, you returned the rapt stare his helmet was giving you. 

“You’re not thinking straight right now,“ you said resolutely. “You don’t want to give me your name.”

For a moment, his only response was a few raspy breaths. 

But then he spoke. “I do,” he whispered. 

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I can’t—I won’t let you do it. Not like this.” 

“Why?” he breathed, and he grunted when you brought the machine to his skin again. 

He was tired and sweaty beneath you, his bronze skin glistening beneath the dim lights of the hangar. The broad nakedness of his torso was a striking contrast to the armor still adorning his limbs, the helmet on his head. His flesh was slick beneath your hands as you slowly dragged the cauterizer over the other edge of his wound. The bleeding had stopped, and dried blood was crusting on his skin. He was going to live. 

You set the device on the floor. His abdomen twitched slightly when your palms came to settle over it.  

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Because you needed to stay firm, stay adamant about this. If you looked at him right now, the weight of it all would send you adrift. 

Mando almost died. Mando wanted you to know his name. The man you’d completely, devastatingly fallen for in the past few months—he wanted to trust you with the most delicate part of himself.

And fuck, you had finally admitted to yourself how much you cared about him—you were ready to tell him. But before the words even left your mouth, the bastard had gone and said them first. 

You’re beautiful.

“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.” And despite yourself—despite everything—you did. 

Your breath fogged across the surface of his helmet, and you saw your reflection in the visor’s glass. “If not now, then when?” he asked. 

You didn’t know. Stars, you didn’t want to know, because: “I can’t be the reason you throw everything away, Mando.” 

“Why?” he rasped, again. 

You steeled your gaze, staring up at him. “Because I care about you too much.”

thank you for reading! follow @eashn​ for more!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando x you #mando smut #din djarin smut #star wars #star wars smut #star wars fanfic #din djarin #mando #mando x reader #din djarin x female reader #pedro pascal

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 11 - Rebuild What's Broken

Summary: Joel busies himself until the gates of Jackson open in the final week of January.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

Chapter 10 || Series Masterlist

When did that clock get so fucking loud?

A halo of orange light circled the leather-bound journal Tommy had gifted Joel for Christmas on the old wooden table Joel called a workbench, pencil scratching against paper as he etched blueprint after blueprint until his hand and eyes ached from the strain. 

Through the winter, he’d turned the spare bedroom upstairs into a workshop, slowly filling in a small set of drawers with whatever bits and pieces of guitar hardware he could find. A music store a few miles away was raided after he and Tommy had cleared it of a few infected, a house up by the chalet was full of nails and screws, and he’d developed a good relationship with a guy up the road, Daryl, who traded him wood prepped for carving and sanding for half the haul of whatever Joel cut down and towed back. On top of patrols, Tommy had also roped him into the Great Jackson Renovation of 2035, which he was currently planning, touring every house and building to assess the repairs needed to keep it in good enough shape to last whatever the elements threw at them. 

“Thirty-six by…hundred and seventy-two…no that can’t be right…” he murmured to himself, the mug of coffee beside his right hand cold as a midnight dusting of snow floated through the air outside his window, “Seventy-two by a hundred-thirty-six.”

When he finally called it a night and slipped beneath the neatly tucked sheets of his bed the clock read 1:26 AM, the monsters of his dreams ready for their nightly feast. It was always the same now; Sarah was always the first to fall, her tiny body he could still remember the weight of in his arms crumpling to the ground, then Ellie who went down swinging, and finally you, with that forgiving smile and touch to his cheek. You always told him it was okay before you faded away, forgiving him in your final breath, and every day he woke with a scream.

“Ellie?” he called the following morning, gently rapping his knuckles on her front door, “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Okay!” she yelled from inside, “Be there in a sec!”

All he knew to do was work. Whether it was cooking new things, fixing the house, carving, building, fighting…anything that could keep his mind busy and unable to wander through the dangerous situations in his head. The restoration project had filled a large section of that void space, Tommy’s plan to keep him occupied working better than he’d like to admit. Maybe it kept some of the guilt he felt at bay. 

The two had been at odds in the days before you left. Joel was furious Tommy had approved it, though Tommy swore he had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t his call. You’d volunteered, and Maria had given the okay despite Tommy’s best attempts at keeping you here. There had never really been a good reason, only selfish ones. 

“Any sign of them yet?” Ellie asked as she sat at the small square table in the kitchen, a plate piled with eggs and toast in front of her.

“Not that I know of,” he replied with a sigh, walking right past the second empty plate set out for him and joining her, “Wanna help me today?”

“I’m on farming.”

“That a no?”

“Can you get me off farming?”

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”

With Ellie in tow, Joel met up with Tommy at the church, tape measure and ladders out as a remodel was planned. It felt like the old days, Tommy’s ideas too extravagant and Joel’s too practical, the pair meeting in the middle on a design that was feasible, functional, and appealing. Maria had stopped by to see their progress, smiling ear to ear at the rough sketches Tommy had done. 

“What about like, you know space right here. For dancing,” Ellie chimed in, waving her hands around, “And a little stage over there in case anyone wants to play guitar or…or sing something.”

That comment had Joel smiling a little, teaching Ellie how to play had been some of the better moments of the last few weeks. She’d been getting the hang of the strings of the guitar he’d gifted her in the fall, pride swelling in his chest at just the thought. Tommy and Maria agreed with her idea, talking with her about any other thoughts she had while Joel’s mind wandered into a realm of fantasy. Your fingers in his hair, his arm around your waist, he’d never dreamed of dancing before, he’d loathed the very idea of it. But after the sight of your forest eyes gazing up at him as you led him through the movements, the memory plagued him. 

You’d granted him a second chance in a light snowfall when you’d both stepped out for some air as the credits had begun to roll the night before you’d left. Tommy’s Christmas carols of choice were heard even from outside, and though you hadn’t said a word to him since his plea you come back to him, you’d smiled when he’d asked for a hand.

“Still got some of those bad memories to replace…” he’d said, and you hadn’t been able to refuse. 

There had been space between you still, but considerably less than the first time he’d found your hand in his. There were less toes smashed, too—still a few, but not enough that had his face burning in frustration. You’d left after that, patting his chest once with a simple “I’ll see you soon,” a gaping hole ripping open where your hand had been as you faded from view. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to see you off, he knew himself well enough, there was no way he’d have let you go without a fight. 

“Earth to Joel!” Tommy’s voice thundered, “Can we build that?”

“Build what?” Joel replied, the three pairs of eyes locked on him rolling in unison.

Thursday brought the weekly night out at the Bison. Tommy and Maria along with Indy still met like clockwork, Joel begrudgingly agreeing to go just to keep his brother off his ass. He’d only ever gone for you, to get you out and making friends, to acclimate, but after a few months it was for the chance you’d need to slip behind him, your hand grazing over his back, shoulder, or arm. It sent a shiver down his spine every single time, he missed the feeling. A beer gone warm sat in front of him as Tommy lost at darts again, too tipsy to see straight enough, Seth celebrating another easy-won victory against the one man in Jackson who had decent perks to wager. This time, Seth managed to weasel a few extra bottles of scotch for his own personal stash. 

“Miller,” Indy called out, her newly-established girlfriend Sophia on her heels, “What’s it been now? We’re going into week six?”

The two women took the seats in front of him, clearly this corner hadn’t been dark enough to hide him. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, gagging down a sip from his glass, “Somethin’ like that.”

“As if you don’t have the days numbered on your calendar.“

It had been seven weeks and three days, four weeks exactly since last contact with Eugene when the group landed in Nevada. The anticipated return home was already a week later than expected. It had been gnawing away at him. Not that he had any expectations for your return, just the thought of you back safely in the gates was enough for him right now. The rest he could grapple with later. 

“I know they’re late,” Indy finally admitted, quieter, more reserved, “And I know you’re as panicked as I am.”

The muscle of his jaw twitched as it tightened, “Yeah.”

“Think they’re okay?”

“How should I know?”

His answer should have been softer, more empathetic, maybe he should have lied, but it fired off with his temper. He didn’t want to talk about this. The moment he let his mind entertain the possibility you were gone would be the end of the waning control he had over himself. Once that broke, the path back to the man sitting at this table wasn’t one he could navigate without a guide. Indy understood, nodding and staying planted in her seat as if she somehow knew he couldn’t be alone, uncaring of the callous words he just spewed at her. He’d have to save the bludgeoning guilt over the fact he didn’t deserve the care he got from the people around him for later. 

As soon as an acceptable departure time hit, he was walking the dark streets alone back home, the old desk lamp on the workshop table flicking on as he opted for sanding the body of his next guitar over doing the sketches and measurements Tommy had asked for. It could wait. He was being too rough, too fast, he knew he’d have to redo all the work he was doing tomorrow, but still, he couldn’t calm his movements, the wood taking the brunt of his frustrations. The table shook beneath his hands, his teeth grit together as the dust began to burn his eyes, the clattering of the frame that rest beside the light causing his hands to drop everything as he moved to right it. 

It was the only photo of you he had, that anyone had. Tommy had taken it from Seth, no doubt for a price. The summer sun had been still filtering in through the bar’s windows, you were seated beside him at one of the small tables near the dart boards, the true focus of the snapshot Tommy and Eugene in a heated game. That wasn’t what he was looking at. It was you listening intently to whatever he was droning on about. He couldn’t even remember what it was he was telling you, it probably wasn’t interesting, but the way you looked at him told otherwise. He wanted to go back, pay more attention to you, he hadn’t caught it at the moment, but instead he was here alone with nothing but the heavy weight of regret on his shoulders.

Despite sleeping alone, he only pulled back the right side of the sheets, as he did every night, grabbing the book on the bedside table to distract him until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. Except tonight, he couldn’t even concentrate on the page. Too much of the dam had weakened, at this point he was contemplating sleeping at all. It wouldn’t be worth it. He’d be up in two hours sweating and panting. 

“Joel!!!” He awoke with a jolt. “Joel!! Horses!! At the fucking gates!”

Ellie waited for him at the stoop, his jacket askew on his shoulders and your scarf around his neck as they took off towards the West gate. Tommy was already there, and Maria, Jesse and Seth as well as they awaited the group approaching. Joel’s stomach was tense, butterflies in a whirlwind; would you be happy to see him? Indifferent? He could handle either of those, but not disappointed. The time away likely worked against him, your own demons overtaking what little progress he’d made. It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

In a sea of strange faces, he looked for the familiar. Eugene was there, chapped cheeks and wide eyes, Paulie too, who spotted Joel and quickly turned, and stranger after stranger marveling at the sights before them as he once had. The lights, the nostalgia of normalcy, it was captivating, but he didn’t care about them. 

“Joel,” Tommy called, Eugene pressed behind him, “Joel…”

“Where is she?” Joel asked, everything sinking, the butterflies dropping dead and heavy like shotgun casings, “Where the fuck is she?”

“Come over here.”

A gentle hand on his shoulder was roughly shoved off, ire rising as his face burned in rage.

“Tell me. Right now,” he demanded, “Right here.”

“She’s gone, Joel.”

Gone. 

“Ellie…” he mumbled, “Ellie, go with Maria…”

“What? No!” she argued, but Maria didn’t make him ask twice, wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her away, “Joel!”

His feet trudged across the pavement, the scraping of the rocks and dirt beneath his boots like nails on a chalkboard as he tried to remember how to breathe. He was underwater, his limbs slow as they dragged against the resistance, his lungs refusing air, the sight of your bow in his brother’s hands like a bullet to the chest.

“Christ…” he gasped, his vision tunneling, a snarl ripping free from his chest as he took off in a feral lunge and gripped the assumed perpetrator by the jacket, “What did you do?! What the hell did you do?!”

Paulie was quivering, his hands grasping Joel’s as he blabbered incoherently, Tommy and Eugene quickly following and failing to pull the irate Joel from his trance. When a fist was raised, Tommy was too slow, Joel’s knuckles connecting with a jaw that buckled beneath the force, the yelp of agony that followed only fuel for another blow. He didn’t even notice the crimson staining his skin when Tommy finally got enough of a lock around him to send him hurtling backward to the ground, his spine and head impacting hard enough to have him groaning as his eyes came back into focus. Eugene and Jesse were helping Paulie, Tommy standing in the middle as if he stood a chance if Joel tried to advance again, his eyes flicking between each of the two men.

“You stay down, Joel!” Tommy was yelling, muffled and far away, the ringing in Joel’s ears making the words only half audible, “Stay the hell down. I mean it.”

“Or what?” Joel threatened, delirious and bloodthirsty, “You were never any match for me, boy.”

“Stay down, Joel. Please. I’m asking.”

Once on his hands and knees, he could see the fear dripping into his little brother’s eyes, his body turning towards Joel as he readied to block the next attack, Eugene still trying to drag Paulie into the nearest building before Joel could recuperate. Your bag was sitting two arm’s lengths away, the bow you’d carried for years discarded on the ground as if his very will to live wasnt tethered to that curved piece of wood. 

Dragging himself to your belongings, Tommy followed with a shuffle, easing only when Joel rose to his knees and clutched your prized weapon to his chest with trembling fingers as he stood. As reality came crashing down, one of his hands covered his mouth as the shock set in, Tommy’s empathetic grip falling to his shoulder without resistance this time. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” Tommy whispered, “I know you—“

“Don’t,” Joel warned; not that fucking word, “I wanna know what happened. All of it.”

“I don’t think that’s—“

“I wasn’t askin’!”

With a reassuring pat to his back, Tommy went to find Eugene, leaving Joel in the darkness he was unsure he could ever wade out of. 

“I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath, “I can’t do this again. I can’t do it again… Please God, I can’t.”

But he had to. Just like before, he had a reason to keep going. Tommy. Ellie. Maria. Giving up wasn’t an option. He could fight for them. He had to. 

“Joel,” Tommy sounded, “sit down.”

“What?” Joel snapped, finding not only Eugene with Tommy, but Paulie, too, “Why is he here?”

“Sit. Down. Joel. The second you get up, it’s over.”

Now he understood what a caged animal felt like. All this pent up anger, the tensing of every muscle, the empty, hollow feeling in his gut, it was all here. He wanted to pace, relieve some of the pressure, but he did as he was told for Tommy’s sake and no other, his fiery gaze set upon the group towering over him as they surrounded him. 

“She was sick,” Eugene began, “pneumonia. We were five days from destination, I told her to hang on, we were almost to the medicine. I promised I’d get her home. Burning with a fever, coughing, whimpering with aches, it was… One morning I woke up and she was gone, all her things left behind. We checked everywhere. I swear. All day we searched, yelling her name, checking for tracks. They stopped at a river.

“We went back to the house we were in that night, thinking maybe she’d find her way back. By morning, we were…overrun. Horde. We had to leave and we assume that…well, that they got her before we did.”

“Christ…” How was reality worse than the scenarios in his head? “She’s out there.”

“Joel, no,” Tommy reasoned, “Joel…”

“You said all was well! When you checked in on the radio!” His mind couldn’t land on a thought, he was recalling every detail he knew, looking for a reason, a cause, a sign… You had looked pale the last night he’d seen you, your head had been warm, but he’d thought nothing of it. You were sick…

“We didn’t…want you to go out looking…” Eugene admitted, Joel barely able to suppress his anger.

“She’s out there,” he was mumbling to himself again, “She needs…help.”

“Joel.” It was Tommy’s turn to try and talk him down. “Don’t do this. Joel! God damnit!”

He was already halfway out the door by the time he was fully on his feet, he needed a horse, a few weapons, a map… Food he could find, the clothes on his back would do. The stables were thirty feet away, his horse was itching for a long trip, had to be, it had been awhile. 

“Joel! Listen to me. For once in your god damn fuckin’ life. Listen to me!” Tommy was still talking, it was like the buzzing of a gnat. “You know how this ends! That the last way you want to see her!?”

The light would be gone from your eyes, he knew that. If he could find you, and he would. He’d take down everything in his path til he did. He imagined you scared and alone as you waited to turn, too afraid to walk back and get your gun to end it in favor of Eugene and Paulie, and he owed it to you to do what you weren’t able to. It was the one thing you always made him promise, to end it before the turn. And he couldn’t keep it. But he could end it before your face was overtaken, your skin turned into a putrid Petri dish, and your limbs seized and contorted. He could save you before it got worse. 

“You don’t need to do this,” Tommy eased, taking advantage of the pause in Joel’s pursuit as he contemplated the next steps.

“Are you comin’ or no?” Joel finally asked, not turning to face his brother, his voice flat and lifeless. 

“Joel…Don’t do this.”

“Are you comin’ or no?”

“Joel, we got families here—“

“She is your family!”

With those words he whipped around, chest heaving once again, eyes begging for anything to hold on to. Tommy’s hands provided the support he needed to let the levee finally break, his little brother that had been forced to grow up too fast despite Joel’s best attempts at preserving every last bit of innocence providing the net once again that could keep him from falling.

The fur of Tommy’s collar was soft on Joel’s face as his brother pulled him into his arms, Joel accepting the embrace away from prying eyes. It was a reminder that despite his loss, he wasn’t alone. It was a confirmation he desperately needed that terrified him all the same. 

“You have been there for everything,” Joel finally began as he pulled away, letting vulnerability slip through the cracks, “Rebecca. Ma. Sarah.”

And I need you now. 

“Okay, Joel,” Tommy finally conceded, “Alright. I’m with you. Okay? I’m with you. Go home. Pack a bag. Meet me in an hour at the stables.”

Was he cursed? The past year had been nothing but carnage and death. Tess, Sam, Henry, was this his penance for pulling Ellie out of that hospital? Being around him was a death wish. As he passed the cemetary within eye sight of his house, he paused. Should he leave now? Was bringing Tommy along just another risk? He could make it back to the stables in thirty with his machete, shotgun, and revovler in hand. Not that he knew where he was going, and he sighed as he realized Tommy had left him in the dark intentionally. 

Panicked footsteps followed the creaking of the hinges on his front door, Ellie’s body slamming into his hard enough to push the wind out of him. She was crying, her arms locked tight as she buried her face into his shoulder, his arms instinctually wrapping around her.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he soothed, leaning his chin on her head, “It’s alright.”

“Don’t go,” was all she whimpered in response, his shoulders slumping in defeat, there was no winning this, “I know you’re gonna go. Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“So you can die, too?!” Her small frame yanked free, shoving at his chest as her face twisted in a fresh wave of tears.

“I ain’t gonna die–”

“That’s what she said!! And she’s gone!”

An eerie silence followed, Ellie holding in her gasping breaths as her soaked green eyes pierced through him. The thought of you out there alone and scared was plaguing him, the chance that somehow you’d find a way to survive was low, but it wasn’t zero. It was fool’s hope, but he’d never been the smartest guy in the room anyhow. He needed something to keep his feet moving forward.

“I gotta bring her home, kiddo,” he finally resigned, “I’ll be back. I swear.”

Ellie's Journal - January 26, 2035

Art by @natendo-art

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #more than my father’s son

[statticscribbles]

Wolf Case

Summary: Theseus/Reader, Reader’s a werewolf under Newts care, Theseus mistakes her for a new assistant

“Newt! Tina said you were down here. Oh, hello; is Newt in?” You startle at the tall wizard standing in the doorway.

“No sir; he’s out with the Kelpie; it needed to go for a run; well a swim I guess since it exists in the water. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Newt's friends.” You smile, holding out your hand for him to shake.

“Friend?” he questions and you nod.

“Newt put up a protection spell on the case; to make sure only friends could come in. Well those he considers friends; an added layer of safety.” He takes your hand and smiles.

“Theseus. It’s a pleasure.”

“Y/N; the pleasure is mine. Would you like to wait for him to get back? It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes more; he left almost an hour ago.” Theseus nods and sits on the workbench while you finish feeding the nifflers.

“Would you like tea while we’re waiting?” He shakes his head.

“No thank you.”

“So what do you do that caused you to meet Newt?”

“I work for the ministry of magic.” You jump back surprised.

“Really?”

“Yes I’m an auror.”

“Oh do you know Tina then? She works for the MCUSA in New York.”

“No I met Tina through Newt. We went to Hogwarts together.”

“Oh wow; I did to; I was in the year behind Newt but we were both in hufflepuff; what about you?”

“Gryffindor. A year above Newt.”

“Well that’s a nice change from the usual gryffindor background; being an Auror and all. You get put on a lot of dangerous missions?” You half joke and he grins a little.

“Mostly now it’s just paperwork. Most of the danger is things Newt’s dragged me into.” You laugh nodding.

“I can understand that.” You grin and he smiles back as you ask more about his job and the specific department he works in; you’re a little surprised to hear he manages a small team. Even more surprised to hear he was involved in the war and was considered a war hero when he made it home. You learned that his mother bred Hippogriff’s as well; you wonder if that’s maybe how he and Newt met.

“I’ll come back next week; if that’s alright.” He grins and you nod back to him watching as he leaves.

Newt reappears almost instantly and you realize he was hiding.

“He’s gone?”

“For now; he said he’ll be back next week; some sort of ministry case.”

Theseus returns later in the day Newt once again vanishing to leave you with him. Not that you mind, you find yourself developing a small crush on him that you can only feel getting bigger as the hours go by.

“What do you need help with, maybe I could help; if you need Newt?” You tilt your head and smile.

“Well I needed him to look over some pawprints we found.” He gestures to the stack of files he has floating behind him.

“Oh I can see if I know anything; I’m good with prints.” He nods offering you the images and you leaf through them, nerves growing.

“It’s some sort of canine; a few of the ministry in the magical creatures department think it’s a werewolf; but a werewolf wouldn’t be so close to the city without more death.”

“More death?” You question and he nods.

“All we’ve been able to find nearby the prints have been the occasional dead rabbit. If it is a werewolf it would be attacking humans.”

“Hm; well maybe it’s a grim? Or just a young werewolf? And it can’t attack humans yet because it’s too small?”

“Possibly; do those prints match with a young werewolf?” He learns forward slightly over your shoulder and you’re about to turn back to him when you hear Newt coming down the stairs.

“Newt!”

“Theseus; what are you doing here?” He pretends to sound surprised, you know he was hoping Theseus was gone.

“I stopped by the ministry is dealing with what we think is a werewolf; I was asking your assistant her opinion.”

“My assistant; oh yes Y/N.” He offers a smile and you nod, mouthing thank you.

“Was she any help?”

“Well she suggested it might be a juvenile; or some other canine creature.”

“Hmm the prints mark it as a werewolf; but the size doesn’t match up with a young one; maybe a smaller werewolf but not as young as you’re thinking. It might just not be hungry? Most werewolves attack out of hunger; the transformation takes most of their energy.” Newt nods and Thesues nods along with him.

“So we just need to capture it; so we can bring it somewhere else.”

“Theseus it’s a person; if it’s a werewolf; you can’t just relocate it so it won't attack humans.”

“It’s the only option besides well you know killing it.” Theseus sighs running his hands through his hair.

“Theseus; just think about-“

“It’s not my choice Newt. You know that. If we can find it before the ministry does it might be easier to convince them to move; or just live with you or something; Hell move them in with mom and dad for all I care; then it can spend its days chasing hippogriffs. Merlin Newt I don’t have all the answers.” Theseus huffs gesturing with his arms.

“I know Theseus. Thank you for letting me know.”

“I’ll be checking in later in the week as well. Full moon will give us more answers hopefully.” He nods and starts ascending the stairs you and Newt follow him watching as Newt magics over the kettle and cups.

“Theseus you should stay for tea.”

“That would be wonderful but I have to get back to work.”

“Stay.” Newt hums offering him out a cup from the set floating over the table.

“You’re lucky I still have time for lunch.” He sits across from you and you pull a mug over. You let Newt make your tea and can see Theseus frown as he sets it in front of you.

“Thanks Newt.”

“No problem Y/N.”

“So what were you two talking about when I missed you? Or was it more about the prints.”

“I was just telling Y/N about my job.”

“Is that why she looks so tired then?” Newt jokes and you chuckle.

“Well I’m sorry I’m not able to keep up with you two and your magical creature talk.”

“You know plenty about Hippogriffs; you can talk her ear off about those; she’s never met one before.”

“I’m sure you’ve explained everything there is to know about them. It’s the entire reason you became so fond of magical creatures after all. Although I don’t think mother was too excited when you brought home that murtlap from the beach.”  You laugh and smile content to listen to Theseus tell stories about him and Newt growing up.

“Y/N, you feeling okay?” You blink sluggishly and nod.

“Sorry just tired from the other day.” You shrug a little and grimace at the thought of having to do everything over tonight.

“Are you sure the environment will hold me?” You ask as Newt shows you the forested area that’s devoid of any creatures.

“None of the creatures will be in danger either.” He assures his hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you for this. If I stay here; do you think the ministry will leave me alone?”

“They should; it would help to tell Theseus; he could say I’ve given evidence that the werewolf has moved back to the forest or something.”

“Newt you can’t tell him. At least not yet; it might sort itself out anyways.” You cringe at the thought of Theseus seeing you as the beast you are.

“Okay we’ll give it another week; it’ll give them time to use tracking spells if they decide to go that far.” You sigh in relief.

You wake up vision blurry and your head still spinning, you glance to the pile of folded clothes and slowly pull them on; as you sit and eventually stand up you can hear Newt talking upstairs out of the case. You make your way up peering around as you see Theseus sitting talking.

“Morning Y/N.” Newt grins and you smile at him taking the cup of tea Theseus offers out.

“Hold on.” You freeze as his hand brushes some grass from your hair.

“Were the mooncalves dancing last night?” You nod at Theseus’ question and he grins back. He tucks some hair behind your ear as you sit next to him.

“So any luck?”

“We used a couple of tracking spells and followed them into the forest nearby; it seems like the creature has vanished into there; if we see any traces of it tonight we’ll go after it but if we don’t the ministry has agreed to leave it alone for now.” He sighs, pulling over a biscuit.

-

You should stay; we haven’t seen you in a while. It would be nice to catch up while we’re here for a visit.” Queenie appears with the tea set floating behind her.

“Oh Y/N; you’re awake how’re you feeling?” Thesues turns slightly to look at you and Queenie smiles at Newt who looks slightly panicked.

“Did something happen?”

“She fell into the Kelpie’s home earlier.” Tina supplies and you laugh a little.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah; I just had to sleep it off.”

“Sleep off what almost drowning?” You chew your lip at his scolding and shrug a little.

“It’s fine; I only got a couple of scrapes from the wall of the enclosure.” His frown increases.

“They’re almost healed anyways.”

“You got hurt? And Newt expected you to work after that!” Thesues scolds and Newt shakes his head.

“I asked to work; Newt is the one who sent me to rest.”

“ How bad are the cuts?”

“They’re nothing; I swear.”You try to appease him and sigh rolling up your sleeve showing one of the oldest cuts from your transformation last night. He glares at you and Newt before his wand waves something forward and he nudges you to sit on the seat he’s now vacated.

“Honestly you need to take better care of yourself love; this could become infected or upset the other creatures. No idea what you were thinking.” Theseus clicks his tongue and you hang your head.

“You can’t go running around that case and expect all of them not to react you to being injured; you’re not one of them.” Newt offers you a sly grin and you shake your head. Theseus nudging your arm back to where it was resting on his leg. You hadn’t noticed he’d been steadily cleaning more and more of the cuts.

“So you’re one of them then? Did Newt find some sort of shapeshifting creature that took your form? Or maybe you’re some sort of veela hybrid?” Theseus looks to Newt before his face turns pink.

“So the first idea is a Veela; not what you’ve been chasing for the past three months?”

“Newt. If you’re telling me Y/N is the werewolf I was talking about having to kill.”

“I’m suggesting; not telling.” Newt smirks and Theseus scowls.

“At least you’re not charming me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Veela’s can use enchantment charms.” Newt supplies and you nod.

“I know that; I don’t understand why Theseus thinks I would be charming him with said charms I can’t use because I’m apparently part veela now.” You laugh a little and Theseus scowls sinking in the chair you’ve returned to him; before you’d pulled over your own stool.

“It’s nothing.”

“No it has to be something if you’re embarrassed by it.”

“I’m not embarrassed by it.”

“You’re not embarrassed by crushing on a werewolf?”

“Newt.” Theseus glares at him and Newt rolls his eyes.

“I could be more vulgar about it. If you want.”

“You could just not say anything while Y/N is sitting right there.” He gestures towards you and you wave and Newt grins.

“Why do you think I said it?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re my older brother; when am I going to get a chance to tease you about this; think about it this way; at least it’s not me telling this to our parents; or at your wedding.”

“We went from hinting at a crush to a wedding now?” Theseus sighs looking up to the ceiling.

“She hasn’t even met our parents yet Newt merlin’s sake.”

“Thee you haven’t even asked her out yet.” Newt adds and you try not to laugh when his face drains of colour only to be replaced by an almost pure red.

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[finniestoncrane]

Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 22: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 1k i hurt my own feelings a lil bit i think but it's fine at least eddie's getting better request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: teensy bit of angst, mention of masturbation

“Screwdriver.”

Eddie tossed his hand out to the side, closing and opening his fingers on his palm impatiently.

“Screwdriver!”

The irritation in his voice echoed throughout the workroom. It was intolerably quiet. He tutted before he raised his voice in one final bid to get what he needed.

“SCREW- oh.”

He didn’t even bother looking up at the realisation. What was the point? There was no need to be embarrassed, because he was alone. He’d called for you and you weren’t there. Instead, he walked over to the wall where you had organised his tools, pulling several of them from their pegs and scattering them around.

It felt good, made it seem like he was in control again. His workshop would be the way he wanted it, and if he wanted his tools to be unorganised then they would be. Who was going to stop him? Certainly not you, because you had gone. Like he asked.

“See? I really am in control.”

Eddie looked around the room, waiting for a retort that he knew was never coming. With a sigh, he moped back towards the workbench, where the mess of skeletal metal bones and wired nerves sat, his prototype, finished finally. Screwdriver clenched in a tight grip, he secured the panel on the back of the torso of the robot and took a deep breath. A trembling finger, usually confident he noted, moved towards the switch and flicked it.

A loud bang, a small almost cartoonish stream of smoke, and a whirring sound. And then the bot fell apart. It was infuriating. The kind of thing you might have laughed about, which of course would only have made him angrier until he realised that it was comical. But he couldn’t see the funny side right now.

“No! How did… how did you…!? That dolt must have failed to construct you according to my instructions. If she were here, I’d… I’d…”

Eddie shook his head quickly, as though that would help banish the tender, and frankly lewd thought, from his mind before he spoke out loud. He felt, sometimes, that speaking something made it far more truthful, factual, than what might be the reality inside of his mind.

“I’d send her packing once more. That’s what I’d do.”

He forced a smile onto his face at the notion, knowing deep down that he was only able to feign happiness because he was imagining you. There. With him again.

“Yes, or perhaps a bit of proper punishment might have been in order. That might have been what was needed the whole time. You were too easy on her, Nigma. Not your true self.”

Tossing the screwdriver down onto the bench beside the heap of failure, he walked out of the workroom and into the tunnels.

“It might not be too late to implement that, actually. I could bring her back, set her straight. I could see to that Mark while I’m at it. Maybe I’ll get her here first, and use her to lure him in.”

His grin grew wider at the thought.

“Why, Mister Henchman, you agreeable fool. You must realise that I was going to beat you once and for all, no? That we were inevitably going to fight. To the death! I, of course, am not afraid. But I want you to consider your next moves wisely, for your own sake! It would be unwise to come here expecting to survive. But don’t you want to save the fair maiden? Come back to the sewers. Or she dies.”

He liked the sound of getting rid of that henchman. But a hostage… it felt very… twee. Not him. Perhaps, instead, he could go directly to Mark. Teach him a lesson on his own turf. As the thought crossed his mind he stopped in the tunnel, jabbing the air with his fists and moving quickly as he muttered to himself.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a lesser giant hunting ant.”

Amused by his own self-proclaimed prowess, he found himself smiling more genuinely, easier than before, until he entered the living area and looked towards your bedroom. His smile fell quickly into a grimace, then a sorrowful frown. He was annoyed at himself for feeling so sentimental. He was losing control of his mental faculties. It made him question if he ever had control of them in the first place. He’d always considered his brain his friend, an extension of him, where his soul would live, if there were such a thing. But it thought of you, often, and in various ways that concerned him. Surely, if he had control of it, he wouldn’t be forced to think of things he had no interest in.

“Stupid.”

Scorning himself, he took another deep, slow inhale before stepping to your door.

He did want to think of you. You were all he wanted to think about, for the rest of his life if need be. It was useless, and futile, and frankly a waste of his energy to keep fighting against himself. His mind was powerful, the smartest ever known. It was always correct.

Opening the door, he took in the space. It was empty, a void. Nothing there that suggested it had been occupied by anyone at all. The cold air completely covering the warmth you brought to the space. His eyes fell to the floor under the bed, where he spotted something left behind. A pair of underwear. Disappointed in himself, he tutted out loud, desperately pleading with his own mind to calm down, arguing that masturbating with them was absolutely not the cure to his woes.

Lust was at least a fair and natural response though. Or a human response. And while he was happy with neither becoming a facet of his person, he could tolerate them more than the other feeling.

Closing the door, he trudged over to the sofa and threw himself down onto it, staring up at the arched brick ceiling. It was one thing to lust. It was another to be sad.

And it was a whole other complicated nightmare to be in love.

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